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tenacityreturns · 3 years

Note

“listen, asshole. i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.” (you know the ship)

send me prompts for me to get mega carried away writing aokaga drabbles! ♥

kagami knew he wasn’t going to be able to play basketball for a little while. he knew not to wear shorts in the winter under the impression he’d inevitably end up going to the outdoor court near his house and running drills by himself. he knew he wouldn’t be able to play in the practise game against kaijo next week, or enjoy any one-on-ones with his rivals. it upset him to know that the cast on his foot was also stopping him from working out, and even moving, let alone how it was affecting his basketball.

miserable, basically. kagami was miserable. he still met up with his friends, and insisted on coming to practise just to see what everyone was doing. coach allowed him to practise his three-pointers under the agreement that he was absolutely not to attempt dunks. kagami’s not that stupid, come on! joining his team doesn’t make him feel any less torn up, though. in fact, it could be argued that watching everyone have so much fun makes him feel worse, not that he’d say it for the fuss he put up even being allowed to come in the first place.

it makes sense that aomine would be waiting for kagami’s badly sprained ankle to heal up before they meet up. the redhead is convinced that the limits of his appeal are closely defined by his basketball ability, and this goes for aomine’s impression of him as much as anyone else’s. that’s fine. aomine likes basketball, so what else does kagami have to offer besides that and cooking for him ( which kagami is unwilling to do all the time )? nothing, exactly. kagami has accepted it, and by aomine’s silence, it sounds like he has too. can’t blame him.

in his second week with the awful brace on, aomine contradicts kagami’s assumptions by asking ( in his own way ) to go to maji’s. it sucks that aomine would see kagami with his stupid little brace, but at least he isn’t using a crutch anymore! there’s no shame in being injured, kagami knows this, but he really wants to play and he was thinking he’d be able to grin and bear it if he’d have the brace off by the time they met up. kagami really isn’t sure how much fun he’ll be, but he agrees because it’s aomine and he misses him. ( is that stupid to admit in itself? that he misses getting clowned on, and lectured, and spoken down to? crushes are weird. )

maji’s wasn’t that bad, either. aomine almost didn’t mention kagami’s injury, except to ask if it hurt bad to walk on. it is, but he’d said it wasn’t. he’s too restless to do nothing as it heals! it’s boring.

kagami eats apparently noticeably less today, but he hasn’t done anything to work up an appetite. he’d been worried there would be awkward silences, but there aren’t. aomine mentions kise, kagami tells him that he’s having to sit out of the game, and the conversation swiftly moves along to something entirely different.

scarlet eyes watch carefully. is aomine talking... more than usual? is something up? kagami almost asks straight up, but decides against it at the last minute. what good would it do? kagami doesn’t want to hear aomine admit that he just wanted to hang out! how fucking embarrassing would that situation be? so it cheers him up a little that aomine isn’t just hanging around for the basketball. ( and if he is, he makes such a fuss about being too tired to play one-on-ones that he’s got a funny way of showing it. )

so. the scene has been laboriously set. the characters, kagami taiga: injured, miserable; aomine daiki: love interest, acting strangely sensitively towards miserable rival, have been introduced. not to mention the lingering stares, shared food, hurried apology promptly buried after aomine had accidentally nudged the bad leg under the table.

after the meal, they cut through the park towards town to do some shopping. aomine said he was too tired and couldn’t be bothered, but kagami has things he wants to buy and despite not insisting, the other teenager tags along. not five minutes into their journey, demons appear. as fast as their legs can carry them, three hellhounds race across the grass and STRAIGHT into them! he doesn’t know the breeds ( boxer, pug, border collie ), but they have big teeth and they’re barking at them! kagami’s body reacts before his scream can leave his throat, and he’s running in the opposite direction before aomine could tell him not to because of his bad leg.

( kagami doesn’t see this because he’s five metres away already, and ten seconds from falling on his face, but aomine is alarmed by the animals too before the come to a stop a few feet away. kagami! what are you, stupid? you’ll hurt yourself! but it falls on deaf ears. tails wagging, the dogs run around each other and then come up to aomine to say hi. the pug yells, the border collie barks, and the boxer is their silent guardian. she’s much quieter, and earns pets from aomine who is more than happy to pay them. the collie is more excitable, but he’s sure that’s a trait of the breed. a woman comes running across the grass in workout gear, and she apologises for her dogs, she lost grip of their leashes. aomine will have to shrug it off because where the fuck has that idiot gone? and what does he mean by running when he’s got an injury?! )

crash. his brace isn’t meant for running on. a stone beneath his foot sends him stumbling to the ground. the subsequent steps he takes mid-air, trying to save the fall from landing on the bad leg, has him land on the good one and now that hurts too. but kagami shifts around to sit so that he can at least see the dogs charging behind him until finally they eat him alive. but the dogs are being taken away by a girl, and aomine’s jogging to catch up.

“what the fuck was that?” he asks in annoyance, "i know you don’t like dogs but you gotta be careful.”

“don’t like them?” kagami repeats weakly, but it’s the rage which gives him voice. “what the fuck do you mean i don’t like them! there were three of them and they were coming straight at us! any normal person would run away! are you stupid yourself?” he tries to get to his feet but it’s a struggle. what has he done to his other foot? “shit---”

“ah, did you hurt yourself? i told you,” despite the totally unwelcome reprimands, aomine hooks his hands under kagami’s arms and pulls him to his feet. much to kagami’s angered embarrassment.

“i’m fine, get your hands off me,” but he’s grumbling, not shouting. he’s grateful really. kagami takes a step onwards, away from the dogs and, as it happens, back home, but the good leg buckles under sharp pain. it’s his knee. it isn’t his foot. fuck. this is much worse. as the pain subsides, kagami becomes acutely aware of the hand on his back. somehow, in a quiet way, this is worse.

“easy. what’d you hurt this time?”

jeez, aomine makes it hard to be anything but angry sometimes. “nothing! i’m fine.”

“kagami,”

“shut up! i’m going home,” but the step on his bad leg hurts, and the next makes his knee hurt again. he grits his teeth, screwing eyes tightly shut. no, this really fucking hurts. what if he’s fucked up his knee again? is he going to have to take longer off basketball? this is shit!

“listen, asshole,” aomine’s hand glides across kagami’s shoulder-blades to find a firm grip of his shoulder, but it’s not the straightened arm that stops him from walking ( it’s the straight up yearning ). “i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.”

“no---!”

“shut up. you think i want to carry you, fatass? we’re only a couple blocks from your house, it’ll be fine.”

“who the hell are you calling a fatass!"

"stop complaining, you're being too noisy."

this is such an unfair statement to have made. kagami is often unaware of how loud he's being, so he is told off by teammates for this all the time. aomine saying it just makes him pause and check himself. but his volume had been fine! aomine just called him a fatass, isn't it natural to fight on that? aomine doesn't think so. his hand leaves kagami's shoulder and thoughts feel a little more coherent, but he's still insisting.

"no, aomine, I don't want you to fuckin' carry me. how embarrassing is that?"

"okay," he shrugs, "let's go back."

that was... easy. "what do you mean! you're gonna make a fuss and then drop it just like that?"

"let's go," he nods his head to gesture onwards, but it's a second before kagami can even consider moving. is aomine being... respectful of his wishes? ( also, when did the bare minimum become so applaudable? )

kagami grits his teeth through stepping on his bad ankle, eager to prove that he’s absolutely fine to walk, but cannot prevent the wince when it comes to his knee. it’s really sore. it feels kind of like when he’s jumped too much in a game, so he must have hit it in the worst possible spot.

when his eyes eventually bring themselves to find aomine’s, he finds that aomine had not moved since insisting they leave. he’d been watching to make sure kagami could do it. this is so embarrassing.

“yeah,” aomine rolls his eyes, reaching behind his head to pat his own back in gesture, “anyway, hop on, tiger.”

“i’m heavier than you------”

“i can do it,”

“wait, who are you calling tiger?!”

he smiles, as if laughing at his own super original little joke. that pisses kagami off! and embarrasses him further! his face is red hot and burning ever brighter, but aomine just walks around to stand in-front of him, facing away. “i’m serious, kagami, get on.”

“are you--- sure?” is kagami really considering this now? “if only to get you to shut the hell up...”

“yes, i’ll shut the hell up if you get on my back. jesus fuckin’ christ, kagami.”

it’s leap frog. it’s just a piggy back ride. it’s an emergency! it’s anything other than being that close to his crush --- and maybe even crushing his crush. whatever, kagami likes weighing close to 200lbs, that’s why he eats so much! but if he hurts aomine too... that would be pretty bad...

“kagami,” it’s a stern reprimand from aomine that kick-starts kagami’s ascension. it almost makes the redhead forget who he’s talking to, so used to getting told off ( and then doing what he was told ) is he.

“alright!” he retorts, hobbling closer. “ready?”

“born it,”

that’s so lame. this is so dumb. almost hoping aomine topples forwards under his weight, just to prove a point, kagami grits his teeth and hops up onto aomine’s back. dark hands grip under his thighs and, yeah, this is about as terrible and catastrophic as it is awesome. aomine grunts under the weight, readjusts, and starts walking. kagami blinks. he’s------ he’s doing it? they haven’t fallen over yet?

all the same, kagami’s arms wrap around aomine’s shoulders in case of collapse. he can’t see whether the expression worn by his knight in shining armour betrays the strain, but from here, he seems to be holding up! is aomine... secretly really strong? this is... so cool...

“you’re stronger than you look,” kagami remarks quietly.

“what’s-- that supposed to mean?”

“uh-- you’re not that built? like, you’re more slender than me?”

“i’ll drop you on your ass, so help me.”

it’s so much easier dealing with aomine when he’s being snappy. snappy is so much better than sappy. sappy is offering to carry him. snappy is threatening to drop him. kagami smiles. he’s doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about those hands under his thighs, so he doesn’t even think to fight him about the threat. maybe he would if kagami couldn’t distinctly feel aomine’s back under his chest. it’s important in moments like these to remain completely in control of one’s body, to avoid very embarrassing things. he’s not thinking about them either, just in case he accidentally wills it into life.

they leave the park and aomine’s still carrying him. about a block away from his apartment, aomine takes a right when he should’ve gone straight on, and kagami speaks up.

“hey, we’re going the wrong way. you should’a kept going on, dumbass. you forget already?”

“there was a dog,” he replies frankly, “i don’t wanna risk our necks over it.”

“oh,” that’s pretty considerate of aomine, actually... weird...

“so you’re really scared of them? like a phobia, or whatever?”

“yes,” kagami huffs, “i got bit when i was a little kid.”

“and it stuck with you?”

“you got a problem?”

“no, just asking. you scared of tetsu’s dog, nigou?”

“not so much. what’s that thing where, like, if you’re scared of the dark, then psychiatrists will put you in a dark room ‘til you get over it?”

“huh?”

“i don’t know the japanese for it, dude! ugh, whatever---”

“like exposure therapy?” he laughs, “did tetsu force you to get over it for nigou’s sake?”

“basically! it was always me putting on his jersey, or he put my water bottle in nigou’s hands when passing it to me. seriously annoying. kuroko’s kind of a bastard.”

“mmm,”

“but he likes basketball, so he can’t be all bad.”

“tetsu or nigou?”

“nigou, keep up!”

“sorry, i’m just lugging ‘round a 4-tonne whale on my back----”

“shut the hell up! it’s all muscle, anyway, so it’s not like you’re insulting me!”

“all dumbass more like.”

“hey!”

“don’t shout in my ear!”

kagami decides to pull said ear between finger and thumb.

“oi, ungrateful bastard!” aomine ducks away, but still doesn’t drop him.

“ungrateful? i’m not ungrateful, idiot! i’ll make you something nice when we get in, how’s that?”

“i don’t want anything---”

“no, we gotta be even, and since i can’t play basketball--”

“that ain’t even, i win every time.”

“oh, every time? how about at the winter cup?”

aomine fakes a drop by loosening his grip and dropping his knees down. kagami’s grip tightens around aomine’s neck, confirming that if one fell, the other would too.

“i know i was with my team that day, stupid!” kagami exclaims, “don’t fuckin’ drop me just ‘cuz i said that!”

“gotta learn to be respectful somehow.”

“not like that!”

“calm down, i’m not actually gonna drop you. obviously, idiot.”

and he doesn’t. kagami makes a move to get down once they’re close to the building and aomine puts up a fight about it, and the same happens when they get to the front door. it’s only once they’re waiting for the elevator that aomine stands straighter and lets kagami slide off. aomine’s sweaty now, and leans into the wall as they’re taken to the penthouse floor.

aomine’s a good guy. he seems to like keeping that fact a secret, but kagami knows what it’s like to brush people off to avoid getting close ( and subsequently hurt by ) others. sometimes having no friends is just simpler. but kagami’s glad that he joined the seirin basketball club that day for hundreds of reasons, and standing in the elevator with an exhausted rival who just carried him for the whole five minute walk home is just one of them.

kagami is glad to have met aomine for hundreds of reasons, but finding a likeminded friend in him is just one of them. of course, ideally he’d like to be more, and the unconquerable smile on his face when aomine looks over, says it all. unfortunately, aomine doesn’t seem to be listening for it.

“what?” aomine’s drowsiness fades in an instant.

“nothing.”

“well, shut up.”

“i didn’t say anything!”

“stop thinking whatever you were thinking.”

kagami’s smile broadens. “you have no idea what i was thinking about.”

“probably something perverted,” aomine clicks his tongue. “disgusting.”

kagami immediately shoves him, “shut the hell up! as if i’m thinking about you like that!” maybe earlier, much to his dismay, but not right now!

“oh! so you were thinking about me?” aomine smirks, catching the wrist and pushing it away. “interesting.”

“shut up!”

“i didn’t say anything,”

he’s really a bastard, huh? a beautiful, dumbass bastard. kagami lowers his eyes ruefully. alright. so maybe he’s head over heels for him, what of it? he exhales. a proper thank you is definitely in order. he’ll feel bad if he doesn’t say it. after a moment of opening and closing his mouth, quite oblivious to how obvious his struggles are, it’s aomine who speaks first.

“don’t bother,”

“what?”

“i said don’t worry about it. listen next time.”

“you don’t know what i was gonna say!”

“you were overthinking how you could thank me,” aomine pushes his index finger against kagami’s forehead. “i could see the cogs turning.”

“get the hell off me,” kagami, despite being madly in love with him, is also the man’s primary target for irritation, and aomine always knows how to push his buttons. he’s blushing, but angrily. “i was just thinking how i was gonna tell you that you smell bad.”

“shut up,” aomine shoves him, “i smell great, you’re just jealous of my natural musk.”

“you’re such an asshole,” but kagami’s smiling again. “is it fun being on my nerves all the time?”

“hey, ‘least i’m on your mind.”

“you don’t need to be an idiot for that to happen!”

“huh?”

“what?”

“ah, so you do think of me?”

“no.”

“you just said you did.”

“what? no i didn’t! so what if-- if that’s true, anyway? idiot. you’re making a big deal out of nothing! it’s normal to think about your rival. how else do you come up with ways to beat him?”

“sure.”

“shut the fuck up with ‘ sure ’ !”

the elevator dings. aomine shrugs. “if you’re still worried about how you can make it up for me for saving your ass back there,” the doors open, he leans in close momentarily. “i can think of a few things you could do.”

is there... any way... that the way aomine said that... could mean anything else but what kagami immediately thought of? his cheeks, already hot, start to sting with how intensely he’s blushing. aomine saunters out, but waits half-turned towards him outside the elevator. kagami stares for a second. tries to recover. almost gets locked inside the lift as it’s called down, and hobbles out to catch up with his awful rival.

“hey aomine?”

“what?”

“don’t tell anyone i hurt my knee. it’ll be fine in a day or so, probably. it’s----- embarrassing.”

“tch, like it isn’t embarrassing for me too?”

kagami hadn’t really thought of that side of it. aomine had been so insistent that he’d figured aomine didn’t care. ah man. now neither of them are talking and the stinging heat on his face is back! he unlocks the door, and neither of them talk about it again. kagami’s smile hardly fades all afternoon.

#aonon.#drabbles.#answered.#aokaga #YEAH i tagged it......... bold of me ik #3241 words...................... absolutely kill me #i added so many icons of BOTH cuz it adds character.......... maybe #anyway i love them so much #thank u SO MUCH for this anon i owe you my heart

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puffmamaa · 5 years

Text

Rated E for Extra Petty.

Hey y’all! Here’s a random, little one-shot loosely based on this meme I saw a while back. Everytime I listen to Fantasia, it’s all I can think about lol.

Pairing: Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens x Black, Dark-Skin, Plus Size Reader. (Always💛)

Summary: No amount of 2K or Anime is a match for you when you’re on your bullshit.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Cussing. Use of N-word. Corny jokes. Reader being a major brat. Mention of smut. Erik being...a nigga lmao.

A/N: Song is “Free Yourself” by Fantasia, just in case someone doesn’t know it.

Also, I love me some Tasia so any shade towards her singing is all in jest. 😉

——

“IF YOU DON’T WANT ME, THEN DON’T TALK TO MEEE...”

Erik paused the TV and placed his elbows on his knees. His right leg bounced up and down aggressively. Sighing loudly, he threw down his PS4 controller and laid all the way back on the bed. You’d been blasting that same song for the last 20 minutes. Erik tried to tune it out but between Fantasia’s loud ass crooning and your off-key screeching, he couldn’t take it. He let out another breath as you continued to scream out ad-libs about how ain’t shit he was.

Let you tell it, this moment of supreme pettiness is what Erik deserved. You had come home late from work, tired and worn out from being around d’wights all day. All you wanted to do was curl up with your boyfriend and watch Love & Basketball. But Erik was in the middle of a game of NBA 2K19 and didn’t want to stop for your impromptu movie night.

EARLIER...

“What you mean not right now?” You asked with an attitude. You had changed out of your work clothes and into a black crop top t-shirt and black fitted shorts. Your big, kinky hair was pulled into a high puff.

“Baby, I’m trying to finish this game. We can watch the movie afterwards. Aight?”

“But I want to watch it now.”

“Well, I’m busy right now. Just watch it without me, if you can’t wait.”

“But we always watch Love & Basketball together, you whined as you poked your bottom lip out. “You don’t wanna hang out with me?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You sauntered over to him and sat on his lap, straddling his legs. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gently played with the tail of his black du-rag.

“Then why not now?” You cooed into his ear.

Erik groaned lightly as you ran your nails against the back of his neck. “Look, I’ll only be like an hour. I’m sure you can find a way to entertain yourself until I’m done.”

You squinted your eyes at him. Usually, you had Erik wrapped around your finger. Your whine alone would have him rubbing on your booty all night. And a whole lot more. But this time, he wasn’t letting up. Your pout quickly turned into a frown. You hopped out of his lap and stood in front of the TV.

“So this dumb ass game is more important than me?”

“Y/N.“

“Nah, that’s basically what your saying. You rather play this shit than be with me. I can read between the lines, Erik.”

“Girl, you trippin’ right now. Chill out.”

“Fuck chill! All the times I’ve sat up and watched those stupid ass anime shows with you?

“Stupid?” He stood up, cocking his neck back in offense. His gray sweats hung low on his hips. “I thought you said you were starting to like anime.”

“I don’t even understand that shit! I watch it because its something you like to do. But, do you return the favor? Nooo. You rather sit in front of this fucking TV and play some wack ass game made for 14 year olds! Witcho cornball ass!”

Erik’s eyes bulged. He clenched his jaw and moved towards you.

“Watch ya mouth, princess. I don’t know who you think you talking to but I’m not sum nigga in the street. You need—“

“I need to what, Erik?” You cut him off, placing your hands on you hips and moving closer to him. His large frame towered over yours but you still managed to look him right in the eye.

“You know, maybe I should get me one of those other niggas. I’m sure they would love to do much more than watch a movie with me.”

Erik’s eye twitched. You knew the thought of you entertaining some one else would get under his skin.

“You better calm all that down before we have a fucking problem,” he lowered his face to yours. “I mean that shit.”

“Then turn the game off,” you whined again, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hell no.” Erik mirrored your actions. Normally, he’d let you have your way by now, but you were being more of a brat than usually. Plus, you had disrespected his favorite genre and game. No fucks were given on his end at this point.

The two of you glared at each other for a minute.

Erik huffed and rolled his eyes, “I’m not finna do this with your bratty ass. Take that bullshit somewhere else, bruh.”

He sat down on the bed and grabbed his controller, starting his game back up.

You stood there, burning a hole in the side of his head as he continued to play like you weren’t in the room.

“Ok,” you hissed, “OH-Kay.”

You stomped out, slamming the bedroom door on purpose.

—

Erik heard the song start over again.

“If your unhappy then your free to go onnn. Cause I don’t want you stayin’ arounndd, if I make you so miseraablee,” you and Fantasia sang brashly.

“IF YOU DON’T WANT ME THEN DON’T TALK TO MEE,”

“That’s FUCKING it.” He said as he shot up from the bed.

He swung open the bedroom door and stomped down the hall.

“I swear to GOD...” he murmured to himself as he made his way to the living room.

You were sprawled out on the couch, one leg thrown over the back while you leaned your head on the arm and sang. An open bottle of wine and half filled wine glass sat on the coffee table. You eyes drifted to Erik as he barged into the room. He was silently fuming; his naked, scarred chest heaving in and out. You gave him a dry look and grabbed your glass, taking a long sip.

