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ibis-gt · 3 years

Note

*slides you 37 pennies* how would luther handle trying to go on a public date with cam (movie, restaurant, etc.) with the whole… affection turns height to no.

had two requests for this one so here u go! luther does his best to keep it together for date night. 2750 words, warning for brief mention of violence in a movie and some hanky panky between consenting adults. not explicit, just a little spicy.

~~~

Four months into their relationship, and Luther has more of a handle on things now.

He’s got the size thing totally under control. He hardly ever shrinks just because Cam looked at him anymore. He can take a compliment like a champion. Those soft, sweet, gentle smiles that spread across Cam’s face like molasses? Barely make him lose an inch. Physical contact? He’s… still working on that one.

But at the very least they can have date nights in public now, as long as Cam behaves himself, and Cam is quite willing to behave himself. Most of the time.

It’s a snowy Saturday night in December, and they’ve got a date planned. Cam will pick Luther up at eight, they’ll go have dinner at a local sushi place, watch a late night special feature from the 80s, and then come back home for some wine and light snuggling before bed. An absolutely perfect night, if Luther can make it through enough of it full-size.

He’s still debating his outfit when a gentle knock at his front door heralds his beloved’s arrival. Five minutes early as usual.

“It’s open!” Luther calls. “C’mon in and help me choose, will you?” He’s standing in his bedroom in a pair of black slacks with the horrid green jumpsuit undone and tied around his waist, staring critically at his two choices of top. A lovely turquoise turtleneck, or a stylish electric blue button-up. The floor creaks behind him as Cam ambles in. “Which one do you think is better? I guess it depends on what you’re wear - eep!”

Luther squeaks and jumps as Cam presses his lips to Luther’s neck, big warm hands sliding up his arms to rest on his bare shoulders, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Both look nice,” Cam murmurs in his ear. “But I think I like the blue one better.”

“C-cam,” Luther whines, his face going pink. “If you keep this up we’re not even going to get out the door.” The hands remove themselves, and Cam pulls back, chuckling.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. All that exposed real estate, you know.” He lets out a perfect wolf whistle. God damn him. Luther glares over his shoulder and folds his arms, letting annoyance take over.

“We’ve been planning this for weeks, and you’re going to ruin it,” he pouts. “Go on, out. Wait in the living room if you’re going to be like this.” Cam puts his hands up in a placating gesture and retreats, but that damn smile doesn’t leave his face. Luther tosses his hair and huffs, secretly proud of himself. He didn’t even lose a half inch. He turns back to consider his options.

Well, if Cam is so focused on his neck tonight, that sweater might be the better option to afford him some protection. But he said he liked the button-up better… It’s lighter than the sweater so it won’t keep him as warm, but that means he can steal Cam’s big coat later on. The turtleneck would completely cover the green jumpsuit, but the blue of the button-up actually compliments it nicely. Luther nods decisively. The button-up will be perfect.

He dresses quickly, gives himself a final once-over in the mirror, unbuttons his top button, and heads out to see Cam. His boyfriend - his boyfriend! The thought still sends a thrill through him - has picked up the cat, Scrunge, and is stroking her head, making little baby noises at her. She purrs in her usual way, fast and loud, like a revving motorcycle. Cam sets her down when he sees Luther and sighs happily.

“You look fantastic,” he says.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” Luther crosses the room and fondly brushes a loose strand of hair behind Cam’s ear. Cam’s in a dark grey v-neck shirt and black suit jacket, slightly tarnished silver cufflinks adorning the sleeves. He’s got his big heavy winter coat draped over one arm so he doesn’t overheat in the relative warmth of the apartment. Luther sneaks a covetous little glance at it before grabbing his own shabby coat off a hook near the door.

He bends down to give Scrunge a goodbye scritch behind the ears. “Behave yourself while I’m out,” he tells her. “No tearing around the place and knocking things over.” She meows plaintively. Luther retrieves her bag of treats and gives her two as a bribe, which she accepts happily.

“Okay,” Luther says, straightening and shrugging on his coat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Cam says, and takes his hand.

They walk to the restaurant. No point in searching for parking, it’d take longer than just hoofing it anyway. It’s been snowing on and off throughout the week and piles of dirty slush cover the sidewalk. It’s cold, but Luther’s coat is keeping him warm enough for now. He and Cam hold hands as they walk to the restaurant, and Luther doesn’t even shrink a little bit. His chest swells with so much pride he thinks his feet might leave the ground.

The place is only a little busy, so they have a short wait before they’re shown to their table. They get their usual orders. Luther prefers simple rolls and nigiri so the taste of the fish is front and center, while Cam likes to get the complicated, loaded rolls for the variety of texture and flavor. While they wait for their food to arrive, Luther fills Cam in on Scrunge’s latest reign of terror in his apartment, and how much it’ll cost to fix the cracked frame of the painting she’d somehow managed to knock off the wall in her frenzy to catch the fabled red laser dot.

The food arrives. Cam offers Luther a taste of his rolls - he’s gotten something deep fried with cream cheese, cucumber, and crab, and another loaded high with four kinds of fish, topped with roe. Luther tries the one with all the fish, but passes on the deep fried one. He trades Cam a piece of mackerel nigiri. Then he continues on talking, telling Cam about his week, how work’s been, the new guy they hired, and the annoying new habit his coworker’s formed of singing along with the music on the jukebox, regardless of whether she knows the lyrics or not.

Luther suddenly catches the look in Cam’s eyes. There’s something… hungry in them. It’s the only way he can describe it. It’s not regular hungry, because he’s practically ignoring his food in favor of listening intently to Luther’s rambling story. He’s leaning forward, arms folded on the table in front of him, drinking in every word Luther has to say. He’s hungry for him. The realization hits Luther like a truck and he stops mid-sentence, jaw dropping, a blush starting to spread across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Cam asks, innocent as ever. How could he even know the effect he has on Luther? How could Luther ever explain?

“N-nothing, um, I… I’ve been talking a lot, why don’t you take over for a bit? What’s keeping you busy at work?” It was delightful to listen to Cam ramble on about his job. Luther barely understood a word of it, but his enthusiasm was adorable and, importantly, not about Luther. He could keep it together and breathe a bit, work on calming down the scramble of emotion in his gut.

Sure enough, he wins himself a good fifteen minutes of calm while Cam talks on about carburetors and mufflers and manifolds. He could be making it up for all Luther knows. It’s not until Cam realizes his deep fried roll has gone cold that he breaks off to eat. They finish their food, decide to pass on dessert, pay, and head for the theater.

It’s only a few blocks away, a fifteen minute walk at most. The night has gotten a little colder and darker, and now stray snowflakes drift and spin through the air, catching the streetlights and twinkling like stars. Cam has a lot of fun pretending he’s a dragon, his warm breath turning to steaming clouds in the freezing air. Luther’s shivering now, his old secondhand coat doing little to protect him from the chill. Cam notices, of course, and whips his own coat off in an instant.

“Oh, please,” Luther demurs, “You’re so chivalrous, but really, I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking like a weathervane in a hurricane, sweetheart. I’ll be fine, I’m my own space heater.” Cam arranges the coat over Luther’s shoulders neatly and slips his arm around Luther’s waist, pulling him in close. It’s so warm and so nice, and so very, very close. Luther’s shivers slacken and cease, and then one more shakes him, different from the rest.

“Oh no,” Luther whispers, “I was doing so well, please…”

Luckily, he only loses about three inches. His clothes are a little looser, and he’s engulfed a little more by Cam’s huge coat, but he’s still a perfectly normal height. He sighs in relief.

“So what’s this movie we’re seeing?” Luther asks, trying to take his mind off of things.

“Oh, so it’s this old sci fi cult classic based on a book no one’s ever read. I saw it the first time when I was like… eight? And it scarred me for life, really, and now I’m obsessed with this shit. The special effects are super gnarly, and they hold up okay, even though you can totally see the tube for the fake blood in the decapitation scene. Don’t worry too much about following the plot, it’s not really the point of the movie, but what you should know ahead of time is…”

Cam rambles on like that, filling the night with fog. Luther snuggles in closer and listens happily, totally at ease. He made it through the most important part of the night, and once they get in the theater, he can relax. It doesn’t matter if he shrinks in the theater - from what Cam’s said, the only people watching this late-night special feature will be die-hard fans who’ll be glued to the screen, and in the darkness they won’t have to worry about anyone catching sight of them.

That also means, of course, that Cam might get a little handsy once the lights dim. If he’s being honest, Luther would be disappointed if he didn’t.

They get a seat in the back row. As the previews start up, Cam reaches over and takes Luther’s chin in his hand, turning it gently so they face each other. For a moment, he just holds them there, staring into Luther’s eyes with an adoring softness that makes Luther’s heart sing. Then he leans in and kisses him, just once, softly on the mouth. Luther shivers and loses another few inches. Cam lets him go, but Luther’s not satisfied. He grabs Cam’s collar and pulls him down for another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier. Cam chuckles against his mouth and nips at his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth for just a moment. Luther sits back heavily in his seat, breath coming in shallow gasps. He grips his armrests tight, trying to pay attention to the trailer for the newest slasher flick as it blares out through the theater. No dice. He’s losing height fast now, shrinking down to four feet tall, his normal clothes hanging off his frame.

They stay apart for all of a minute before Cam’s hand sneaks across the seat and slides into place on Luther’s thigh. He strokes his thumb back and forth in a slow rhythm, humming happily. Luther gasps and shrinks more, staring wide-eyed as Cam’s hand covers more and more of him, soon easily encompassing his entire thigh.

He’s maybe two feet tall now and he can’t see the screen over the seat in front of him. Cam glances down, catching the pouting, grumpy look on Luther’s face, and presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Here, sweetheart,” Cam murmurs, and picks Luther up with one hand. With the other, he frees him from his clothing so that he’s only clad in the jumpsuit. Cam settles Luther gently on his lap. This has fixed the problem of not being able to see the screen, but only momentarily. Luther goes bright red and dwindles down even further. By the time the previews have finished, he’s only eight inches tall.

As the opening theme blares with discordant trumpets, Cam pinches the back of Luther’s jumpsuit between thumb and forefinger and lifts him up. He dangles Luther in front of his face for a moment, expression torn between adoring and apologetic, then brings him in close for a gentle kiss. He sets Luther on his shoulder and hands him a piece of popcorn.

Luther hides his burning face behind the buttery morsel. He’d been expecting a little hanky panky, but nothing so direct. Stolen kisses, maybe a fake yawn that disguised Cam putting his arm around Luther, a little playing with his hair. Going for the thigh like that… that was entirely unexpected. He’s beginning to suspect Cam was trying to get him tiny.

The movie is just as gory and weird as promised. Luther isn’t super squeamish, but more than once he turns and ducks his face into Cam’s neck, squealing in disgust, his voice quiet enough at this size that he doesn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else. Every time, he feels Cam shake under him with silent laughter, enjoying Luther’s reactions.

The movie ends before too long, and the other theatergoers file out, chatting animatedly with one another about the flick. Cam holds his hand up to his chest, and Luther pushes himself off Cam’s shoulder, landing gracefully in his palm. Cam sets him down on the armrest while he folds up Luther’s discarded clothing and tucks it in an inner pocket of his big coat. He looks down at Luther and tilts his head to one side, lips pursed in a calculating expression.

“You’re just a little too big to hide comfortably… here, let’s fix that.” Cam puts his elbows on either side of Luther on the armrest and looms over him, completely blocking the dim theater lights overhead. Luther takes a few involuntary steps back and bumps up against Cam’s hands, linked together behind him to form a ring penning him in. “You’re all mine now,” Cam breathes, quiet as a whisper. “So tiny and cute. I’m going to put you in my pocket and carry you home, and then… well, then we’ll see what I’ll do with you, hm?” A crooked, meaningful grin spreads across Cam’s face, and that hungry look comes back into his eyes.

It works like a charm. Luther’s legs shake, his heart pounds, and he shivers. He dwindles down to half his height, a mere four inches.

“There we go,” Cam croons, and scoops him up in one hand. Cam stows him safely in his coat pocket, held in a loose fist to keep him safe from jostling and the cold. He exits the theater and moves through the crowds easily. People tend to make way when they see a man his size coming towards them.

Luther curls up against Cam’s fingers and sighs happily. Cam’s hand is warm, calloused in places but soft in others, and the pocket sways gently with his gait. It’s so safe and cozy, combined with the late hour and the exhaustion of the day, it’s the perfect recipe to knock him out. He fights the heaviness of his eyelids as long as he can, but only makes it a few blocks before he’s fast asleep.

~~~

“Whew, cold one out tonight,” Cam says as he unlocks the door to Luther’s apartment. He can already hear Scrunge wailing on the other side. “I hope you weren’t too frozen in there.” He pushes the door open and addresses the cat. “Yes, we’re home, hello darling, we missed you too.” She winds around his legs and purr-meows at top volume. “Okay, okay, other people are trying to sleep,” Cam hisses. “You’re gonna wake up the whole floor, shitty kitty.” She mrrps in disapproval.

He pulls Luther out of his pocket. “So, babe, do you wanna - oh.” The little dear is asleep, snoring softly. Cam smiles and presses a kiss to his chest. He takes a seat on the couch, sighing as he plops himself down. Scrunge leaps up into his lap immediately and puts her front legs up on his chest, sniffing at Luther in his hand.

“Poor dear’s all tuckered out,” Cam murmurs, giving her a scritch. “Let’s let him rest.”

#asks #writing #cam and luther #gulliver's hanahaki #g/t #giant tiny #hit post before i remembered tags exist oops

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sabraeal · 3 years

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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daddynegandesires · 3 years

Text

The Dangerous One (short story)

you heard the stories, the rumors, the warnings and the threats about this Dangerous man called negan...and you were ready to play even if that meant with the Big Bag wolf.

