#@ young posse is slowly climbing up my walls

[blogegi]

❥　　✧　　🍊⁺　　⸝⸝　　❂　　(❛◡˂ ⟡)

macaroni cheese, maca, macaroni cheese!

loc creds 2 my girl @superknd

[jedi-mabari]

Greene Acre Chapter 4

Word Count:1852 Warnings:Genre typical violence.  A/N: Wow, 9 months is way to long, but I finally got the 4th chapter done, and boy howdy am I excited about this one. Hope y’all like it! I’m tagging @dreaming-about-the-dead because I know your love for Black  Belle knows no bounds

Summary:After putting Ashley to bed, Black Belle returned to the saloon, and sure enough, trouble rolls in.  _________________________________________________________

“-but by the time I got there, the son of a bitch had up and died of cholera,” Belle explained, getting a sympathetic nod from Franklin. 

“That’s just piss luck,” he said, wiping out the inside of a glass. “At least he isn’t out there tryin’ to kill ya.” Belle laughed and took a drink from the whiskey in her hand. 

“I shoulda killed him back when he first turned,” she said, half a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. Belle sat in contemplative silence as Franklin did his job, but he slowly made his way back to her. 

“You got anyone left in the gang?” Bella laughed and shook her head. 

“Naw. They’re all in the wind. Ain’t seen any of my boys in near on a year now.” Franklin nodded and leaned against the bar. 

“But now you got the kid,” he said, and Belle nodded. 

“Yeah. She’s a good kid. Knows how to handle a gun, good with Ol’ Jake. Seems to have a good head on her shoulders.” Franklin nodded and smiled. He opened his mouth to speak when the swinging door burst open, and a young man with greasy brown hair stepped in, out of breath and looking panicked.

“Franklin,” he said, his eyes finding the burly bartender with ease, “it’s the law. And there’s a lot of ‘em.” Franklin grabbed the shotgun behind the bar and shared a look with Belle.

“Everybody remain calm! They ain’t got a reason to raid Clearwater, so let’s not give ‘em a reason.” Franklin stepped out from behind the bar and Belle grabbed his arm. 

“Do you want me to back you up,” she asked, her other hand hovering over her revolver. Franklin smiled and looked her up and down and shook his head. 

“No offence, Ms. Colter, but you are wanted in seven different states, so, I doubt you bein’ there would actually help me.” Belle smiled and let go of his arm. 

“If you need back up, just call out,” she said, and Franklin nodded. He walked out of the doors, shotgun ready as he prepared to greet the lawmen, and Belle slipped through the crowd, taking up position by the window to keep an eye on her long time friend. 

A large group rode up on horseback. Belle could count twenty, but there were sure to be more throughout the town. The man in front had his rifle laid across his lap, a smirk hidden underneath an overly large mustache. He leaned forward in his saddle, resting his arm on the saddle horn.

“Good evenin’, Mr. Boyd,” the lawman said loud enough that everyone inside the saloon could hear him. 

“Mr. Faulkner,” Franklin said, his voice matching volume with the lawman. “What calls you down to Clearwater this fine night?” 

“We’re lookin’ for a fugitive from the law.” Belle grabbed her revolver and pulled it from its holster. She didn’t know if they were talking about her, but she wouldn’t be going down without a fight.

“Anyone in particular, or are you just fishin’,” Franklin asked, and Mr. Faulkner chuckled.

“I have always admired your sense of humor, Franklin,” he said, removing his hat to run his hand through his thick, grey hair. “We’re looking for a young man, one Christopher Jones. He’s wanted for the murder of a young lady up in Gangridge.” He rifled around in his saddlebag and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. He extended his hand out to Franklin, he cautiously took the paper. He unfolded it and took in the drawing on the page. He shrugged and passed the page back to Mr. Faulkner. 

“I’m sorry, if he’s been through Clearwater, I haven’t seen him.” Mr. Faulkner chuckled and took the paper back, tucking it away again. 

“And of course you’re gonna see everyone that slips through your town.” Franklin glared at the lawman and shrugged. 

“Yes. I am.” Mr. Faulkner sat up again and shook his head. 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll have a look around myself.” Franklin cocked his shotgun and shook his head. 

“I do mind,” he said, taking a protective stance on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. “I’m going to have to ask you to take your posse and leave.” Mr. Faulkner shook his head, and Belle saw the corner of his mouth fall, and his expression darkened. 

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Boyd?” Franklin’s only answer was to raise the shotgun. Mr. Faulkner shook his head and grabbed his rifle. “I’m not leaving this town without Mr. Jones.” He glanced behind Franklin, and Belle felt their eyes meet, and his mouth twisted into a wicked smile, though his expression remained dark. “Or someone of greater value.” Franklin followed Mr. Faulkner’s gaze, and spotted Belle in the window. 

A shot rang out, and Belle dropped low to the ground. The window above her shattered, and she moved away from the glass. The saloon was chaos, people running around, flipping tables for cover. Belle snuck behind the bar, careful to keep low so as not to get hit by flying bullets. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and the rag Franklin had been using the clean glasses. She ripped the cloth and shoved a strip into the bottle, tipping it upside down to soak the wick in alcohol. 

“Franklin, get your ass in here,” she shouted just as he stepped backwards through the door. He was staggering, but managed to make his way to the bar, crawling over it to take cover. 

“What do you need,” he asked as Belle shoved the makeshift explosion into his hand. She looked him over, her hands patting down his arms and chest, checking for bullet wounds. As her hand passed over his ribs, he let out a groan. 

“What the hell, Franklin,” she said, pressing her hand down to try and keep the blood inside of him. He chuckled lightly and pushed her hand away, digging into his pocket. 

“Don’t worry, Ms. Colter,” he said, “you well know that I’ve had worse.” Belle gave him a look and he shrugged. “You need to get you and that girl out of here. Faulkner’s a son of a bitch, but eventually he’ll get bored. But not so long as you’re here.” Belle nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna need a-” Before Belle could finish her thought, Franklin pulled a matchbox out of his pocket and pulled out a match. He lit the wick of the molotov cocktail Belle had placed in his hand and stood, hurling it out of the broken window. He knelt back down next to Belle, clutching his ribs where he was bleeding. 