“This love thing is fuull of scandaaaals, so you’re WELCOME TO WAALK.”

“Yo. Kill all this fucking noise, ma.” Erik said, pulling on his sweats.

You gave a him a stank once over, rolled your eyes, and kept singing.

“If you don’t WANT me, then dont TALK to me.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You being mad childish right now.”

You turned the volume up on your speaker.

“Then GO ahead AND free yourSEELF.”

Erik clenched his jaw, “All this over a damn movie?”

You glared at him and walked towards the kitchen. He was right behind you, huffing and puffing the whole way. You opened the pantry and grabbed a big bag of kettle popcorn. You strolled over to the kitchen island and sat down on one of the stools.

“Look, stop all this and I’ll watch the stupid movie with you.”

“Time and time again, I tried it over and over,” you sang between bites. “But the love I had inside, has died.”

“Come on now, this shit is ridiculous,” he moved to your side of the island and sat down, trying to grab at you. You pulled back and perched yourself up on your knees to sit over him.

“Go. Ahead. To. Someone. Else.” You chanted, tapping your index finger into his forehead with every word.

Erik grabbed your wrist, getting more agitated with you, “I’m warning you, Y/N. You better stop.”

You kissed your teeth and snatched your hand back. With all the dramatic energy you could muster, you threw your head back and your arms out, bellowing out with the screaming songstress.

“IF YOOUU DON’T WAANNT MEEE THEN DON’T TAALK TO MEEE. GOOO AHEAAD AND FREEEE YOURSEEELFFF!”

Erik winced at your screaching. You threw your hand up at him and shook your head side to side.

“I had to take it there, I had take it there. Cause I’m TIRED.“

He flared his nostrils at you. That right leg started bouncing again.

“IF YOU DON’T WANT ME, THEN DON’T TAALK TO M—.”

“Goddamnit, Y/N!” Erik yelled. He quickly scooped you up and walked you over to the couch. You yelped as he plopped both your bodies down and leaned over you, a scowl on his face.

You blinked up at him innocently. His eyes scanned over your chubby, brown face. He sighed, still sneering a little.

“Why do I even put up with your ass?”

Fantasia continued to croon in the background as you stared back at him, batting your eyelashes.

“Cause you love me...” You said with a shy smile.

Erik let out a soft chuckle and dropped his head. He was lowkey happy to hear you say something besides those damn song lyrics. Reaching around you, he turned the speaker off.

He shifted both of your bodies sideways and laid behind you. He snuggled his head in your neck, causing you to whimper a little.

“Cue the damn movie,” Erik said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You giggled, grabbing the remote off the table and turning on the TV. The opening scene of Love & Basketball faded onto the screen. You moved your head to face his and smiled, running your nails through his beard.

“You are something the fuck else, I swear.” He mumbled as he peppered kisses up your neck and along your face. He captured your lips into a full kiss as he pressed himself against your backside. “Spoiled ass.”

“E...” you moaned, pushing back against him.

Erik pulled back and sent a hard smack to your ass, causing you to squeal.

��I’ma watch this shit with you now but I got something for that ass later on,” he said with a smirk while he rubbed the sting away. “You ain’t really start singing yet.”

“The neighbors gon learn my name today or whatever Trey Songz said.”

——

Alright, I hope y’all got a good little chuckle out of this.

Let me know what ya think! 😁

#killmonger #killmonger x reader #killmonger x OC #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x oc #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens imagine #erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger imagine #erik stevens #killmonger fanfic #killmonger fanfiction #black panther fanfic #black panther imagine #black panther #michael b jordan

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loveislattes · 4 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet - Chase Brody

These are all personal opinions of mine. Of course, others might see it differently, but I hope you all enjoy the read no matter what!

(Re-post! The original got removed because I had an actual sex gif in here, so now there’s just a link!)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Chase is the biggest cuddle bug known to man. Whether you were having a rough go at it or making love, he wants to be sure you’re sated and comfortable. From kissing to gentle muscle massages, you’ll never want. If he can’t fall asleep himself, he’ll at least stay until he’s sure your out for the count, and tuck you in after.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Chase’s favorite body part of himself would probably be his arms or his abs. He works out to keep in shape and he’s mighty proud of it. He absolutely melts when you tell him how much you enjoy his body.

His favorite body part on you is a tie between your smile and your eyes. He swears he can see your soul shining in your eyes when you make eye contact with him, and he can literally get lost in his thoughts when you smile at him. He loves being the one to make you smile and laugh.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves coming inside you. He understands that certain situations might not always make it possible, and he’ll use protection for those occurrences, but if he had his way, he’d be able to fill you with his cum every time.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a darker side he doesn’t like to let out often. With how often the fans come at him for being Anti’s puppet, he tries to keep any dark thoughts or wishes to himself, but sometimes he just has to let loose. Those nights end with consensual bruises, bite marks, and aching bodies for you both.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s pretty experienced. From his prior marriage and some random hookups before, he knows quite well how to please his lover. He’s also eager to learn new things or your favorite things in order to make it that much better for you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

Missionary, where he can bury his face in your neck and press every inch of his body as close to you as possible! ChaseFavoritePositionGif

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Chase is always a bit of a goofball, so you can expect him to be just the same in bed as in that he doesn’t take himself too seriously. He likes to keep it fun, enjoyable, and loving.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Chase keeps himself trimmed up.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

While he’s the master of keeping the situation light, he’s also a pro at letting the passion flow between the two of you. He’s always sure to remind you just how much he loves you and feels blessed to be with you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He has quite the high sex drive but knows that you need time for yourself as well. He jacks off whenever there’s more than a day or two between getting to have you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink to the max! He loves hearing what he does to you. Whether it’s just screams or even literal praises, he eats it all up like candy.

Breeding/Impregnation kink! Even if you can’t/won’t get pregnant with him, he loves to act out the scene. The thought of filling you with his cum and fantasizing that you could actually become pregnant with his baby turns him on like no other.

Submission! While he can be dominant at times, he most often loves to be a bit more submissive. It’s not always to the point where he’s on his knees begging you, but more so letting you take the reigns and take what you need from him.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Chase is up for anywhere as long as he is able to take his time with you. One of his favorites outside of the bedroom is the kitchen counter or the kitchen table. Something about it is taboo and he loves it.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Praise, praise, praise! Reminding him how good he made you feel last night, complimenting him on how good he looks that day, telling him how proud you are of how hard he works, anything of the sort just perks him up… in more ways than one.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Dub/NonCon. He wants and needs pure, open, honest communication of your consent and what you’re okay with.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving. While he loves receiving, something about pleasing his lover is better than any pleasure he could get.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

It varies. He enjoys both a quick hard fuck and slow gentle lovemaking, depending on his mood and the day.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He prefers having more time, but he’s not averse to a quickie in the car or the back of the office if time is short.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Chase is open to experimenting! As long as it doesn’t involve either of you actually getting hurt or anything where you can’t give full consent, he’s all about it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is pretty average. 1-2 rounds is about his max before a good rest.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns toys for both himself and you. He’s not ashamed to have an interest in being pleasured in different ways and is very accommodating for you to do the same.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chase is a god damn tease! He knows he’s hot and he knows how he affects you. A little wink and a slap to your ass are very common when he’s around you, and he’s always stealing away a few moments to whisper a dirty sentence or two in your ear if he has the time.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Loud boi! Just as he likes hearing it, he’s big on giving praise. He’s not one to silence his moans or screams when you’re blowing his mind.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Chase has voiced a possible interest in a threesome in the future. He hasn’t put any plans in concrete yet, but he’s said he’s willing to try with another female or male as long as your willing. He’s researched (and by that, I mean watched porn of course) the topic and loves how satisfied the participants end up being.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Chase is pretty average, but a bit thicker than normal with a bit of an up curve. He fills you just right.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is quite high. He’d be happy to have sex twice a day if there is time, but he’s able to hold out at least a day or two before he feels the urge to jack off between sessions.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He usually falls asleep quite easily after making sure you’re happy and comfortable.

#chase #smut #dad boi #alphabet #chase brody/reader

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the-friendly-anonymous · 4 years

Text

Interview

(A story based on my fusion of the Host and Jameson Jackson! Enjoy!)

You knock on the wooden door, the house looking barely unkempt. It looks like the plant life around the structure has started taking over the panels of the home, but yet, it’s organized, almost ornate. How could your favorite author live in this state?

The windows show no light, and with the sun setting you’d figure the house would be at least a little lit. But no, not the case. You start to feel uneasy, and knock again on the door, ignoring the static starting to build in the back of your head.

Where is he? It’s not too late, definitely not a time for dinner or even sleep. You try to call out his name, but your voice gets caught in your throat, and suddenly the static gets louder and louder.

The door swings open, and the static stops. His red and blue pair of eyes looks down at you, his golden suit glistening a little in the dimming sun, his tie draped around his neck. He studies you a bit, and then smiles, his cheeks unusually a little red.

“H-Hello.” You finally managed to croak. He’s really here! “I need to interview someone for a project, do you mind, it won’t take long.”

Suddenly the static snaps back in with a large crack and pop. You don’t see his mouth move, but you hear his voice. “Gladly.”

You’re a little bit too in shock to fully register what had happened. He just… talked without moving his lips? How is that possible? The static however drowns your worries. It’s… possible, yeah, it’s possible. You step inside the house and the door closes with his hand pushing it back into its frame.

The house itself feels more like a library, which would make sense, he is a writer after all. It’s wooden all over, except for halfway up the walls. There it’s decorated with an olive green wallpaper with ornate designs. ‘Pretty,’ you think. He walks ahead of you down a hallway and that’s when you notice that the windows outside displayed the truth: there’s no lights on in the house. The hallway your favorite author starts to walk down looks like it leads into pitch blackness. But the cracks and pops you hear in your ears are saying it’s safe. You can walk down, you’ll be okay… You nervously swallow regardless and follow after him.

Eventually you have to rely on the sound of his footsteps to figure out where to go. You keep a hand on the wall just in case you feel a sudden turn before your feet walk into a wall. He pauses and then he turns, as your right ear mainly catches the sound of the gentle clomps of his shoes. You look in that direction and notice there’s a small light emanating from a room. Able to see his silhouette, you take your hand off the wallpaper and follow after him.

Once you enter the room you feel a sense of general coziness. Maybe it’s because of the warm lighting, or the scene of books lining shelves upon shelves against the wall. Perhaps it’s the smell of what you see is the eventual fireplace illuminating the room; it reminds you of a campfire. There’s a desk against a wall with a wooden chair, and that’s when you notice there’s paper and pens scattered about. He writes all of his works by hand? You feel the phone in your pocket and your brow furrows a little. You both live in a world of technology, wouldn’t it be easier for him to write his stories on a computer? Then you pause again. Why didn’t you use your flashlight to light your way down the hallway? … Huh. Oh right, you just simply trusted him right? Yeah, that was it. You look to the author and he’s sat himself down onto a leather chair across from the fireplace. There’s another leather chair as well, with a glass and wooden-framed table between the seats. He gestures to the opposing seat and the static seems to give you a numbing feeling, as you obediently sit down. He smiles at you once more. “Shall we get started?”

“Y-Yes!” You reply, and suddenly you fumble to grab your phone out of your pocket. He… He didn’t move his mouth again. You swear you heard him speak. You manage to pull your phone out and pull out the voice recording app you have on your phone. He then raises a hand and you look up to him, that smile unwavering.

“It’s okay… Relax.” You hear him say, and with that the static grows louder, it even seeps into the corners of your vision.

“Alright…” You mumble, as you feel your body grow heavy. Suddenly the leather chair feels really comfortable, the warm heat of the fireplace inviting and it’s crackling sounds pleasing to the ear. You feel... relaxed, at ease. You start the app and begin to speak. “Hello author Glass Eyes, and thank you for participating in this interview.” He gives a curt nod in reply. “The main reason why I’m interviewing you today is because I was assigned to reach out to the person I look up to the most, and ask them questions involving their life and how they believe they’ve impacted others.” You smile back at him as you fidget a little. “Basically to interview my hero of sorts.” His eyes widened a little, surprised at your reasoning. Maybe he’s not used to others calling him that? “I wouldn’t go the lengths to consider me your biggest fan, but I like to imagine myself as one of them!” You chuckle a little to yourself before clearing your throat. “Alright! Let’s begin!” You think back to one of the questions you had in your mind. “To start off, for those who aren’t familiar with you, what do you do?”

Glass Eyes taps the leather chair as he looks to the fireplace. Then the sound of loud crackles and pops that reminds you of old recordings fills your ears, but yet you manage to still hear him as he eventually replies. “I’m an author of sorts, specializing in short stories and novels. I exclusively write in the horror genre, looking mainly into the psyche of others and their eventual breakdowns to highlight how much of a species we can tolerate.”

His voice is comforting somehow amongst all the hurtful sounds that clash with what you hear. You grit your teeth to just bear the pain, and then turn it into a forced smile as he looks back to you. The recording should be able to get what he’s saying, you’re hearing his words after all. “Do you consider what you do impactful to others, such as myself?” You ask him, relaxing a little as the comforting sounds of the static come back. It’s becoming a little harder to see him.

He thinks a little as his gaze avoids you again, and the painful cracks and pops come back once more. “I’d say so yes, if we were to avoid the simple company reviews I get. I get a lot of letters from fellow followers of mine, saying how much they like my works or how it’s inspired them.”

Your ears start to slightly ring from all of the harsh sounds. They hurt, but you can tolerate it. You grip the leather chair’s arm and exhale slightly through gritted teeth. He looks back to you and the static grows that you find yourself coming to rely upon. You take a breath before asking him the next question. “Why do you write horror specifically?”

Once again his eyes look down and the painful old recording noises return. You grip your leg as it gets louder and worse, you swear it almost feels like your ears are exploding. Your head dips a little and you lean a little to the side for support against the armrest. He takes his time, and honestly you’re starting to wish he’d reply sooner. No, he’s your favorite author, and he’s spending his valuable time for your silly interview, give him all the time he needs. “Because I find it interesting. This ties into my first answer a little, but I like to explore what we can tolerate as human beings. It’s fun to see what exactly frightens us, and how we can further find more fears to write about.” He finally looks back up to you and the static grows louder, but he notices your state. “Are you okay?”

You nod as you relax. As long as he looks at you, you’re okay, right? You exhale, loosening your grip on the chair and your leg. You mumble a little trying to find the words before remembering what you’re going to ask next. “Do you get to meet fans often? Or are you more secluded and prefer to keep to yourself?” Glass Eyes looks away again and you cry out a little in pain as the sounds you’ve grown to despise swell up and lash you. But he doesn’t look back to you, at least that’s what you can tell. When did your vision become so fuzzy? You try to catch his gaze but he won’t look at you. You need that comforting gaze, the sound of static that’s become your lifeline by this point. He has a smile on his face, that must mean he has his answer right? But why won’t he tell you? Why is he waiting so much to tell you? “T-Tell me please…” You spit out. You blink and suddenly he’s staring directly at you, but… You scream as his eye sockets have become empty, blood dripping down his cheeks and off his face. You blink again and he’s staring back at you, his face concerned, eyes back to normal.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, standing up a little. Gray fuzz has completely screened your vision, and you can’t see his concerned face. At least, you assume it’s concerned. All you can hear is static, like the TV channels that have no shows playing on them. It’s overwhelming.

“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine…” You then pause. You don’t recall telling him your name. You look up at him as the fuzzy sounds help you breathe. You can only rely on that sound now. He has to keep looking at you. You grip both of the armrests even harder, and stare him down.

Glass Eyes stares back at you, blinking a little. Each time he blinks you wince, it’s like shots keep getting fired in your ears, the bullets exploding and scratching your ears open from the inside. “You don’t look like you’re in a state to keep interviewing, let’s do this another day.”

“No!” Your voice cracks as it peaks in volume, your eyes starting to strain. The fireplace suddenly feels cold, the leather uncomfortable, it's starting to smell dusty and dirty in here. “I’m fine, I swear I’m fine.” You’re afraid to blink.

Glass Eyes closes his eyes in thought and you scream as the pain gets even worse. He doesn’t look back at you. “No you’re not. Let’s postpone it for a later date.” His words have transformed to like someone clawing at glass, and you cover your ears and fall to the ground. You huddle up in a ball as tears start to fall down your face.

“MAKE IT STOP!!!” You scream. You take a glance to look up at him but he still has his eyes closed. It’s so hard to see, you can barely tell he’s not looking at you. The static is too strong in your vision.

“Make what stop?” He asks, still refusing to look at you, his tone now empty, lacking emotion. It’s like any sense of empathy or care he had towards you has left. He then walks over and puts something on the table that’s littered with papers, before grabbing a cane that’s leaning the side, and then he returns to your crumpled form on the ground. He leans down, using his cane as support.

“LOOK AT ME! Look at me PLEASE!” You scream out before finally looking up to him, and you fly back into the chair in fright. His eyes… They’re gone again. He’s looking at you but the sound won’t stop. He slowly stands back up and makes his way over to you. “What… What are you doing?!” You wail, afraid of what’s to happen. He leans over and stares directly into your eyes, or at least what you assume it would be if he had any.

“I’m looking at you aren’t I? That’s what you asked. Is this a question for the interview?” You’re so shaken up and scared you find yourself unable to reply. You feel a thick liquid start to drip from your ears, down your chin to your neck. You bring a slow hand to find it’s now stained red. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real. “Now do you mind if I ask you a question Y/N?” You’re too frightened to question how the interview’s been turned onto you. You slowly nod, worried what might happen if you say no. You expect to hear him speak to you through cracks and pops, but you can’t hear what he says. All you hear is the eventual fade to static, and your eyes completely gray over, displaying dashed lines and spots of black, gray and white. Your body goes numb and you lie down on the chair, now a lifeless ragdoll. Glass Eyes then stands back and looks down at you sprawled on his chair. He goes silent, before muttering to himself in his head. “Some hero huh.”

#tefawrites #markiplier egos #the host #jacksepticeye egos #jameson jackson #tw blood

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starlightsoulwriting · 4 years

Text

Constellations Against Skin

n.t. “You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

Three: Homecoming

There were lungs on the table.

Lungs that were outside of their body. On a steel table.

Man, Dean fucking hated autopsies.

"Are you alright, Agent Mason?" The coroner, Dr. Sinha, looked at him, concerned. As if laying organs out on a table was normal or even remotely okay.

"I'm fine," He grunted, looking away from the steel tray where the nigh-completely incinerated lungs sat, instead focusing on a very peculiar black-brown stain on the floor. "Keep going."

The woman shrugged before gesturing at the body. Dean wasn’t sure if her subtle accent was British or not, but her words sounded airy coming out of her mouth. "As I was saying," She squished her fingers into an incision that circled its way around the organs, before peeling them open like butterflied chicken. The inside was basically charcoal, somehow squishy and crumbly at the same time.

And there went Dean’s dinner plans. He could not eat a burger after seeing that.

"Cause of death is pretty obvious. It's like someone poured lighter fluid into his lungs and lit him up. There was a sustained flame inside this man's body. Smoke inhalation doesn’t look like this." She turned and inspected the body on the other steel table. Her dark eyebrows furrowed, like she was convinced that if she looked hard enough she would find answers Dean knew weren’t there. "But there's no outward signs of any trauma. No wounds on his skin at all."

"Is there anything else off here, besides the obvious?" Sam asked, poking at a charred lung with a gloved hand. Dean smacked his hand away, giving him a look and a quiet ‘what the hell’. Sam just kicked him in the back of the knee while the doctor was turned away, nearly making him fall on the floor. Sam, of course, composed himself before Dr. Sinha turned back around with a blood sample, leaving Dean looking like an idiot.

Dr. Sihna just ignored the commotion, thank god, raising her eyebrows with a smug smile instead. In her hand was a vial that normally held blood, but this sample was obviously super fucked up. "You mean like this?"

The blood was green.

“Excuse me?” Sam’s jaw went a little slack, eyes widening. “That’s… Is that blood?”

Sinha nodded. “Straight from Mr. Doe himself.”

“Wait,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He was too tired for this shit. “I thought that was just a Star Trek thing.”

“Star Trek? Seriously?” Sam looked like he was about to start making fun of him but Dr. Sinha spoke up before he could.

“It’s not just a Star Trek thing, no,” She peeled off her gloves and handed him a file-folder to look through. “Sulfhemoglobinemia. It’s rare - I’ve never encountered it in the field, so it was quite the shock when I went to do a tox screen and it came out green.” She gestured to the report, which Dean started leafing through. It was a lot of medical terms and a graph with one very tall spike labeled ‘Sulfur.’ “It’s caused by sulphur, either from direct exposure or medication, binding to hemoglobin. The amount in his system is off the charts. He should have died weeks ago.” She put the vial back in the fridge, pulling on a new pair of gloves.

“There’s no signs of cyanosis - oxygen deprivation. It leaves skin blue, normally. Of course, not in this case.” Dr. Sinha pulled the man’s lips back to reveal that his gums were still very much pink. “I can’t wait to write this up. Strangest body I’ve ever found.” She looked at Dean again and winked. “You’ve snagged a hell of a case, Mulder.”

“What can I say?” Dean gave her a lopsided, flirty grin back. “I like a good mystery.”

“Well, let me know if you solve this one.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a murmur. “It’ll look better for when I publish.”