Warning: angst, drama, violence, blood

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You've heard it all....the stories, stories that burned your heart the stories that made your blood run cold and your throat go dry. The countless days,the sleepless nights and the long cold days that seemed to make your blood boil even more at the thought of him. Youve trained for this, fought for this and you were ready to play...even if that meant with the big bad wolf.

It was a gloomy day like any other you were keeping watch by the gate when you could hear a muffler from a truck in the distance and the sound of them speeding towards you. Pulling out your binoculars you seen it....him. His arrival brought a dirty grin to your plump pink lips that you were avoiding tearing the skin off of impatiently. Jumping from the lookout station and making your way down the ladder with a swift jump landing on your feet you grab your gun from your back pocket will sliding the gate open ready to face him...finally. Breathing in slwoly and crossing your arms at your chest watching the big military truck go into park you bite the inside of your cheek trying to keep your composure. The passenger door flung open and with a quick hop out of the truck you seen him, negan....the way he stood tall and swung his bat over his should and walked with his cock first. That smirk....that stupid smirk that pissed you off oh so much.

"Hey there..." He slipped his tongue over his bottom lip

You were still standing your ground with your arms crossed at your chest staring daggers into his eyes.

"Well....look at you" he let out a low chuckle stepping closer to you face to face

"What. do. you. need." You said through gritted teeth glenching your gun

"Im here for ricky boy but....it looks like im already having a problem here with your bitchy looking face" he spat the words at you

You clenched your jaw biting your tongue

"Follow me..." Turing on your heels you lead him to what he suspects is ricks house

Breathing is shallow breaths you have been squeezing your gun so tight that it was cramping your hand. Hearing his heavy footsteps behind you echoing off in your ears made you nauseous. Walking in through the door holding it open for him and as he brushed past you...smelling his musk of strong colonge startling you for a minute while closing the door.

"You know....im starting to thi-" he turned around to you stopping his self mid scentence to see you pointing your gun at him

"The bat. Drop it. " you ordered

He let out a sexual groan dropping his bat to his side with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Okay kid. Ya got me" he sarcastically held his hands up

"You think this is some kind of joke" you raised your eyebrow

"Yeah, actually i do...a pretty girl like you threatening a man like me" he steps closer

You gulped down hard.

"You dont know what im caplebale of....do you" his voice gets low and stern

"Ive wanted to kill you for so long...and i finally have you.." You cock back your gun

"Really.....well if you think you've got the lady balls for it..." Negan grabs the barrel of your gun sowly pushing it to his chest

"Shoot me" negan said still holding the barrel of your gun

You breathe in a Shakey breath before you knew it negan quickly gripped tight on your gun yanking it from your hand grabbing you by the back of your neck and spinning you around so your back is up agaisnt him. You struggle under his grip trying to break free but he slides his gloved hand up to your throat gripping it holding you tight agaisnt his body.

"Let me go you motherfucker" you struggle to talk under his grip on your throat

"You wanna kill me...huh" he squeezes your throat even tighter talking in your ear befrore he releases you throwing your body to the floor

Landing on the hard floor you grab your throat struggling to catch your breath quickly backing your body away from him untill you hit the wall behind you. Negan slowly takes heavy steps towards you chuckling before he reaches down with a growl grabbing you by the collar of your jacket making you stand up throwing you up agaisnt the wall causing you to cry out in pain.

"You wanna play?.....Then lets play" he says making you look at him

With that you hike your legs up kicking off of him causing him to stumble backwards. You grab your knife from your boot slicing at his leather jacket causing a cut in the fabric. You and negan both start tumbling around grabbing anything you see in sight throwing it at him. Negan quickly grabed your throat picking you up and slamming you down on the kitchen table causing everything to fall off and shatter.

"Are you done!" He yells and slams your head down on the table

Both of you are breathing heavy staring daggers into eachothers eyes.

"Im not done untill your dead" you growl

With that negan grabs you by your hair and throws you off the table and presses the tip of Lucille into the exposed part of your low cut V neck shirt. He applys more pressure as you can feel the barbed piercing into your skin.

"Wheres rick" he crouches down still holding Lucille on you

"Fuck you!" You spit in his face

Looking away from you He lets out a chuckle flexing his jaw before focusing his gaze back on you.

"Seems like to me...you almost want me to kill you" his gloved hand rubbing at his stubble

Pulling out his bowie knife from his back pocket he presses it to your neck causing you to fidget under his strong hold.

"You think im scared....scared of the big bad wolf" you chuckle manically

"..you have a death wish...and im intruiged" he said lowly

"I like you...you got major beach ball sized lady balls!" He licks his bottom lip " but....i cant let you live sweetheart" his voice changes to a cold tone

"Do it. Kill me."

#jeffrey dean morgan #jdm #negan fanfic #negan x reader #twd #negan #negan x you #twd negan

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of-elitiism · 2 years

Note

🎉😮 Achim, kiss your lady =w=

New Year's Kiss - accepting

They've never really been one for parties, unknown crowds of people or too much noise so staying indoors for the night between years seemed like a perfect solution. Besides, they could see the fireworks and hear the music from their little balcony since the town square was right below them. So they threw on their jackets and boots and Achim even claimed pair of her ear mufflers to protect his sensitive ears from what's to come. They huddled together, little sparky sticks in hand and waving them around as the crowds began to chant the countdown.

... 3... 2... 1...

And cue the flashes of bright fireworks lighting up the cold night sky while hundreds of voices cheered at the same time "happy new year".

That's also when Achim decided to be selfish. To gently cup her face and steal her attention from the amazing show in the sky and make her face him. In the face of midnight chaos the young wolf is self assured and confident, wrapping arms around her form and pulling her close to seal the moment with a kiss. A now-or-never sort of moment that no amount of shyness, red cheeks or stuttering could ever steal from him.

Odd, it isn't their first kiss. But in a way, it kinda feels like one. How it lasted longer, how time seemed to dilute and expand, how he pulled away a little breathless and stared down at her with hazy eyes and no words. Behind him the fireworks kept going but their noise faded into obscurity. All he could hear was her breathing and his own heartbeat in his ears. The shyness does catch up with him, flushing his freckled cheeks all the way to the tip of his ears, but he doesn't pull away. But rather steps further for a hug to hide his face into her hair and hope this moment could last forever.

Thought the booming fireworks, the music, the cheers his voice is a small, shy and almost unworthy whisper as he squeezed her harder into his arms.

"....I love you."

#[ voice achim ]#thewanderingchika #[ ....hhhggnnn too much fluff omfg ]#[ he said it... it's a wrap bois he said it...it's here and done ... we can all go home u.u ]

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godsofmonster · 4 years

Text

Bangtan MC ≽ I.

Reader x Bangtan- Motorcycle Club

Word Count- 7.9k

Warnings- sexual content, death, murder, guns, drugs, violence, betrayal, mentions of suicide, mentions of rape, etc.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was six years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a Harley and a cut. I was a wolf, a wild cur, cut from the pack with bloodstained on my fur. Every wrong has marked a debt because a beaten dog never forgets.

The outline of the green bus threatened to leave me behind. I increased my pace, my toes cursing every stride I took in these pinching heels. The engine of the bus began to roar, black smoke coming from its muffler, as the wheels began to turn. The leather briefcase in my grip struck against my knee as my motions became desperate. Even as I called out in a senseless attempt to catch the vehicle, I remained there along a busy street in Seattle, defeated.

I let out a grunt from the cage of my clenched teeth. A twitch bugged my eyebrow in frustration as I pulled out my phone and worked to endure the idea of taking an Uber home. I could quite literally see the forming clouds above me, shunning any kind of sunlight that the midday had to offer. After spending the majority of the night before slumped over my desk and sitting the entire morning through a briefing, I was more than ready to kick someone’s head in.

After fidgeting with a buffering app, finally typing in my address, the screen was ripped away by the caller ID of an unsaved number.

The phone vibrated in my palm while I stared at the area code. An entirely different sentiment engulfed me completely. The 530 number from Northern California brought an uncomfortable weight in my chest and a hollow ring in my ears.

There was an extensive hesitation on my part, a ball of it, caught in the dryness of my throat. There was only one soul in California that bothered to call. He did once in a year or so, mostly around my birthday. However, this number was different. I watched it ring a few more times as I continued to ponder. Possibly a new number?

I sighed and answered it all the same.

"Dad?"

I questioned.

However, I was met with a far more tormenting voice. One that only cursed me in my worst dreams. It had been years since his voice had settled upon my ears and suddenly I was 18 years old again, shivering at his sound.

I was left fruitless, shaken, and unable to move. My entire mind was wiped clean, left with a blank set of notes. No concept, no words, not a single pitch came from my lips.

He simply spoke in my ear,

"Come home, (Y/n)."

Then the line went dead.

That's all it took, that's all I needed to hear, to know that something terrible had happened. As I began to run home, the skies over me began to weep.

It was painless, effortless, to just drop everything and leave. It was as simple as breathing. Brushing through the door of the apartment complex, passing through the rooms, with not a single personal attachment to hold me back.

My bedroom was a color scheme of white and gray, only the most fundamental of furniture and details. This never became my home.

As I changed into a clean set of clothes, dark jeans, a plain t-shirt, and dumped my heels for boots; there was nothing that I was leaving behind. I grabbed my double rider jacket off of the hook and fished the keys to my Harley and my 23 out of the drawer. I slammed the door shut and never looked back.

Walking through the basement of the apartment building, I found myself raging through so many thoughts that my mind was practically meaningless. I was so aware that all of my worries were the wrong kind. I should have been outraged about my father, why it was that he didn't call me himself.

He hadn't bothered speaking to me since my aunt, who I had been living with, passed away six months ago. She was the only thing I cared about in this city and without her, there was nothing left for me here.

Instead of being furious with him, instead of calling him and demanding answers, I pounced the second I had the chance to come home. I didn't care about anything else. Though, that's how seven years in exile left me, pitiful, and crawling back. Rather than being angry at my father, agitated at the thought of seeing him after so long, my mind was only set on him.

His voice replayed in my head like a record and the way he said my name was a lukewarm echo. And the worse part of it all?

I unveiled the gray tarp off of my Softail Harley. The tooled leather was like velvet under the cooling lights of the garage.

And the worse part of it all is that I would have an entire eight hours to myself. Just me, the road, and my bike with Kim Namjoon's call leading me home to Blackburn California.

"Pass me the wrench, will ya?"

I eyed the floor that was covered in bike limbs and oil. I scavenged for the instrument he needed and found it under a lost tire. Whistling for his attention as he turned around just in time to catch the wrench in his hand. I smiled as my dad kneeled on the floor beside his old Fatboy. I walked up behind him and watched him work underneath me. My hand rested on the letters sewn into the back of his leather cut.

The top rocker read 'Bangtan' across the back. The center patch showed the opening doors of Bangtan, along with the MC cube. And the bottom rocker, the territory that we claimed, 'California'. A cut signified much more than just a leather vest- it meant you were someone important. For my father, who was the founder and active president of the charter, it meant absolutely everything.

"What's the matter with it? The clutch?"I asked, squinting my eyes and looking over his work. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a square from my case of Marlboro.

"Yeah." He sighed and stood back to his feet. "The clutch plates are probably locked together."

"Well, what do you expect?" I chuckled with the cigarette placed between my lips. "You've had this Fatboy sitting in the bar for two years like some statue. Poor thing is neglected."

This was the first bike he ever bought with his own money. It was a 1990 Fatboy, cherry red- a true beauty. He turned around to eye me, except that his eyes fell down to the smoke in my mouth. I cupped my hands over the flame I used to light the end and raised a brow at his stare. He reached over to seize the cigarette from my mouth.

"What the hell did I tell you about smoking?" He said, holding the square in front of me.

"That you didn't care?" I reminded him with a smile. He stared at me for another moment, attempting to do his best impression of a scolding parent but ultimately broke into a sneer.

"I didn't care as long as I didn't see it." He corrected me and placed the cigarette into his own lips. I humorously rolled my eyes as he turned back to his baby. "This is what we're going to do,"

He said while mounting the bike with his feet planted to the floor. "I'm going to put the bike in gear and pull in the clutch lever. Now if I roll the bike back and forth the plates should come unstuck."

"Do you want me to get some heat in that oil and see if it'll help loosen things back up?" I asked.

Although, before my dad could answer, the engine of another motorcycle roared into the garage behind the bar. The light of a Street500 Harley blinded me momentarily. My father moved off of his bike while I walked out of the incoming Harley's way. I had a pretty good idea of who it was anyhow.

He thrust down his kickstand and removed his black helmet to reveal his bleached undercut.

"I was hoping you were still here, old man." He laughed, stepping off his bike and making his way toward my dad.

"Something wrong with it, Namjoon?" He suggested. With a rag, he wiped his hands clean from any grease as Namjoon put an arm around his shoulder. I cut my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

"It's not running well with the choke on." He explained. I watched as my father and he walked up to his bike to get a closer look. "It stalls when I turn the choke off and when I turn the throttle."

"It's probably because you left it parked in the garage for two months without draining the gas," I said coldly.

Namjoon turned to look at me as I walked but beside them, taking a look for myself. I could feel his cold stare on me as I inspected his bike.

"I think she's right, Joon." My dad said, patting his shoulder. I smirked and shot Namjoon a glare. I placed my hands on my hips, waiting for my father to tell him to fix it himself. "(Y/n) will get started on it in the morning."

"What!?" I hissed in disbelief. My eyes darted from my fathers to Namjoons, who wore a returning smirk on his face. I could feel my face heat with rage. "That will take hours! I have to drain the old gas, change the spark plugs, replace the air filter, and clean the clogged carburetors!"

"Well, now that you've graduated you'll have plenty of time on your hands' sweetheart," Namjoon said as my dad took a drag of my cigarette and agreed.

I could kill him.