“That’ll buy you enough time to slip out the back. The door lets out into the back alley. You get that girl, and you two get out of here as fast as you can. Hopefully, we’ll be able to keep these assholes distracted long enough for you to slip out of town.” Belle handed him another bottle and nodded. 

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Belle demanded. “Otherwise I won’t have a place to get free whiskey.” They both laughed, and Franklin took Belle’s hand in his, holding it firm. 

“Good luck, Ms. Colter,” he said, releasing her hand. She waited for him to throw the second molotov cocktail before she ran for the backdoor, keeping low to the ground. She checked the back alley before slipping out into the darkness. She waited to see if she could hear anyone in the alley over the gunfire from the street. She slipped down to the hotel, climbing the back steps to the top floor. She ran down the hall, bursting into the room where she had left Ashley to sleep off the whiskey. 

Belle stopped when she saw the empty bed and Ashley’s shoes on the floor. She looked around the room quickly, letting out a frustrated noise when she couldn’t find Ashley. Belle quickly grabbed the bags and Ashley’s shoes. She hoped the girl had enough sense in her head to go to the stables and avoid the mess in the street, but the uneasy feeling in her gut had her on edge. Belle ran back down the backstairs and hurried down the back alley. She stopped when a man stepped around the corner, his revolver drawn and aiming at Belle. 

She caught the glint off the badge on his chest from the lamp that hung off the wall of the last building of the row. She saw him smirk and, without thinking, she threw Ashley’s shoe at him, knocking him in the head. The deputy staggered back and Belle threw Ashley’s other shoe at him just as he steadied himself. With her hand free, she pulled her revolver out and shot at him. She watched him drop and ran for the stables.

The stable’s lights were on, and Belle took that as a good sign. She looked over her shoulder, and luckily, the fight was still going on, giving her the cover she would need to slip away unnoticed. As she slipped into the stables, she ducked just as a rake swung towards her head. She turned and caught the rake, ripping it out of the assailants hands, pulling it back to attack in turn. 

She stopped when the stable boy raised his hands to defend himself, but he didn’t cower or try to run. It wasn’t until Belle realized he didn’t actually pose a threat that she realized her was standing protectively in front of Ashley. Belle dropped the rake and walked over to Ol’ Jake. 

“Saddle up, Miss Gallagher,” Belle ordered, and Ashley poked her head over the young man’s shoulder. 

“What’s going on out there, Ms. Belle,” she asked, and Belle laughed as she threw their bags over the horse, tying them down. 

“I owe you $100, kid,” Belle said, stepping into her saddle. Ashley looked between Belle and the young man, but it only took her a moment to get to Chinook. She climbed on, and waved for the young man to follow. Belle held her hand up to him as he stepped towards them. 

“I’m sorry, but we have enough liabilities,” she said, and the young man swallowed hard. 

“I can pull my weight,” he promised. “I’m excellent with horses and can hold my own in a fight. I promise I won’t be a burden ma’am.” Belle looked out of the stable doors, taking a deep breath and thinking it over. Belle turned to the young man and nodded once. 

“Well come on, I don’t got all night,” she said, and the young man grabbed a small sack and quickly jumped onto Ashley’s horse. Belle and Ol’ Jake stepped out of the barn first, careful to make sure it was safe for them to leave. Chinook carefully followed Ol’ Jake and the three of them set off into the night, the glow from the fires behind them lighting the sky. The three of them headed south, with Belle throwing glances behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed.

[lovelahela]

❛ it lives in the woods ❜ ─ prologue

⇢ masterlist ; check masterlist for fancast!

⇢ pairing: noah marshall x f!mc (marisol reyes)

⇢ genre: horror

⇢ chapter: zero (prologue)

⇢ words: 2687

⇢ description: something old and powerful lives in the woods surrounding the small town of westchester... something that knows their names. tensions flare, old wounds are reopened, and lives hang in the balance of one, very important question: are you scared?

⇢ notes + warning: this story will include disturbing scenes, potentially dark/triggering subjects (including but not limited to underage substance/alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety) and strong language. reader discretion is advised.

        Tonight, the moon is playing peek-a-boo, weaving in and out of ribbons of black clouds scudding across the sky. Accompanying the flickering radiance of lampposts scattered across the small town of Westchester, the light of the moon stretched across the vast cluster of trees that surrounded it and to a cosy, modern house far away from said lampposts that stood out significantly next to the worn-out, withering shack that stood meters away from it. The town was characteristically quiet, its folk invested in whatever dream of winning the lottery and marrying the most good-looking Hollywood actor they were having. It was almost peaceful.

        The functioning word here being almost.

        Inside that modern little house lay a young teenage girl, fast asleep in the comfort of her mattress and scented candles. Marisol Reyes tried very hard to be normal, thank you very much. She ran two clubs, maintained outstanding grades, and managed Westchester High's successful swimming team as an efficient captain. Some might even say she was one of the "popular kids," but she was no where near that (proven by the constant degradation courtesy of Britney and her posse), and preferred to keep it that way. All Marisol wanted was to blend, to be away from the spotlight - she had enough of it after being drowned in all the wrong kinds of attention when one of her best friends perished a decade ago. Being pointed at by judgemental kids and gossiping parents took a toll on her, and she swore to go out of her way to erase the devastating, untimely death of Jane Marshall from her life - she would never be the "best friend of that girl who died" ever again.

        Although Marisol strongly refused her mother Soledad's advice to see a child psychologist and cope with the horrible trauma that cost her her childhood, she insisted that she was able to, get over it. She pushed aside the recurrent nightmares and the obsession with self-defense and martial arts classes, plastered on a smile, and said she was fine - every single time, all through the ten years of looking over shoulder and denying just how damaged she really was.

        The sound of violent vibrations against a wooden surface startled Marisol Reyes out of her uncharacteristically peaceful slumber. She jumped out of her bed and grabbed the kitchen knife that always lied stoically on her bedside table like a war veteran, hair frazzled and muscles tense. The focus of her almond-shaped eyes darted around the room frantically, fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife as her heart beat wildly in her chest. Once she could not make out an outline of an intruder in the darkness that enveloped the area, she realized the vibrations were coming from her phone, buzzing enthusiastically with text notifications. She groaned at her overreaction to such a harmless event while rubbing the sleep from her eyes and picked up the small electronic device in her tense hands.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:12 AM

UNKNOWN NUMBER

marisol, you there?

it's dan.

i messed up. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry

Mark as spam?