“We’ll do our best, Doctor,” Sam started, grabbing on to Dean’s arm lightly as if to drag him out. “Thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome. It’s been interesting.”

Sam let go of his arm once they were out in the hallway. “We still think this guy’s just the meatsuit? I’ve never seen something like that.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, the sulphur might’ve just built up in his system for however long the demon’s been wearing him. I think. If that’s how it works.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a long time,” Sam scoffed.

“No kidding.”

A shrill, ringing phone screamed in Dean’s pocket, breaking the silence of the ME’s office. He answered just as they walked through the exit and into the overcast, windy day outside.

"Hello?"

"Dean?" You rasp through the phone. "Bobby and I are finished up at the hospital, we’re heading out."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" You heard him ask.

“I mean, yes,” You sigh and carefully tug on an oversized hoodie from your luggage - all your things were thankfully still at the motel, including your car, which was a huge weight off your chest. That car was your baby. It’d been a hell of a time to restore. “But I can’t stay here when we don’t know where Alioth is.”

“That’s fair,” Dean said. “Any other reason for the call, or is this just a heads up that y'all are ditching us?”

“Yeah, actually.” You hum and grab a filthy shirt from your personal effects and study it - the one you wore the night of the attack. It’d been bothering you since the nurse brought it back to you. Running your fingers along an odd oily patch in the fabric, your fingers were left tingling, almost like they were half-asleep. “Was there any oil at the crime scene? My clothes have giant blotches of the stuff.”

There was a moment of silence as he thought. “I think so. It was an abandoned factory.”

“This stuff is just super weird.” You slash a scrap of fabric from the shirt with your pocket knife and shove it in a ziplock, the feeling of menthol and static lingering in your fingertips. You might be able to figure out what it was later. “It feels like old magic. Not sure what or why, though.”

“What does that even mean?" He muttered into the phone and you heard Sam say something. A sigh. "There were some spell ingredients on the floor. Probably picked some up.”

“The demon was doing something shady, huh? What a surprise,” You scoff and mount your crutches, glancing back at the shabby motel room for the last time. Good fucking riddance.

“I don’t know how many answers you two are going to find, though.” You say softly, unsure if there was even anything left to find. You didn’t even know if any evidence they could find would even matter. You were content to forget everything that happened in this stupid town. What good would finding out what happened do, even, besides tell you whether Alioth had been exorcised or not.

Bobby was going to drive you to his house in your, leaving the truck in the motel lot. He’d already helped you pack your meager duffel full of your laundry and you were completely ready to leave.

You left the clothes from the crime scene in the trash where they belonged. They were absolutely ruined, and even if they hadn't been, you would’ve never been able to bring yourself to wear them again. “It might be a good idea to just fall back to Bobby’s and try to find the Colt. Solve both of our Demon Problems.”

The was silence and shuffling, and you heard the muffled voices of Dean and Sam talking - or were they arguing? After a moment Dean’s voice rang through the phone again. “If we don’t find anything more by tomorrow we’ll head back to Bobby's.”

“Alright.” You carefully navigate into the passenger seat of your Candy-Apple Red Mustang, shooing away Bobby’s attempts to help you in. No way we're you accepting that. You were a stubborn bitch, and he’d already helped enough just by loading up all your shit. “I’ll be looking for demon omens in the meantime.”

Dean sighed. “You really should take it easy, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” You rolled your eyes, a smile growing on your face against your will. It was kind of cute that he cared, even if you had the feeling he would’ve said that to anyone that’d just gotten out of the hospital. But it was nice. “And if some punk put you in the hospital you would be fine letting everyone else do all the work?” You dig, knowing how most hunters, including yourself, could be about self care - absolutely horrible at it.

“Awfully bold of you to assume I can be hurt.” He shot back. Oh, you could practically hear the arrogant, uneven grin on his face. Cheeky.

“My mistake,” You chuckle before wincing as it moves the bandages rubbing against your ribs. “I didn’t know you’re secretly Achilles.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He said, the pet name making you feel things you weren’t quite ready to deal with. A blush worked its way across your cheeks despite yourself. “I don’t have a weakness.”

Bobby rose his eyebrows at your stupid, lovestruck grin before he started your car. You ignored him, smiling still. “I’ll keep that in mind, Winchester.”

“Please do,” His voice was low and rough in your ear. God, that was everything. “See you two in a few days, then.”

“I look forward to it.” You said, and you really meant it.

The line went dead.

There was silence in the car until you reached over and turned on the radio. Your favorite music started blaring, and Bobby grimaced at the volume before he turned it down.

More silence. You yawned and settled in for the long drive home.

Huh. It’d been a while since you’ve called that place home.

“So…” He started, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes before turning back to the road. He looked awfully smug, which was never good, “Dean, huh?”

Oh, god, this was not happening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” He frew the syllables out, as if to rub in your face how much he didn’t believe you. “You haven't had moon-eyes like that since you left that Natalie girl in Wisconsin.”

“Bobby...” You groan. He was not going to bring that stupid prom stunt into this, was he? “That was like ten years ago.”

He hummed all too knowingly. “Exactly.”

Shithead.

You would never admit that he’s right, of course.

“Hey, (Y/n)...” He started, voice almost hesitant. “You’re sure this all has nothing to do with… whatever the hell you were doing those three years away, right? We’re sure it’s Alioth?”

Ah, shit, he went there. And your stomach just lodged itself into your throat.

“Yeah, Bobby. It was definitely Alioth. You heard what the boys said.” You forced out through strangling anxiety rising in your chest. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears and made everything else feel quiet.

He went quiet for a moment before he sighed, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?” His voice was low and exasperated, and also soft at the same time, somehow, as if he was afraid of scaring you away. “You were missing, (Y/n). For three entire, god-damn years, and you don’t expect me to want to know where you were? To not be bothered? I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!”

“You know I can’t talk about it,” You said, curling into your seat more, facing the window instead of him, suddenly nauseous . You couldn’t look at him now. Not like this. If you looked him in the eyes your resolve might crumble away into nothing.

“What, you show up on my doorstep last year, half-dead and catatonic, after years of nothing, and you can’t tell me jack shit?”

“No,” You murmured, hiding as best you could when sharing a car with someone, covering your head with your arms. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. You shut them tight against the tears. You were not going to cry. You promised yourself you would never cry over Him. Him or anyone else from New York. They didn’t deserve your tears. “I can’t.” Your voice cracked embarrassingly, but you didn’t care. You just wanted this conversation to be over.

Bobby let out a frustrated sigh and you knew that was the end of it. Thank god. You wiped at your face with your good hand, trailing off the tears that never fell, and stared steadfastly at the trees outside the window. Every once in a while you passed farms instead of woods.

The quiet hung in the car like an oppressive fog, stopping both of you from trying to speak. You didn’t bother complaining when Bobby changed the music sporadically, even if it drove you nuts. It wasn't worth it.

You had a pillow you jacked from the hospital under your head, and the gentle white noise of tires on asphalt had you drifting deeper and deeper into the veil of sleep.

You felt so tired. Maybe Dean was right. You should rest.

A nap sounded really nice…

…

A clear sky in the middle of summer. Sunny meadows and flying kites. Children laughing and chasing each other in the park.

Gentle fingers carding through your hair as you lay your head on a steady chest. Soft grass underneath you.

A warm voice.

"You don't have to apologize to me, veleshenai. I'm the one who should apologize."

The sound of wings and ancient whispers carried along the wind. Familiar and strange, powerful and soft. Warm, like the feeling of sun on your skin.

"I should’ve gotten to you sooner. But you're safe now."

A babbling brook somewhere in the distance. Songbirds. The smell of grass and pine and honeysuckles.

"It'll be alright. You can rest now. I'll watch over you."

You could stay there forever.

…

You startled awake when the car jolted against a pothole.

Any memories you'd just formed faded away into obscurity with the rest of your forgotten dreams, leaving nothing behind but tinnitus and a lingering, heartbreaking echo of warmth in your soul. The more you tried to remember the more the feelings and sounds fell through your fingers like grains of sand.

By the time you sat up in your chair it was completely gone.

It was past dark in South Dakota, your Shelby’s headlights the only bright spot in the darkness of a lonely back road. Dark trees rushed past your window at blinding speeds, blurring into a solid green monolith lining the highway.

The first thing you felt was that everything fucking hurt. You bit back a groan, swallowing your painkiller without bothering to get water.

It better kick in fast.

“Hope you slept well, kid.” Bobby's voice echoed strangely against your ringing ears and felt like your head was being stabbed through. “We’re almost back at my place.”

You just nodded at him, looking forward to a bed you recognized. Bobby’s guest bed was cheap, and lumpy, and he refused to let you buy him a new one, but it was home. You smiled weakly. “I can order some delivery if you want me to. It’s the least I can do.”

He waved you off. “You know I hate that. I can handle my damn self.”

You don't know what else you expected.

You pulled up to his property not long later. The sight of an old made your stomach churn. You always felt bad going down the driveway of the yard and seeing once-beautiful cars left to rust. How many memories got eroded away by the wear of time.

But the junkyard gave you isolation when you needed it - it’d been home to more than one of your poorly thought-out, cocky shoot-offs with any and every hunter you could rope into it. When you were sixteen you shot some poor sap in the leg . And even though it had been a ricochet, you weren’t allowed to sneak off with other guests for a year.

You’d been alone by then, always on the move. But Bobby's had always stayed home, no matter how long it far you strayed. It was worlds better than the group home, even with constant talk of killing monsters and drunk hunters and crazy stories. Here you could afford to be yourself, without the cruel judgment if your peers. Just Bobby.

You were free - even with him shoving GED courses in your face nonstop. That was just about the only real education you’d ever gotten.

The car slowed to a stop in the garage, engine slowing down and then going quiet. You pulled yourself onto your crutches and out of the car, refusing to your spinning head stop you from walking by yourself. So you hobbled up the half-rotted wood stairs while Bobby hauled your duffel bag into his guest room. Even though you’d just slept you were already tired enough to crash, whether it was from the stress of your injuries, your pain meds, or both.

You didn’t have the energy to bring up how many empty alcohol bottles cluttered the tables inside the house. More than usual. Instead, you ate your canned soup in silence, idly looking for abnormal weather patterns on your laptop. Bobby was on the phone catching up on whatever hunter chatter he’d missed in the past two days.

You managed to towel-wash yourself well enough to not feel gross before you maneuvered yourself into the familiar, squeaky mattress in the guest room. Your room in all but name at this point. You pulled the quilts tight over your head and closed your eyes, praying that sleep would take you quickly.

You just needed to get through the next month and a half.

It's funny.

Dean and Sam had probably spent a good amount of their childhood sleeping in this room, too.

It was kind of infuriating, actually - how hard John tried to keep you away from his kids, even when all of you spent an inordinate amount of time at Bobby’s.

How much planning had gone into that? How many last minute plan changes?

A familiar pain rang through your chest. The sting of rejection. You would think you'd be over it by now. After all, you barely even knew him. He'd made sure of that. You'd long since given up chasing the approval of someone who never cared.

But it still hurt.

John thought you were a freak.

Couldn't let his sons be tainted by your mere presence. God forbid you have friends or a sense of safety for once in your life.

You knew the only reason he ever helped you fight Alioth off all those times was because he thought the demon could lead him to Yellow Eyes. Alioth only ever mocked him about that. But you’d wanted the help. You wanted to live.

John saved your life and then dropped you like a sack of potatoes.

Bitch.

…

You slept horribly.

Your stupid casts were all in the stupid way, you couldn't get comfortable for the life of you, every other hour you woke up in burning, throbbing pain, and you were sure that you could feel every last one of your bandages rubbing against your skin.

At 5:46 in the morning you woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. So you gave in and got out of bed, slogging through your new morning routine. You had to brush your teeth sitting down.

At least you could make coffee and toast with one hand.

You sat down on the couch and scrolled through newspaper reports. looking for the standard demonic omens. Cattle mutilations and crop failures. But you also searched for any missing person/arson combos that happened since Saturday.

For a demon, Alioth was extremely flashy when he picked hosts. Always upper-middle class men. Men that had fancy suits to steal and giant, overly expensive houses to light on fire.

You took only a small amount of comfort in the fact you found nothing.

---

Sam and Dean found nothing.

There were no leads. No cameras anywhere near the factory where you'd been found. The body, while nuts, went nowhere. Even going by the crime scene again yielded nothing but the soot outline of a triangle shaped knife.

All they could really do was take photos of the blood sigil and gather some of the spell ingredients from the floor. Get the evidence back to you and Bobby, because the two of you had time to research wacko demon magic rituals, and he had monsters to kill.

On one hand, they could get back to taking cases that might actually go somewhere. Save people from spooks that were still around.

On the other, now they knew that there were more sociopath demons running around killing people. It didn’t exactly feel very good knowing the bastards were escalating. All the talk about a war coming and these 'special kids.' It left a hell of a pit in Dean's stomach.

He was left with the lingering feeling that all of this had been a big waste of time. He got to meet a hunter his own age, which was cool - they were few and far between, but that was about it. Everything was dead ends. They had no idea where that damn demon ran off to.

He couldn’t fault Bobby for dragging them out there, though. If the thing had still been there he would’ve needed backup.

He was still disappointed he didn't get to punch the bastard in his smarmy fucking face though.

Was he projecting? Maybe.

Did it matter? Not really.

He just drove, and listened to music, and didn't let his thoughts linger on things like that.

He got to Bobby’s place before Sam did. Since you couldn’t drive, there had been a bit of musical chairs that ended with his brother driving Bobby’s truck back to the house. Between Dean's lead foot and the Impala's engine he had a solid hour or two lead.

And you were arguing when he got there.

“Bobby, I am perfectly able to go to my workshop. You don’t have to bring anything into the damn kitchen.” You were sitting in one of the ratty chairs with your leg propped up on another, all crossed arms and pouting face. The bruises on your face were mostly gone by now, leaving you looking more tired than anything.

A toolbox full of god-knows what sat on the table in front of you. Gungy 1990’s stickers covered the surface almost entirely. Was that Lisa Frank or a just a rainbow? ACDC, NASA, all sorts of other acronyms he didn't understand, and a barely legible Terminator graphic on one side.

“Perfectly able? You can hardly get out of that chair and you think you can go down the rickety stairs to my basement?” Bobby drawled, and let a heavy, metal case thunk onto the dining table next to the tool box. Dean felt the impact rattle in his bones. “No, either you let me help you down the damn stairs, don't start working, or I’m hauling everything else up!”

“Maybe try not having shitty stairs, genius!”

Dean cleared his throat, making you jump in your seat, eyes darting to him in surprise.

Damn, that blush on your face was cute. And you would absolutely kill him if he ever said as much, he just knew it. He tried not to stare at your lips, red from you worrying at them. His stomach did a flip and he had no idea if he was freaked out or, god forbid, smitten.

You still kind of gave him the heebie-jeebies, though. Just a little. But he would ignore it as long as you didn't root around in his brains.

“Need any help?” He gave his signature, charming grin to the both of you.

“Yes!” “No!” The two of you shouted at the same time. You resumed your staring match with Bobby, eyes on fire. Tense silence hung thick in the air and he swore he saw sparks start flying.

A look struck you like you just had an idea.

“Hey, Dean?” You sing-songed in a voice he recognized - the same one he used when he was about to annoy the shit out of Sam. You were about to be a smartass.

“Yeah?” He half-smiled, anticipation like static in his chest.

“D'ya mind helping me downstairs?” You say with a wry smile.

"You're fucking insufferable, kid." Bobby groaned and left the room, leaving you with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Apparently that was exactly how you wanted him to react.

You sti

You stuck your tongue out at his back.

Dean recognized a fellow professional in the Fine Art of Being a Pain in the Ass when he saw one. He respected the hustle.

He sauntered over to you as you wobbled onto your crutches. “So what was all that about?”

You sighed as he walked with you to the half-rotten stairs that caused the argument in the first place. “You have ears.” You grumbled, but relented after his deadpan look. “Fine, fine.” You opened the door to the basement. “He just still acts like I’m a kid, sometimes. I -” You looked away from him and started chewing at your bottom lip again. “I tend to get pissed off when people try and help me too much, okay?”

You apparently decided to throw pride out the window, because you maneuvered yourself to sit at the top of the stairs, before scooting yourself down one stair at a time.

Well, that's one way to do that.

Since you seemed to be determined to do this yourself, he grabbed the toolbox from the table that he assumed belonged to you.

“You two seem close,” He said, more of a question than anything else.

He waited awkwardly at the top of the stairs as you made your way down by yourself.

“Yeah,” You started up again when you made it to the bottom, and Dean followed when you were clear. “I mentioned before that John wanted me away from you two,” You yanked yourself upright using one hand on the bannister. “So when I started pestering him about hunting, he dropped me here. Half the time I was here and the other half I was on hunts with whatever poor sap I annoyed into letting me join them.” You shrugged and mounted your crutches, moving to a workbench in a cozy alcove off to the left. “Mostly badass ladies like Ellen for obvious reasons. But Bobby's taken care of me more than anybody else ever has.”

“He’s good at that, huh?” Dean murmured. It hurt more than he could admit that it was probably true for him, too.

You gave him a soft smile, tension visibly flowing out of your frame. You idly played with a coil of wire from the desk. “Yeah, he is.” He set the toolbox down next to you, and the delighted surprise on your face told him everything he needed to know.

“Thanks.” A chuckle worked its way from your throat and his heart hammered harder than ever in his chest. You had a great smile.

Shit, he was in trouble.

---

“We’re goin’ do-own in an earlier round, and sugar we’re goin’ down swingin’~” You hummed along to the now-familiar track playing on the stereo. You were barely paying attention, though, your focus held tight by the project in your hands.

You'd taken to customizing hunting weapons, charms, spell seals. There was a decent amount of money you could make helping other hunters - at least from the ones that were well off. You weren't stingy, though, if someone needed a charmed knife you would give it to them.

Being forced home-bound for a few weeks could give you some time to build up inventory, and that's exactly what you were doing. The more you made from this, the less you had to win from poker games. And the less attention you drew to yourself, the better.

From the moment you could move your hands they were always doing something, whether it was drawing, or weaving, or, eventually, etching intricate designs into knife blades. You were prone to incorporating spells, runes, and magic into your art, even when that art was made with crayons. It'd been what caught John's attention the week before you met him - your parents had thought you were possessed.

Eventually you gave in and dove into magic-craft headfirst. You were accidentally doing shit anyway, might as well actually get something out of it.

You realized almost immediately that you were super weird. Not that you didn’t already know that. But most of the spells you ‘just knew’ were old magic. Magic that trailed all the way back to biblical times. Enochian seals you knew better than the back of your hand.

The language that flowed from your pen easier than water, it was the same as the one on your ribs - used to be - on your ribs. The words felt powerful and ancient and so, so right that sometimes you ached for a home that was never yours, but was actually your soulmate's. A soulmate you were pretty sure was never going to come.

You might've believed in angels, but you didn't dare believe you were special enough for them to come out of hiding.

You tried not to think about the fact your ribs were blank or that you were going to die alone.

Instead, you worked.

The weapon you engraved was relatively simple, by your standards. You just hoped it worked well. You didn’t have the energy or ingredients to do a more comprehensive spell right then. The seals would do most of the heavy lifting here, though, so it should be fine. You could always do a better ritual later.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and then stopped. When you turned around there was none other than Sam Winchester himself standing at the bottom of the stairs. God, he's tall. "Hey," He smiled, eyes drifting to your work. "We're all here, ready to start planning?"

"Sure," You nodded, not looking up at him. "Just a minute, I gotta finish this inscription." Silver glinted in the low light of the basement as you carved the last few runes into the metal.

"Are those brass knuckles?" Sam quirked his brow, pulling up a chair and sitting next to you - close enough to talk easily without hovering. Humming a positive noise, you held the silver-coated punchers a bit farther away so you could see it better as a whole.

Beside you, Sam's was bouncing his leg up and down, and he played with his own hands. "Um, do you mind if we talk?"

"We are talking." You winked. "But, nah, I don't mind. What's up?"

"I have… a lot of questions." His eyebrows raised and you swore your heart was going to explode. Puppy eyes. "But I guess the first one is how you know my dad. I read some vague stuff about the demon after you in his journal, but there's not much besides that."

You sighed. You knew this was coming sooner or later. "Your dad saved my life when I was a kid," You set down the brass knuckles and kept working. "The night Alioth killed my parents. Worked with him on a few exorcisms once I started hunting. It's not like I knew him all that well." You hissed, harsher than you meant to. You paused a moment, gathering yourself. You huffed before you spoke again. "He didn't like that I could see in his head. If you’re looking to know him better, I'm not the person to ask."

"That actually sounds exactly like him." Sam let out a humorless laugh and rubbed at his temples. "I'm sorry. About your parents."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, chest tightening. "Thanks. I know."

His eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, um, because… powers?" He gestured to his temple.

You chuckled against your rising nerves, nudging his leg with yours "No, because anyone with a sense of decency says that, genius."

An embarrassed, adorable smile grew on his face. "Right."

Hehe, he had dimples.

"I can't hear you right now, by the way, in case you're worried." You set down your etcher before holding up your charmed necklace for him to see - a silver trinity knot you'd enchanted yourself. "This keeps things quiet for me - like earmuffs. It was a bitch to figure out the spellwork for it, though."

"So how does it work? Your... psychic thing, I mean. Not the necklace." He said the word psychic quietly, like he was afraid of it, head tilting in a way that reminded you of a sad labrador.