I could not believe my father would have me working on Namjoon's bike. What kind of man can't even fix his own Harley? The thought made me sick. I knew how to change the oil on a Harley since I was six years old! Before I could even think to say another word against the idea, the door extending from the bar opened abruptly.

"Hey! I've been calling you." I saw another cut walk in that belonged to Seokjin. He and the current prospect, Yoongi, gathered around my father.

"What is it?" He asked. I could hear it in their voices, something must have happened for them to come looking for him at such a late hour.

"The mayor is here... he wants to speak with you," Yoongi said in a hushed tone.

I automatically knew that Namjoon and I were going to be dismissed. Any club business could not be discussed in front of nonmembers. Immediately, I tried to create an excuse to dismiss ourselves from the situation.

"I'll follow you home Namjoon," I called out catching everyone's attention. "I'll get started on your bike in the morning."

He simply nodded his head, knowing as well as I did, that this was not our place. Namjoon moved to get on his bike while I gathered my stuff from the counter behind me.

"Actually," My father suddenly spoke up. Both of us paused to see who he was referring too. "You can stay, Namjoon. It's time you learn a thing or two."

My father barely spared me a glance as he continued, "Prospect, follow (Y/n) and make sure she gets home."

"No problem." He responded. I could feel the color rise to my face as tears threatened to brim my eyes. There was an ache in my chest that could only be explained as heartbreak.

It was memories like those that flooded my mind, swarming my thoughts like a plague, and they haunted me all the way home.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was five years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a leather cut and a Harley. For me, being in a motorcycle club was better than being the Queen of England. From the first time that I wandered into the clubhouse behind my father's bar- I knew I had to be a part of them. I knew that I had found the place where I belonged. Bangtan was like nobody else, they did what they wanted- when they wanted. No one ever stopped them or told them otherwise. It was being a part of something much bigger than yourself. It meant being somebody in a town full of nobodies. With my father as president, I knew everyone, and everyone knew me. I thought myself the most fortunate of girls.

But I was young, I was naive, I didn't know just how unfair the world could be.

The night had fallen deep. The roads deserted from creation. The air flowed differently down here, with no restraints, liberating. It felt real in my lungs. Seven years of my life had slipped through my hands and as I passed the sign welcoming me home, I could not recognize the world around me.

Welcome to Blackburn

Where Blood is Thicker

I rode through the empty town, the distant memories of my adolescence whispering within the wind. Recurring nightmares had brought me back through these routes time and time again. Straight from my bones, deep from inside, a fantasy of total catastrophe. They were nightmares I loved to hate because the hopeless endeavor was better than having nothing at all.

The street lights followed me all the way home. Turning into Ivory Lane, at the very end of the street, is where my youth was left behind. Undeniably the finest, largest, house in the neighborhood. As I pulled up to the front, there was light pouring from each window, the long driveway held 15 Harleys and five cars. A full house and a party I would surely crash.

Removing my helmet and parking my bike, I subconsciously began to pace toward the front door. It was like I was in another one of my dreams, not knowing what I was doing, nor what was waiting for me on the other side. By every step, I felt more lost and at home at the same time. Everything was the same and yet nothing felt familiar. Like a lost spirit, I simply opened the door and let myself in.

The door opened into the large foyer, where stairs circled around the left and a hallway led me deeper into the house. I stepped noiselessly, past my father's study and the dining room, following the disembodied voices coming from beyond. The warm light of the house made me feel senseless, not understanding what exactly I was walking into.

I found myself at an impasse, deep in the house, where the kitchen was in the room to my left and the living room to my right. It felt like I was in a stranger’s house with voices I did not recognize. It was all so unreal. Choosing to explore the living room I stepped to the right.

I found people scattered around in multiple conversations, no one who stood out in particular. I looked for any sign of a familiar face. The room smelled of alcohol and tobacco. Not a soul had noticed me walk in, it looked like a small gathering, not any kind of celebration. There was rock music playing softly in the background of the people's voices. There were women and their children and older men who I did not know. It looked to be just a few hang-arounds, outsiders that were friendly with the club.

My eyes scattered around the room, not knowing what to think. If I should stay- if I should go? I didn't know what I was doing here anymore. That was until my eyes landed on a group at the far end of the room.

Then, Namjoon was the only thing I could see.

I stared at him as he sat gathered between other guys. His black eyes switched from person to person as they spoke to him. He wore his cut and fiddled with his knuckles. His hair, that he used to bleach and cut himself, was now its natural black color and styled to the sides. He looked like a grown-up, far from the person that I remembered.

It felt like I stared at him for hours but it wasn't long before he felt my stare and found me for himself. His eyes dropped dramatically, changing. from a look of focus into one that was shaken. All of his attention was fixed on me and I could feel the weight of the room fall on my shoulders.

I spent the last seven years thinking about what I would say to him. What he would have to say to me. Except I felt frozen in place as he rose to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

A voice cursed behind me. Her tongue caught the attention of everyone in the room. Their eyes began to watch me intently while their whispers of curiosity filled the air.

I shuffled to the side, turning to see both her and Namjoon. I became trapped between them on either side, with a crowd of strangers in front of me, like a jury.

The girl that they knew would have never had the courage to stand here in front of everyone. The girl that they knew would have never come back but I wasn't that girl anymore. I wasn't 18 years old and everything I wanted to say then- I would say it to them now.

"This is my house." I reminded her.

Jaeeun scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair was a thick, black bob, with a single streak of white, that framed the side of her face. She always wore dark clothing, black and berry colors mostly. And around her neck was a black diamond necklace she was never seen without. The years had been kind to her, she looked like she always did. The wicked stepmother who stayed young forever.

"This hasn't been your home for a long time, sweetheart." She shook her head at me. Jaeeun's stare was as cold as ever, black eyes that looked like a cryptic abyss and fine aging lines cut into her pale skin.

"Mom," Namjoon cut in, reinserting himself into this situation. He walked between us, facing his mother and attempting to keep her calm as he assured her that, "I called her."

Jaeeun's arms came uncrossed at his words. It felt strange as if Namjoon was somehow defending me. She looked at him in disbelief, the frustration becoming more pronounced on her face, as Namjoon spoke. "She has a right to know."

The seriousness of his voice was alarming, my eyes turned to look at him but I didn't find any answers from his avoiding gaze. Jaeeun's eyes were fixed on him. The conversation quickly became an argument between only them two.

"A right to know and a right to be here- are two entirely different things, Namjoon." Jaeeun raised her voice. Her entire demeanor seemed overwhelmed as she placed her hand over her forehead. Namjoon took notice as well as he stepped to lend her a hand but she exploded. "You could have told me!"

Her voice cracked and tears slipped from her eyes. Entirely caught off guard, I didn't know what to do, I had never seen Jaeeun break down. Namjoon sought to console her by laying a hand on her shoulder but she forced him away. "Like I don't have enough shit going on already!"

I could tell that she was embarrassed to be crying in front of people. It wasn't until a friend of hers came up behind her for comfort. I could only watch as she eased Jaeeun onto a nearby chair where she could relax.

The room fell silent as everyone remained still while Jaeeun regained her composure. I was caught up in my own agenda to care about anything else. Everything just tasted wrong.

"Namjoon," I called for him. He left his mother's side and joined me under the archway of the living room. I caught a glance at Jaeeun's glare as he left but I ignored it and spoke in a low voice. He leaned in to avoid our conversation falling to her ears. I sighed. "What am I doing here?"

"For fuck sake, Namjoon." Jaeeun breathed. She held a cigarette between her lips as her friend beside her brought a lighter. Namjoon cursed under his breath. "You haven't even told her yet?"

"Told me what?" I didn't intend to raise my voice. The anticipation was causing terrible ideas to flow through my head.

Suddenly Namjoon took a hold of my hand, the touch alarming me further, as he stared at me sympathetically. I shook my head and yanked my hand from his touch. My heart began to beat in my ears as I stepped back from him.

"No..."

I said trying to remove the terrible thought from my head.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/n)."

He said, stepping closer.

"No!"

I yelled.

A weight came tumbling down on me, like the burden of the world, I felt as if my night terrors had crawled into my reality. My head was consumed by the pressure of news. My skin frosted with chills as I stumbled out of the room.

Bumping into strangers, I abruptly felt cornered as they stared at me with pity. I couldn't seem to retain any form of air in my lungs, every breath came out of my mouth like a cry for help. My house became a real horror scene, and my only impulse was to leave.

"Let her go! That's all she's good at..."

I pushed through the people behind me, stepping as quickly as my feet would allow. I ran through the way I came in, all the way to the front door with tears trailing behind me. My vision was clouded with the pain that emptied my chest.

The night breeze crystalized the stain my tears left. My body trembled in a mixture of numbness and despair. The door opened behind me and footsteps simulated my own.

"(Y/n), wait."

He followed me down the brick driveway, only intercepting me when I stopped to mount my bike. I ignored his call and avoided his stare. I was fiddling with the strap of my helmet when I saw his foot land on my footrest.

"You took the eight-hour ride here? You've got to be exhausted." He stated.

I felt a rush of rage boil my blood, a result of years of repressed anger. I looked at him from underneath my hair and said in an imminent tone.

"Get your foot off my bike."

Namjoon stood his ground and only released his hold on my bike as a sign of good faith. Except, he continued to hold me in his stare, his eyes a mirror reflection of his mother's. I sighed and looked away in defeat.

"How did it happen?" I asked.

That was the question I feared the most. No matter what the answer was- I wasn't here. I couldn't even recollect the last words we had spoken to each other.

"He was riding on the US-50..." It was hard for him to look into my watering orbs. Namjoon shifted his eyes to the floor, his black hair brushing against his forehead. "He collided with a semi-truck."

My arms rested on the fuel tank of my bike, burying my face from his sight, as I continued to break down. I pressed the tears from my eyes, the droplets tapping against the cold metal, as soft cries left my mouth.

I couldn't get the image out of my head, it replayed, once after another. My imagination created the sound of the impact. The black crows of the desert that flocked away as a result. The bloody aftermath plastered on the bumper of the semi-truck.

"I loved him too... He was my father too, (Y/n)." Namjoon spoke with pure sincerity. But all I could do was shake my head and dismiss his truth.

"But he wasn't," I threw my helmet on the floor and stood off my bike. With the little force I could work up, my hands pressed against the leather cut and shoved his chest, causing him to trip over his feet. "He was mine!"

"He practically raised me- taught me what it meant to be a man." He explained, visibly hurt by my comment. It sickened me to hear him give my old man such credit.

"He was barely a father." I spat.

"Yes! He was complicated." He admitted, taking a step back and lifting his hands in defeat. He used his dominant hand to push his hair out of his frame, licking his lips in apprehension. "But he was smart and he always did what he thought was right."

I crossed my arms over my chest and refused to praise him for another minute. Namjoon sighed from his nose, taking a slow pace toward me as I continued to look away. The space between us became less and less until I could feel his body heat radiating on me. I resisted his tempting stare but he managed to make me melt at his touch. He took my chin in his fingers and guided me to his eyes. "Those complications killed him, (Y/n). That's why he let the road take him."

"What are you saying?" I snapped a look at him, removing Namjoon's hand from my face. "You think my father killed himself?"

"It's the only explanation." He simply declared. As if the answer was so simple. "The driver of the truck said that he just came out of nowhere."

"Bangtans don't kill themselves-" I was ridiculed by his words, finding it hard to accept that he would believe them himself.

"Don't worry." He hushed me. "No one else knows... I wouldn't let him get stripped of his patch."

He obviously did, nevertheless. Namjoon was ready to pull me in and wrap his arms over my shoulders. He embraced me with pity as if I was in denial about the situation. There wasn't much that I was sure about in my life, not a lot was stable. However, my fathers' courage, his willingness to keep moving ahead was unparalleled. It was the soldier in him.

“You’re not listening to me!" Once again, I pushed him away from me. "He would never do that. For someone who claims to have loved him so much you know very little.”

"(Y/n)," Namjoon said softly, he looked entirely exhausted. It was the first time I was actually analyzing his exterior. He displayed bags under his eyes and his skin was drained of color. “You don’t know what it's been like these past few years.”

His words left a larger impression on me than I would have expected. He was right. I didn't know anything about him, my father, or the club in the past seven years.

I was an idiot to have spent so many years dreaming of coming home. I thought I was lost before, that this was the place where everything would make sense. Now I feel more lost than ever. Nothing felt familiar here in Blackburn, everyone was a stranger.

"Come on," Namjoon called my way. His mouth dusted the most gentle of smiles as he waved me over with his hand. "Let's go back inside."

"Are you sure?" Using the back of my hands, I cleaned my face, from the horror I could only imagine. "I think Jaeeun still wants me dead."

He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples that cursed him as a child forever. He knew, as well as I did, that I was only half-serious.

"I'll handle my mother." He assured me.

I followed behind him, catching up to his side as we walked together up the driveway. I took a moment to examine his clothes. He wore black jeans and a cloudy blue button-up under his leather cut. He also had a bowie knife tucked into a sheath that was clipped to his pocket. And even though I couldn't see it, I would bet my life on him also carrying a handgun hidden under his shirt.

"Oh," He stopped us right before the front door. His facial expression winced as he remembered something. "No one… knows why you actually left. People think you just ran away."

He explained, presuming that the news would bother me. However, I didn't expect any less from Jaeeun.

"Of course they do,"

Namjoon led me to the leather couch in the middle of the living room. The set was surrounded by strangers and a glass coffee table. I sat to the very edge of the couch, crossing my leg over the other, in an effort to take up as little space as possible. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to relax.

"Namjoon." A voice called for him across the room. I didn't need to turn around to know it was club business and Namjoon looked at me apologetically. I assured him that I would be fine.

He caressed my shoulder before vanishing behind the couch. My hands ran up my lap, feeling the texture of the denim under my hands, as I questioned what to do with myself. I peered down my body and adjusted the sleeves on my jacket.