Block number?

        "Oh my God..." whispered Marisol, rereading that one text over and over again to make sure she didn't imagine it.

        it's dan.

        Those two words stole the breath and heat from her very skin. Suddenly her defenses are like paper, paper being soaked by rapidly falling rain drops. Dan Pierce. They hadn't spoken since the tragic incident a decade prior - after the funeral, the eight children went their separate ways, determined carry the truth behind that catastrophe with them to the grave no matter how deep they buried it inside of them. She debated replying - she hadn't so much as greeted him in so many years, and suddenly he bombards her phone with frantic messages in the middle of the night? Something seemed off. Marisol could practically feel danger creeping up slowly but surely behind her.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:15 AM

DAN PIERCE

marisol?

MARISOL

dan, hey.

it's been a while, u okay? what's up?

DAN PIERCE

i went into the woods.

i had to be sure, i had to prove to myself that he wasn't real.

that it was all in our heads.

but he is, mari. he's real. it was all real.

read 3:16 AM

        Marisol's previously tense hands began shivering vigorously along with the rest of her limbs, all of them weakening by the second. She closed her eyes and drew in long, deep breaths, attempting to calm down and muster up whatever courage she had left. She wasn't sure if the texts she responded with were an attempt to convince Dan, or herself.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:17 AM

MARISOL

hey man, u sure ure not drunk?

DAN PIERCE

he was whispering, just like when we were kids.

MARISOL

dan, please stop.

we made all that stuff up, we were kids.

mr red was just a dumb game that spun out of control.

we made it all up.

DAN PIERCE

 he does. he's with me right now.

MARISOL

for fuck's sake dan

if ure in the woods get out NOW

it's not safe in the dark

DAN PIERCE

i can hear him in the trees.

i can hear him whispering...

read 3:18 AM

        Marisol hissed a long string of curse words, fumbling around in the dark for her jacket. It didn't matter that they lost touch with each other, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him - of losing someone else in the disbanded group that she once would have said she trusted with her life. Maybe, if you dug deep enough through the traumatic, emotional baggage she lugged around every waking moment, she still would.

        Just as she snatched the keys to her mother's car (which she was only allowed to use in the case of an emergency, much to her dismay), someone rapped the window harshly, startling a shriek out of her. Her phone slipped out of her hands and landed on the wooden floorboard with an upsetting thud, just barely illuminating the room with a disturbing glow.

        With the manner of a paranoid animal about to get preyed on viciously, Marisol snuck a peek at the window. Her blood ran cold when she made out the shape of what she was hoping was a human. Wasting no time, she jumped towards her lamp and turned it on. A yellow light filled just enough of the vicinity - enough to see that the man waiting outside her window was none other than Dan. She heaved out a relieved sigh and opened the window  (reluctantly so), ushering him inside outside of the chilly embrace of the crisp night.

        He climbed into his former friend's bedroom, hoodie dirtied by mud and hints of dead leaves. His long hair was unkempt, his eyes were accompanied by worrying and prominent bruises under them, and what used to be his beautifully tanned skin was then pale and sickly as though he was near death itself. Dan sat hunched over on the floor like a frail puppet being held up by a single fraying string. It was horribly peculiar to see him like this - he always held himself with confidence, tall and muscular frame towering over even those taller than him. To see him lying on her floor, so vulnerable and beaten down, it was heartbreaking to say the least.

        "God, Dan, what happened to you?" asked Marisol, eyes softened with concern as she scanned his body for the injuries littered on his skin and mud staining his clothes. He looked up at her, expression shallow, striking a faint but growing fear inside of her. "How... how did you even get here? We're on the second floor."

        "I climbed." His answer was curt and simple, no emotion to his voice at all. Nothing in his eyes or the tone of his voice supported the signs of terrifying struggle that blemished him. Marisol gulped.

        "Oooookay, Spider-Man!" Nervous laughter cut through the uncomfortable silence choking them. She frowned and took small, careful steps forward as to not startle him. She crouched down to look him in the eyes as calmly as she should, slowly pulling down the zipper of his hoodie.

        "Listen, bud, why don't you take a shower? I'll wash your clothes, give you some of my dad's, and you can tell me happened, yeah?" Her voice was low and soft, as though she was consoling a frightened child. Peeling the hoodie off his slouched shoulders, she avoided his eyes, which were - very creepily - trained on her paling face. She sighed, visibly relieved when he decided to focus on the string of Polaroid pictures and what looked like dozens of framed award certificates hung up on her wall, suddenly completely neglecting her physical existence next to his enfeebled body.

        "I'm fine." His words resembled that of an accused, soulless criminal awaiting his punishment in court, perfectly trained to deny his guilt to his grave no matter what the situation was — it seemed to rehearsed. Then, abruptly, his head snapped in her direction and he grabbed her forearms tightly, staring at her with wide, crazed eyes. She could have sworn she felt all of her internal organs cease functioning for a split second and yelped pathetically. "Come on! We need to get the others!"

        Her breath hitched in her throat. She searched and searched her brain for the proper response, hyper-aware of the growing madness that distorted his handsome face. When she spoke, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high for her liking. "What — What others?"

        Dan's hold on her tightened noticeably, causing her to flinch and whimper involuntarily. A curt, mad laugh that sounded like one the Joker himself would utter left his lips. "Our friends, of course! Noah, Lily, Ava, Lucas, Andy, Stacy — the whole gang!" Another laugh that deepened the pit in her stomach, a laugh that would haunt her for days.