There's a story here that you're missing, huh? But this was important to him. You didn't need to read his mind to know that.

You closed your eyes and tried to think of a good analogy, hand fisting in the fabric of your sweatpants.

It came to you after a moment.

"Imagine… imagine you're in a cafeteria, right? You hear everyone talking all at once so you have no idea what anybody's saying," You opened your eyes and looked at him again. "But if you're having a conversation with someone right in front of you, you can hear them just fine because you're focused on them. Thoughts are exactly the same way."

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "And when did it start? The mind reading?"

Let's think. All events in your life fell under one of two categories. Before the fire, Alioth, and being orphaned. And after.

You moved back to the brass knuckles, narrowing your eyes at the seals. More wobbly than your usual standard. "Since before my house fire." You murmured, only half paying attention.

Sam made a weird strangled noise next to you and you looked at him with a worried expression. Was he okay?

"You had a house fire?" He choked out before clearing his throat. "And you’re psychic?"

"Yeah.” You raised an eyebrow at that. What did any of it matter? “And?"

He looked at the floor, the workbench, the ceiling. Anywhere but you. "I've recently met a few psychics who had nursery fires when they were six months old. All connected to the yellow-eyed demon."

Ah. That would do it.

"Honey, I was eight." You grabbed his hand in your good one. When he finally met your gaze again his eyes were glassy. "Whatever pattern you're looking for here isn't with me."

"You're sure? It starts with migraines, then there are nightmares, and-"

"Sam." You interrupted, getting his attention back on you.

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Would you like me to make a charm for," You paused a moment, looking at him closely. He obviously felt uncomfortable. You would let him hide under the guise of worrying about a friend for now. "-for your friend?"

"He doesn't hear thoughts." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, voice thick with emotion. "I don't think it would help. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Okay," You said softly, squeezing his hand lightly before you turned back to the bench and put away your tools. "Let me know if he changes his mind."

He nodded and hair fell into his face. "I will."

You couldn't tell if you’d made him feel better or worse.

It only took five minutes for you to hobble up the stairs - enough time for Sam to regain composure. He didn't look like he was about to cry anymore, which was good. He didn't need to be teased by his brother.

"Finally," Dean groaned. "What the hell took you so long?"

You just stared at him.

At the look you and Sam gave him he rolled his eyes and went back to eating the deli sandwich in front of him.

Oh, Bobby made lunch. Nice.

"You know what? I don't even wanna know."

And he said that through mouthfuls of food. Classy.

You rolled your eyes at Dean and sat down at the table. "So anyone got any ideas besides just keeping track of omens?” Your cast made your leg stretch in an odd way, bumping up against Dean’s shins. Amazing. Not awkward at all. “Cause I don't, short of summoning the bastard, which is the last thing we wanna do, really."

Dean shrugged.

Sam shook his head.

"I think that's about all we can do, kid.” Bobby sighed between sips of beer. “Wait for you to recover, keep track of omens, and try to nail down The Colt. Keep hunting in the meantime."

"Guess I'm playing research assistant for the next while." You sighed, before resting your hand on your heart like a lonely maiden from a Shakespeare play. "How am I supposed to live without the sweet, sweet freedom of the open road." You leaned back and put your arm over your eyes. "I will never again know the feeling of asphalt under my tires. My poor, beautiful car is destined to rot in the gara-"

"Oh, don't start this shit again, (Y/n)." Bobby grumbled. Dean laughed quietly, watching the exchange go down with no small amount of amusement.

You stuck out your tongue at Bobby. "You're no fun."

"And you're a drama queen."

"Yeah," You held out your hands in a 'duh' gesture. "Cause it's funny."

He rolled his eyes at you. "And I've been hearing the same spiel for over ten years. Forgive me if I don't think it's funny the ten-thousandth time."

“You love me.”

“Whatever.”

A short silence took over the kitchen as you all ate.

Then Dean looked at you from across the table and raised his eyebrows, rougish smile playing across his stupid, beautiful face. "You said somethin’ about a beautiful car?”

You rested your chin on your palm, smirk playing across your face. “1968 Shelby GT500 KR, original engine, Candy Apple Red. With white Le Mans stripes, of course”

A smooth whistle rolled from his lips and you tried not to stare at them too much. “Badass.”

Sam gave you a grossed out look before he seemed to realize that the conversation was going nowhere, and he left with a short goodbye. Bobby followed, grumbling about ‘You two and your damn cars.’

He probably knew you were about to get competitive.

“Of course, nothing can beat my Impala." Dean smiled again, smug, green eyes catching in the sunlight streaming in from outside. Then he opened his mouth and interrupted your staring. "Black 1967 with a 327 engine.”

"I know, I've been in her a few times," You hum, rapping your fingers on the table. It was John’s car, after all. He’d saved your life in that thing.

And, well, you didn’t mean to brag, but…

“Too bad she’s slower than Phoenix." You touched his arm lightly as if in consolation. The leather of his jacket felt soft against your fingertips. Your voice was low and your eyes were playful. Teasing. "We can clock a 13.7 second quarter-mile. Zero to sixty in 5.5 seconds.”

“But can you match that on the strip?” The cocky look was back on his face, leaning in closer to you and refusing to admit your car had better specs than his. You knew she did - you may or may not have checked before. “Record times don’t matter if you suck.”

“What makes you think I can’t drive, hmm?” You tilted your head, quirking your mouth and raising a brow.

A spark. An idea forming in your mind.

A predatory grin spread across your face in the next second, “You know what? Wanna put your money where your mouth is?” You held out your good hand for him to shake. “Drag race when I get out of this cast?”

“Deal.” He said instantly, the gears turning behind his eyes, expression darkening just as yours had. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants for a day.”

“You’re on, Winchester.” You grabbed his hand, holding his challenging gaze for a moment before giving him a wink. “You better practice while you can. You'll need all the help you can get.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too much, sweetheart.” An arrogant chuckle left his lips. “Baby and I are going to destroy you."

"I don't know," You lean in even farther and at this point you could count the freckles on his face. "Phoenix and I give a pretty good ride."

You could just eat him alive. And he looked like he thought the same of you, lips slightly parted, pupils half-blown. His low voice just about killed you.

A loud thunk startled you out of your trance, moment lost. Was that Bobby in the other room?

God damn it.

A/N: Lol I had to post this before I edit it into oblivion and drive myself insane. Any, as always, I hope you enjoyed! Have a great day, and please give me some feedback! Your guys' comments mean the world to me, thank you so much for reading!

#supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #castiel x reader #soulmate au #supernatural #longfic #chaptered #c.a.s.#x reader

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guzma-reader-hell · 5 years

Text

Date Nite

Dis for my buddy @boxdfoxeninc . There’s no fucking excuse for this being so late, but I wanted it to be nice because she caught me a beautiful salandit shiny named opal and I owe her my life (and two more chappies of dis beautiful adventures of Lynnie and Guzma) I hope you enjoy this my friend, and that as it goes on that it makes up for the wait and for the effort you put into getting me my dream Pokémon ❤️

...

“It’s fine.”

Mantra of the night.

“It’s alright.”

“You good fam.”

“I gotchu.”

But deep down Guzma knows it ain’t alright. It ain’t even remotely close to fine, he ain’t good, and you barely got yourself.

Chasing dreams, making a fool of yourself, you’ve done it all. Just like him, and one of the many things that endeared him to you. Everything he tried to do to make trial captain was all for naught, and better than anyone he knew the state you were currently in. It was just the problem of your denial that prevented him from giving you the help you truly needed...

Date nights hadn’t been this tense, not since you visited before your last trip to Sinnoh. A bundle of nerves had come to see him at least a year ago, crying about how nervous she was to take on the Sinnoh league all over again, and oh my god what if I don’t make it, what if I fail, spouting all these different worries and anxieties pickled and stuffed up into one big fuckaroo of a thing you called life. Then when you left, unable to call or write because you wanted to commit fully, he agonized endlessly but trusted in his pride for you. Well... no news came. Everything had gone dark for a few minutes, and there were no new updates on the Sinnoh League champion. Guzma, well, he’d been living a life of debauchery after leaving his parent’s house and forming up his own ragtag group of criminals, and ironically there wasn’t anyone else he could think of that he wanted to share his accomplishments with but you. It was just that when you finally came home, and he managed to get you alone before anyone else, he found you oddly closed off to everyone, even the one criminal boss you trusted from the beginning.

This bullshit sucked. Plain and simple. But what could he say?

“It’s fine.” You insisted. “Order whatever you want babe. It’s all on me.”

“Ya sure?” Guzma finally settled on. “Don’t look alright Lynnie...”

“Naaah.”

You waved it off, like swatting imaginary cutieflies out of your face. The Ronin set he wanted to share was costly, for normal folks it meant half a month’s salary. For trainers, it was more money than you could expect to battle for on the islands without a VS Seeker.

“Told you, ‘s fine. I’ll buy this time.”

“Uh...”

“Yeah.” You insisted, “No trouble at all my dude. Besides, like you’re in a position to buy anything, with your broke ass.”

He shrinks back, not at your comment, but your laugh. It sounds too hollow. Too depraved of any sort of joy. It speaks the volumes of words that won’t come out of your mouth no matter how many times someone asks you how life treated you in a colder climate. There’s only one indication that your trip even existed (because let’s face it, all interactions have basically indicated it never happened). Your Pokémon, a grizzled Infernape that drapes its arms lazily around you every now and again, seems to bear the only souvenir of a scar, and it’s an old one at that... There’s no fanfare, no presents for anyone save for the scarf you’d gotten him.

What can Guzma say? You won’t talk to him about the things that plague your mind as the appetizers come out, bowls of miso soup and a plate of tempura that he devours but you can only pick at. Naturally, as expected, there is no conversation the whole of dinner even though he wants desperately to catch up. To have both of you brag about successes, cry about failures, anything save for this damned silence that will not end. But he can’t reach you, all he can do is reach the food, and it’s been a while since he’s eaten this good. So the only thing he can do at the moment is eat. The aforementioned Ronin Set is gone the minute it hits the table, and the sad piece that Guzma has spared you sits untouched, going lukewarm by the time the bill hits the table and you’re paying for everything on a card.

It’s the next sentence that worries him: “I’m not sure what’s on this one but let’s give it a try.”

Oh hell no. Not if you were just as broke ass as he was. Immediately he flags down the waiter, nearly tackling the poor man as Guzma tails after him on the pretense of taking a leak before you both return home. He stuffs a wad of cash into his hand unceremoniously, assuring him rather gruffly that if he brings back the receipt and card in one piece that he can keep the change. It’s not that hard to convince the waiter, especially when Guzma doesn’t pay attention to how much of his hidden stash he slaps into the other man’s hand before hightailing it back to the table, and considering the fact that the locals know him well in Malie, and will give this hardened criminal whatever in the hell he wants.

The waiter comes back and presents your card and receipt with a flourish. You take it nonchalantly, and Guzma thanks the gods that you simply take the card and stand up.

“Ready?” You ask, seemingly ready for the night to end. Infernape follows behind, equally disenchanted with everything that Sushi High Roller has to offer.

“I...”

He wants to make a scene, cause a dramatic altercation because, as one Ms. Clavel might say: Something is not right.

He suddenly find himself pushing the chair out behind him, the noise harsh as the legs scrape the flooring. Guzma has to book it after you, because you’re already out the door and walking into the brightly lit streets by the time he catches up. You look back briefly, shrugging when you see him panting, breathless with anger, and you’re about to tell him goodnight when the nuclear bomb decides it’s time to drop.

“What the fuck is your damage?!”

You’re caught off guard. The world stops spinning on its axis, holding breath from the moment the first word exploded from his mouth into the mushroom cloud that formed the rest of the sentence. The rest of Malie floats away on the wind, a blur of colored lights sprinkling magic droplets into the dark fades away until there is nothing. No city. No people. Just a void. A vacuum in space and time that Guzma has created with the halting bark of his voice and the pent up rage and aggression that cannot be matched by anyone but himself.

“You’re acting like a brat!” He screams, getting right in your face and his eyes blazing with something so fierce that even infernape cannot come to your rescue.

“You leave me for a year, ya don’t call or write to me, or even think to lemme know you’re still kicking... then ya come back and have the audacity to axe me out and take me to this tired date so you can avoid questions and treat me like imma fuckin’ stranger to ya! This is BULLSHIT! Why the hell you don’t tell me what’s going on with ya?! Come on Lynnie! Talk to me! TALK GODDAMN YOU!”

His words have knocked the breath out of you. It’s... quite a long time before anyone moves or says a word and he’s about to go for it again when you suddenly break down and begin sobbing, infernape trying to resuscitate you from your break down and nearly torching Guzma when he drops to his knees to come and get you up off the floor. You struggle briefly, once, twice, before pushing infernape away and collapsing in Guzma’s arms where your facade of holding it together reveals quite the contrary.

You closed off because you were broken. He doesn’t have to pry to get you to talk because in that brief instant that you’re clinging like an animal to him he knows. He knows you’re here for good. He knows that you tried your best at everything you’ve done and come back a failure because he’s gone through the exact same shit, taking a nine iron to the face to show for it. You don’t need to tell him that becoming the champion fell through, because the emotion you exude and the mantras of “I did my best” slipping out between the dry heaves and snot bubbles is so heartbreakingly familiar, so mind numbingly sad that it takes everything inside Guzma not to break down into a million pieces right there with you in the street. One thing he knows... and he knows it for certain... you are not going home tonight nor any of the other nights after. He will be go to hell if he lets you out of his sight and out of his life ever again.

#guzma #guzma x oc #for friends #guzma reader insert #guzma fiction #pokemon sun and moon #pokemon reader insert

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aleinnilatibae · 5 years

Text

Trouble in Álfheima part 2, for real this time

Okay this is the actual part two, the LONG one. THought i wouldn’t finish it but i did. Big giant shoutout to @greykolla for helping me with the icelandic parts!!

In comparison to their trip to the moon, the rocket trip to Iceland was just a quick hop.

But, to Stephanie, it seemed about a thousand times longer. Sportacus was in TROUBLE! She was BURNING with purpose and the need for action, and this rocket just couldn’t fly fast enough, no matter how hard she pedaled!

After what seemed like an eternity of flying over the ocean, with the five of them swapping off turns at the pedaling and eating the sportscandy from the dispensers, they finally caught sight of an island.

“Scanning terrain for potential landing sites…” Pixel said as they circled the rocket around the island, “Got one! Zone 4-2, prepare for landing protocol!”

The rocket tilted into landing position and slowly, gently, touched down to the earth below.

Stephanie threw the door open, and a blast of cold air barreled its way into the rocket.

She slammed the door shut again.

“Coats!” she blurted, “Everybody needs coats!”

Once they had all slipped into their winter weather outfits, Stephanie cautiously opened up the door again, climbing down the ladder and taking in the scene.

They had landed at the bottom of a gently-sloping hillside. There wasn’t much around, besides a gigantic gnarled tree and a house in the distance. It appeared to be daytime, but the grey sky overhead made it impossible to tell what time it was.

“Maybe Sportacus just went to, ah…visit that house?” Stingy asked hopefully.

“I don’t think so, the trail ends before that house,” Pixel said, looking at his wrist computer, “Follow me, we are super close!”

They all walked together through the damp grass, Pixel in the lead, up the hill towards the ancient tree.

“Brr, I thought Greenland was the cold place,” complained Ziggy.

“Well, Greenland certainly has a higher volume of ICE, but we ARE still basically at the Arctic Circle,” Pixel explained, “Hey, did you know that there is a volcano that went off here that stopped air traffic across northern Europe for almost a week? It’s called-“

He was interrupted by his wrist computer letting out three quick beeps.

He gasped. “Stop!”

Everyone froze mid-step.

“This is it! This is where he was last seen!” Pixel said, taking a couple more steps and standing underneath the branches of the big tree.

“There wouldn’t be a chance that, he was, I don’t know…still HERE, would there?” Trixie asked hopefully.

“The chances are…low,” admitted Pixel. “The connection between our computers was severed hours ago. He could be ANYWHERE by now. Wherever he is, we have to find him another way.”

Everyone looked to Stephanie, who suddenly felt the pressure to make some sort of decision.

“We should look around a little,” she suggested, to four affirming nods. “He could still be here somewhere, maybe even in a sugar coma! Let’s check here first before we look around anymore.”

They all set to looking around the base of the enormous tree.

Stephanie looked up into the branches, looked in amongst the tangled roots, rifled through the grass, as the tiny spark of unease inside her grew and grew into a simmering panic. She recalled all the times that Robbie Rotten had hidden Sportacus away, and only an accidental slip-up on his part had given them the upper hand to save the day.

If there was an even bigger, BADDER bad guy out there…who knows IF they would ever find Sportacus again!

“Hallo?” called a distant voice, interrupting her thoughts.

Everyone looked at each other.

“Behind the tree!” Stephanie said, and they all clumped together, close enough to feel each other breathing.

Stephanie’s heart pounded as the footsteps got closer.

“Benedikt?” a woman’s voice asked.

None of them moved, fearing what lay behind that innocent-sounding voice.

The footsteps took a step to the right.

The kids shuffled to the left, keeping the tree inbetween.

“Jósafat?” the woman asked.

She stepped.

They shuffled.

She stepped.

They shuffled.

Stephanie reached into her pocket and gripped the apple she had stored inside. This game couldn’t go on forever, and she had to be prepared.

The mysterious figure feinted to the left, stepped to the right, and came face to face with all five kids.

“BOO!” she shouted.

Stephanie screamed and threw the apple as hard as she could.

THWACK!

“OW!” said the mysterious figure as she stumbled a few steps backwards, clutching her head.

Adrenaline pumping, Stephanie paused as she FINALLY got a good look at this person.

Taller than Stephanie but shorter than Sportacus, she wore a bright red shirt adorned with a daisy design smack dab in the center, hanging down over blue jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which exposed the face of a young adult…

She was just a regular woman, not an Álfheima monster.

Stephanie’s mouth dropped open as she connected the dots. There was a house up on that hill, and they had been making a bunch of noise, of course whoever lived there would want to come down to investigate…

And Stephanie had just ASSAULTED her with an APPLE!

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Stephanie exclaimed, “Please don’t call the police!”

“Oj…the-the police?” the woman said in accented English, rubbing her forehead, “Wh-why would I call the police on five little-“

She stopped mid-sentence and looked over their shoulders.

“Is that a ROCKET?!” she gasped, voice cracking with excitement, “Wow!”

The kids were all speechless as her careful, cautious manner completely disappeared, and she pushed past them to examine their rocket.

“Is that how you GOT to Iceland?” she asked, touching one of the boosters.

“Um-“

“With your American accents, I figured that you weren’t from around here,” she was saying, starting to climb the ladder, “But I’ve never seen any-are those, what do you call them…ellipticals?” she asked, poking her head inside.

The kids looked at Stephanie, but Stephanie certainly didn’t know what to do with this…extremely enthusiastic lady crawling around their rocket either!

“There’s nowhere to put the fuel, and I don’t even SMELL any exhaust,” she was saying, “How do you POWER this thing?!”

“Exercise and sportscandy!” Ziggy said cheerfully.

“EXERCISE?!” she gasped, going in for a second look, “That is CRAZY!”

Stingy smacked Ziggy. “Stop telling her about MYYYY rocket!! For all we know, she could be some sort of SPY!”

The woman peered back down at them. “A spy? ME?” she laughed, “This is my house, and my garden! For all I know, you could be the spies here!” she smiled mischievously.

Stingy made an offended noise, and stamped his foot. “NO!!! YOU are the spy!! I bet YOU are the one who kidnapped Sportacus, and are just admiring our rocket to distract us from rescuing him from Alfheima!”

The maybe-not-a-spy gasped from atop the ladder.

“Álfheima?” she repeated.

She jumped from the top of the ladder straight down to the ground, her mirthful demeanor completely gone. “How…how did YOU learn about Álfheima?“

Stingy clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Should we run for it?” Ziggy whispered, a little bit too loud.

“No! No, no, no, please don’t run away, I’m human, see?” she said, wiggling an ear at them. “I’m not from Álfheima.”

“What on earth does being HUMAN have to do with it?!” asked Trixie, echoing what they all were thinking.

“Be-because HUMANS don’t come from Álfheima, obviously??” she sputtered, “Don’t you know anything about the place that you are looking for?”

That gave Stephanie pause. What DID they know about Álfheima?

One. It was very dangerous.

Two. Sportacus was headed there when he sent Robbie that message.

End of list.

“We…we don’t know much,” Stephanie said in a small voice, “But…we got a message, from our friend, who said he was in danger there. Pixel, can you show-”

Pixel nodded and projected a picture of the paper airplane message out of his wrist computer.

The woman squinted at the holographic letter, mouth moving wordlessly as she deciphered Sportacus’ atrocious handwriting.

“He never, ever, EVER asks for help, and…we are all really, really worried about him,” Stephanie said, honest words tumbling out that she had thus far been too afraid to say.

“Danger in Álfheima,“ she muttered, thinking hard. “And your friend is involved with it?”

“Usually is,” Trixie said.

The woman straightened up. “Okay, come inside,” she said, motioning them to follow her in her walk back up the hill, “We have a lot to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t the only ones who have friends in Álfheima,” she said, “And if things are as dangerous as this implies, they might need my help as well. Now come in! I will make some tea.”