"You want some coffee, doll?" I was slightly surprised by the silky voice. Standing over me was a young woman, younger than me, with a fresh coffee pot in her hand.

"Oh! Uh..." I quickly looked down at the glass coffee table before me. There were some clean mugs resting upside down, beside jars of cream and sugar. "Yeah, sure."

Instantly, I bent over to reach for the nearest mug at the same moment she did.

"I got it." She promised. However, in a second of panic, my hand already bumped against hers and tipped the mug over.

The glass hitting against glass made me uneasy and embarrassed as a few heads turned in our direction. I cursed under my sigh and removed my hands from creating any more chaos. I could only push my hair out of my face and behind my ears as I apologized.

Without glancing my way, she reassured me that it was fine. I watched as she poured the steaming brown liquid into the mug. She set the pot to the side and reached for the jar of cream.

"Black is fine."

She nodded and handed me the mug with a brief smile. I held it between both of my palms, the heat almost being painful, and I thanked her as she stepped away.

I brought the steam close to my nose, shutting my eyes and breathing in deeply, awaiting the aroma to keep me conscious.

"You have to let them do that for you." Jaeeun's voice spoke from behind. My eyes fluttered open to see her stepping around me. I followed her figure carefully as she took the seat next to me. "It's how they show you respect."

I scoffed to myself. Jaeeun looked better composed than before. That's how she operated, though. There was no time for crying, feeling sorry for yourself, none of that mattered when people depended on you. I figured that was admirable.

"Why does it matter? That respect is only because of my father, not me." Jaeeun smirked and agreed. "Everyone thinks I ran away nevertheless. Not much respect in that."

She could hear the bitterness that lingered in my mouth. My poor attitude annoyed her.

"Oh, cry me a river, sweetheart." She cursed under her breath.

"How do you do it, Jae?" I cut her off sharply. Turning my body to face hers without intimidation. "How-How do you keep all the lies intact? All the secrets buried?"

She lifts her eyebrow, almost amused by my anger. I asked, "Aren't you tired?"

Jaeeun cut eye contact with me and took in a long breath as she worked to remain unbothered. I watched her fix her hair as a distraction, loathing to realize that my judgment struck a nerve. Yet, she swiftly regained her confidence and even dared to lean in close to me.

"For my family?" She prompted. Her black eyes staring almost past me as her mouth dropped into a dead frown. "Never."

Without another word, she rose from her place and left me alone once again. I stared down into the black coffee, just barely making out my reflection before bringing the rim up to my lips. Being a forgotten memory in this town hurt me more than I wanted to admit.

"(Y/n)." My head turned, my eyes pursuing across the room, where I spotted Namjoon by the entrance. His hand singled me over through the blurred crowd of people.

I abandoned the coffee on the table and made my way into the lake of bodies. As I walked down my path, the faces turned to see me coming and one by one, they parted the road. Not even a graze came in contact with my shoulder while I approached his awaiting figure. I pressed near him as the masses allowed me too.

"Are you okay?"

Jaeeun must have left a sour expression on my face, he seemed concerned as he read my eyes. He even dared to reach his hand out to cup my face in some sort of aid, but I was ready to stir it away, a little vigorously.

"I'm fine," I said rigidly. Namjoon took notice of my discomfort, my cold behavior, and so he stepped back to proffer me space.

"Uh," He cleared his throat. I scanned him up and down, as the awkwardness spread in his demeanor. "He wanted to say hello."

My brows furrowed, confused as to what he was saying. Yet, I followed in his eyes as they led me out into the hall. I sensed his presence as he lingered behind me, his footsteps slower than my own. The lonely hallway almost suggested a trap, as I turned the corner around the staircase, I found no such thing. Assembled in the foyer were a group of leather cuts. With their backs turned to me, I could not make out any of their faces. The heavy noise of my footsteps rang over their conversation and they turned in my direction.

"(Y/n)!"

I gasped. Shocked, completely caught off guard, to see a familiar face. With nothing but a smile, his arms came wrapping around me.

"Jimin." I laughed, shocked at the years gone by without having spoken his name.

It was the first time that someone's face brought me memories that were worth reliving. My high school years were only significant because of him. I didn't know it at the time but he was my best friend. The reminiscences of a simpler time threatened my eyes with tears.

When he pulled away, I almost could not classify the man before me. But there was no one else that could mimic that smile, his eyes disappeared and his teeth took the spotlight.

"I-I can't believe it's you." I smiled. His hands rested on my shoulders as he inspected me from head to toe. "When did you patch in?"

"I requested a prospect about two years after you left." He explained. Jimin took a step back and pushed his hair out of his face. I used to poke fun at the fat on his cheeks but I couldn't now. He looked great, from his tight jeans to sharp jawline, I was genuinely appalled. "We both did, actually."

Jimin moved aside to reveal the standing figure behind him. "You remember Taehyung, don't you?"

He stepped out of the shadow, the light overhead casting contours on his face, another image far from what I remembered. But his strong brows and long-lasting eyes haven't changed. He licked his lips at me and shot a polite smile.

"Y-Yeah, of course." Shuttering lightly, I figured that we didn't know each other well enough to hug. He wore a bandana tied around his forehead that heaved his brown locks. "I see you finally stopped dying your hair red."

"It was the only way they would let me prospect." He chuckled.

I didn't know him as well as I knew Jimin, even though they were always together, the conversations between us just never went anywhere. It didn't surprise me in the slightest to see him in a cut. Bangtan was seemingly the only topic we could discuss that endured more than just a few words.

"Yeah, there is no way the vote would have been unanimous if you would have kept that hair." A loud voice laughed behind the two.

The owner appeared over Taehyung's shoulder, continuing to laugh in his ear. I could distinguish him by his very voice, Hoseok, who began prospecting at the same time Namjoon did.

"Yeah? I still might do it one day, just to piss you off." Taehyung said, shoving Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

"You'll be the only one looking like a fucking strawberry, dude." Another face came wandering in, this time behind Jimin. It was only next to Jimin that I was able to recognize who he was.

"Jungkook?" He revealed a pair of bunny teeth and his 16-year-old image flashed in my head. "Last time I saw you, you were following Jimin around like a puppy. Good to see things haven’t changed"

They all began to tease and ponder the poor boy, Jimin especially, reached his hand up and lightly slapped his face. Jungkook could only laugh off the taunting as he looked back at me.

"Things have changed, (Y/n)." He purposely deepened his voice and with a smug look, pushed Jimin out of the way. With his hand hooked around his belt, he danced a slow walk toward me. "Now I'm 23 and… 5′10."

He let his eye drop into a wink and I shivered with a deep cringe. I couldn't help but burst out laughing, trying to withhold the obnoxious cries with my hand. The rest of the boy's laugh echoed my own. Everyone except Namjoons, it was only seconds later that he came up from behind me, elbowing the young member away.

"Cute, Jungkook." He stated, certainly not finding humor in Jungkook's flirtatious act.

"Honestly Jungkook, you're sick, her father just died," I noticed Seokjin as he spoke from behind the group, Yoongi just beside him.

"It was a joke." Jungkook protested as he stumbled back beside Jimin.

"It won't be a joke when Namjoon murders you for messing with his sister," Yoongi scolded.

"Stepsister."

Namjoon and I bluntly corrected, at the same time.

Our severe voices caused everyone to stop laughing, questionably staring in our direction. My head went blank as soon as I realized what had happened. The silence expanded to us and I hastily looked away from the situation.

"Where's the prospect?" Namjoon asked taking the pressure off the prior incident.

"He went to go find me some smokes," Taehyung replied and with perfect timing, the front door behind them opened abruptly.

"I got them!"

A voice called making his way around the group of boys with a pack of red Marlboro. Taehyung moved quickly to seize the cigarettes from his hand without a single thank you.

"Say hello, prospect." He said pushing the young boy on his back causing him to stumble forward into my line of sight.

Caught by utter surprise, he stared at me bashfully. I tilted my head as I examined his features carefully. Something about him looked familiar however he was so young, I could almost deny that I knew him at all. I just couldn't figure it out. He looked at me with pleading eyes, almost as if he was praying that I would recognize him. He had to be at least 19 years old now, which would put him at the age of 12 when I left.

Then it clicked.

"Yeonjun?"

When he smiled, in a matter of seconds, my heart completely melted. My face broke into a grin that ached my cheeks, my eyes glossed with more tears as I walked up to him. He lived just down the road, I used to babysit him when his mother took night shifts at the hospital. I placed my hand on his shoulder and got a better look at his face. I couldn't help but complain. "You lost your baby fat."

The boys teasingly ‘aww’ed at him, Jimin dramatically clenching his heart with his hand. Taehyung wrapped his arm over Yeonjun’s shoulder and began poking at his cheeks. He could only stand there and take the banters of his elders as it was a form of hazing for prospects. However, Yeonjuns head remained held high as he proudly said,

"I told you she would remember me." Taehyung, who he was specifically speaking to, could merely roll his eyes and let the prospect enjoy his victory.

As happy as I was at that moment, I couldn't help but fall mute, the truth of everything just sort of unraveling in my mind. Seeing Yoenjun was a testimony of how much I left behind, the little things I didn't know I cared about so much. The people I used to know had moved on without me. Everyone was so different and changed into better versions of themselves. I began to question if I had really done the same. I felt robbed of the person I could have been, the person I thought I was meant to be. Blackburn was a family community, everyone knew each other- now, I was just an outsider.

I heard the boy's laughter cut short, my train of thought lost by the screeching sound of tires coming from outside. All of our heads turned to follow the noise. Down the hall where the front door stood lonely, we moved as a group, our feet trying to get a clear image of the outside. There was just enough darkness to see through the glass shapes cut into the frame of the door. The street of Ivory Lane was cleared except for a gray van parked parallel in front of the house.

Before I could think to question anything, the side door slid open and three masked figures appeared, in their hands were fully automated KG-9s.

"Get down!"

Namjoon's voice was all that I heard before my body was hitting the floor. Someone's weight was on top of me, acting as a shield, as the following movements were full of total chaos.

Thousands of rounds firing off, causing the windows to shatter into pieces. My arms covered over my head, shards of glass scratching against the leather of my sleeves. My cheek pressed against the wood as I heard the screams of the souls in the house, women, and children.

I raised my head to see Yeonjuns face over my shoulder. His forearms rested on either side of my head, I saw the fear in his face, the way his eyes were shut tightly. I took a look at the rest of my surroundings, Taehyung and Namjoon were leaning against the wall, their hands working fast to load their handguns.

"Cover me!" Namjoon yelled over the firearms.

My heart was pumping adrenaline throughout my body. But the thought of my family home being shot up while grieving my father's death fueled me with red rage. It was blinding.

I forced Yeonjun off of me, my knee pinning him down on the floor where he would remain clear of any bullets.

"What are you doing!?"

I stayed crouched as my arms reached behind me. My hands felt for the Glock 23 that I had tucked into the belt of my pants. The heavy metal was cold in my hand, I clicked the safety off and rose on my feet.

"(Y/n)!"

I moved quickly, my gun pointed out toward the door as I reached quickly yanking it open. I found the three men retreating back into the van. My brain didn't hesitate to take the aim to the one in the middle, pulling the trigger over and over again, my arms resisting the gun’s kickback. The bullets went cutting through the air, piercing holes of the van until one finally broke through the skin of his shoulder. He struggled to reload his gun as his two partners jumped into the van.

"(Y/n)! Get back!"

Bullets behind me came firing at the van, shattering the window of the driver. I kept firing at the already injured figure, his friends running to get him in the van as they were trying to flee. They pulled at his arms, dragging him into the van as he finished reloading. With a click of his ammo, he aimed his gun at me but I fired first. My bullet went right through his kneecap causing him to fall off the moving van. His partners had no option but to leave him behind.

"(Y/n)!" Namjoon yelled as my feet moved, sprinting, toward the man bleeding out on the street.

He laid on his back, holding his disjointed knee in one hand. He wore a ski mask and black clothing. I kicked away his KG-9 with my foot and aimed my gun at him.

"Put your hands up! Put Your hands up!" I commanded. He followed them without hesitation. Namjoon and Taehyung came running up behind me.

"Put the gun down, (Y/n)," Taehyung said calmly but I didn't budge. I could only stare angrily at the blue eyes I could make out through the holes of the mask. My hand began to tremble from rage. I wanted to shoot him, I wanted to shoot him so very bad. "People are watching, (Y/n)."

I glanced back at the house where people were gathering behind the broken windows. I took a deep breath, shaking to remain calm, and lowering my gun.

Namjoon and Taehyung moved in, holding him down as they removed his mask. I didn't recognize him in the slightest, he was white, with thin white hair and ice-blue eyes, at least 40 years old.

"I’ve got PB ink here," Taehyung said to Namjoon as he raised his arms to reveal tattoos.

"Help! Please help!" A scream filled the night, coming out the front door was a woman. Her face contoured in pain as wails left her mouth. She held a young boy, pressed against her chest, drenched in blood. "My son, please!"

She begged as Jimin helped her hold the boy up. His hand was stained with blood over the wounds on his chest and abdomen. But the boy's body was unresponsive, lifeless, he was already gone.

That's when everything went silent for me. My ears hollowed with a ring of white noise. I felt my hand loosen as the gun fell from my grip. As the metal hit against the street, I stepped back toward the gunman, trance-like. His eyes barely caught mine before I stomped my foot on his face.

"(Y/n)!"

I growled through my teeth as I felt the cartilage of his nose crack under my boot with the first stomp. The ones after that beat his teeth into his mouth. Gashes of blood leaked into the curves of his face. He begged and cried for me to stop but I couldn’t.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around my waist, I fought back, but he lifted me and tore me apart from him.

Masterlist ≽

#bangtan mc #bts #bts fanfic #bangtan fanfic #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #Jung HoSeok #min yoongi #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts gang au

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stellar-alley · 4 years

Text

Everfalls

•Chapter 21•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram!