        Suddenly, Marisol regretted turning away psychological help. The rate of her breathing quickened anxiously as she felt a gate in her mind burst open, letting unwanted memories flood it mercilessly at the mention of their names. She could not see Dan anymore, only flashing images of ruins, of an eerie forest, and of nine children irresponsibly skipping through the trees, on their way to revisit the entity that would then change their lives forever. Her eyes were coated with a glossy sheen of tears that were more than ready to flow down her cheeks against her weakening will. When she finally mustered the courage to speak again, she whispered: "I've barely spoken to them for years, Dan. Not since Jane — "

        Before she could register what was happening, Dan stood up and pulled her with him with an unimaginable force that was sure to leave bruises. Their faces were uncomfortably close, so close she could smell the scent of blood and dirt that replaced his usual cologne. He stared at her like an enraged panther, tiny bubbles of froth forming at the corners of his mouth and face contorted with a venomous outburst. Fear was struck inside her that she felt in her very core — she almost thought he would kill her right then and there. "They have to come. Everyone has to be there. That's the rule."

        She could feel the sweat trickle down her neck, the throbbing of her tear-filled eyes, the ringing screaming of a little girl in her ears, and the thumping of her horror-stricken heart against her chest. "Rule?"

        The world stilled around them. Suddenly, she could not hear a single thing, not even her own breathing — only the awfully familiar words that the boy hissed: "Everyone plays together."

        Marisol could not have been more thankful for the sound of her phone buzzing yet again against the floorboards. She took that as an excuse to gingerly wiggle out of his loosened grip and, with shaking legs, approached her cell and picked it up. A crack tarnished the previously pristine screen, but she decided to worry about that later when it was a more appropriate time to fret over a slightly broken phone. 

        But what she saw was her breaking point. Her free hand reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a sob threatening to spill out of her quivering lips and before she could control it a steady flow of salty tears coated her cheeks.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:26 AM

DAN PIERCE

are you still there?

i think i'm lost

marisol? my battery's almost dead, please help me!!

read 3:26 AM

        The shock ricocheted up her skeleton; an enormous engulfing terror made her feel so, so sick in her mind and body. She's seen darkness before, the kind that makes an empty street look like an old-fashioned photograph, but this was different — this was the kin of darkness that robbed her of her common sense and replaced it with a paralyzing fear. By her genes, she is a predator with the intelligence and perceptive eyes to hunt, but in that moment, she felt like a helpless prey. Marisol slowly rose from the illuminating screen of her phone, her wide, suspicious eyes meeting his. 

        "Dan?" She sniffled weakly.

        Although his eyes were cold an empty, right underneath them a grin stretched his lips impossibly from one ear to the other, radiating clear indications of raging madness.

        "Marisol."

        She lunged for the knife on her bedside table yet again, shrieking as he took large and quick steps towards her violently shaking form. She searched desperately for an escape route that wasn't blocked by the towering body of the intruder in front of her but to no avail. He grabbed her wrist with a bone-crushing hold, squeezing yet another helpless screech out of her. Her voice broke when she cried out: "Dan, please! Don't make me do this!"

        And he did nothing but widen the frightening smile that would permanently etch itself into her retinas, haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

        So Marisol did the only logical thing her frantic brain could come up with — with a heart-wrenching scream, pained by having to inflict pain on a friend who was once very dear to her, she drove the blade of the knife into his abdomen. Much to her increasing horror, he did not so much as flinch at the pain, only tightened the hold around her throbbing wrist. He merely growled like a feral animal, burning holes into her with his enraged gaze. "Wrong move."

        Dan tackled her effortlessly to the floor, straddling her hips and forcing her into a cage that she would never break out of in her wildest dreams. He smashed her head against the rough surface underneath her, darkening her fading vision. "We all have to go back, remember?"

        "LEAVE ME ALONE! GET — OFF — ME!" She thrashed in his hold, no longer attempting to swallow the sobs. Finally, after agonizing attempts to kick and thrash and flail, she was able to free one of her hands and in result scraped her previously perfectly manicured fingernails down the skin of his face.

         A cry of disgust and disbelief bounced off the walls of the room when it peeled right off, revealing putrid flesh under it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving her to stare into milky whiteness while the stink of stale dirt burned the  insides of her nostrils. His long, skinny fingers curled around her neck, pressing, closing with a lack of mercy or remorse, feeling like tendrils wound around her oxygen supply. Despite her lungs blazing with agony, Marisol continued to fight fruitlessly until her energy started to dissipate like water going down a drain. Her hands fell to her side and her body grew limp, using her last breath to scream for help that, somewhere in the back of her min, she knew would never come. The last thing she saw before she embraced the coming blackness of unconsciousness was the ghastly monster that rendered her powerless and savagely tore open her old wounds.

[fictionxo]

Pay Attention - Jaemin (M)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,026

Group: NCT

(A/N: There IS a READ MORE option! If it doesnt show, that's tumblr acting up! Pls read rules before requesting! I wrote this story before on a different account, some of you may recognize it, some may not! Let's keep in mind that as of now Nana is considered 20 years of age in Korea, no longer a minor, and hes 18 international, so legal everywhere else too. They are not minors. (Unlike Jisung and Chenle) So please consider that before you send hate 💕)

~~~

"What?!" You were sure your cries could be heard for miles.

A grimace takes over his face before he responds.

"You heard me. Do you, or do you not, want extra credit?"

"S-sir I.."

"Do you, or do you NOT, want extra credit."

His words clearly growing tired of your complaining. You stare down at the floor, contemplating the large offer. The amount of extra credit he's offering would send you well over your A+. So much so, that even a few bad exam scores wouldn't take you below an A+. But that means...

"So..all I have to do is tutor him right sir..?"

"For at least two hours every other day, and make sure he passes. A straight A+ student like you shouldn't have any problem with this. You tutor plenty of students." Your principle reasons with you.

"But sir, the normal students are willing! And they're not, rude and overly popular!" More whines.

Your principle stares you down, giving you a look that clearly states that you don't want to argue with him. Or else.. Your college grades are riding on this. Defeated, you nod in agreement and let out a very unpleasant sigh.

"Look. I know it's hard, and he may put up a fuss, but please..you're one of the smartest in our campus, you have every class with him so you know the material, and his parents are our biggest funders for the school. If he fails..we all fail..that includes you. Better yet, especially, you. Do you understand me?" The threat laced perfectly off his tongue.

Nodding, you stand up and dismiss yourself back to class with a heavy heart, and an even heavier mind. Upon entering your class, you notice the absence of the teacher, and the students chatting with one another. One student in particular. Na Jaemin. The schools wealthiest, and most popular bad boy, rocking pink hair, and a wide crystal smile. He strokes the cheek of one of the many girls surrounding him and they all swoon.

"Get me a soda and maybe I'll give you a kiss beautiful." He chimes out in a velvet deep voice.

All the girls practically trample one another to race out of the room to find a soda for him. Luckily for you, you dodge them just in time. He and his friends laugh at the girls ignorance, and joke about how ugly some of the girls were, or how they could use them to get anything. It was then when Jaemin looked up from his posse and noticed you. He cocked a brief smirk and rolled his eyes at you. Clearly unhappy about the little agreement, and very much wanting you to know. Typical Jaemin.