“Wait a minute, lady, Sportacus is MISSING, and you’re inviting us in for TEA? Who even ARE you?!” Trixie demanded.

She stopped walking, and turned around.

“My name is Dídí,” she said, after a pause, “And I might be the only human being on the planet that can help you right now.”

When Stephanie crossed the threshold into the house, she was suddenly enveloped in heat. Dídí’s fireplace was roaring, contrasting starkly with the cold from outside. She sighed contentedly and put her coat up on the coat hanger.

The kids tentatively looked around the living room while Dídí went to the kitchen to make some tea. Her house wasn‘t exactly gigantic, but it looked…underused. There was a couch that was about the same size as the one that Pixel had in his room, and there was a teeny table over by the windowsill, and there were a FEW nice paintings and wooden decorations on the walls, along with a tall cabinet of ancient knick knacks.

The kids all piled onto the couch, halfway sitting on each other to fit.

Dídí came in and served them all tea, but she ran out of mugs and had to serve Ziggy in a sundae glass and Stephanie in a cereal bowl.

Dídí lived alone, it was becoming apparent.

Stephanie slurped at her nontraditional soup. Dídí just seemed like a normal, run-of-the-mill Icelandic woman. If Stingy hadn’t accidentally mentioned Alfheima to her...

Stephanie was just happy to have a lead after their fruitless search beneath the tree.

Dídí pulled a chair up and fixed her five visitors with a stare.

“You are…Stephanie, Trixie, Ziggy, Pixel…” she was met with a nod with each correct name she assigned, and then turned to Stingy with a pause.

“Is your name really Stingy?” she asked him.

He sniffed. “I have many names, that belong to me,” he said haughtily, “And Stingy is but one of them.”

Stephanie tried to send a “sorry-about-him” look to Dídí, but she seemed unfazed by Stingy’s antics.

“Tell me about this elf friend of yours,” Dídí said, putting down her cup, “You must really care about him.”

“Elf…friend?” asked Stephanie.

“Yeah, the one you are looking for,” explained Dídí, “The one who went to Álfheima.”

“Pfft, SPORTACUS? He’s not an ELF!” Trixie scoffed.

“Álfheima means ‘elf world’,“ Dídí patiently explained, “He’s GOT to be, if he got there on his own. Humans generally can’t show up uninvited.”

“Well, Sportacus isn’t LIKE everybody else,” Ziggy said proudly, “He’s a hero!! He flies around in his airship and-and helps people all the time, wherever his magic crystal tells him they need him!”

Dídí raised an eyebrow. “He has a magic crystal and you still can’t believe he’s an elf?”

“Well, uh, when you put it THAT way…” said Stingy.

“Does he have any…strange physical characteristics?” asked Dídí.

“Just his silly MUSTACHE,” Trixie snickered.

“Trixie! Be nice,” Stephanie scolded.

“What? It’s like two cat whiskers!”

“Hm,” Dídí took a sip of her tea. “Can he do…a lot of things that most people can’t do?”

“He did 74 flips in about two minutes yesterday,” Stephanie said.

Dídí‘s jaw dropped, but she composed herself and continued. “Okay, big question, have you ever actually SEEN his ears? Or does he keep them covered?”

“That’s a weird question, Of COURSE we have seen-“ Stephanie began, and then paused. When she really thought about it…

“Guys. Have we ever seen Sportacus without his hat on?” she asked her friends, urgently.

They all thought hard, but the answer was no, Sportacus had always had that hat on, during every single rescue, every single holiday, every single FLIP, for the multiple YEARS that he had been in LazyTown.

They had never seen his ears even ONCE.

“Oh my god,” Trixie said in awe, “Sportacus is an elf.”

“A SECRET elf!” said Ziggy with a similarly reverent tone.

“It really explains a lot, if we are honest with ourselves,” admitted Stingy.

Dídí nodded slowly. “It’s the only way he could get into Álfheima without assistance.”

“But…how are WE going to get there?” asked Pixel, “You said that humans can’t go to Alfheima.”

Dídí put her cup down, and stood up. “That’s where I come in! I have what you call…a special arrangement,” she said, touching her necklace. “I can take you all to Alfheima, and I can help you save your friend.”

“Hooray!” the kids cheered.

“The bad news is…” she sighed, “Álfheima…it can be a pretty dangerous place, even on a good day. And if an ELF calls it very dangerous, that’s even worse. We have NO IDEA what we are getting into, kids. Are you sure you want to go looking for him?”

“Lady, our lives at HOME are pretty dangerous, too,” Trixie said, scoffing, “We are always falling out of trees, planes, crashing rockets, getting kidnapped, dealing with Robbie Rotten in disguise trying to steal our sports equipment-“

“Who?” Dídí asked, looking concerned and confused.

“But Sportacus is the guy who always saves us from all that! He’s probably the reason that we are all alive right now, and we really owe him,” she continued.

Dídí nodded brusquely. “Then, we shall go to Álfheima.”

They all followed Dídí out the door and back down the hill.

While they walked, Stephanie caught a glimpse of the raised red mark on Dídí’s forehead and felt guilt surge in her gut.

“Um…” Stephanie said tentatively, “I’m…sorry for throwing an apple at your head, Dídí.”

“What? Oh, don’t worry about it,” Dídí waved a hand at Stephanie dismissively, “I would have done the exact same thing at your age, probably.”

“Really? You’re not mad?” Stephanie asked.

Dídí chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve been through MUCH worse things than five Útlenskt kids showing up in my garden and pelting me with apples.”

“That was DEFINITELY only Stephanie who did that,” Stingy supplied unhelpfully. “Not the rest of us. Just saying.”

Stephanie sighed.

“Hey, I’m glad that you were prepared for the worst, in case I WAS the bad guy who took your elf friend,” Dídí said, nudging Stephanie playfully. “But, I shouldn’t have scared you. I actually thought you were my elf friend, Benedikt, playing a trick on me, or I would not have in the first place.”

“Wait a minute, we’re heading right back to where we started!” said Trixie, pointing at the tree. “What gives?”

“Well,” Dídí said, ducking underneath its branches and standing on top of a root, “Like I said before, Álfheima translates to Elf World.”

“Do we need to use the rocket?” asked Stephanie.

“Oh, no, no, no need,” Dídí said, trying to hide a smile, “Just watch THIS, you’re gonna love it.”

She cleared her throat.

“Hlynur!” she called, looking toward the tree. “Hlynur minn, vaknaðu!”

“Is she talking to the tree?” whispered Stingy.

“She said we’re going to the ELF world! I’d believe ANYTHING at this point!” said Trixie.

“Hlynur minn, við þurfum að fara til Álfheimaaa!” she called, hands cupped around her mouth.

She went closer to the tree and touched one of its branches. “Heyrir þú í mér?” she spoke, loudly and slowly, “Má ég fara til Álfheima?”

“Ó, Dídí Álfavinur,” came a deep voice from the tree, startling Stephanie, “Alltaf getur þú farið til Álfheima.”

The kids gasped as the tree shifted in front of their eyes, opening up a cavernous hole at the bottom of its trunk.

Dídí stood near it, arms crossed, smugly smiling at all of their gaping jaws.

“Well, let’s not waste any time,” she said, clapping her hands together, “Follow me!”

Stephanie was feeling the tingling excitement of adventure already, and as she looked around at her friends, she saw that feeling mirrored back to her.

Taking a deep breath, she crawled in after Dídí.

Once inside, it was complete pitch blackness.

“Where are we going?” asked Stingy from the back.

“Into a tree, obviously.” Trixie said.

“Thanks, Trixie,” Stingy deadpanned back to her.

“I don’t even know where we’re going,” admitted Pixel, “Because my GPS is going HAYWIRE in here.”

“And also, it’s DARK,” Trixie said, a smirk in her voice.

“Thanks Trixie,” deadpanned Stingy again, “Neeever would have noticed that one without you.”

“Wait, what’s that up ahead?”

“Are those lights?”

“AAH!!!”

They all screamed as they stopped just before a precipice.

Stretching out in front of them, was the BIGGEST cavern they had ever seen.

The walls held twinkling lights, reflective crystals, and glowing plants, all of which fed off of each other, making the cave walls shine and sparkle as bright as the sun with a million different colors.

And the cavern…

The cavern was ENORMOUS. Stephanie wasn’t even sure that it WAS a cavern, it seemed to stretch back and downwards into infinity, the lights twinkling and scintillating both near and far, like the night sky itself had come down to settle into this cave.

“Hey!” called Dídí, waving at them from the very very edge of the cliff, “Watch THIS!”

She saluted the five of them, and then LEAPED off of the edge into the cavern!

Stephanie screamed, rushing forward to try to catch her, but-

Dídí hadn’t fallen.

In fact, she was suspended in the air right where she jumped, lit from all sides by the twinkling lights inside the cave.

“It’s okay!” Dídí assured them, with a huge smile on her face, “The cave won’t let you fall!”

“This is officially the CRAZIEST day,” Pixel murmured in awe.

“Hold onto each other, kids, and follow me to Álfheima!“ Dídí shouted, turning around and floating deeper into the cavern.

The five of them exchanged incredulous looks, but shrugged, and joined hands anyway.

“Everybody ready?” Stephanie called, hearing affirmations in response.

“One…two…THREE!”

They all leapt off the precipice together.

There was a heart-stopping moment where Stephanie was filled with instant regret for JUMPING OFF A CLIFF, but…as she hit the apex of her jump, she felt her body get lighter and lighter, like being filled up with helium, and she hung in the air just like Dídí did.

And then, a subtle force began to gently tug her forward, like gravity had changed its mind about abandoning her, but it pulled her forwards slowly instead of slamming her to the ground.

“We’re FLYING!” Trixie said, vibrating with excitement, “WOOOOO!!!”

“Actually, I think we are more like floating,” Pixel noted.

“Don’t ruin my dreams with science, Pixel, or I’ll let GO of you!” she shot back.

“Ohh, don’t let go, PLEASE,” Ziggy said, voice quaking, “I’m so afraid of HEIGHTS! Why do we have to float up so HIGH?!”

Now that they had floated a little ways into the cave, Stephanie could see that they were actually passing by some of the starlike balls of light, rather than them all being unreachably distant like the night sky. She reached out her hand to brush one of them as they went by, but her hand was pushed away from it by what felt like a repelling magnetic force.

“What IS this place, Dídí?” asked Stephanie.

“This place…is the place in between the human world and the elf world,” Dídí called back to them, voice reverberating and echoing off the huge walls, “Benedikt said something like…it is made of the same stuff as dreams are.”

“I think I’ve SEEN this place in my dreams before,” Stephanie said, kicking her dangling feet and looking at the lights that passed by below her.

Strangely, she felt absolutely no fear in looking down, now that she knew that she wasn’t going to fall.

“Hmph. MY dreams usually have more MONEY in them,” Stingy said from the other side of Pixel.

As they went further and further across the expansive cavern, one of the lights in front of them grew stronger, brighter, and bigger.

Stephanie realized that it was that light that was drawing them forward, like metal to a magnet.

And the pull was getting stronger.

“Brace yourselves, we are going to land!” Dídí yelled, and Stephanie tightened her grip on Trixie.

They got heavier and heavier as they headed for the bright light, flying faster and faster, until finally-

CRASH!

They all tumbled out over each other, landing in sweet-smelling grass.

“We made it!” came Dídí’s voice from above them, “Great job, kids!”

She helped them all back up to their feet, and gave them all high-fives.

“That was, hands down, NO contest, the COOLEST thing I have ever DONE!” crowed Trixie, punching a fist in the air.

“Yes! Me too!” Dídí agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “Now, all of you stay here, please. I will be right back. I need to go find Jósafat and uh…” she took a deep breath, “Break this to him…GENTLY. Stay right there, please.”

And she was off, leaping through the clearing and dodging the trees like they were her home.

The kids peered around the clearing. There was a grassy hill, eerily reminiscent of the hill next to Dídí’s old tree, but there was something…different about it, somehow. It looked brimming with life, teeming with sparking magic, little flitting glitter spots shining among the too-green grass.

The enchantment of the scene was…captivating.

“Ugh, NONE of my instruments WORK in here!” cried Pixel in frustration, pressing buttons to no avail.

“Well, duh, we are in the ELF WORLD now!” Trixie said, “Doesn’t technology hate magic or something?”

“Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, Trixie,” Pixel sighed. “They probably have technology here that we can’t even understand.”

“Guys?” Ziggy said, quietly.

“Gee, I don’t really see any COMPUTERS around here,” Trixie said, looking around exaggeratedly, “Do you?”

“Guys?!” Ziggy said again.

“Well, there still could be ELF technology, maybe they just developed some sort of…alternate type of tech!”

“Are you telling me that they make computers out of-out of STONES or something?”

“Why not? They did it in MINECRAFT!”

“PFFT, MINE-craft?!” Trixie sputtered.

“GUYS!!” shouted Ziggy.

“What?” said both Pixel and Trixie.

Ziggy was stock-still with terror, and raised one trembling finger to point off into the distant fog.

That’s when they, too, saw the shape.

It was a humanoid shape, striding menacingly towards them from far away, wiggling its extra-long fingers at its sides.

And, as it emerged from the fog into the light of the sun, it got WORSE.

The terrible creature was HUGE, about the size of Robbie Rotten, and had a pale, sickly white face and a boyd that looked to be covered in dripping tar.

“Is that a g-g-goblin?” Ziggy asked, terrified.

They drew in closer to each other as he began to stalk around them, knees up high, movements quick and jerky like an animal. His wild eyes scanned the children, back and forth and up and down, as if he were trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

His eyes narrowed, and he raised up a finger, appearing as if he were counting them.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The kids were frozen to the spot.

The creature opened up his mouth and SCREAMED.

The children screamed, and ran up the grassy knoll to hide behind one of the trees.

“I th-th-think that guy ATE Sp-Sp-Sportacus!” said Ziggy, shaking in his boots.

“Shh!” Stephanie shushed, swallowed hard, and chanced a glance around the tree.

The creature didn’t even seem to be LOOKING at them anymore, nor interested where they went. He was just…screaming at nothing, jumping around the clearing in some sort of fit, waving his arms all over the place and making blubbering noises.

“NÓG! NÓÓÓÓÓG!” he screamed, his voice screechy and reedy, hands clutching his head, “EITT MANNABARN VAR NÓG!”

Stephanie was at least eighty percent sure that those were words, and maybe even in a language that humans spoke. But she couldn’t be completely sure, because even when this goblin creature made wordlike noises, they were still in the same high, screeching register as his gibberish moans and groans.

“AF HVERJUU!!!!” he screamed out, arms splayed to the side and face raised up to the heavens, “AF HVERJUUUUU!!!!”

He froze, and turned his whole body to fix Stephanie’s exposed face with a wide-eyed stare.

They stared at each other.

He raised one sickeningly-long finger to point at her and screamed again.

STEPHANIE screamed again.

“BUUUUURT!!” he screeched, full-tilt sprinting towards her as he wiggled his extra-long fingers in front of his as he ran-

“JÓSAFAT!” came Dídí’s voice from the opposite direction.

She was running with all her might, hair flying behind her, stretching out one hand as if to try to stop him from where she was. “Hætta þessu! Þau komu með mér!”

He froze in his tracks. “Dídí...Álfavinur?” he said cautiously, turning around to see her.

She smiled toothily.

“HÆ!!!” they said simultaneously, wiggling their fingers at each other.

“Þessi...mannabörn eru með þér?” He asked in disbelief, lip curling with disgust.

“Já, svo ekki hrella þau!” Dídí said, jabbing a finger at him.

“E-en-en-biddu nú-” Jósafat looked almost offended, as he gestured back and forth between Dídí and the children, but then slumped.

“Allt í lagi þá,” he mumbled.

Dídí looked up at Stephanie, peeking her head out from behind the tree, and waved.

“It’s okay, come on out!” she called, “He won’t hurt you.”

“You-you KNOW him?” asked Trixie.

“Is he going to e-e-eat us??” Ziggy asked, voice shaking in fear.

“No, he is NOT going to do that,” Dídí said, throwing a hard look at Jósafat, “Anyway, I would like you to meet… Jósafat Mannahrellir!” she presented.

He smiled uneasily and waved a hand at them as they crept slowly out from behind the tree.

“He is a…guard of the elf world,” Dídí explained, “He protects it from humans who would do it harm, and? He has been one of my greatest friends since I was a little child!”

“REALLY?” Ziggy gasped in disbelief.

“Yep!” she said, smiling wide.

“Afsakið,” said Jósafat, voice still just as high and reedy as it was when he screamed, “Sæl og blessuð, eh heh heh heh,” he said, in a tone that showed that he was taking GREAT pains in an attempt to be nice.

Five sets of eyes blinked up at him.

Jósafat crooked a finger at Dídí and gestured to the children.

“Biddu nú en,” he said, fairly quietly, crossing his arms, “Afhverju geta þau ekki talað mannamál?”

Stephanie didn’t understand what he had said, but Dídí’s face looked like he had said something ridiculous.

“Mannamál?” she repeated, face grimaced in confusion.

“Þau-þau skilja ekki mannamál, eru þau…” he put a hand up to shield his mouth from the children, “Heimsk?”

“Heimsk?!” exclaimed Dídí, “Nei! Þau eru bara að tala ensku.”

Jósafat looked back at the children, and narrowed his eyes. “Jæja, ég skil ekki þessa…ensku, segðu þeim að tala mannamál.”

Dídí rolled her eyes.

“Ahem!” said Trixie, “If this...guy is some Elf World guard, then has HE seen Sportacus?”

Dídí turned to Jósafat. “Hefurðu séð álfar í dag?”

Jósafat harrumphed. “Ég sé svo marga álfar allan daginn!”

Dídí facepalmed. “Æ, hver er Benedikt?! Farðu og finna hann!”

“Okay!” said Jósafat, throwing one last pained grimace of a smile to the children as he crept away into the forest.

“Benedikt is a little more…welcoming, let’s say,” Dídí said, looking back at where Jósafat had disappeared to. “And he has friends all over Álfheima. If anybody can find your friend, he can.”

#benedikt búálfur #lazytown #my ambitious crossover is slowly but surely happening #also you have no idea how many red lines are under all of the text #some parts microsoft word KNOWS are icelandic and some it knows are english depending on how i typed em #but like...its wrong a lot

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ninjagoruinedmylife · 6 years

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Ninjago shadowhunters au: chapter 1