<<Previous Chapter

(Summary: The Finale.)

The Final Chapter

The sun rose on that Saturday morning to find two Ancestors that had shifted back to their human forms.

They ended the night with the Losers in the forest during an intense game of hide and seek. They woke up the next morning cuddled on the beach together. Eddie laid on Richie's chest, their legs tangled up. Both of their ears out. Eddie had his hand placed over Richie’s heart as he listened to it beat inside of his chest. He felt the calming sensation of his boyfriends chest rising and falling. Richie laid nude on the beach with his boyfriend cuddled up on top of him. His wolf tail was half buried in the sand. The dark sand felt cool and moist on his bare back. He had both of his arms wrapped around the fully clothed Ancestor on his chest. The smaller boy was warm, his body gave off enough heat for the both of them.

(Richie needed to undress for his transformation as his was messier. When Eddie’s is more magical. Which allowed him to keep his clothes)

“G’morning” Richie whispered in his deep morning voice when Eddie’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey” Eddie’s face had been emotionless and peaceful while he slept, now it softened at the sight of his boyfriend. He smiled softly, “How are you feeling? Any aches?” His voice came out low, almost a whisper.

“No I-I’m actually okay… More than okay” Richie’s face broke out into a smile, leaning up, lightly kissing Eddie’s lips. One of his hands wandered up to play with Eddie’s messy hair.

“Good, that’s good. We should go back to the hotel before they realize we’re gone” Eddie hesitated before he rolled off of Richie. “Oh- shit you’re naked” Eddie groaned.

Richie snorted, “What it’s not anything you haven’t seen before” he chuckled.

Eddie’s brow creased, he began to take his sweater off, the pullover one he had brought on the trip since he knew that the temperature dropped the closer you were to big bodies of water. “Take this asshole” Eddie tossed the sweater at Richie who made over dramatic kissing sounds in return.

Nonetheless Richie accepted the sweater, grateful to not be 100% nude on the beach now. He sat up and pulled the sweater over his head. Eddie had a thing for larger sweaters which was fortunate because it fit Richie almost perfectly. He cuddled it closer for a moment, inhaling a scent he was all too familiar with. Rain, evergreen, lilacs, Eddie.

“Let’s get going. I wanna be the first one on that bus, and off this fucking island before they find that damn body-“ Eddie cut himself off, knowing that he’d work himself up if he were to continue.

Richie got to his feet, dusted the sand off of his ass and legs. “Which they won’t. That bitch is swimming with the fishes” Richie made a wave motion with his arm, pointed out towards the ocean.

“Whatever” Eddie shut his eyes and shook his head. His soft curls shook from side to side with him, his bunny ears bopping with the motion. The humidity in the air had made Eddie’s normally straight (ish) hair curl into soft little waves that made Richie’s heart skip a beat.

Richie stepped up towards Eddie and wrapped him in a warm hug. Eddie buried his head into Richie’s chest. The taller boy laid his check on top of the others head.

“Seriously though we should go back-“ Eddie said, mufflered by the sweater.

“Oh god!” Richie barked out a laugh, “You really know how to ruin a moment don’t you?” He smiled down at Eddie once they pulled apart.

Eddie rolled his eyes. He stood up on his tippy toes to kiss Richie’s lips before he intertwined their fingers. “Come on sour wolf!” Eddie called out as he began leading Richie back towards town.

They snuck Richie in through the back entrance and hid Richie in the bathroom since he was only wearing a hoodie and literally nothing else. So they had to shove his tail into the back of Eddie’s sweater and pull the hoodie on to hide his wolf ears. Which meant Eddie had to run up to their room without being seen by any of the adults and grab Richie’s clothes. But since Eddie gave RIchie his sweater, he had nothing to hide his bunny ears with, so he ended up sneaking around the hotel with his shirt pulled up over the back of his head like a nun.

After Eddie got Richie to dress down the night prior, he had left them in a neat pile in the grass, along with his hat and glasses and Stanley had taken them back to the room so they wouldn’t get lost.

After about the fifth knock he finally heard the distant sounds of footsteps approaching the door. The door creaked as it opened. Stanley only stuck his head out, which gave Eddie more than enough context on what he and Bill were up to previously. The messy hair, the raw lips, and that little dark patch on Stan’s neck that kinda looked like a hickey.

“Oh” Stanley said, shocked to see him. “Morning” He said, eyes wide.

“You guys having fun in there?” Eddie smirked with raised eyebrows.

Stan sighed and rolled his eyes, his head disappeared for a moment before he shoved the pile of clothes at Eddie. “Go” He growled light heartedly as he leaned out just enough to show some bare chest.

Eddie tried to lean in to see more, “Wait are you naked-“.

“Begone!” Stan declared before closing the door in Eddie’s face.

Eddie had to hold a hand over his mouth to refrain from laughing. He took a moment to collect himself before he went back down to that main bathroom in the lobby where he found Richie aimlessly playing with the agalets of his sweater.

“Here” Eddie tossed them at Richie whoo hastily caught most of it.

“Merci Monsieur” Richie said in his best (Worst) french accent. He closed the stall door and began getting dressed.

Eddie leaned his back up against the door and waited a beat before “Stan and Big Bill finally got together” Eddie giggled.

“Shut. Up. Really?” Richie suddenly opened the stall door, causing Eddie to stumble as that’s what he was leaning on. Richie still was not wearing anything aside from the sweater so Eddie’s eyes immediately shot up to meet his boyfriend’s which were wide and in shock.

“Yes really! Now put some pants on” Eddie laughed and pushed Richie back into the stall before he closed the door once again. He could hear Richie giggling from inside the stall. “Hurry up we need to make it so no one finds out we left” Eddie tried to keep a straight tone.

Richie finished changing and gave Eddie his sweater back so he could hide his own ears. He followed Eddie out of the bathroom and back to their room. But just as they rounded the corner in the main hallway leading to their room, they saw Mr Brock talking to Mrs Stuart in the dead center of the hallway.

“Shit!'' Eddie yelped. He quickly shut his mouth and yanked Richie back to the other side of the corner with him. “How the hell are we gonna get passed him?” He wondered.

“Uhh- Here let me try something…” Richie’s voice drifted off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started sending out a text.

“What are you-“

“Wait” Richie held up a hand as if to silence Eddie.

“-What?”

Richie raised his eyebrows but kept his eyes on his phone, “Keep waiting!”.

They both stopped at the sudden sound of a door creaking open. The boys peaked around the corner and witnessed Beverly Marsh come out of her room with a blanket around her waist. They used their other ears to tune in.

“-I don’t have any! And none of the other girls have any” Beverly complained.

“Are you sure you have uh- it?” Mr Brock asked, he uncomfortably shifted from one foot to another.

“Yes of course I’m fucking sure! Do you honestly think I wouldn’t know when I got my damn period” Bev gritted her teeth.

“Ms Marsh please keep your voice down” Mr Brock tried to smile but failed.

Beverly glanced over her shoulder and sent a glare towards the boys, telling them ‘go now’.

“Beverly I must have some on me” Mrs Stuart began rifling through her purse.

Richie took Eddie’s hand and slowly began creeping behind the teachers backs towards their room.

Beverly kept them distracted long enough until they made it to the door. Then just as they slid into their room, Beverly clutched her stomach and nodded to whatever they had been saying. Mrs Stuart got something out of her purse and discreetly handed it towards Beverly, she took it gratefully and shuffled back into her room.

the moment the door closed to the boys room, they were met with a burst of gasps. Richie and Eddie looked to see who was the source of said gasps and found Bill and Stan, making out on the bed, shirtless.

“OH DEAR GOD!” RIchie exclaimed. He fanned his face as if he were an old victorian woman.

“Get a room!” Eddie groaned.

Stanley rolled off of Bill, nearly falling off of the bed while doing so.

Bill cracked a grin, “We-well we did have one-“

“Yeah before you came!” Stan shot back from where he was on the edge of the bed, obviously a little pissed by the interruption.

Bill waved him off, “H-How was the fuh-fuh-full moon?” Bill asked curiously.

Eddie’s face went blank, as did his head.

Neither of them had time to respond because their door opened seconds after. “Hello- Oh! Good to see you boys are already ready! The tide rises in 20 so let’s get going” He motioned for them to get a move on.

Stanley and Bill quickly pulled their shirts on and packed the little things they had out. Since they only had their school supplies because they hadn't planned to stay the night. Everyone was ready and they left the room to meet up with the rest of the group down in the main lobby.

The rest of The Losers greeted them excitedly, happy to see they made it out in one piece. But no one directly asked about it, everyone complained about their shitty sleep and how excited they were to get off of this island. Eddie momentality zoned out and tuned into the conversation that the main bellhop was having with Janet the tour guide.

“Have you seen Elizah this morning?” He asked quietly, but nothing was ever quiet enough for Eddie to hear.

“No… Last night she left in a hurry, said she had some unfinished business to get to” Janet shrugged, not given any further information.

The hair on the back of Eddie’s neck stood tall as his body froze. Apparently Richie was listening too, he slung his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulled him a little closer. Just then the teachers began leading the group to the exit, towards the busses. “Let’s get on this bus and out of here” He whispered down to Eddie.

The bus ride home was quiet. The Losers talked about the first 20 minutes, but not about the full moon, they knew that this was certainly not the place to do it. Ben and Mike were the only ones who stayed awake out of the seven Losers. On the way back Beverly opted to sit alone because she and the girls in her room stayed up until 4 binging the newest season of Turtle Creek on TV. During that time Ben introduced Mike to The Jonas Brothers, he explained the enteried of their TV show, Jonas and the storyline to both Camp Rock movies. They also listened to some of their first albums with Ben’s dual headphone adapter. Mike was happily surprised at how much he enjoyed their music.

When they finally reached Derry High, it was noon. All of the students rushed off of the bus, nearly trampling over Mr Brock in the process.

Maggie and Wentworth Tozier had taken the day off work (as they usually do the day after the full moon) to go see their son. They had found a spot near the back of the parking lot and waited anxiously with the rest of the parents in the loading area. When the bus pulled up the two parents’ nerves only escalated the longer they watched students pile off of the bus and split up in little groups.

Finally, they saw the all too familiar sight of their lanky son in his oversized hat and baggy sweater.

“Richie!” Maggie nearly gasped as she pulled Went with her towards him.

Richie sped up once he saw his parents,“Hey” his voice wavered as he was slightly overwhelmed by his emotions. That was when he realized how exhausted he was. A full moon, little to no sleep, and an encounter with an evil witch? That can really drain someone.

Maggie ran to her son and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay” She whispered, almost in tears.

Richie felt another pair of arms wrap around him, recognizing them almost immediately as his father’s long, strong arms.

Eddie had let Richie run ahead of him when he spotted his parents. He felt a feeling of longing wash over him when Richie pulled his arm away from him. He watched as Richie was enveloped in a massive hug by his two, loving, parents. His heart ached as he could almost see the love radiate off of their little group hug.

After a moment, Went loosened up, tilted his head upwards and glanced up at Eddie. “Come on in here, son” He requested as he opened an arm up, making room for Eddie.

He looked up at them, his heart swelling, “Oh No, I don’t mean to intrude” Eddie slowly shook his head.

Maggie turned her head and her gaze landed on Eddie, “Come here Eddie” She smiled warmly, something he never got from his mother. “You’re a part of the family now”.

And with that, Eddie couldn’t hold in the tears any longer. His eyesight blurred as the tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t respond, only nodded quickly and with a wobbly smile he rushed into their big hug. Family. Finally.

“... So I had to leave, unless I wanted to die. I came here, like my dad did. And I found Richie” He glanced down at their intertwined fingers. “And all you guys” Eddie looked around at all of The Losers who surrounded him, his real family.

It was now Sunday. The day after The Losers returned home from their very eventful field trip to the small island of Balmoral. As the group had lots to talk about, Eddie agreed that it was best that they all meet up at the entrance of the forest so he’d be able to show them the way to his house. Now they sat on the couch in the late Frank Kaspbrak’s house.

“But you guys can’t tell anyone. Seriously, we’d be in deep shit if anyone ever found out about this” Richie informed them, gesturing to his wolf tail that swayed freely behind him.

Bill nodded approvingly, “O-Of course! Right guys?” He looked at the others who all nodded with him.

“Yeah- oh my god, Eddie that’s terrible” Beverly’s eyes looked sad. She had been through her fair share of family troubles so she (almost) understood what Eddie was going through.

Ben nodded and gave her a solemn smile, carefully placing his hand on top of hers on the couch. He gave her hand a small squeeze that caused the corner of her lips to curl up a little. “Your secret is safe with us” He told them.

“Yeah of course! Losers stick together, right?” Mike’s tone changed a little. It was a little happier than the others which was a nice change.

“Right” Bill smiled.

“I’ve kept the secret this long, and I can’t really stop now” Stan stated as he sat up to put his elbows on his knees.

“Oh yeah- How did Stan find out before the rest of us?” Beverly piped up. Her hand turned over to lace her and Ben’s fingers together. The tips of Ben’s ears burned as he glanced down at them.

Richie had opened his mouth, ready to start talking but Stan spoke instead. “He lost his temper after I whooped his ass at checkers” Stan grinned proudly as he sat up tall. He got some good chuckels for that.

“Hey! You were so cheating” Richie protested as Eddie rolled his eyes from beside him.

“Whatever,” Stan waved his hand, “Your eyes still changed and your fangs came out” he reminded the wolf.

“Yeah we’re gonna have to practise that Chee” Eddie chimed in as he also recalled the various times Richie has wolfed out on him. Of course things would be easier now that Richie has now gone through his first full transformation but now he has to learn to control the shift. If not, that can lead to some very bad situations.

“Chee? Oh yeah forgot you guys are dating” Beverly smirked, “When did that start?” She wondered.