~~~

You find yourself here, standing outside of Na Estates on a Saturday evening, at exactly 6pm. Before you could knock on the overly large door, it swings open with force, blowing a short gust of wind past you. There in front of you stands a very tall man with kind eyes, and an extremely beautiful young woman with long black hair, on his arm.

"Right on time! Punctuality is close to godliness!" The woman chirps in a velvety, high pitched voice.

Not quite the saying but okay. She welcomes you in with a small hand on your back, and you thank them both, removing your shoes before placing them by the door.

"Jaemin is upstairs in his room. Sorry to have you come all the way here dear, but it's better to have you here where we know our son is safe. Not that we don't trust you or anything." The woman smiles at you, before checking her golden watch.

"Look at the time! We must be off." She states in a hurry.

"You're leaving?! Us here?! Alone??" You damn near choke.

"Of course! You're college students, you can take care of yourselves. Jaemin has the card in case you both get hungry. We'll be home tomorrow. Bye now!"

Before you could even complain about the whole 'tomorrow' they're off, slamming the door behind them. Leaving you gawking in their large mansion.

You turn from the door to face the inside of the house, gradually becoming annoyed and wonder for a brief moment if your grades are even worth it. That's when you notice the interior of the house. Large sculptures, high chandeliers, and designer furniture litter the place all in a neat fashion. Complimented with high ceilings, bright walls, and light crystal looking floor.

"Aren't you little miss punctual."

Your eyes avert to the voice at the top of the grand staircase. Jaemin. You frown and cross your arms, rolling your eyes dramatically showing him how annoyed you are, similar to how he did to you in class.

"Let's get this over with so I can go home." You groan unpleasantly.

"I might just take my time then." He smiles brightly at you despite his apparent threat.

Your frown deepens as his smirk increases. The idea of leaving after knocking over one of the sculptures pops into your head. A fleeting thought at best.

"Come on up then miss punctual. Let's get started." He beckcons, motioning you to him with two slim fingers.

You sigh, and head to the staircase, walking up each crystal encrusted step with awe, eyes staying glued to the glistening steps. Unknown to the eyes watching your every step, carefully. Once you reach the top step, Jaemin turns on his bare heel and walks down the impossibly long hallway at a brisk pace. Before you follow, something large catches your attention.

A portrait. Jaemins Mother, Father, and him. With black hair?

"He looks so much more like a normal person with black hair, and not the fuck boy he is." You think to yourself.

Jaemin clears his throat to gain your attention. His eyebrows high on his forehead as if asking you what's holding you up. You nod at nothing, and lightly jog to the doorway he disappeared into. His room is the first door on the left.

Stepping inside, you notice how large it is. Larger than your whole apartment together. A king sized canopy bed, neatly made up with black and white rose patterned blankets and matching pillows. A large white vanity with a glowing mirror, large windows covered with black curtains, and posters neatly lined against the walls.

"I bet my room is bigger than your place as a whole. Also, close your mouth, you'll catch flies." A chuckle falls off his lip, as you quickly close your mouth, which you didn't notice was open to begin with

"We'll study on the bed. I don't have a desk anymore because I'm buying a new one so I donated the old one." He says nonchalantly, climbing onto his large bed with his books laid out evenly.

You stand there unsure of what to do until he pats the other side of his bed, calling you over to him with a blank expression. You obey and crawl onto his bed beside him, feeling the soft mattress and blankets. Impossibly soft! This must be what it means when people say they've slept on cloud nine.

"So," you ask, breaking the peaceful silence "where should we start?"

"Whichever you want to start with sweetheart. I don't care." He shrugs, leaning his chin on his palm, already bored.

Your cheeks heat up a bit at his choice of nickname, but you push that thought to the back of your head for later. You grab ahold of the statistics book and open to the page you're both currently studying.

"It's a good thing we have our classes together. That makes this a little easier I think." You mumble, reading over the questions.

Jaemins eyes bore into the side of your face, unknown to you as he drinks in your features. He nods more to himself before answering:

"A very good thing indeed y/n."

~~~

An hour into studying, you realize Jaemin is a lot smarter than what he let's on. Perhaps it's not that he's dumb, but more that he's too bored to actually work hard in class. Before you could think anymore on it, his hand brushes your leg as he points to a problem in the book. When he asks you about it, he pulls his hand back but instead of pulling it all the way back to his lap, he rests it on your lower thigh. Leaning in closer to peer at the book.

"You smell really nice." Jaemin suddenly mumbles, nose burying in your hair.

You freeze momentarily, heat rising to your cheeks before you clear your throat and attempt to read the problem aloud to him.

"X always marks the spot. So to find the answer to th-"

"Does X mark your spot too princess?" He mumbles deeply, nose brushing against your ear, and slowly down to your neck.

You haven't noticed that his hand is slowly creeping up your leg until he squeezes your upper thigh.

"Maybe we should move onto English!" You chirp a little too loudly for your own good. You forcefully close the math book and lean away from his touch, to reach for the English book.

"I like this view beautiful."

You sit up abruptly, English book in hand, refusing to look at him for fear you'll get trapped in his eyes.

"You want this as much as I do. I can practically smell your arousal." He laughs deeply into your ear, pressing his body against yours.

Before you could lean away, his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into him. Your eyes stay glued to the closed book, a part of you hoping he'll stop, but a bigger part of you hoping he'll continue. You can't deny it, Jaemin is incredibly attractive, anyone with eyes can see it. But to doesn't mean you have to agr-

His fingers grip your chin and force you face to him. Finally meeting those alluring eyes which bore into your soul as if he's a starved man looking at a feast.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you princess. I hate being ignored." He states seductively.

The hand that was resting on your thigh, snakes it's way into your leggings, greeting your core through your laced panties. Your mouth opens slightly to let out a short gust of air as his fingers lightly palm your sticky core, paying the most attention to your clit.

"You're so wet. I didn't even have to work that hard yet." He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours.

You're too far into it to say anything snarky back at him, you'll have to remember that for later. As you start to feel your orgasm approaching, Jaemin pulls his fingers out and brings them to his nose. Inhaling deeply as his eyes flutter closed for a brief second.

A low groan sounds from him as his eyes open again, staring hungrily into your excited ones. Jaemin pushes you down gently, your back resting on the soft cloud like mattress as he crawls on top of you.

Leaning down slowly, his hot breath fans your quivering lips once over, before you're met with his fluffy lips, molding perfectly against yours. The kiss itself takes your breath away, but you don't fail to notice the sound of a belt buckle unbuckling, or the sound of a zipper flying down.

Without breaking the now feverish kiss, you struggle to pull down your leggings and underwear in a haste fashion. You were no virgin, nor shy to the idea of sex.

Jaemin grips the hem of your shirt, and slowly pulls it off you, breaking the kiss to remove it fully before removing his shirt as well and attaching his lips to your neck. He settles between your legs, his hard on pressing against your bare core, as he sucks purple bruises into your neck. You glide your hands up his naked back, and latch into his luscious pink hair, quiet gasps sounding from you as he continues his delicious assault on your neck, trying to mark every visible spot.

"Your moans sound so beautiful baby. Let me hear more of them." He commands quietly.

His hips start to buck against your sticky core, rubbing himself off on you, and against your swelling clit. You don't hold back the soft moans mixed with his name as they roll off your swollen lips.

"Please Jaemin.." You beg pitifully, the tight feeling in your stomach becoming too much to bear.

"Please what?" He asks, abandoning your neck and sitting up to stare down at your breasts, muttering the word "beautiful".

"Please fuck..me.." You shiver at your own words and shuffle uncomfortably below him, ready for him to take you, ready to be one of the many he's taken before.

"Your wish is my command sweetheart."

He pumps his fat, swollen cock a few times, before positioning it at your core, and pushing in a little harder than he meant to.

"F-fuck yes..mm.." You cry out, gripping the blanket beneath you for support.

His hips snap into you, balls smacking your ass as he grips your wrists and pin them above your head tightly.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to fuck this pretty little cunt of yours." He groans out, almost seething.

You squeeze your eyes shut, enjoying this feeling, until he commands you to open them, and stay focused on him or else he stops. Staring into his hooded eyes, your head begins to feel light, like the world is spinning and only you and Jaemin are in it. No man has ever been able to make you feel each and every thrust. Feeling his cock, rub against your tight walls, hitting you deeper than you've been hit before.

You watch as his silver necklace swings quickly up and down, up and down matching his thrusts.

"You feel so good y/n..you feel so fucking good. Taking my cock like a good little slut."

You nod, vigorously, crying out at his degradation. Something that turns you on beyond compare. Jaemin releases your wrists and your hands quickly fly to the back of his neck. He repositions himself, hitting you in a place that makes you scream out and beg him to fuck you mercilessly in that certain position. To which he complies. Thrusting into you and cursing. Your climax hits you harder than expected, sending your body into violently shivers. Jaemin follows soon after, cumming deep inside of you, filling you to the brim, with a little bit of his cum spilling out of you. He gazes down to watch his cum slip out of you slowly, admiring how it looks mixed with yours.

"So beautiful..just like you baby girl."

He leans down and places a quick kiss to your cheek before rolling off you and plopping next to you. Jaemin pulls you into him, cradling your body against his for fear if he didnt, you'd disappear. It stays silent between you two for a few moments.

"We should finish studying though..you need to pass.." you say breathless.

You snuggle closer into his chest, burying your face in his warmth, wondering how long this will last, or if he'll even talk to you anymore after tonight.

"I'll pass. I already know the material. Just never had an interest in it. But I know what the principal threatened you with, so I'll pass." He mumbles sleepily.

~~~

After you both dress again, neither of you say much to one another. He offers you stay the night, but you decline, not ready to be left by him come morning. This was a one time thing, you're just another girl added to his black book. Nothing more, nothing less. You both say your goodbyes, and you carry on home in the car Jaemin called for you, his personal butler who lives not too far. Once home, you reflect on what you've both done.

"I can't believe I fucked him..all he wanted was my body..I mean nothing to him." You mumble to yourself as you plop down on your hard bed.

Come morning, you're at school, stalking slowly through the halls, head down, eyes tired, and body missing his warmth. Most of all, dreading going to class to see him his friends laughing at you, treating you like everyone else he's fucked. He'll ignore you, like he does every girl the night after. You'll sit in your seat, and try not to cry, like every other girl. You'll get over it and still be bitter. Like every, other, girl. Upon walking into the class, everyone hushes and just stares at you. Jaemins friends tap him and he turns to see the disturbance. You feel your face heat up. He must've told the class already..so soon.

"Haha there she is-" Jaemin bellows, making you jump slightly.

Here it comes..what he does to every girl..the jokes, the teasing, the mean comments about how bad you were in bed..

"My.. girlfriend." He states calmly.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. Incredibly confused as he beckons you over. The kindness showing in his eyes, like how he looked at you the night before. It's real.. he's not treating you like everyone else.

He's not joking about you. The evil glares from his 'fans' are clarification. You're not being treated like all the other girls. You're his girl.

[swellio]

Gold; Chapter One

A/N: so something happened and the original post glitched out, so i’m reposting chapter one :) sorry for the troubles! but please enjoy

tag list: @dahladahlabills @sanguinewritings @cookiecuttercritter @velvetlighthouse @storyteller-shealie @txintedsxint

—

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? Scared?”

Eren’s grip tightened on his glass, glaring at the man who had been taunting him from the moment he had entered the bar.

Chrys knew his brother was already drunk; his cheeks were rosy and his eyes were half-lidded. He also knew his brother’s temper was always worse when he drank too much, so he stood from his stool and put a hand on Eren’s shoulder, abandoning his untouched drink.