Hiiiii and welcome to my kitchen have here first chapter of my veeeery long fic for au i made a few days ago. I hope you'll enjoy! *** Lloyd Garmadon had currently only three problems: lack of money for comics, math and his best friend Brad. Not that he was complaining, though; his mother taught him that he should always look at the bright side of life. There were so many people with such bad things happening to them all the time, like Nelson, second one of his two friends: he constantly had problems with health. Or Gene, the other boy from his school: his parents were putting a big presure over him, to the point where they had big arguments. And even Brad: there were moments when he didn't got money for even the most basic products. Garmadon's little family, consisting of Lloyd and his mother, was in much better situation. Misako's salary wasn't the biggest one (she worked as a toruist guide in the museum, after all), her husband died in the war, they were living in a little apartament in one of the poor parts of the city... Still, they had each other. Lloyd was happy with his life in all honesty. He just couldn't help but also feel a bit irritated sometimes. Like today, when everything seemed to be against him. Math test was so hard that he won't get anything above F, he lost twenty dollars while chasing his bus, and now Brad just needed to get him to some kind of club he wanted to check out. "Hello, earth to Lloyd? Man, we're losing connection with you!" Brad tried to yell over the loud music from the building and bring his friend back to senses at the same time. Lloyd sighed. He was so tired of this day and just wanted to sleep. But well, friends are friends. "Tell me again, what did you promised me in exchange?" Boy asked while they were standing in a short queue to the entrance. "Uh, that I'll give you my collection of Spiderman comics?" "Okay, fair enough." Brad grinned evily. "As you might or might not remember, my collection consist of one volume..." "I hate you. It's not fair." Lloyd murmed, hiding his head in his hoodie. He looked up, at the bright purple neon sign hanging above the door. The letters formed a word 'Pandemonium'. "And what kind of name for a club is that one? I don't get why you wanted to come here so much..." "Come on, it will be fun! You need to socialize more." Brad replied. He grabbed his friend by his arm and pulled him through the entrance. "Just chill and breathe in the atmosphere." The only thing Lloyd could have breathed in when he walked inside was a cigarette smoke. He started coughing. Brad patted his back. When his throat finally started working normally, boys returned to exploring this place: Brad with an excitement written on his face, and Lloyd with a posture that was yelling "I don't care about this place or any of you." Music in the club was strange. It reminded music from radio, but in the same time it felt kinda different, more heavy and dark. This whole place smelled like a mix of two thousand botttles of cheap perfumes, sweat and alcohol. Lloyd looked at the people surrounding them. Most were dressed very party-ish, like a big percent teenagers would if they were going out, some were rather elegant, and the rest wore simple, casual clothes. Even though he wasn't so outstanding in his normal, green hoodie and black jeans, he felt so out of place that he wanted to dissapear. When it comes to dissapearing. Brad vanished while Lloyd stopped paying attention to him. At first, blonde boy had a nervous thought that something bad might have happened to his friend, but after a few seconds he saw his figure through the jumping, dancing people and calmed down. 'Great, now he left me. Such a good friend.' He walked to the other room. It was separated by the partition wall and, what's more important, it was less crowded and less noisy. Six tables were standing next to walls, vis á vis of the boy there was a pair of door with a sign saying "stuff only." A couple of guests were dancing at the shining dance floor, but most of them just talked, watched others or ate something. Pretty girl in a long silver dress and boy with a messy dark hair tried to convince some punks to dance, nerd in the corner was doing something on his laptop, two guys were glaring at each other like if they had an argument... Lloyd guessed he fit there, with all those weirdos, better than to the other part of the club. He decided that he'll wait here until Brad will get bored of dancing, and then they'll go home and watch some cartoons. However, he changed his mind when he saw a blade in the pretty girl's hand. *** This girl's name was Nya Smith and she was both frustrated and thrilled for a whole day, just as the rest of her team. Maybe a half hour before Lloyd Garmadon saw her in a little bit of not so fortunate situation, she sat next to the boy with a messy hair at the same table nerd had taken before. "For the God's sake, we're in this place for five hours and we haven't noticed nothing unusual!" Nya hissed to her brother, Kai. He shrugged. "Well, sensors are mostly right. And Zane is also mostly right." He winked at their friend, who was looking with a frown once at the monitor of his laptop, and then at the black object in his hand. "My apologies, but I really get strong demon vibes from this place. I wouldn't be suprised if it was the place of their meeting." Zane replied with his usual, serious tone. "Okay, Zane, I don't have anything against you." Girl sighned. "I'm just pissed of because I have to wear heels and makeup! You all know I hate it." "You're right, sis. Who decided that it has to be us again, anyway?" Kai neatened collar of his black suit. "Looking perfect all the time is tiring." "I understand, but in the same time you two are the most appealing from the whole team, when it comes to the terms of physical appearance, of course..." Zane started to explain. "Uh. One more time, please. I don't get your whole science talk after such a long mission." Kai interrupted him. "I guess Zane just said you're handsome, my gentleman!" Another guy who joined them said with a melodious voice. He had curly, brown hair, freckles and he was wearing clothes that were seemingly way to big for him. "And you, my gentleman, are spilling your drink over my favourite hoodie." His companion added while sitting next to him. "Hey, it is Zane's fault! He pulled my hand! I'm innocent!" Jay raised his hands in a defensive way. Cole gave him a deadly look. "You've spilled even more now. You are going to wash it..." "Calm down lovebirds, move those arguments for another time." Nya hit the table with her fist to get her teammates attention. "I guess we should think about the purpose of this mission. I'm not sure..." In this moment, a red necklace on girl's neck started shining. They all knew what it meant - beside Jay, as always. He was still spilling his drink. "Hm?" He gave the others suprised look. "Somebody died or what? Why are you so quiet now?" "Nobody died." Zane informed him calmly. "But it doesn't mean that someone can't die in the spin of few minutes!" Kai got up quickly. "Everyone on positions, now." When they were going back to their place, Jay asked Cole with a trembling voice: "Does it mean..." "Yes. The demon is coming." Cole answerd without a shade of fear on his face. "Get ready for your fourth one, newbie." *** It all happened so fast that Lloyd didn't know on what he should focus. First thing: nerd closed his laptop and left it on the table. He came to the stuff door, took a long white stick and then the door opened and he dissapeared in the darkness. Second thing: one of the punks, guy with a green mohawk and piercing all over his face, was having a slow dance with this suspicious girl - that was when her bracelet changed into some kind of a weapon. Third thing: two boys who probably had fight before, also walked into the stuff room. One of them granted a look to the guy in a suit, who was sitting at one of the tables with most of the punks. Fourth thing: girl grabbed punk's hand and, with a smirk on her face, she came to - suprise! - stuff room. It all looked... too well planned to be just a coincidence. Lloyd was sure that he should just go and talk to the guards that something strange is happening, but then fifth thing took place: punks started yelling at each other and jumping at each others throats. They were so loud that they nearly screamed over the music. Lloyd frowned. What was happening? He would be able to just find Brad and go out of the club, but in the same time... He had to find out what was this all about. His willingness to do so only grew when he saw boy with messy hair, sneaking out of the group. Lloyd tried to use all of his skills and followed him to the staff room. Luckily, he didn't locked the door, so boy as fragile as young Garmadon could have walked through the crack. He hid behind a tall shelf and started listening. "You didn't tought that it would be this easy, didn't ya?" "I-I don't know what are you talking about! What-" "You are fully aware of your situation, demon." "A demon? Do you mean... No! I'm normal, very normal!" "Don't try to fool around. We know who we are." The sound of taking out the weapons froze blood in Lloyd's veins. "Wait! I have... informations to sell! Many informations! About Garmadon! You want to know more about him, right?!" "Oh, can we shut him up already?" Boy's mind was working like crazy. Were those teenagers going to kill this poor person? Why would they? Personal damage? No, it didn't sounded like this. More like if they were a part of some kind of gang or cult... And, after all, what did it had to do with someone with the same surname as his? Lloyd was ready to get out and somehow stop them. He couldn't let this happen, dammit! If someone died next to him and he did nothing, he wouldn't forgive himself. "Wait!" He yelled, getting eyes of everyone in the room at him. When he looked at the scene that took place there, he had to take a step aside. Those guys were surely gonna kill someone - but this someone wasn't a human by any chance. More like a monster of some kind, like a wicked creature from one of his comics. It looked like a zombie now, but a zombie with claws, sharp, long teeth, tail and dead, black eyes. It took the moment of the shock its opponents were in and attacked. Someone screamed. Lloyd covered his eyes. He heard grinding of the blades, unhuman voice was yelling in a cracked tone, strange liquid flew at his hand - was it blood? - and then, after the explosion of the bright light and scream of a dying creature, it all ended. Lloyd took some unsure steps in a direction of the teenagers. Two of them were wounded, one was drawing something on their skins, girl was cleaning her blade... Boy in a suit looked at him. "Hm, guys? I think we have a little problem."

#ninjago #fanfiction #fanfic #au #shadowhunters au

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cannibaldeerdoe · 3 years

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Romance is dead.

"She is probably using him." Was the first sentence out of his mouth. It had slipped out as he starred blankly into his latte as it swirled casually around the espresso and whipped cream in the cup. His friends, Audrey and Stella, Both had their jaws a gap.

To which Darnell simply shrugged nonchalantly, sipping coolly at his drink.

He glanced left, then right at both of his dear friends. A bored expression plastered on his face before he set his drink down, the sleeves of his dark over sized hoodie shuffling over his knuckles as the drink was set.

Darnell had short cut black hair, thick curls at the ends near his neck where he felt he may need to get a haircut sometime in the near future. Long bangs pushed out of his eyes as green eyes took in the shocked expressions of his friends once more before deciding to finally speak up.

"What?" He stated so plainly, " I was pretty sure you were use to this by now. " He stated plainly.

The girl's had been gossiping about a college campus romance unfolding. They had seemed like the most typical couple in the world, boy meets girl, they start doing casual stuff around campus, holding hands, walking to class, ect, ect. Darnell has seen this sort of thing at least a dozen or so times before.

It always ended the same. Heart break. Either after a month or two they faded apart, or one cheats on the other, or the other gets dissatisfied by the fact they only want such and such items. Petty stuff that was enough to ruin anyones mood.

This time though, The guy had left a bouquet of flowers on her desk with a note. She later came back with a red blush on her face.

He had apparently surprised her with some sweets in her locker next, ending with a request to an amusement park. after only a year of dating it seemed he finally proposed. She had yet to give her answer yet. Though, according to his friends, she was a fool to say no to such a romantic gesture.

"No. Dont you see? He obviously figured out she was the perfect fit for him. " Stated Audrey, resting her chin on her palm as she stuck out her puffy lips. Her perfect dark skin seeming to meld well with the lighting drifting in through the window they were seated beside.

"You typically need a few years and living together to know that"

"Maybe he just knew, y'know, like a soul mate or something. " Stated his other friend, Stella stated, her brunettes' locks hanging low as he rested her elbow on the counter. Her gold hooped earrings shinning as they interacted with the sun hitting the table.

"No, See, Here's how things will play out. They rush into this marriage, and after a year pop out some children. They arent prepared or ready for kids so that causes tension. They find out their views on raising kids is vastly different and they dont coordinate well. They divorce, wondering why they were ever in love in the first place. " He began to take a sip at his drink. Humming casually.

"Its so simple. Heard it a dozen times before. There is no such thing as love or romance not in the real world. " They both stared at him, their brown and blue eyes glaring him down before Audrey broke the silence.

"Yeah, Well, I hope you stay single forever with that sort of attitude!" To such an accusation, the group laughed. Cheerful fun having presented itself.

The group soon decided to depart, standing and walking down the street, the busy city gleaming and bustling with life.

Short lived romance, People arguing, Artists, dancers, office workers. It was just everyday life in this beautiful city. A city of small drama and comfortable living for young people.

It was perfect for beginnings and amazing for endings. Only issue was a lot of the time it was placed in that cold hard, cough syrup flavored reality.

They chattered and Darnell once more found himself laughing.

He had sworn he would stay single forever, because, to him romance was just something he enjoyed reading about in his spare time. It wasnt something that was real. It wasnt something that lasted. Just like his own parents. When he was a kid, they argued non-stop while swearing they were once in love.

To Darnell, Love was a spark that eventually faded. Love that lasted was usually just that. A fairy tale. One he figured he would enjoy avoiding at al cost.

Darnell paused, spotting in a window pane a book he had been in desperate need of and been eagerly awaiting the release of the next volume!

He could hardly contain such excitement, Pausing to stare into the window that showed the new released.

"I didnt even get the notification! "He exclaimed, waving hurriedly to his friends. They looked at eachother before turning to continue to walk.

"We can just meet you later." Stated Stella,

"How a romance nerd like you doesnt believe in real romance is such a god damn mystery to me."

The bell chimed delightfully and slightly annoyingly as he hurriedly opened the door to the bookshop.

Rushing over to the bookshelf behind the window case and searching frantically for where the volume might be located.

"Can I help you?" Stated a smooth voice almost like caramel from behind him.

Darnell's shoulders slumped some, he hated social interactions with strangers. He had already guessed a read on his personality before even turning to face him. Gorgeous and surrounded by women at all peaks of the hours.

"Im just looking for the book that was released in this series. "He hardly bothered to look the man in the eye.

There was an audible hum from the man as he answered Darnell's query.

"I havent quite gotten around to putting them on the shelf yet. The copies are actually still in a box just over there. I just finished with the display a few minutes ago before being dragged off by my manager." He chuckled softly, his voice sounding almost as sickeningly radiant as the bell that chimed when he strode in.

"Well why bother setting up the display if they arent--"Darnell was about to go off on this guy, who care's if he is good looking?! Yet, when his green eyes met with this guy's almost brown his heart seemed to skip. As though it were waking from a cold damp slumber and stretched its feathered wings.

What. The. Fuck. Oh no, you go back to being dead right this instant!

He swallowed, rolling his eyes and trying to look more disgruntled than what he actually was.

"Just give me the damn copy. "

He demanded, which was promptly met with a chuckle, a smile. And him bending over to reveal even better of a view.

Yeah. He was asking for heart break with this guy. Last thing he needed in his life was more heart break.

He plopped the heady hardcopy into Darnell's hands. His eyes seemed to gleam as he held his most recent favorite romance novel. It was glorious! It was just as great as everything written about it in the forums!

He slouched back into his normal mood, His lip stuck out as he avoided eye contact and held the book tightly to his chest.

"Thanks."

"No problem, I can check you out as well if you'd like. It looks like your friends may have come back for you after all." He chuckled again, waving politely to the two girls standing outside.

Why were they just watching the whole scene? Were they expecting something from all this?!

He bought his book and went about his day. His friends teasing him that the guy back there was right up his alley in every way, shape and form!

"Did you get his name?"

"Did you get his number...?"

" His names Bryan. No, Why would I even bother?" They continued their taunts. Although they all stopped suddenly in their steps, the sound of rampant feet clattering towards the group.

They had gone quite a ways from the bookstore now and were on their way home, surprised to find the handsome and bold short haired red head sprinting towards them.

He huffed, changed from his bookstore uniform. He was red in the face a large smile as he tried to play off how awkward it must have looked running towards them.

"I cant--!"He tried to say between gasps for air. "Believe I ran into you again!" He stated exasperated, "I thought about this earlier, I got so excited when I saw you again I thought it might be a good chance!" he began to dig around in his pocket, pulling out his phone.

"I notice you read romance in my mother's store a lot! I thought you might be interested in maybe coming to a book club with me. It's run by my sister. The next reading is 'What blooms in winter' A new romance story that was released by an armature novelist. "

He smiled, directing the phone screen to Darnell in particular.

"I figured I could...Get your number. It's next week. I can even stop by and pick you up by the store?"

In Darnell's mind at that moment he could heart the thrum of his heart, His friends both at a loss for words. That was basically asking for a date. Adding in some lame excuse for how he could get his number.

He rolled his eyes.

His head was screaming for a yes, yes, YES! Though he instead shoved the phone back into the guys hands. "Why in the world would I bother going to something so childish as a book club. "he snarled. Turning sharply on his heel.

"S-Sorry he--" "Stop talking to the creep!" He interrupted, Not wanting to put up with Stella's excuse.

After that, he said good bye to his friends. Hugs and cheers as they departed. He stood there in the hallway. Waiting for everyone to get to their dorms.

He stood in the silence. Looked left. Looked right.

Then he found his legs were moving on their own.

Sprinting as fast, if not faster, than he thought possible down the hallway, bursting through the doors of his apartment, back down that alley way with his sneakers noisily smacking against the loud concrete.

He turned the corner to the empty city street to see a lone man in a dark green and white t-shirt walking with his hands in his pockets.

He looked a bit forlorn to say the least and turned almost at the last minute to view a black haired, skinny pale male moving faster than he had since middle school gym.

He could barely stop, barreling towards the broad-shouldered red head. He stopped just in time before a crash course collision.

Gasping in deep shallow breaths. He couldnt dare try to say words.

They both stood there in awkward silence.

"Are you al--"He was about to ask, though Darnell very quickly grabbed for his phone from his hands. He held his breath as he rushed to type in his number and throw it back into his hands.

He still was quite breathless but now stood up straight, a scowl present on his face and turned back to walk jelly legged back to his apartment. Leaving the man to the empty street once more.

A soft chuckle being heard from him.

#writing #short stories #lgbtq+#my writing

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ladyiceflame-blog · 6 years

Text

An Inconvenient Wedding:

Chapter Fourteen: Hazardous Wagers

A celebratory roar of victory came to her moral rescue. Her father had just won an arm-wrestling match against Matsuko, who was widely believed to be the strongest man ever born in Shimogakure, and kept returning home stronger with every mission. “You came close, lad,” the Shimokhan congratulated his soundly defeated opponent, who lay slumped atop his enormous folded arms on the small table’s edge. “Your chakra reserve has expanded quite a bit from the last time, but its still not enough to get the best of my resources.” “I figured as much,” Matsuko admitted, sitting up, “But, I had to at least try.” Reveling in this latest victory, and perhaps the steady flow of ‘liquid courage’ that he’d been imbibing since arriving, the Shimokhan stood up, and regarded the room. “I believe I’ve beaten everyone at this point...” “Not everyone!” Miriyume corrected, taking the opportunity to remove herself from Kakashi’s scrutiny. She placed Pakkun on her vacated seat, and went to her father’s side as cheers erupted around her. “Oh, kami,” Renara swore under her breath, setting aside her sewing and grabbing Wakame’s arm, “Get the water-jutsu users ready, I don’t want them burning down the tent this time!” “This....time..?” Kakashi asked, concern clearly showing. Gekido draped a slightly inebriated arm around his shoulders, and explained a bit: “Fire and lightning jutsus have some intense consequences, when pitted against one another....” he smiled drunkenly. “They burned Shimogakure’s best inn down, a couple of years ago. Are you any good at water techniques....?” “When the situation calls for it, yes,” Kakashi replied. “It probably will,�� the Inuzuka intoned. “Miriyume’s been looking forward to finally beating her Old Man at this game, once and for all.” They all watched as Wakame paused the match to switch out the basic wooden table for one of the iron chests, covered by some special cloth, and the audience was instructed to keep their distance. “I thought this was supposed to be a game about chakra and strength...” Kurenai openly wondered, as she and Kakashi both observed the scene in puzzlement. “Normally, yes,” Matsuko vouched, “But when two Yaseiarashi’s face off, the chakra-ante challenge doesn’t really matter much, being as how they have unlimited resources.” “...Like a couple of millionaires playing an endless penny-ante poker game,” Hiruzen supplied. “Rather boring to watch.” “So,” Matsuko resumed, “They added another level of challenge...” “...Much to my annoyance,” Renara capped, as the opponents sat down at the makeshift table. “Ready, Old Man?” Miriyume smirked wickedly at her father. “Always ready, Little Girl!” Ryuumaru taunted, grinning just as evilly back. So that’s where she got that crooked smile from, Kakashi realized, as the two locked hands and waited for the signal to start. “Are you shaking?” Miriyume continued to try and psyche-out her foe, as Nobu took position to judge. “Just idling,” her father riposted, making her laugh just before the elite shinobi guard yelled, “GO!” Ryuumaru silently marveled at his daughter’s improved arm strength. She had inherited his shorter, stocky frame, which included a broad set of shoulders that housed better-than-average upper body might. Her time spent gallivanting about the world at large had developed this slight edge even further. But it was still no match for his own muscles, which had spent decades pulling monstrous catches from the icy Northern Waters. The Shimokhan managed to push her arm to 45 degrees before she resorted to her favored Storm Gauntlet jutsu. Kakashi and Kurenai both jumped, as the dark, iridescent sparks engulfed her pale arm without any requisite hand jutsu. Her lightning affinity had such an unusual color spectrum... The Shimokhan growled through the slight pain, before countering with his own technique: “Fire style: Flame Gauntlet!” he announced, as amber-hued fire encased his arm. The mustered water-style users went to work, shielding the crowd with a transparent, heavy water barrier. Where the two energies met, the air was warped with a frightening amount of heat. It was clearly making Miriyume uncomfortable. “Ugh, you’re so predictable!” the kunoichi-priestess scolded, as she struggled to maintain leverage. “Can’t you use anything else other than fire jutsu?!?” Ryuumaru laughed, as he willed the fire even stronger, “I could. But I never had a need to against you, Miri-chan!” “You do now!” Miriyume matched her father’s stubborn refusal to submit, as the gold stars flashed in her eyes. With her off hand, she made the elemental signs for first wind, then water, then slapped the table to enact the fusion of the two natures: “Ice Release: Winter’s Breath!” Miriyume announced, as a stream of compressed frost erupted from the palm of her other hand, putting her father’s fire jutsu back in check. Ryuumaru responded with laughter born of paternal pride, as he began to show signs of losing ground. “She can use Ice Release?!” Kakashi openly gawked. “She can use anything she wants,” Matsuko smiled smugly, “So long as she knows how to blend the chakra correctly.” “Any chakra?” Kurenai pressed, as the crowd cheered Miriyume as she slowly gained the advantage with her combined technique. “Well....she’s not too savvy on Yin or Yang release. That was more her brother’s thing. And she’s kinda forbidden from using any Dark chakra...” Gekido admitted. Matsuko gave him an undisguised frown of disapproval. “What?” the Inuzuka defended. “We’re amongst friends, aren’t we? And its not like it’s a big secret...” “Neither is it a subject that I care to broadcast,” Renara concluded somberly. “Then I apologize, Priestess-sama,” Gekido atoned abruptly with a deep, sober bow. “I will never speak of such things again.” Renara nodded her gratitude, and returned her green and gold eyes to the arm-wrestling. The subtle power of this woman intrigued Kakashi. Her voice never carried much above a quiet conversational volume, but when she spoke, EVERYONE listened....and obeyed. The Elders of Konoha could only hope to achieve the influence of this Heron Sage Priestess. “Anyway,” Matsuko continued, after giving Gekido a slap to the back of his bowed head, “If it concerns Nature, or priestess chakra, Miri-chan has it covered. Her Renkingen allows her to blend endless possibilities.” “Which can make life rather exciting at times...” Gekido added, as the crowd’s cheering surged in response to Miriyume bringing the back of the Shimokhan’s hand a mere inch away from the tabletop. “Get him, Miriyume-sama!” bellowed a cooking-nin from Kumogakure. The fire and frost jutsus were creating sauna-like conditions in the yurt. “Much more of this, and I’ll send out for some cedar branches!” Nobu warned, waving steam from in front of his eyes. “Purification rituals are what they do in that Koryomizu place,” Gekido snapped. “Let’s steam some dumplings! “Make....mine....strawberry...” Miriyume grunted past the effort of keeping her father’s hand inches away from her victory. “Scupper your strawberry, Stormfly!” Ryuumaru growled, as he began to channel more chakra. “This isn’t a steam table....it’s a Shimogakuran camp grill! Fire Release: Emerald Furnace!” The golden amber of his fire became a brilliant jade green, burning so hot as to leech all the ambient moisture from the air, including the water barriers, making it as arid as the deserts of the Land of Air. Miriyume screamed in rage and intensified effort as she began to lose ground quickly to her father’s most powerful jutsu. “I’m impressed, Miri-chan,” Ryuumaru condescended, “You’ve never been able to push me to this jutsu before...” “Don’t....patronize me...” Miriyume grunted, as she furiously poured more chakra into her Winter’s Breath jutsu, earning her back a couple of agonizing inches. Ryuumaru wasn’t even struggling anymore. “You were always so damned adorable when you’re overwhelmed...” her father continued, shaking his head as he began to ease her arm backward in gentle mockery. “And you....must not have paid much attention....in your science classes...” Miriyume countered, as her roiling, opalescent Sage energy voided the iris and pupils of her eyes, making them orbs of shimmering liquid iridescence. Renara immediately sensed the energies that her daughter was summoning and shouted out: “Matsuko! Now! Sage Art: Thousand Crane Barrier!” and slammed both her hands on the ground, just before a loud crack, and a flash of lightning forced everyone’s eyes away from the competitors. A sound like massive wings, and a gentle draft of cool air buffeted the audience, as they had their gaze averted. When they turned back, a wall made of massive, silvery flight feathers had been erected around the combatants, and Matsuko was missing. “I’d forgotten how elegant your Sage art was, Renara-sama,” Hiruzen complimented, as he studied the platinum, nine-foot quills that sprouted from the ground, neatly hemming in her family’s reckless use of powerful ninjutsu. “Herons are elegant creatures,” Renara admitted. “Their disciples could hardly be otherwise.” She took a moment to place a hand against the barrier, and sense what was happening on the other side. “Have they calmed down now, Matsuko-kun?” she called out. “They have, Priestess-sama,” the absent shinobi reported from the other side. “Did you have to use your heritage technique?” “Maybe a little....” Matsuko sheepishly returned. “Any injuries?” the sage-priestess continued. “No, Mother!” Miriyume reported irritably. In a quieter voice, she added: “We might need a new iron chest, though...” Renara dismissed her barrier, and revealed the hidden trio. Matsuko was standing beside the other two, who were regarding the smoldering end of the iron chest. Scorched, slumped ore made it look like the used end of a stick of sealing wax. “Well?!?” the Inuzuka prompted, as the three kept the rest of the tent on the edge of their seats. “She got me,” Ryuumaru huffed, crossing his arms and smiling. A human tsunami rushed in on Miriyume, and bore her aloft in a celebratory roar, as the Shimokhan moved to take a seat beside his wife at the bar. “Our little kunoichi’s all grown up now,” Ryuumaru declared somberly to Renara. “Her power easily eclipses mine.” The Heron Priestess gave his strong shoulder a gentle squeeze, as she watched him wipe away a small tear from his eye. As proud as he was of Miriyume’s fierce autonomy, he had always been a little saddened it by it as well. He couldn’t bear the thought of his little girl never needing him to fight her battles. Ryuumaru’s eyes remained glassy as he watched the dauntless musicians catch her and nearly everyone else up in a frenzy of triumphant dancing and singing. This was the Yaseiarashi trait that had been fused into the soul of their homeland: Unity through comradery. As close to Ninshu as she’d ever found outside of Temples. Renara laced her fingers into her husband’s, and offered verbal comfort: “You raised her to be strong, anata. Just like you,” then kissed his stubbled cheek. “And you raised her well, Shimokhan,” Tosho rumbled from behind them, as he lay sprawled atop the counter. “Never have I encountered a more tenacious spirit than Miriyume’s. Her resolve can put some of the gods to shame. Raijin being among them...” “Are you two fighting again?” Ryuumaru asked, giving the tiger a concerned look. “Raijin-sama and I never fight. We merely...differ in practice,” his tail thumping against the bar. “You’re fighting...” the Shimokhan deducted with a laugh, scratching the great cat’s ear. Pakkun’s austere eyes were thoughtfully regarding Kakashi as he in turn watched Miriyume caper about the room with her countrymen. There was something very different in his aspect. A lightness of being that had eluded him for far too long. When Pakkun had first learned of this Miriyume, it had been en route to the distant and rarely acknowledged Land of Frost. Kakashi was an Anbu captain back then, and had for some reason demanded a week-long vacation to ‘get away from it all.’ Sarutobi had to have been all too happy to comply, he’d wagered. Halfway into the trek north, he’d been summoned to provide company, conversation, and the scant advise that a ninken could offer on finding a rapport with a foreign kunoichi! Pakkun had been stunned, to put it bluntly. Kakashi had never shown any interest in any girls before, although plenty had shown interest in him. Why did this Frost maiden have such an immediate pull on him? Regarding her now, he could easily understand at least some of the attraction. She was pretty. She was vivacious. And there was a strange, magnetic quality that she unconsciously exuded. Could it have something to do with her overflowing chakra....? What had happened all those years ago in Shimogakure? The entire way there, Kakashi had gushed about her hair, her smile, her eyes, her spirit... He’d even agonized and rehearsed what he would say when he found her again. And he’d brought her a gift: a small box of chocolates. The kind his mother used to love, and frequently receive from Sakumo. Kakashi had once loved those chocolates, too, before his father had committed seppuku. He’d sworn off sweets, and many other things on that day. Finally, Pakkun had thought happily, He’d found his way out of the darkness! With spirits high, and a bit of nervousness, they emerged through the border forest that Kakashi had lead Team Ro through a mere week before. He’d been told of this aurora borealis, but the sickly green glow in the skies above in no way resembled the ‘shining curtains of ethereal light’ that his master had described. There was no activity on the lake. No music in the air. The people they saw in town were quiet, somber, and avoiding all contact with them. Nothing remotely resembling the much lampooned Shimogakure of popular report. Pakkun’s keen nose could scent the pervasive sorrow. Something horrible had happened here. He had tried to voice this dread to the boy before he’d caught the eye of a haggard-looking local, who had given a slight double-take at the half-masked stranger in his midst. “Um, excuse me....” Kakashi had called out, as he motioned grandly for the man’s attention. “Where is the Yaseiarashi house?” The man’s eyes turned instantly glassy, and he shook his head and pressed his finger to his lips before turning away and continuing down the street. That wasn’t good enough for Kakashi. He bolted through the melting snow drifts to stand in front of the man: “What has happened here? Where is Miriyume?” His persistence earned him a sharp glare, and an angry pointing toward the north end of the village, far beyond the residential sectors. The direction of the Memorial Gate. The Shimogakuran cemetery. Pakkun clung desperately to the young ninja’s shoulder, as he launched himself through the eerily lit snow, down the path indicated. He heard the choke in Kakashi’s throat when he found the ash-charred plinth standing in mute testimony of the recent rites performed here. He heard the small sob as he read the wind-tattered funeral banner, snapping in the frigid, hilltop breeze: Yaseiarashi. “No.” Sinking to his knees in the frozen slush. “Not her! Not again...” Kakashi’s lament sent a painful tingling into Pakkun’s nasal cavities, causing a flood of warm tears through his thin fur. Was this poor boy born under a cruel star? They spent a painful, numbingly cold night in a lonely vigil over a stranger’s grave. When morning came, Kakashi set the box of chocolates, along with the metaphysical remnants of his heart, upon the soot-stained stone, and turned back for Konoha. That rare ember of true joy had been smothered, once again, killing the fledgling hope that had survived his many tragedies. Kakashi never spoke her name to him again, in keeping with her strange country’s custom. But, here she was, so many years later, easily reigniting that elusive spark. It was spring in Kakashi’s heart again, reclaimed from the long, cruel winter. Pakkun was deeply grateful, before an unnerving rumble made him jump. “Allow me to apologize for my prior behavior, admirable ninken,” Prince Tosho began, peering at him over the edge of the bartender’s side of the counter. “Do you like dried yak?” “I’ve....never had dried yak...” “Then you must try this....” the tiger disappeared for a moment, then leapt atop the bar with a large sack of heavy burlap in his mouth. He laid down, and used his enormous paw to pin it down, and tore it open with his fearsome teeth. A carnivore’s fortune of seasoned, dried meat came tumbling out between the tiger’s paws. Pakkun’s nose was enchanted. “This is an unofficial currency of Shimogakure,” Tosho explained, as he took a mouthful and began to eat. “They use it as their main shinobi protein ration.” Pakkun was transfixed, and moving closer, desperate for a bite. “It smells amazing....” licking drool as he watched more of the savory staple disappear in the tiger’s mouth. “Then why don’t you join me,” shoving a generous amount the pug’s way, “...and tell me more about your master?” Humans had their whiskey, but Tosho had always found the exotic taste of yak to be a better form of bribery among his bestial peers. As Gekido finished the final chorus of one of her favorite songs, Miriyume took a moment to survey the room: her homeland. Her allies. This was what this whole thing was ultimately for. Securities for the future. A step closer to realizing the dreams handed down by the Sage of the Six Paths. This treaty would happen, dammit, she vowed silently, as she quashed her insecurities deeper into the pit of her stomach. Shimogakure needed to light another candle against the encroaching darkness. Then a clumsy, strong hand took hold of her shoulder. Gekido, who was undeniably drunk. “You’ve been sampling from too many hip flasks again,” Miriyume chided, knowing her team-mate’s stubborn habit of mixing his alcohol. It never went well for him. “I’m blaming the wine that your Lord Creep-master brought to dinner,” Gekido reeled unsteadily. “Too damn sweet...threw me off my game! And speaking of games....” pointing in the direction of the freshly set arm-wrestling table, “I challenge you, Sparkler, to a match!” Miriyume allowed him to drag her to a seat, humoring her cherished companion. The Inuzuka did have a slight chance of success here. He had more upper body strength, and much faster reflexes that her, honed in tune with his bestial instincts. And being drunk had the interesting effect of speeding his already insane reaction time up. If he could manage to slam her hand against the table faster that she could properly phase her chakra, he’d win. “Are you sure about this, Gek-kun?” she asked, as she watched Aoseishin clamber up onto the chair behind him, and place his large front paws on his human’s shoulders. “Sure I’m sure!” Gekido replied breezily. “You just arm-wrestled the hardest match of your life, and I’m fresh out of the gate! And also, Ao and I have been working on a new technique, so prepare yourself, you...obnoxious oppai!” “Then let’s make this interesting....and play for the Stone,” Miriyume returned. “I want to wear it tomorrow, and its mine turn to have already, since the Iron Chest Grappling.” “...and the game of Kraken....” Matsuko added, looking on. Gekido reached into the small pouch located under his ninkin’s neck bandana, and produced the amber chrysanthemum trinket. He reverently laid it on the table between them. “I’ll let you hold onto it for luck, even though I’m about to HUMILIATE you!” Gekido offered, in his sweet-and-sour fashion. “We’ll see....drunkard!” she taunted back, as they waited for the referee.

“What is the significance of that stone?” Kakashi inquired, standing beside Matsuko among the small audience that was gathering. “It’s kind of our lucky charm,” the serene giant answered. “It was a gift from our first team sensei. Our best sensei.” “I heard that you had more than is customary,” Kakashi, before Matsuko cut him off with the information he was fishing for: “We had six. Not counting the independent tutors that Miri-chan had to suffer through.” “Six?!?” The Leaf jonin was truly astounded. “Can you imagine?” Matsuko continued, “Four grown adults, scared off by a passive brute, a feral smartass, and a hot-blooded ginger who had made friends with a storm kami? We weren’t the easiest genin trio to sponsor. We left our last sensei before he could abandon us, right after our chunin exams, to protect him, and chose to wander the world. But our original sensei...Hato-sensei,” he paused a little, out of obvious respect. “She left this world to protect us. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to forgive her for that.” His stark admission took Kakashi slightly aback, as the random fragments of Miriyume’s past were connected, bringing their strange story into sharper focus. They wandered the world because they wanted to avoid the pain of harming those they loved, and/or being hurt by those same people! He had adopted a similar mind set, long ago, before realizing the perpetual torment such a practice bestowed. But where he had adopted a cold, callous front as a barrier against others, these three zealously embraced the all the world had to offer, then slipped off into the distance before any harm was done. He wondered at who’s was the crueler method. “Such is the burden of teaching; the constant fear of disappointing your students,” Kakashi offered. “But you are hardly alone in that tragedy. I lost my team sensei as well.” Matsuko turned his full attention on the Leaf jonin, silently prompting him to continue. “And I never had another. But, my circumstances were very different...” “Are you ready, Ao?” Gekido asked. Aoseishin answered with an eager bark, and the referee called the start. As expected, Gekido’s arm worked like an ice-bear trap, moving so fast that Miriyume’s knuckles would have surly been bloodied were it not for her opening with a calculated burst of chakra when the ref first began to speak. “Heh, not so easy this time, eh, Sparkler....?” Gekido teased, using his greater strength to muscle her arm backward, as she internally wagered her next chakra surge. “So what’s this....new technique you’re bragging on....?” Miriyume grunted, as she regarded the snowy furred dog’s friendly face, as it rested atop Gekido’s Shimogakuran standard shepherd’s hat. “Distracting Hat Jutsu?” “Is it working?” the Inuzuka asked. “No!” she proved her claim with another surge of chakra that returned their clasped hands to the starting position. “Then I’d better try this then: Ao! Bellows on Drum Technique!” Miriyume watched as Aoseishin dismounted his owner’s shoulders, and padded over to stand beside her. He then stuck his cold, wet nose in her ear, and started snuffling. It was Gekido’s favorite way to wake her out of a dead sleep, because it always worked, and she could never vent her indignant rage upon the ninken. With a squeal, Miriyume slammed Gekido’s surprised hand to the table in a large burst of crackling energy that sent the dog leaping away. “I can’t believe that you call that a ‘technique’!” Miriyume half raged, half mocked, as she stood up and shoved her opponent out of his chair. “Was that even legal?” “Any collaborative method between an Inuzuka and their ninken is recognized as a legal technique,” Nobu cited. “All the good it did you!” Miriyume scolded, as she pounced upon Gekido and began to throttle him. “Hey! It was his idea!” the Inuzuka tried to shift the blame to his ninken, as he desperately tired to protect his painfully ticklish ribs. Aoseishin sat stoically watching the tussle, and grumbled audibly at the accusation. “Shame on you, blaming Aoseishin!” a Frost kunoichi decried from the sidelines. “Punish the transgressor of canine honor!” a grizzled old Inuzuka man bellowed as he scratched his equally grizzled wolf-hound ninken under his chin. “Hear that, Gek-kun?” Miriyume smiled, as she held her team-mate pinned firmly against the ground, straddling his abdomen in a rather unladylike way. “I am simply enforcing a clan dictate...” as she held her hands before her and arced a mild current between them menacingly. “No!” Gekido squirmed with renewed vigor, “Not the ‘ear-zaps’!” “Yes, the ‘ear-zaps’!” someone else in the laughing crowd countered. Miriyume’s face was pure sadistic glee, as she focused the iridescent sparks to her fingertips. “You know too well what breathing in my ear does to me, you shameless cur!” she hissed. “So...I accidently found one of your little kinks...” he whined, “There’s no need to abuse mine!” “....And that’s enough of tonight’s drunken confessions, guys,” Matsuko announced, as he lifted Miriyume off of her victim, and placed her back in the arm wrestling champion’s chair. “And it appears that you have another challenger, Miri-chan,” directing her attention to the man who sat opposite her. “Yo,” Kakashi acknowledged with a small wave. Like a charm, all of Miriyume’s indignant ire melted away as she focused on the man’s lone smiling eye. Matsuko filed that information away for future reference. After the initial, annoyingly recursive thrill his presence seemed to give her, Miriyume narrowed her eyes and made a rough quantification of his chakra. Not good. In gambling terms, he couldn’t even meet her usual opening ante. “You do know how to play this game, right?” she asked, smoothing her distressed kimono. “My ‘Eternal Rival’ at home is a big fan, and challenges me often,” Kakashi replied, as he flexed the artful fingers of his right hand. “So, yes....all too well.” “‘Eternal rival....?” she echoed curiously, offering her hand. “It’s a long story...” placing his leather-clad palm across her smaller, pale one, and curling the fingers against its nearly translucent skin. Her nails had been manicured and lacquered since the Kraken game, in a rather beguiling shade of red, “...for another time.” “I’ll hold you to that,” she winked, as the audience began to amass around them. “Now, prepare to lose!” she taunted, tightening her grip a second before Nobu said: “Begin!” The feel of her sinewy hand clutching his, combined with the playful, impish gleam in her eyes nearly had him defeated before they’d started. And she effortlessly countered his chakra bids, forcing him to rely his muscles. Her own surprised him with their unexpected strength. “Limitless chakra and brawn? Kakashi acknowledged, as she bested his frugal chakra expenditure yet again. He put more power into his arm, and briefly toyed with the idea of opening the First Gate. “Frail women don’t last long up in the North,” Miriyume riposted in a strained voice. Kakashi was easily as strong as Gekido, and nearly as fast-reflexed. Only her chakra would win her this battle, but it seemed so....unsporting. And thus engaged, she got to hold his hand.... He could smell the amber resin that she’d dusted across her collar, and down her sternum, brought into sharper scent by her warmer body temperature. His steadfast, constant pressure against her hand was causing her to bite her lower lip, and make the most distractingly seductive noises of strain as she held out. He could feel the building energy of her chakra reserves being channeled into another wave that would easily eclipse his own. Her priming growl of focus sent coppery tasting wetness leaking down behind his mask. Time to get serious... “Have you ever arm-wrestled an Uchiha?” Kakashi asked. “No, why–“ she managed to answer before her opponent raised his forehead protector, revealing the Sharingan. She watched spellbound and the three tomoe spun into mesmerizing rotation, as he casually stepped over the threshold of her mind. She could see him, like a visitor in her metaphysical library, casually perusing the haphazard scrolls of her mind. ***”So, this is him, huh...?*** —“Raijin-sama!”—Miriyume jumped in reaction to her kami’s sudden presence. His plasma-suffused eyes studied the latest trespasser into her mental palace with grudging curiosity. ***”The famous, or perhaps, infamous, Kakashi Hatake, sifting through your formative year memories... like a sushi chef at a bake sale....”*** —“What?!?”— Miriyume, taking insult at the strange metaphor. ***”Well, LOOK at him! He’s so...understandably confused and overwhelmed. I almost feel sorry for him.”*** The image of Kakashi jumped back as a shelf of manga-styled books fell in response to his browsing. He then moved to examine one of the many pillars of free-stacked hardbound tomes. —“How is he in here?”— Miriyume asked, watching him with a mixture of wonder and alarm. Yeah, Raijin rolled his stormy, pupil-less eyes in resignation. There was a strong attraction brewing here. Normally, such invasions of her privacy were met with....painful consequences. Usually a stinging mental blast of her plentiful chakra. Her subconscious-self seemed to have rolled out the red carpet for this one. ***“You are aware of what a Sharingan can do, aren’t you? Even if it is only a half-assed one...”*** Raijin returned petulantly. —“Can he...see us?”--- ***”No. He’s only focusing on your past at the moment,”*** as they watched him move closer to an old, hand-hewn wooden desk, covered in locked journals and years of emotive carvings onto its surface. A manifestation of an entire life’s worth of the most secret feelings of a highly emotional girl. ***”Do you really want him looking through all that?”*** he warned. —“It’s not like he can open any of them,”--- Miriyume scoffed, then shrieked in horror as the elaborate locking mechanism on her most recent journal sprang open in a small cloud of dust at his touch. Raijin laughed at her plight. ***“You were saying...?”*** ---“He....he can’t....”—stumbling weakly towards Kakashi. ***”I think he just proved otherwise...”*** —“He mustn’t!”— sinking to her trembling knees. —“He’ll find out!”--- Raijin arched an emerald eyebrow. ***”He has reduced you to a complete invertebrate!”*** he scolded in sadistic amusement, crouching beside her trembling, teary-eyed form. There was much more than just the Sharingan at work here. She was transfixed by some kind of emotional current; completely paralyzed from taking any action against the man. He stopped laughing. ***”In the Name of Me...”*** he swore, standing up over his lone, cherished priestess. He knew this day would happen. But why did it have to happen now? Raijin snapped her journal shut with a thought, and sent a ripple of static through the desk for good measure. To his surprise, Kakashi simply shook it off, reached for another of the journals. ***”Aren’t we the curious one!”*** he mocked, sending another jolt into the book, forcing him to drop it. Again, he persisted in his browsing. ***”Can I show this upstart the door already?”*** Raijin asked, cracking his knuckles menacingly as he looked back at his soul-stricken priestess, who nodded emphatically. The brief glimpse Kakashi caught of Miriyume’s mind only confirmed what he’d suspected all along: she was a bafflingly complex, emotionally driven creature. Usually, the Sharingan could skim a person’s thoughts, and gain a general understanding of intent or mind set, like the time he synced up with Zabuza’s violent thoughts. But this.... This was like trying to find his bearings in a raging hurricane of random events, punctuated by blinding bolts of psychological overload. And just when he thought he’d found some shelter from her mental tempest, it was lost in an explosion of chakra that sent him hurtling clear out of her mind. A second after Kakashi had used his Sharingan, Miriyume gasped and yanked her hand away, recoiling so far as to stand up and back into Matsuko’s surprised arms. “Miriyume-sama forfeits!” Nobu announced, drawing varied reactions from the crowd. “How DARE you sneak into my head!” Miriyume censured the winner angrily. “Yeah, Hata-ka-ta-ka-ke!” Gekido seconded drunkenly. “Have the courtesy to take her out for a nice dinner, first!” “I...meant no offense, Miriyume-sama,” Kakashi apologized, attempting to stand. He fell back into the chair with a groan. His sight began to warp the world around him like a fun-house mirror. Using the eye had been reckless. “It’s merely a tactic I employ in pressing circumstances...albeit an expensive one.” “Kakashi-kun?” Kurenai rushed over to assess her compatriot’s general health. “You look like you’re about to pass out!” “Lightweight!” Gekido mocked from the floor, as Aoseishin obliged him as a makeshift pillow. Hiruzen sighed. “Why do you always push yourself to this ridiculous extent of chakra exhaustion, Hatake-san? Even as a small child, before acquiring the Sharingan, you were constantly doing this!” Renara smiled wistfully, reminded of how she used to lecture another child prodigy with a very different dojutsu. Eyes that even confounded the owners most of the time. Ryuuyuki had been just as stubbornly driven, but he had a distinct advantage that everyone else lacked. The Heron Priestess gave her remaining child a pointed nudge toward the weakened victor. “Extend your hand,” Miriyume instructed Kakashi, as she reclaimed her seat across from his slumped form. Weakly, he slid a hand toward her. “Remove your glove,” she commanded testily, annoyed by the staggering amount of clothing layers this man had. Honestly, there were permanent residents of Shimogakure who bared more skin in the deepest part of winter! “Bedside manners, Stormfly-chan,” Renara reprimanded softly, as Kurenai assisted with removing Kakashi’s glove. “And don’t flood the poor man. Raise the tide gently....like a spring thaw...” Miriyume placed her palm flat against his bare one, aligning their most commonly used tenketsu, and began to gently transfer chakra. Kakashi’s blurred vision began to regain its sharp resolution, as a heady drought of Ninshu-distilled chakra was poured back into his being. The was different from the chakra infusions of the medical-nin, as it was laced with the spiritual training of a mystic. The peace it conferred upon his heart made the Sharingan begin to water up. “That replacement eye steals more than it should,” Miriyume remarked icily, as he used it to watch the opalescent stream of priestess chakra course its way up his arm, enveloping him in its aurora-like radiance. “Cover it.” Kakashi obliged her with a smile. “I was only enjoying the lights that time, I promise.” Miriyume bit her lip and turned away, cheeks blushing slightly at her paranoia being called out. “The Sharingan is the most useful give I’ve ever received, but the chakra tax is obscene,” Kakashi continued, finding the strength to sit up straighter. Gekido giggled like a small child from his spot on the floor. “Obscene things!” “Speaking thusly,” Prince Tosho grumbled, as he padded onto the scene with flattened ears, and a sour glance toward the bar. A great basso voice was singing a strange, choppy, tuneless song of nonsensical words, with the accompaniment of drunken drumming. “Oh, kami,” Renara sighed mightily with a face-palm, realizing at once who it was. “What on earth is that?” Kurenai openly asked, as she and Kakashi caught sight of a short, rotund man with his pants pulled up to his neck, rollicking about in rough time to the odd song, as the Shimokhan sang above the nearly breathless laughter of everyone in the tent. “The Yak Lullaby,” Matsuko proudly provided. “A song said to charm even the stampeding herds of musk ox,” the Hokage elaborated. “....and drive away any possessing a refined ear,” the tiger lord rumbled contemptuously, before turning to Miriyume. “I’ll be taking my leave now, Miriyume-san,” giving her shoulder an affectionate nudge with his nose before disappearing in a puff of icy vapor. “And I believe that this concludes this evening’s offering of epic revelry....” Renara declared, casting a weary eye on her husband and his capering jonin captain. Oetsu Tsuyoiude always encouraged Ryuumaru’s most idiotic stunts... “Is it that late already?” Miriyume asked, sounding a bit mournful, as she continued to channel chakra into Kakashi’s appreciative hand. He had the most elegant fingers. So long and dexterous... “Its past three in the morning, Miri-chan!” Matsuko chuckled. “Come on, little Stormfly,” the Heron Sage directed, patting her shoulder. “The bride needs to get her sleep. But first, help me reel-in your Father...” Miriyume gave Kakashi’s hand a brief squeeze, as she topped off his chakra reserve in a sudden rush, causing his senses to spin for a moment. As her hand slipped from his weak grasp, a profound fatigue fell in on him. Chakra replenishment couldn’t alleviate the utter torpor he’d achieved. “Can you make it back to your camp?” Matsuko asked Kakashi, recognizing the man’s lethargy. “If not, you can crash with Gek-kun and I....” “Only if I can cuddle with his dog!” Gekido demanded. “I believe we can manage to get him where he needs to go,” Hiruzen answered, as he and Kurenai assisted Kakashi’s stand. “And he’ll be fully recovered by morning. I know how to make an excellent restorative miso for the body.” “Add some eggplant, and I’ll take it,” Kakashi smiled, and he settled into the duel support of his fellow villager’s shoulders. “Where’s Pakkun?” “Right here, Boss,” the pug announced from the counter, still chewing a piece of dried yak. Kakashi’s eye flicked from him to the Lady Ice Flame, in silent reminder of his previous orders. “Got it, Boss,” acknowledged, and moved down the bar to keep vigilant watch over Miriyume, as she and her mother worked to corral the inebriated Shimokhan.