“It hasn't been that long” Richie blushed. He lovingly looked at his boyfriend and smiled.

A beat passed where the Losers just sat in comfortable silence. Bill was the first one to speak up and break the silence “Wuh-What about the Council?” He asked.

Eddie almost froze. After everything, he’s getting better at discussing the council, also seeing Elizah Brightmoon fall off a fucking cliff helped calm his nerves. “We took out Elizah… So I think we should be okay” He shrugged.

“But what about the rest of the council? They wouldn’t be called a council if it was just one person” Stanley pointed out.

“No, there are others. But what was she saying about a force to keep everyone in? And all that stuff about your dad” Richie didn’t dig too deep on the subject of Frank Kaspbrak as he knew it was still a sensitive topic for Eddie.

Eddie glanced away as he recalled an old memory, “The Council always wanted to keep The Ancestors safe. And once they had this crazy plan to make a forcefield so strong and powerful that it would basically forever separate the two worlds” He shivered at the thought. “My dad though… He fought it. It was a weak idea to begin with, they didn’t have the means to make something so powerful so it was an easy idea to dismantle. But what she said about my dad- I knew he had power, but a high priest? That’s a totally different level of power. And to think that I might be able to obtain some of that…” Eddie let his voice drift off as he looked down at his hands. Hoping that maybe they had the answers written there the whole time.

“What if they cuh-cuh-come after us?” Bill’s stutter intensified at the thought.

Richie shook his head, “They have no way of tying us to her death. Even if they do find that body it’ll be all raw and mangled” He smirked at the thought.

Eddie straightened up and looked around at his boyfriend and his closest friends, “But if they do- We’re The Losers, we’ll figure it out… We always do.”

The End

Word Count: 3266

Total word Count: 62623

Holly.Shit. Wow, I really can’t believe Everfalls is done, it’s over… This story was my first big fan fic for the IT fandom, and the funny thing is, this started off as a one shot. Literally! I found Shark Teeth on instagram and said I’d write a one shot about their art (with their permission ofc) and I got 44 pages in when my buddie, Reagan, pointed out that one shots are almost never that long. So I made it into a fan fic. And that fan fic was a truly amazing adventure and I’m oh so very happy with the final product and how everything turned out. I planned each chapter so carefully and made sure everyone was in character so I hope you guys liked it!

Thank you to my two amazing betas, Rose and Richie! You guys gave me feedback and your true opinions on each chapter and I truly appreciate both of you!

At the end of the day, I think it’s pretty fitting that I wrote this final chapter on the night of a full moon, it really added to the atmosphere.

Let me know if you’d like a sequel! I’ve got some ideas in mind but I’ve gotta make sure people want it before I start anything. So comment! IF over 15 people want more, then more they shall receive!

As this is the final chapter I’ve gotta remind you guys to go check out my other social medias, Instagram (Stellar.Cosplays), Tumblr, (stellar-cosplays), even my youtube (Alley’s World). Also don’t forget to check out my other fan fictions! Here’s my master list, or go check out my account and you’ll find them all there.

THis story means so much to me and I’m so happy I got to share it with you guys. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Once again, thank you all so much for everything.

For the final time, that’s all from me, catch you on the flip side.

So Long and Goodnight.

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Cherry-Orange Blossoms

Ao3

Chapter 3: Lies, Lies, Lies

Katsuki sucked his breath in through his teeth as he held his hands behind his head and sank himself into a squat. He held it for several seconds before gradually rising, keeping his back perfectly straight on the ascent. His calf and thigh muscles burned with exertion. Sweat glistened on his skin and dampened the fabric of his loose muscle tee and gym shorts. It had begun to roll down the ridges of his body to drip down and puddle on the laminate floor. His cheeks burned with a rosy pink hue, not unlike the color of the cherry blossom-like buds blooming within the tissue of his lungs.

His eye twitched as the tight feeling in his chest worsened. It felt like every muscle was spasming at once and giving his lungs no room to inflate. He coughed weakly, feeling an earthy must spread over his tongue as the spores floating in the infected sacs traveled up his windpipe. Apparently, Hanahaki disease was a fungal infection; the original species lived in woodlands, and its fruiting bodies mimicked flowers to attract insects, who would get trapped in their sticky secretions and slowly dissolve. By some evolutionary process or another, the fungus became parasitic, learning to survive in the harsh environment of the body’s gas exchange organ. They remained dormant, supposedly, in spore form until activated by certain hormones circulated during unrequited affection. Serotypes had differentiated from there, but the fungus reproductive structures retained their flower-like imitation.

Katsuki coughed again; he wasn’t sure if the little specks floating before his face were just dust particles illuminated by the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, or tiny spores of the fungus. Either way, it irritated him. With a grunt, he abandoned his workout and fell back on his haunches. He gritted his teeth as he stretched out his legs, feeling the soreness of exertion pulsing deep within the tissue. He rubbed his thighs and calves, attempting to work out the tension, but paused when his phone pinged with a message notification. Frowning, he grabbed his cell phone and opened the message in the group chat Eijirou had added him to (without his permission).

Eijirou: Hey, Baku-bro, do you want to go to the mall with us today?

Denki: The videogame store is having a sale on new arrivals today! We can totally stock up!

Hanta: Denki, you just want to get Animal Crossing.

Denki: >o< Shut up! I find it therapeutic!

Eijirou: I like the ones that are really manly and into working out. :)

Katsuki rolled his eyes as the conversation derailed to a discussion about the kiddish videogame. He had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, and being cooped up in his house with only his thoughts was liable to drive him insane. Already, three times that morning, Katsuki’s mind had wandered to the bubbly girl with the glitter planet charm, and he had suffered coughing fits. One of them had resulted in another cherry blossom petal, which he had buried at the bottom of his trash bin because all hell would break loose if his mother found it. Katsuki typed up a quick affirmative before climbing to his feet so he could find something suitable to wear. He didn’t care much about what people thought of his outfit, but he still had the decency to not walk around in sweat-drenched clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yooo, Baku-bro!” Denki called excitedly and waved as Katsuki hopped off the subway train. His friends clustered at the base of the stairs leading up to the street. Katsuki shoved his hands deep into his cargo pants pockets, fingering the small collection of cherry lozenges he had thrown in last minute. He didn’t look fondly upon choking out in front of the team and the cheerleaders. Hopefully, his chances of being tackled to the ground on an outing to the mall were meager. Katsuki would much rather suck on one of the sickly-sweet throat tablets than cough up a petal in front of the three. “Why the grumpy face, bro?” Denki asked as he pranced up to him and jabbed him a few times in the bicep.

“Fuck off, Pikachu, I’m not grumpy.” The natural black streak in the electric blond’s hair reminded Katsuki of the shitty little Pokémon, so he had taken to referring to Denki as such. Katsuki clicked his teeth and ran his fingers through his ash-blond hair, finding the strands still clumped with perspiration despite the crude towel-dry he had subjected the fluffy locks to. Whatever. Not like some idiot is gonna come up and sniff my hair. If some whackjob did, Katsuki would kindly provide them a knuckle sandwich.

“So, Eijirou said you had a summer cold or somethin’,” Hanta said casually as the four began to mount the steps to the surface world. “Are you feeling better?”

“I wasn’t feelin’ bad in the first place,” Katsuki growled with a pointed look at the redhead. Eijirou flushed and tugged at his collar with a nervous chuckle. Katsuki rolled his shoulders and slumped a little, feeling his already volatile mood worsening with the reminder of his humiliating experience. “It was just a shitty cough. I slept it off just fine.” The cherry lozenges bounced in his pocket, their little clacks and rustles evidence against his falsehood.

They reached the small veranda that covered the entrance to the subway system. Katsuki blinked rapidly as the harsh sunlight greeted him, burning his eyes. As he shielded his face from its onslaught, his ears gradually processed the din of conversation and traffic assaulting them. The already warm air was hot with the fumes pouring out of the mufflers of the cars lodged bumper-to-bumper on the blacktop road waiting for the light to turn green. Small crowds milled at the crosswalks or scurried in groups across the neat white lines. A steady flow of people streamed along the sidewalk, chattering into their cell phones, scrolling through their social media feeds, or talking amiably with their companions. Katsuki’s blood instantly cooled with the flush of anxiety.

So many people meant so many witnesses if things went way south.

His throat began to itch just thinking about it, and he scratched compulsively at his Adam’s apple, as if to silence the angry screams of the irritated cells. His friends seemed not to notice his anxieties; they strolled on ahead to melt into the throng. Katsuki forced his feet to follow lest he be left behind or lost in the horde. The mall was a short jaunt from the station and towered on the distant city horizon. Its glass dome reflected the light blue of the sky and shimmered like diamonds as the light beams played over its surface. He half-listened as Hanta energetically babbled about the apocalyptic survival game he intended on purchasing.

“-Bakugo. Hey, earth to Bakugo!” Katsuki’s lashes fluttered when he was yanked out of his blank thoughts by Denki. He was snapping his fingers in front of Katsuki’s face. Scowling, Katsuki shoved his hand aside and demanded to know what the hell he wanted.

“What’s up with you spacing out, dude? You were legit about to walk into the fountain.” Katsuki blinked and looked ahead to realize that the large, bubbling fountain situated in the mall’s front plaza was indeed not more than a foot in front of him. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he hunched his shoulders, grumbling about how he totally saw it. The three of them exchanged suspicious glances but elected to shrug off the incident. Katsuki’s mouth curled into a frown, and his gaze shifted through the various patrons as they strolled through the automatic glass doors of the mall entrance.

The cooled air pumped by the building’s massive air conditioning units admittedly did feel nice on Katsuki’s raw throat. He breathed in deep, relishing the way the icy oxygen chilled the inflamed passage. Denki squirmed about in excitement in front of him, bleating about all the things he was going to build on his Animal Crossing island. Hanta made a very unflattering gesture behind his back, which Eijirou reprimanded him for with a sharp jab to his ribs.

“Do we want snacks first?” Hanta wheezed as he held his bruised intercostals and leaned down over a decorative wall containing various ferns and flowers. Their aromatic pollen tickled Katsuki’s nose and throat, returning that insufferable itch. Katsuki edged away from the plants while holding the collar of his shirt over his mouth. When Eijirou looked at him expectantly, he dropped the cloth and grimaced.

“I don’t care. Let’s just get a move on.”

“Let’s do pretzels, then!” the redhead suggested, spying a small stand squashed in the corner of the nearby food court. Katsuki’s heart sunk, because he just knew the salt and toasted breadstuff would aggravate his symptoms; his stomach soon took over the emotions, rumbling in his abdomen to demand sustenance. Soon he was sitting on a bench and wolfing down a salted pretzel dunked in nacho cheese. Every few seconds, however, the itch would come clawing back up his trachea, and he had to douse it with a large gulp of soda, forcing it from the entrance to his throat. It lurked in the shadows of his insides, prowling like a beast.

Katsuki’s vermilion eyes anxiously skated the crowd as he ate the pretzel. Aside from his three friends, everyone in the mall was a stranger to him- but that didn’t matter. Among them could be news reporters, sports journalists, and any number of professionals who could latch onto his woeful story and make money off his downfall. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, now finding the material irritating on his neck. He slightly resented not wearing a lower-cut fit.

He tore his gaze away from the crowd, knowing that dwelling on his illness would only lead to trouble. He found Denki staring dreamily into his container of caramel sauce with his half-eaten pretzel raining cinnamon sugar onto his clothes as he just held it up.

“Yo, Earth to Pikachu. Who’s the one spacing out now?” Katsuki jeered. He blinked when a faint pink hue rose to the lanky blond’s cheeks.

“I wonder if Kyoka likes Animal Crossing.”

“Oh, here we go,” Hanta sighed and pushed his forehead into his hand with a sardonic grin. Denki blushed darker but was determined to keep the stoic noirette the topic of conversation.

“She’s just so… you know! And I’m so… you know!” Denki lamented, gestating wildly with his pretzel and shaking more of the sweet spice and sugar all over himself. Katsuki pouted and reclined against the bench, trying not to focus on the romantic implications of the conversation. He’d suffered enough of romance in the last few days. It’s like I can’t escape from this Hell! He seethed, desperately trying to prevent his thoughts from spiraling to a certain cheery brunette. Denki whined and pushed his fist into his cheek. “I just don’t know how to impress her, you guys.”

“You mean your ravishing good looks aren’t enough?” Hanta joked, earning an affronted shove from the blond. Hanta munched on his pretzel hot dog and didn’t even bother swallowing. With his cheek puffed out like a chipmunk’s, he posed matter-of-factly, “You gotta make her laugh, dude. Chicks dig a guy who can crack a good joke.”

“I’m funny, right…?”

“O’course you are, Denki!” Eijirou encouraged and looked at Katsuki, eyebrows knit and requesting a follow-up. Katsuki licked some nacho cheese from the corner of his mouth and bared his teeth like an angry hound.

“Funny-looking.”

“Baku-bro, why’re you so mean?” Denki whined and flopped his head back against the metal bar of the bench. Katsuki bristled, then looked away aggravatedly.

“Why’re you asking me, anyway? Do you think I give two shits about your little crush problems? Just man up and ask the girl out, Jesus,” he growled and violently tore a chunk of the pretzel off with his teeth. Denki pursed his lips thoughtfully, then sighed wistfully.