“Let’s go,” he said. He saw Mavaren rise from his seat behind him, dropping a few coins on the table, clattering loudly. The bar had grown silent as everyone watched the tension grow. “Now.”

Eren roughly shrugged off Chrys’ grip, standing. The armor on his arms gleamed brightly in the light, his hands curled into fists as he raised them. “You want a fight?” he snarled, shifting his feet to balance himself. “Go ahead, I’ll give you the first move — you might even be able to brush against me.”

Two other men stood, positioning themselves across from Chrys and Mav. “Hey, we don’t want any trouble,” Mav tried, but they already had knives in their hands.

Chrys stepped closer to his brother. Mav stood beside him. “Eren, drop it. Let’s leave.”

“They’re practically begging for it,” Eren growled. “We’d be doing them a favor.”

“If you thick-headed fools don’t want to be dragged out of here by Guardians, I suggest you take this outside,” the bartender warned.

Immediately, Eren grabbed the first man’s sleeve and began to haul him outside, his posse following behind them.

Mav sighed. “I suppose we should go help him,” he said. “Even he can’t take all three of them.”

Chrys shook his head, walking towards the exit. “He’s lucky we’re his brothers.” Mav smiled as he followed.

The three brothers stood side by side, ready to fight. Eren’s fists were already raised as Chrys yielded his shortsword, eyes narrowing at the man across from him. Mav had his bow sheathed on his back, simply standing with his arms to his sides.

The man who had started the fight charged at Eren, knife aiming for his stomach. Eren blocked it with his arms before grabbing his arm and twisting it, the knife dropping out of his hand as he cried out in pain. Eren knocked the weapon away before letting the man go, watching with a satisfied smirk as he sprinted away, gripping his arm.

Mav waited until the man across from him was near inches from stabbing him before grabbing his wrist. He struggled to escape from his grasp as Mav used his other arm to pluck the knife out of his hand, smiling down at him kindly. The man whimpered as the grip on his wrist grew tighter.

“I suggest you leave,” Mav advised, his smile dropping. “Go.” The man’s eyes were wide with fear as he chased after his friend.

Chrys circled his opponent, both of their weapons raised. The man smirked before jolting forward with surprising speed, his dagger colliding with Chrys’ sword. Chrys swept at the man’s feet, elbowing his gut as he stumbled. Before he could stand, Chrys aimed the point of his sword at his neck.

“Stand up, slowly.” he commanded. The man did as he was told. “Drop your weapon.” The dagger clattered on the ground. “Now go — your friends are leaving you behind.” He sprinted away without another word, hand grasping his throat.

Eren laughed drunkenly, leaning on the wall for support. “We did it!” he slurred.

Mav walked over and slung him over his shoulder with ease, ignoring his orders to put him down. “You drank one too many Embers, little brother,” he said, chuckling.

“Don’t act like you didn’t drink a bunch of them, too! How are you not wasted?” Eren complained.

Chrys rolled his eyes. “Mav doesn’t get drunk — you should know this by now,” he replied. The three brothers made their way onto the path that led to the forest, the sun beginning to dip beneath the horizon. A cool breeze countered the humid summer air, fireflies greeting them as they entered.

“Whatever,” Eren mumbled, eyes closing. He began to snore only moments later. Chrys huffed out a laugh as Mav gave him an unamused glance.

Thankfully, they reached their camp just as night fell. Chrys rekindled the fire as Mav dumped Eren onto his pile of blankets. The stars shone brightly above them, the moon finally making its appearance. The crackles of the fire calmed Chrys as he was finally able to relax.

“He’s going to be knocked out until the morning,” Mav stated, sitting beside Chrys. “Did you get hurt?”

Chrys shook his head. “He couldn’t even land a hit on me,” he replied. “That was probably the shortest fight of my life.”

“I kind of felt bad for them,” Mav admitted. “I hope I didn’t hurt the guy too bad.”

“You’re way too nice, Mav. With your height and strength, you could be a pretty intimidating guy.”

Mav gave him a slightly worried look. “I don’t scare people, do I?”

Chrys scoffed. “When you’re fighting? People see you and the other way,” he said, smiling fondly, “but other than that, I don’t think you could scare someone if you tried.”

Letting out a yawn, Chrys felt his eyelids begin to droop, feeling as if they had weights on them. He leaned against his older brother, falling asleep to the sound of the fire and Mavaren’s quiet humming.

———

Chrys’ eyes slowly fluttered open, hit by the sunlight filtered by the trees.

He sat up, pushing off his blanket. Mav must have moved me while I was asleep, he thought, stretching his arms. Mavaren was already awake, packing up their supplies, while Eren sat on a log, clutching his forehead.

“My head,” he groaned, chugging down water from his waterskin.

“That’s what you get,” Mav chided, but still patted his head comfortingly. He glanced over at Chrys, walking over to pack up his bedding. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Chrys replied, standing. He stifled a snort at Eren’s state. “Rough morning?” he teased.

Eren glared up at him, dark circles prominent under his eyes. “Watch your mouth, little brother,” he snapped, chugging down more water.

“Alright, boys,” Mav said, hoisting up their bag of supplies over his shoulder, “let’s head out. If we leave now, we can reach Regius by noon.” Chrys nodded, leading his brothers back onto the main path.

Dirt crunched underneath Chrys’ boots as he walked, taking in the scenery. The closer they got to their home town, the thicker the foliage became — Regius was known for its greenery and mystical ponds, filled with lily pads and surrounded by wildlife. It had been so long since Chrys and his brothers had returned.

“I can’t wait to taste Regius hot peppers again,” Eren said, lips turning up into a grin. “No one can beat those.”

“I just want to visit the animal sanctuaries again,” Mav replied. “All the foals have probably grown so much.”

Chrys thought for a moment — what was he looking forward to? “I want to take a swim in the pond right by our old house,” he decided, shivering just at the thought of hitting the cool water. Both his brothers agreed.

The three continued to share thoughts as they walked. Chrys felt his worries grow lighter and lighter the closer they grew, replaced by a surreal excitement he hadn’t felt in years. He had been nine when he last saw Regius, back when his parents had just passed. He could hardly believe it had been nine years. Mav had been fourteen back then, Eren being eleven.