#kakashi

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uglymanchronicles · 6 years

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UMC:R Chapter 2: Defragmenting

(Chapter 2 is starting to run long, but it contained a good dramatic stopping point, so now it’s two chapters)

Evan was awakened by a rapping on the door and muffled but obviously irritated questions. He must’ve looked a truly sorry sight, as the flushed-faced security guard lost some of his bluster when Evan opened the door and hesitantly told Evan that he couldn’t stay parked in the lot all night and that could he please move on down to the campground a few miles up the road, if y’d be so kind.

Evan stared at the heavyset man for a long moment, then shook himself. “Oh, crap, yeah. Sorry, man. Lost track of the time. Give me just a couple minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.” Shit. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed the man was bald, but the words had started to leave his mouth before the ramifications the idiom hit him. To his relief, the guard didn’t seem to make the connection and bid Evan a good night.

Once the guard had puttered off back to the golf cart that served as his ‘patrol car’, Evan stepped outside and re-examined his own vehicle. Due to the lack of lighting, he couldn’t make out anything particularly expensive-looking on the RV, though he did notice that there were several large objects strapped to the roof. That didn’t worry him much; at worst, he’d probably gone to a garage sale or something while drunk and had bought something embarrassingly bulky and expensive that he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

At the back of the RV was another piece of comforting familiarity: his car. Evan hardly ever drove it, but the powder-blue ’97 Beetle came in handy every now and then when he wanted to go somewhere without taking his entire house with him. It appeared to be in good shape, though its interior was partially full of something covered by a sheet. Evan took a few minutes to poke around in the back seat and found that the car was mostly full of books. Encyclopedias, cookbooks, do-it-yourself books on nearly every topic he could imagine… he had a small library in there. A well-used one, too, from the look of it: hardly a book wasn’t sprouting with bookmarks and tiny sticky notes bearing near-microscopic writing.

Fighting against his own curiosity, Evan closed the door and moved back to the trunk. He expected—perhaps even hoped for—more of the same, but when he unlocked the trunk and went to open it, he felt slight resistance. He hesitated, then tugged again. The door wasn’t stuck; instead, it felt like it was weighed down. Slowly, and with the possibility of car bombs suddenly a very big concern in his mind, Evan carefully lifted the trunk open.

As he did so, something unfolded from the bottom of the lid. Evan flung himself to the side in anticipation of some kind of swinging blade or spring-loaded arrow, then immediately became very grateful for the parking lot’s poor lighting. Hopefully that would keep people from noticing him lurching around like a shitfaced ninja.

What swung out of the trunk was a series of shelves, attached to trunk lid. More confused than anything at this point, Evan began to fiddle with the new addition until he unfolded it completely and discovered that someone, presumably him, had built a small but surprisingly high-utility workbench out of the trunk of his friggin’ Volkswagen. The absurdity of it all momentarily stunned him. The biggest surface was made out of smooth, dense metal that seemed slightly scorched, and he realized that there was a small portable welder tucked into the side of the trunk alongside numerous other tools.

“Nope. I will deal with this later.”

After a few false starts, he managed to fold the table back into the trunk. He found himself hoping that he had built the setup himself, because it was damn impressive and he would be very proud of that. Hopefully he’d kept plans; he was already brainstorming improvements as he locked up the Bug and went back inside.

God, it was after ten! It’d been somewhere in the early afternoon when he’d “woke up”, and he’d only been up for about an hour before he’d passed out on the couch. Sometime during that period he’d shrugged out of the frankenhoodie and unstrapped the gun, which meant he’d been walking around outside in a very obviously used Kevlar vest like some kind of lunatic. Again, thank God it was dark out.

Evan shrugged his way out of the vest and dropped it on the couch. He’d been wearing a cheap plain t-shirt—again, gray—underneath, but under that was something strange. Reaching under his shirt, his hand met what felt like scales. He was wearing a second piece of armor underneath everything.

Jesus Christ. What did he need so much protection from? Where’d he get this?

More questions that would have to wait. He had it on for a reason, so until he had answers, it would stay on. Anyway, the armor was actually pretty comfortable; snug but smooth and cool to the touch. He wondered if it could be homemade, and if so, had he made it? It was nice that he was encountering some interesting and harmless mysteries to go along with the all the horrifying and confusing ones.

Time to shelve the mysteries, time to move. Settling into the driver’s seat was like sliding on an old shoe. The slight resistance of the cushions as his weight compressed them, the contours worn into them by countless consecutive hours of trying, and even the faint smell of himself infused into the seat made Evan feel at home. The strong, sharp click of the seatbelt and the low grumble of the slightly-moody engine were like music to his ears, and when he pulled out of the parking lot, it felt like he was sinking into a warm bath.

Evan had come to love driving. It was almost meditative. When he was behind the wheel, all his responsibilities were temporarily shelved. All that mattered, all that anyone could expect of him, was to get to his destination in a timely manner. It meant that he had time to think about whatever he wanted to, but the great thing was that he didn’t have to, which was what he was looking forward to now. After all, if he’d forgotten nearly three months’ worth of time, any music that would have come out during that time would be completely new to him! “Satellite radio, do your stuff.”

His phone was broken, but Evan could have fished out his spare GPS unit or looked up directions on one of the many computers he knew were around the vehicle. He didn’t. Part of him was afraid of what he’d find if he started digging around, and another part just wanted an excuse to drive aimlessly in peace. He’d been driving for about an hour and a half before he decided it was time to come back to reality.

Another cookie-cutter campground, another temporary spot of stability. There had been dozens like it beforehand, and probably more in the missing months. The details of it were basically inconsequential. He paid and hooked up the RV, used the bathroom, and checked the fridge. At least with whatever he’d been doing in the past three months he’d found time to make sure he had plenty of beer.

The password is the date. Evan rolled his eyes at his own attempt at being cryptic. Sure, he knew what he—previous him—meant, but it was somehow weirdly embarrassing. He got the message, though. When a blank-faced profile appeared on the login screen, he typed in a few combinations before he found the one that worked: 081808. That date had a special significance to him, but very few people would attribute the same significance to it. Not a fun date, but one he wouldn’t forget.

Don’t dwell on it. Go forward.

The laptop seemed to be the computer equivalent of a burner phone. It didn’t even have a wireless card. Once the OS booted up, Evan found the backgroundless desktop was stuffed with icons. Nearly all of them were basic text files with names like “DON’T CLICK ON ANYTHING UNTIL YOU WATCH THE VIDEO” and “EVAN—WATCH THE VIDEO” and “WATCH IT WATCH IT WATCH IT”. It was like a visual representation of the thought process of a very enthusiastic golden retriever. In the middle of the screen was a video file simply labeled “An Explanation”. It was so subdued compared to the massive clutter of hysterical type-screaming text files that he glanced over it at first. The mouse cursor hovered over the video for a second, but then, unable to resist being a smartass, even to himself, Evan clicked on the “DON’T CLICK ON ANYTHING” text file. Seconds later he burst out laughing after reading the contents: “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY, SHITHEAD? STOP BEING A DICK.”

“Okay, okay, don’t have a stroke,” Evan chuckled to himself, clicking the video. He checked the volume as the video player loaded, then sat back and watched.

The video started with a few second of blackness, then there was a clicking and shifting sound as the lens cap was removed. Evan found himself staring at his own torso as the recorded version of himself adjusted the camera. As he stepped back, more of the scene became visible. It was a barn or shed of some kind; the walls were wooden and had some obvious age to them, but that might have been the light. The scene was lit from behind the camera and either the doors were all closed or it was night, because outside of the light the surroundings were draped in shadow. The only significant feature of the room seemed to be a large chair covered in a sheet. Evan watched himself sit down in the chair and marveled at his own appearance. He was dressed much the same way as he’d been when he’d ‘reset’ earlier in the day, including the bandaged face and patchwork hoodie, but he seemed so much bigger than his preconceived notion of himself. He started to feel a bit self-conscious when his earlier self raised his head to face the camera and began to speak.

“My name is Evander Gregory Abrams, and if you’re watching this, you should know that, because you’re me.” His own voice sounded somehow tinny and crisp at the same time. It was his normal voice, too; Evan was unusual in that he liked his own voice. Slightly higher pitched than average and quite melodic, it didn’t quite fit his body, but it gave him one hell of a vocal range. He rubbed at his neck, his throat still sore, and hoped that whatever had happened to make him sound like a lo-fi Tom Waits wasn’t permanent. The video continued.

“You’re probably pretty confused and maybe a bit scared right now, so let me explain what happened to you and what’s about to happen to me.” Evan felt a slight chill run through his body at those words. What was he about to see?

“For the past few months, I’ve learned so much about so many things I didn’t even know there were to know about. It’s amazing. Life is fascinating. There’s so much more I want to learn, but… okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. Look, here’s the bottom line.” His image took a deep breath, then stared directly into the camera.

“Monsters exist.”

#Ugly Man Chronicles #Ugly Man Chronicles: Reignition #my writing #chapter

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kayleighdawes-blog · 7 years

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Jerzy Grotowski.

Jerzy Grotowski was a polish man and his ways were very strict and very disciplined. He was born in 1933, in south eastern Poland and unfortunately died in 1999 in Italy, from heart problems and leukaemia. In 1957 he debuted as a director at The Stary Theatre in Krakow. Grotowski also created radio plays for Polish Radio Theatre. These were based on Chinese and Tibetan legends and the old Indian play Shakuntala. In 1960 Grotowski directed George Byron’s Cain, Mystery Buffo. After this production, Grotowski collaborated with architect Jerzy Gurawski. Which then led to his ways of “there is no audience”, shutting down the division between stage and audience. Grotowski left Poland in 1982 to work in the US, but didn’t like it at all, as he didn’t like how his work was being adapted and performed, so he left and moved to Italy.

Source - <a href=“http://culture.pl/en/artist/jerzy-grotowski”>http://culture.pl/en/artist/jerzy-grotowski</a>

Grotowski had a very specific way of working and it was to ‘reveal’ his actors. He believed in ‘exposing their vulnerability to the audience’, to produce the purest and most effective type of work. This was called ‘total act’. When an actor reveals inner, deep emotion on stage and is completely exposed, not trying to hang on to any pride. He didn’t want ANY of his actors to have egos or too much dignity, as then they could be made to do almost anything and not be worried about what they look like. They were free souls. Grotowski would put really deep experiences on stage as he believed “actors can reveal things that others can’t”. He believed in being very much in touch with your body and inner emotion to show stories / plays in ways no one else in this world can. Grotowski grew up during WW2, and worked during this time as well, which I personally think is the reason behind how harsh he was, and how deep his work/techniques were.

Source - ‘A practical guide - preview’ (YouTube)

During an interview with Jerzy Grotowski on YouTube, he speaks about ‘total theatre’ and ‘poor theatre’. He explains that total theatre is modern theatre, using full set, full props, full costume, lighting, sound etc.. however, he said “take away all of those elements, all that you are left with is the actors and the audience”. Which then becomes 'poor theatre’. Poor theatre is nothing but an empty stage, performers and an audience. Poor theatre was very basic, very stripped down and almost impossible for anyone other than Grotowski to stage. Abit like Sarah Kane. Her work is very specific to her, so it’s hard for anyone else to stage her work. Grotowski loved this way of working as he didn’t believe that you needed all those elements to make good theatre, the performers were the key, and if anything, only a few of 'the essentials’. He said that “all of these elements appear back from the actors”. For example; 'the actors feet and voice become the music and create rhythm, lamps, candles etc.. become the lighting and the actors become the props’. For example; an actor would play a table, a chair… anything that would normally count as a prop. I feel like he believed that the actors could provide all of these elements for you, through the atmosphere they create. The physicality’s that they provide and the way they portray the play.

Source - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y1nA4HCa6zI

Grotowski’s training was known to be the most intense training programme since Stanislavski, as his main concept was to get the actors to connect with their bodies. His main influences were Stanislavski, Brecht and Meyerhold. All of his sessions were exactly the same, to really get the actors to connect with their bodies and voice. He would do this by getting his actors to strip down (almost naked), so that they were completely free and had nothing restricting them to feel exactly what he wants them to feel. His work then became very movement based, showing emotion through physical work. For example; if someone was feeling grief, they’re body would become jagged, tense and droopy, to show this emotion. The actors were ALWAYS in touch with their bodies. He wanted his theatre to break boundaries and be totally out of the ordinary, also known as 'para-theatre’, which he defiantly did. He done this by mainly focusing on poor theatre, and working intensely with his actors, this way was defiantly unique. However, his poor theatre work never really made it, and those performances that did slightly make it, only got performed to small audiences and only once. He said “theatre can never compete with film, so don’t try it”. This is another reason he focused his work around poor theatre, because he didn’t feel that all the 'essentials’, were used correctly or needed like they were film, so he didn’t even want to try compete against film.

His work was very immersive. He believed that the audience were never really the audience, they were part of the show. He would say to his actors “who are your audience?”, to which his actors would point to the audience, and he would then say “no! They are people attending our party”, or whatever scene that they were performing. The audience were part of it, part of the party, part of the funeral, part of the argument etc. He also believed that there was never necessarily a stage, the whole space was the stage. Which obviously meant that the actors were in the show, and should be ready to be interacted with. It seems to me like he took from Brecht and his work in that aspect because, Brecht wanted his audience to be confused and walk away questioning his work, rather than completely understand it in a naturalistic way. I feel like Grotowski took from this, then multiplied it by 100. His work must have left people confused as to what just happened. Although they will be emotional invested, when they wouldn’t have been during Brechts work, they still must have had that questioning element to it.

His directing process was; - block scenes and stage your work - find the given circumstances - always be listening (even if your not in the scene, be in the room watching and listening) - give positive feedback - find the right gestures - work on and correct mistakes - then details and precision This is madness to me, as it’s all backwards. The very last thing anyone would normally do, is block and stage your piece… yet this is the first for him. It’s like he wanted to have something, anything blocked and staged and then work on improving afterwards. I feel this is quite clever, as you give yourself a huge basis on your show to go off, and THEN add detail, apply the given circumstances and improve from there. This must be a challenging way to work though as you need to actually create a whole show first, regardless of whether it’s a basic or not, it’s a lot to do. This then links back to how intense his training was. As he added the pressure to himself and his workers of creating fast and having a whole show blocked, this must have been very full on.

We then watched 'The five truths’, directed by Katie Mitchell, in the Grotowski style. This is a piece taken from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, (when her father has died and she commits suicide). This piece was totally insane, and left me lost for words once it finished. It was so bizarre, so big, so intense and deep that I wasn’t quite sure how to react. The first few minutes of it, was simply the women screaming and shaking whilst holding onto a table leg… it was like something out of a horror movie. This then led to her crying on the floor, talking/looking through her fathers things… when then led to a very dramatic, very dark death scene (drowning). I found this whole piece to be very emotionally physical and really showed the current emotion (serious grief), through a physical side, rather than literal side… and this was very clear. You could really tell that the actress was connected to her body and voice, which was exactly what Grotowski wanted. You could even tell this by the volume and softness to her voice when she was speaking, it really felt like it was coming from her heart, rather than her diaphragm, you could connect to the emotion and almost feel what she was feeling. It was beautiful how connected she was, it was like every link within her body and soul was working together. It was insanely intense, with her body and sound from herself telling the story.

Source - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-ScsvWtMZWo

I felt that we used Grotowski’s body connecting method during our performance of 'Romeo and Juliet’. I felt this because, everything was very big and physicalised. Especially during the fight scene. This scene was intense. Everything that happened was done at a 10, and the anger, the eagerness, the hate was all shown through their movements and screaming, grunting, roaring during the scene. It showed how connected their bodies were to their minds, as they weren’t literally telling eachother how much they hate eachother, it was happening through their bodies. This happened a lot during our show.

Grotowskis methods were incredible. As a person, I felt he was quite harsh, very his way or no way, and a little bit evil, however, I do feel that he knew exactly what he was talking about. His methods were challenging, and very full on, but well thought out and clever. He was very unique and I personally feel it would be amazing to take on a piece done in his style. I particularly love how massive he is on his actors being connected to their bodies, and physically showing a story and emotion, rather than being literal, and constantly speaking it.

“The truth is carried by the actors to be released in performance. It is through discovering what is necessary that the “total act” is born. When the actors “commits an act of sincerity, when he unveils himself, opens and gives himself, in an extreme, solemn gesture and does not hold back, one knows that this actor has achieved the total act”. - Vanessa Boss on Grotowski’s method. http://www.dziecitheatre.org/dzfiles/boss.pdf

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