“It’s just not that easy, y’know…”

“Yeah, but he’s right, man,” Hanta frowned. “At least that way, you’ll get an answer. Keep pinin’ like this, and you’ll end up like Kendo.” Hanta made a coughing up motion and then sneered, obviously jesting. Denki snorted with laughter while Eijirou grinned, but Katsuki felt a blast of fire pulse through his nerve circuits. His cheeks flushed with anger, and he clenched the container of nacho cheese until it caved in and spilled the thick paste all over his fingers.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. The three boys looked at him, their smiles each falling from their faces as they beheld Katsuki’s rigid posture and death-grip on the crumpled plastic packet of cheese. When Eijirou began to ask if he was all right, Katsuki’s red eyes flashed to him with a livid glare. “Shut the fuck up. You assholes have no fucking idea what you’re talking about! Keep fucking joking like that, and you will be choking on flowers soon!” he roared and threw the messy container of cheese onto the floor. Denki protested as the yellow-orange substance splattered all over the tile, but Katsuki was already up and walking, dripping the sauce from his fingers as he stalked off into the crowd. He didn’t have a destination in mind. He didn’t even have much of a reason other than he just had to get out of there. Or else, the bitter tears that he was so desperately trying to hold back would spring forth, and he couldn’t have that.

Subconsciously, he was able to navigate to the nearest men’s restroom. He startled a little boy washing his hands by throwing the door open with such force that the handle banged against the tile wall and cracked it. The boy decided to skip the paper towels and hurried out of the room, leaving Katsuki alone. Panting as the emotions threatened to overtake him, he paced in front of the sinks like an angry tiger, snarling curses under his breath. With a sudden shout, he punched the metal bin of paper towels. The surface dented, and the automatic dispenser registered his movement and spat out a single white piece of thin material. Something about the dull whirring of the machine swept his frustration away, leaving him just an empty shell. Dully, he plucked the napkin from the dispenser and began wiping the cheese from his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered suddenly and flopped back against the wall, running his clean hand over his face. What the fuck was his problem? Growing angry at the smallest things, barely able to contain his temper… Rumor would begin to spread if he kept it up. He looked morosely at his knuckles, which were already turning blue and purple -purple, like Ochako’s glittery Saturn charm that she was so excited to pull out of that crappy little coin game at the bubble tea shop sophomore year.

Ochako…

What would she think, to see him acting like this- yelling at his friends and punching things? It would sadden her, absolutely. The brick scraped against Katsuki’s back as he slid down into a sitting position. He tucked his legs to his chest and rested his arms on his knees, then buried his face into the flesh of his forearms. His red eyes gazed miserably at the shadowy tile peeking between the ridges of his sneakers.

Stop freaking out so much. That’s all you have to do, Katsuki tried to convince himself. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Stop being a pissbaby. So what if you’ve got some dumbass disease? Who cares what those Internet bastards say?! I ain’t dyin’, at least not for some time yet! He clenched his fists together, renewed determination flooding his body. I don’t gotta lay down and die or walk on eggshells for this bullshit! I’m Katsuki fucking Bakugo, basketball superstar in the making! No pussy-ass fungus bitch is taking me out!

His nostrils flared as he blew hot breath from his nose. His arm shot up to grasp the sink nearest him and haul himself up. He wiped the rest of the cheese from his hand and then glared at himself into the mirror. Red eyes swam in a pale face that was gradually returning with the color of life -red eyes, like red sneakers, like red hairpins, like red blood. I’m not choking on it yet, he growled to the slightly sickly reflection. Not fucking yet.

His friends were still on the bench when he finally ventured out. They had finished their pretzels and were now drinking slushes. Eijirou had a blue one tucked neatly beside him, untouched.

“Hey, Katsuki, we saved you one,” the redhead smiled and offered the icy drink to him. Katsuki took it with a quiet word of gratitude, electing to stand and shake off the rest of his nervous energy by shifting his weight continuously from one foot to the other. The three boys on the bench awkwardly glanced at one another.

Hanta nervously piped up, “You were right. Hanahaki isn’t somethin’ to joke about… Sorry.” Katsuki stared blankly into the slushie, plucking up the straw to swirl the slushy liquid-ice concoction around in the giant cup.

“S’fine. ‘S just… I saw her, y’know. Kendo.” Katsuki had passed her in the hall the previous day. The girl crouched by the water fountain, clutching her neck as yellow narcissus petals sprouted from her trachea. They fluttered slowly down to pile at her feet; some of the buttery flowers were tinged red with blood from where they had brushed against her raw throat. After a hacking bout, she had shakily tried to drink some water, only to spit it up and start all over again. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and broken sobs leaked out with the coughs. “It’s fucking miserable. I don’t wish it on anybody,” he whispered with lidded eyes. He continued swirling the slush without drinking it, watching the ice melt. The three boys fidgeted on the bench, shamed into silence. Of course, Katsuki was no better; up until this point, he had haughtily discounted anyone who fell victim to the ailment as weak-willed and stupid.

He was such a conceited prick.

Sullenly, he sucked more of the half-melted concoction into his mouth. The cold mush soothed his burning throat even better than the cooled building air. Blinking, he cast a look back into the crowd-

and saw a glittery purple Saturn charm swinging within the mass of bodies. He coughed a little and spit up some of the blue liquid back into the cup, then rubbed his eyes to make sure he didn’t imagine the tacky charm. Sure enough, Ochako had the accessory clipped to one of the belt loops of her white jean shorts. Her smile was radiant, spearing light throughout the room like the stars through the universe. Her pink blouse swished about her frame, giving her a dainty and cute look. She was in avid conversation with someone as she strolled along, and had her fingers linked with theirs.

Katsuki didn’t have to look to know whose hand she was holding.

His fingers twitched, itching to crush the slushie just like he did the little container of cheese, but he refrained from doing so. He couldn’t stop the wracking cough that rattled his body, however. He turned away from his friends on the bench as his chest spasmed. That familiar feeling blossomed in his trachea. The petal was soft as it landed on his tongue, spreading it earthy flavor over his taste buds. He discreetly spat it out and tucked it underneath the fingers holding his cup as Eijirou asked him if he was all right.

“Just fine,” he lied. The blossom-like fungal body seared against his skin, like it was reprimanding him. Not that it did much good- for the next several months, Katsuki was going to lie and lie and lie until it got to the point he couldn’t anymore.

He didn’t know what he would do when that time came. Hollowly, he drank the slushie, feeling the numbing cold spread throughout his entire body- cold like death.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Want more stories? Check out my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @simplybakugou @sadistiks @wesparklebitch @cellotonin @pixxiesdust

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rigel126 · 5 years

Text

Lance the Winter Mage

A Shance one-shot for Shance Secret Santa 2018 (unused pinch-hitter fic)

You can also read it on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316854

A belated Xmas prezzie for my fellow Shance hoes @keirdark and @rigb0ner

Check out my other fics on Tumblr here on my Master List.

Lance the Winter Mage

by Rigel126

It was the Tenth of December, and a sheet of snow fell gently over the kingdom of Altea. Lance, the Winter Mage, had closed his tower and ventured out to a quiet spot deep in the West Forest as was his habit on the days of the full moon. He was heavily bundled in fur coats, and grumbled bitterly into his muffler, “By God, was I a fool to specialize in ice magic. Of course the Mages’ Senate would send me to the coldest town in the land! Quiznak!”

A strong gust picked up and Lance pulled his overcoat more tightly to his body. “Brr! I’m too gay for this crap! Ugh!”

A noise came from the left, off the pathway. Lance turned his head to scan the trees. He could not see anything, but he felt the unmistakeable resonance of magic being used. Sensing something amiss, Lance dashed into the tree-line, his right hand clenching around the stock of a magically conjured crossbow made of pure ice.

The noises grew louder, and Lance heard people shouting and chains rattling violently. Lance burst out into a clearing and found a pack of poachers in Galran attire attempting to restrain a full-grown, fully-transformed werewolf with a chain snare, long pikes and low-level fire spells. The mixed stench of blood-iron and burnt fur was stomach-churning, and red stained the snow on the ground like macabre winter flowers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” roared Lance, firing his crossbow skywards: the bolt transformed into a flare that exploded high above them, an emergency signal that would summon the Altean Rangers. “Werewolf-hunting is forbidden in Altea without a Senate De- whoa!” Lance dodged a fireball that flew past his head and set a tree on fire.

“Kill that bastard!” shouted the Galran fire mage. Of the six poachers holding down the werewolf, three rushed at Lance, brandishing their weapons.

“Now you’ve done it,” growled Lance, his blue eyes glowing brightly with magic-infused rage.

The first Rangers to arrive on the scene were Coran and Keith, and they found Lance in the middle of a circle made from seven towers of ice, littered with broken weapons, blood and a torn metal snare. Lance was on his knees, gently stroking the head of a black-and-white-haired werewolf who was covered in blood, to the astonishment of the Rangers.

“What happened here, Lance? Are you alright?” asked Coran, prudently keeping his distance when he saw Lance’s eyes glowing.

Lance turned his face to Coran, but his shining blue eyes were unfocused like those of a blind man. “Ah, Coran, you’re here. I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I apologize for being a tad bit late, but we of the Ranger always come when we are needed to defend the peace of the realm.” Coran grabbed Keith’s arm firmly before he could do anything that might provoke Lance while the Winter Mage was in one of his ‘episodes’.

“Excuses, excuses,” retorted Lance airily. “But since you’re here, then all is well.” Lance closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathed in and let out a long, throaty sigh before sinking onto his back in the blood-stained snow. When he opened his eyes, they looked normal again. Human.

“Sorry about that, Coran, Keith.” Lance turned his head and nodded weakly at the two Rangers, who visibly relaxed and came closer. “I need your help to arrest these criminals.”

With a snap of his fingers, the seven towers of ice crumbled, revealing the Galran poachers and their third-rate mage-for-hire; they all fell on the ground, shivering violently and incapacitated by the biting cold.

“Their offenses include hunting without a permit, inhumane treatment of a Special Rights Beastman, resisting arrest, and especially, attempting to harm the Winter Mage of Altea, the fabulously stylish Lance McClain de la Espada IV!” Lance announced and then burst into tired laughter.

Christmas Eve was the busiest time of the year at Lance’s wizard tower. The queue was some thirty yards long with the denizens of Altea clamouring for charms and potions for the festive season.

In the back room where Lance had his laboratory, the Winter Mage himself was in a mad frenzy preparing his wares. Objects flew through the air, propelled by magic, while miniature ice golems manipulated long ladles to stir the contents of eight cauldrons lined against the walls.

“Lance, we’re running low on Sobering Potions and Cold Wards out here!” Pidge stuck his head into Lance’s laboratory and hollered.

Lance stuck his finger into one bubbling cauldron and tasted it. “Tell ‘em that the Sobering Potion is being bottled right now.” He swished his finger at the ice golem stirring the cauldron; the golem leaped off its stool and began dragging a wooden pellet filled with empty glass vials to be filled with the newly-brewed Sobering Potion.

“Shiro, did you finish checking the Cold Wards?”

Shiro, the black-and-white-haired werewolf who Lance rescued two weeks ago, looked up from his work. “Almost done,” he grunted.

“Then will you be a dear and bring the ones you’ve checked out to the front? I don’t want Pidge to be lynched by a bunch of angry housewives.”

Shiro was about to comply when he suddenly let out a vicious growl. There was the evident sound of an Arusian squeak.

Lance sighed. “No outsiders allowed in… oh!”

“Y-your Magnificence.” The tiny Arusian handmaiden gave Lance a nervous curtsey while keeping a watchful eye on Shiro, who towered over her with bared fangs.

“It’s alright, Shiro.” Lance waved at Shiro to calm him down.

“Princess Allura sent me to collect her order.”

“Ah, yes. Take those wards to Pidge, Shiro, and then I’ll need you to help me with some heavy lifting.”

Shiro huffed in quiet annoyance before hauling a crate out while the Arusian handmaiden scampered out of the way before Shiro could trample on her.

Lance worked into the night, long after he closed his shop and sent Pidge and Hunk home, checking his inventory of magical ingredients and balancing his accounts ledgers.

“Lance,” growled Shiro, all stretched out on his cot. Even in his humanoid form, Shiro still had wolf ears at the top of his head, and his long tail bushy tail swished across his muscular thigh.

No response from Lance.

“La-nce,” Shiro whined.

“Go to sleep, Shiro,” said Lance idly, scratching his quill across his ledger.

Shiro started whimpering and whining like a puppy.

Lance’s quill snapped in his fingers, splattering dots of ink on the page. “Quiznak, will you stop that?!”

When he looked up to glare at Shiro, the big, hulking werewolf was looking at Lance with big, sad, puppy eyes. It defied logic how a ferocious werewolf could make himself look so… adorable. The thought of it made Lance’s head hurt and his squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Lance let out a surprised ‘oof’ when Shiro came and sat on his lap uninvited, like a big untrained dog, and just slumped bodily against Lance.

“Get off me, you dumb mutt!” Lance half-scolded, half-gasped, wriggling under Shiro, but Shiro was just too heavy. “I can’t breathe!”

“Lance,” Shiro said, happily ignoring Lance’s protests while he nuzzled the wizard’s neck to breathe in his scent. “I missed this. Missed you.”

“What are you talking about, you doofus?” grumbled Lance, blushing red. “We were together all day in my tower, weren’t we?”

“But I couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t smell you.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Are you saying I, the magnificent Lance McClain de la Espada IV, world-renowned Winter Mage, smell?”

“Mmhm! Like spring water, milk soap and family.” Shiro was oblivious to Lance’s sarcasm and proceeded to happily scent-mark Lance by rubbing his stubbly cheek along Lance’s lower jaw.

Lance’s face was so hot he could combust like the sun. “Alright, alright. Get off me already so that I can go to sleep.”

“Okay! Sleep!” Lance could barely walk to bed with the way that Shiro clung to him, unwilling to be physically separated. It was annoying, but Lance would be lying if he said that he didn’t not find it a tiny bit endearing. Especially since Shiro in his humanoid form was brawny and handsome the way Lance liked his male companions to be.

No, Lance, you can’t! Lance chastised himself internally when his legs finally gave out and Shiro hauled him over to bed like a sack of potatoes. Shiro’s behaviour is so innocent and childlike, he’s almost like a child. I can’t make a move on-

Lance’s internal struggle died when Shiro plopped Lance on the bed and pounced on him. Shiro giggled and sniffed and nuzzled Lance a bit before spooning Lance against him, Shiro’s nose buried in the wizard’s brown hair.

“Good night, Lance.” Shiro yawned and quickly fell silent and still, save for his soft snoring.

Squirming a bit in Shiro’s warm and muscular embrace, Lance wondered if the gods had granted him a boon or were playing a cruel trick on him. Either way, Lance was not going to be able to sleep well that night.

Merry quiznaking Christmas to me, thought Lance.

END

#shance #shance secret santa 2018 #ShanceSecretSanta2018 #vld #takashi shirogane #lance mcclain #rigel writes fiction #rigel writes voltron fanfiction #shiro is oblivious #lance is disaster gay #fluff

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eweniversal · 5 years

Text

Secrets of A Councilwoman

(note: this takes place well after the first tidbit I’ve posted) -PART 1-

Kotaphira’s scowl on the chained being she once called a brother changed to that of thought as she observed from her hiding place. At the entrance of the castle’s catacombs, hidden well underneath the surface in a darkened cave was a large pool of water with an outlet that led to the river that divided the city of Maerise in half. The captain’s right. Leaving him here is dangerous at best, even within the confines of the catacombs. But he’s here for a reason. Driving the point home is what’s going to encourage the others to follow through with this plan. It must… else-

Else, you’ll die alone and broken. Two hundred and fifty years, it’s about time for you to croak… Self-preservation is the ONLY way to continue this legacy of yours..

There, just a few meters away and standing hunched in the mud was a mangled leftover of a once proud man. A man who once loved her, revered her, went to the ends of the world for her- at her own bequest. Blue eyes glowed from behind the muzzle that covered his entire face, the enchantment on the twisted, ugly thing glowing and singeing at the decaying, dark skin of the once proud native Derhanian. “Where… where is she… I can smell you!” What used to be of her brother’s voice was mixed with age, destruction, evil- a raspiness and widening as his jaw struggled to move properly in the mask he wore.

Rotten.

The corners of her mouth turned down as she watched his ‘handlers’ keep him at bay with sticks that held chains at the end, keeping his arms tight at his back. They were soldiers, her soldiers, of the Royal Maerisian Knights. A higher honor than Dragon Rider, or even the King’s Guard. These were the strongest of the bunch, and hand picked by her for this task. Among them were two large bipedal fur-men, a bear and a wolf, along with two native Derhanian dark skinned men who had more bulk than brain. The last was a troc mutt whose skin was an indecisive color mix between green and brown and long matted hair that was kept in high dreads. They were an intimidating bunch, in their blue and silver armor, the official colors of the Maerisian city’s soldiers. Around this circle were four mages, led by the youngest of them, a girl by the name Kemryn. She was half Derhanish with vibrant naturally pink curly hair that, along with her pointed ears, proved her magical half-Elfirrin blood. Glowing magical symbols sat around her wrists like bracelets, pushing against her skin and twisting at intervals. All of the mages kept just close enough, ensuring a binding spell was kept in place on the prisoner.

"Hrmh," Ah, dear Steirtorim. A towering troc mutt from the north; perhaps, if she were two hundred years younger and had a taste for murky green colored men... "Is a silencing magic available now?" His head turned to his commanding officer, an elder darker skinned Derhanian gentleman who always threatened retirement the moment he ever saw someone’s skin outside of armor. “The crowd outside all have their attention turned elsewhere. There are many guards available to be here, but-” But it may not be enough to hold the monster at bay. He looked back to the prisoner who shook in his shackles, causing Steirtorim to grab for his weapon, partly unsheathing it. “Should we need more protection!” More people to swear to secrecy. She should have brought her younger purple-haired doppelganger to this reunion. Perhaps bring her sons Samund and Taskell, too.

Focus.

"Lady Kotaphira is here, he has been asking for her- perhaps she can calm him."

He knew she was there from the start, only mentioning her when convenient. Clever troc. “Calm him?” Kotaphira’s voiced called out crisp, piercing the eardrums of those in the vicinity and echoing in the cavern. “My strongest men, and you can’t settle this monstrosity on your own?” She emerged from her hiding place by the hidden entry of the castle’s catacombs. “Needing an old woman to do your job for you.” Her chin was held high, despite being dwarfed by the guards surrounding her. Her gaze and attention was held on the decades old beast before her, weathered emblem of an ancient sigil of their past set on his shoulder like a proud pauldron.

Not pride. Curse.

Kotaphira swallowed as she kept close enough to Captain Steirtorim. The thing before her was no longer her brother, but the remains of a ghost.

“Your challenging of Derdia’s Call wearies by the day. You should be put out of your misery, for everyone’s safety.” A smile crept up on her lips, age making the lines by her eyes crinkle. “It would be my honor to do so. Brother. But not yet. I need you for something first.” Her grin faded and the look on her face turned into that of a disapproving scowl. “Heel.” Her demand was gentle, magic imbued with her tone like a master weaver carefully pulling golden strands within their craft. Her gaze was solely on the chained monster, intent only to him. “Kneel, demon.” Almost a whisper, but only meant for him.

Rinlear was always defiant to what he didn’t want to do. Now was not the time for that trait to appear.

Turning to writhe, he pulled himself against his restraints, her magic seeming to cause him insurmountable amounts of pain. Growling out, he shook his chains and sobbed loudly before it turned in to a malicious laughter. Whispers and groans floated to her sensitive Elfirrin ears as he spoke, and her back stiffened at his words.

“Be quiet, fossil.” Rinlear hissed quietly. Head leaning forward to hang, his shoulders swayed back and forth as though he were testing the restraint at his wrists. At his comment, however, one of the fur-men gave a shout and they struggled to pushed the old thing down, but he resisted and turned sharply, aiming for the troc mutt who held him. The soldier flinched to the side, exposing one of the mages. The mage’s eyes went wide as he held up his hands in defense, breaking concentration on the spell. Kemryn gave a shout over the yelling of the other soldiers, but Rinlear rushed forward and with a loud growl, head butted the defenseless mage to the ground. The troc soldier twisted his arm to righten the monster and the rest of the guard put the wretched thing back in place in front of Kota, pushing him to his knees at her feet. She didn’t notice the loosening of one of the buckles of his mask at the side where he’d impacted the mage’s head.

The mages worked hard without their fourth to continue their magic, but without the silencer, Rinlear was able to form more coherent sentences, struggling against the widening of his loosened jaw, forcing it to move in a strange way against the mask.

“Kneel? To a pompous, voracious sow? Heheheheheh.” His chuckle turned to a chortle, distorted by the metallic jaw-covering and reverberating around the cavern. “Why would I kneel to a craven little weakling?” He looked around to the guards holding his chains, to the old armored commander, the towering troc-man, and back to Kotaphira. “You still can’t do anything yourself. You need your platoon of big, strong men to do everything for you…” Another chuckle echoed out. “Even keep your bed warm, last I heard.”

Her brows raised. A feeble attempt at trying to defy the situation. How… predictable. He paused again, head and shoulder flinching as he whispered once more, long strings of unintelligible words, the two glowing blue dots disappearing within his muzzle as he shut his eyes.

“You’ll not disrespect Lady Kotaphira, you abominable wretch! Show respect.” Steirtorim growled through his short, exposed tusks, threatening his sword at the prisoner.

Kota’s hand raised to silence Steirtorim. “He has no notion of respect anymore.” Kota frowned, disgust bubbling in her chest.

“But to go after anything that's... humanoid!” He gave a quick nod to Steirtorim. “You tell me if that’s ‘respectable’! Have some shame, ‘dear sister.’” His disposition changed to a more stern, serious one. “What am I saying, you’re no sister of mine. Not someone who’d ‘spare’ their brother out of convenience or abandon their lover.” His glowing eyes opened to concentrate up on Kotaphira’s face, blue glow reflecting from the enchanted metal and back to what little skin was left on his face. She could just make out the tendons, blackened and burnt, moving as he spoke, the longer she looked. He no longer had a nose. “I’d wager you would even sacrifice the spawn of your womb if it granted you more power.” Disgust dripped from his words. It seemed whatever feeling of empathy he’d ever had for her was gone. “Pheh, and I’m the demon. Whatever you need, send your harem. I want no part in it.”

The mask slowly moved against his jaw, loosening with every sentence.

“You do not have a choice. Trust me, I would not have bothered to send for you if it meant I could do this any other way. Your inconvenience is just as much as mine is. Asking you to come here would have brought more harm than good.” She actually dared to step forward and kneel in front of him, still an arm’s length away, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Devourer of Man. If you do as I say, you’ll get all the flesh you could ever want to consume. Defy me, and you will never taste another soul again. Do we have a deal?” She didn’t wait for an answer before standing up. This was not a bargain he had a decision in. “Get him detained in the catacombs with a proper muffler.” His voice echoing to entice others was a threat she couldn’t afford right now. “Don’t let anyone near enough to him. He’ll starve before I let anyone risk their lives out of curiosity.”

His presence was foul, the old sigil on his shoulder eerie and emanating evil. So why… why was there a feeling of excitement? She was closer to her goal, but something else was pulling.

Brother…

Her head shook slightly. Family or not, there was nothing left of the Rinlear she knew.

But isn’t there?

Kotaphira looked up to Steirtorim. “I have something to attend to. Is this under control?” Her brows raised, nodding in the direction of the downed spell caster. They couldn’t afford any more injuries or deaths with this operation. People did not need to be asking questions; the cover with the disappearance of Princess Mylla was one thing, but people get bored easily.

“Yes, I believe so. So long as we don’t lose anyone else due to carelessness.” He shot a glare to the other troc. “Holding him within city walls, though?”

“It needs to be here.” She responded curtly.

“Hahahaha,” Rinlear made his amusement in her decisions clear, “Yes, slime-spawn. Is this under control? Your fallen woman of a queen needs a clear mind to herd more human cattle to their slaughter.” He looked at the guards holding his chains, as his words weren’t just for her anymore. “I accept your offer, and see your reasoning, Madame Councilor. Maerise doesn’t need any more of her people risking their lives to a monster such as I.” Rinlear stared straight at her, through her, “Not when a monster such as you can sell them to me for my services.” He sounded as though he were challenging her actions, and she wondered, for just a moment, if he would stand to resist her intentions. “But I’m not as stingy as you might think. Rather than ‘all the flesh I could ever hope to consume.’ I want...” He looked around again, glowing blue eyes shifting around. “You to decide upon one soul to sacrifice to me, one for every head we have in audience here. You’ll announce them by name at the city square.” He looked once more at Steirtorim, as though he could see his very soul. “And one of my choosing.” There was a slick sound, as though he were licking at lips that no longer existed. “These twisted lengths you're willing to go through will not be kept hidden."

She let him have his words while her hands gripped tightly at her sides. The filthy relic that bowed before her in defiance was no brother of hers. Muscles twitching in her face, she finally found the courage to speak within her rage. No one would be losing their lives if she could help it, and certainly not to this disgusting cannibal! “You’re in no position to make demands, wretched beast.” How could he possibly think that I would do such a thing!? He’s lost whatever logic he once held, for certain. “Open your filthy mouth again to speak, and I’ll use my magics to shut you up for good. We just watched you squeal like a hung pig meant for the butcher the moment I spoke before, and that was barely a whisper. I’ve had time to hone my craft, and you’re weak. If we have to force you down and sew your mouth opening shut, so be it!”

“Eheheheh..” With that, the enchanted muzzle slipped and hung halfway from his face, exposing the decayed and rotten flesh that once covered his handsome face. Blackened nubs replaced the teeth he once had, the right side of his jaw hanging looser than the left, unhinged from the skull. The muscles still pulled into a sort of wicked grin, drool the color of oil dripping from the opening.

Kota’s eyes widened and she looked quickly to Kemryn, who was still concentrating hard on her task. “Child! The restraint!”

But it was too late. Rinlear’s head was leaned back, and through the exposed side of his face he opened his jaw wide and let out a low, rumbling groan that echoed throughout the cavern. The air around them turned to static as the mage’s magics, and Kota’s too, were pulled from their hands, raising their arms against their will. Kota was incapacitated, defenseless, against this unnatural attack. Like all of the air was pulled from her lungs, and the water from her body. Electricity buzzed all her nerves at once and pulled whatever was left up and out through her fingertips. Glowing energies from each of them raised in the air and swirled over Rinlear’s head, and for a split second began to converge and flow in to his open mouth.

“She said- HEEL!” Steirtorim’s sword hilt made contact with Rinlear’s exposed face- what was left of it- and with a loud crunch the prisoner crumpled to the ground. The magical energies slowly separated and dispersed back to their respective owners. Collapsing to the mud, the magic wielders gasped for air and struggled to regain their posture as black dots appeared in their vision.

“Lady Kotaphira!” Steirtorim knelt at her side, hand hovering over her shoulder. He knew she didn’t like to be touched.

“Kemryn..” Kota barely let out, “All of you. No more leather on prisoners. Metal only. No clasps. LOCKS, and securer enchantments.” She looked up, glaring at them all, “And for the love of Derdia, NO ONE hesitate!”

Steirtorim nodded, helping her to her feet only when she reached for him. “So long as he.. It.. stays alive.”

“That goes without saying.” She hissed. Another glance at Rinlear, and Kotaphira turned to go inside the castle.

“My lady, what about what just happened! You can’t ignore that!” Steirtorim moved to help the mages up while the soldiers re-latched the mask and secured Rinlear’s bindings.

“There’s no time! The sooner this is dealt with, the sooner this thing can be disposed of!” The old oak doors strained as they shut behind her. It really was problematic, and under any other circumstances she would have been eager to attempt to dissect the situation and investigate. But time was running out. Rinlear wasn’t the sacrifice, but the bait.

#writing #fiction #Maerise #Derhan #Tales of Erai'hym #story blurb #yes I write other stuff too #but this it what Im interested in atm #updates when I can

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