Mav had taken on the role of parenting, forced to become mature at a young age. Chrys had always seen him as kind and patient, always going to him whenever he had troubles. Being the youngest, his older brothers had always been protective of Chrys, Eren especially. Although he was hotheaded and they often got into fights with each other boys, Eren didn’t let anyone lay a hand on Chrys — Chrys could hardly remember the number of times his brother had nearly gotten arrested for trying to protect him.

“Regius should be just at this next turn,” Mav announced.

Eren bumped Chrys’ shoulder with his own. “I’ll race you there,” he challenged, smirking.

Chrys smiled. “You’ve already lost, brother.” The two took off, Chrys taking the lead. Eren was close behind him as Mav calmly walked after them, shaking his head in amusement.

Chrys felt his heart begin to race even faster as he saw the gateway into Regius, but then stopped in his tracks.

The stone gateway had been knocked down, the fences bordering the town demolished. He could see smoke rising from the ruins of his home.

Eren nearly knocked into him. “Hey, what are you—” He stopped.

“Oh, no,” Mav muttered, catching up to them. “What’s happened?”

In unison, the three brothers sprinted to the gate, pushing past the rubble and climbing over.

The once crystal clear ponds that had greeted people at the front gate were clouded with ash, the lily pads already beginning to wilt. No wildlife remained, leaving behind beaten grass as they escaped.

“Hey!” They turned.

A Guardian was walking toward them, a scowl etched into his face. “What are you three doing here?”

“We came to visit,” Mav explained, “but we didn’t know there was an attack.”

“What happened here?” Chrys asked.

“Haven’t you heard? A big group of Corrupted got inside the Wall — they’ve been traveling from town to town, destroying whatever comes their way.”

“What? How?” Eren questioned. “There are Guardians along the Wall day and night.”

The Wall was a large, stone wall that separated Salvil, the land inside the Wall, and the Corrupted. The land beyond the Wall was poisoned with magic; anyone who ventured onto it became plagued by it as it sunk into their bodies, slowly taking over their minds and souls.

Legends said that if anyone were to harness the magic, they would become invincible — yet, no one had lived to tell the tale.

The magic always killed its host, taking weaker people much quicker than the strong. Most could barely even begin to try and use the magic before dying.

“There was an explosion at the border,” the Guardian replied. “We think they were probably planning this for a while. There’s a huge hole they stormed through — we got most of them, but a group of them still managed to escape. They’ve been going town to town, destroying everything in their paths.”

“Well, why haven’t you caught them yet?” Eren pressed.

The Guardian narrowed his eyes at him. “If you couldn’t already tell by what they did to Regius,” he growled, pointing to the wreckage behind him, “these Corrupted are unlike the ones we’ve seen. They’re much faster and stronger, so I suggest you evacuate to Sabur like everyone else has.”

“We can help you catch them,” Chrys said. “We’ve helped the Guardians plenty of times before — it’s our job.”

“It’s true,” Mav added. “We help Guardians in different cities catch criminals they can’t find.”

“We’re good at it, too,” Eren said, grinning.

The Guardian looked at them in surprise — the look in his eyes seemed almost panicked for a moment before returning to its normal gaze. “No,” he said sternly, “this is far too dangerous for you three. As a Guardian, I can’t let you put yourselves in danger.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Eren insisted.

The man perked an eyebrow, looking down at Eren’s short figure. “Sure you can, kiddo.” Eren’s face turned beet red, glaring at the Guardian. “Listen, the Guardians who have been sending you out on these little missions were probably just giving you chores they didn’t feel like doing, alright? Just go to Sabur and sit tight until you’re given the all clear.”

Just as Eren opened his mouth to give a response, Mav pushed him back, staring at the Guardian with a calm stare. “I appreciate what you’re doing, sir, I really do,” he started, “but I think you should listen to my brothers. We may not look like much, but we really can put up a good fight. You can even bring a patrol to help just in case.”

The Guardian scoffed. “That’s cute. I’m not going to fall for your game of pretend, so quit trying to kiss up to me and just follow my orders.”

Mav’s shoulders slumped, eyes wounded as Eren pushed forward once again. “Don’t talk to him like that,” he snapped.

“I can talk to him however I want,” the Guardian shot back.

Chrys knew there was something wrong as he listened to Eren and the Guardian argue with each other. Guardians were supposed to be the most caring and patient people you ever met — the man that stood in front of them was anything but.

“Hold on,” Chrys interrupted. The two stopped bickering to look at him. “Sir, are you really a Guardian?”

The Guardian laughed. “What sort of question is that, kid?”

“Can you recite the Guardian Oath for me?” He froze. “I’m not even a Guardian and I know bits and pieces of it, but to graduate from any Guardian Academy, you have to have it memorized.” Chrys drew his sword. “Who are you really?”

The man narrowed his eyes before whistling loudly. More people dressed in Guardian armor began to surround the three brothers, all wielding their own longswords.

“Alright, playtime is really over now,” the first man growled, taking out his own weapon. “I was getting tired of entertaining you guys, anyway.”

As soon as he lunged after Eren, Mav grabbed his bow and drew an arrow, shooting it at the man’s shoulder. He fell with a cry, giving Eren the perfect chance to hit his head with a rock, knocking him out.

Mav continued to shoot at their opponents with perfect accuracy while Chrys charged, dodging attacks easily as he fought. Eren was next to him, disarming the men before quickly taking them down.

The enemies just seemed to go on and on. Chrys felt himself tiring, knowing his brothers had to feel the same. Beside him, Eren’s face was dripping with sweat, and Mav would soon run out of arrows. Worried for his siblings, Chrys tried to make his way closer to them, feet burning with exhaustion as he tried to move as quick as he could.

Eren let out a shout when a blade grazed his face, collapsing to his knees.

The moment he was distracted, Chrys felt a sharp pain in his stomach. Glancing down, he saw his shirt begin to turn red with blood.

“Chrys!” In the moment, Chrys couldn’t tell who was calling to him as he felt someone kick him to the ground. The last thing he saw was the malicious grin of a man before blacking out.

———

“Chrys? Are you awake?”

Chrys awoke with a groan, trying to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy,” Mav said softly, guiding him back down. “You got a pretty nasty cut on your abdomen, but they let me stitch you up.”

“What?” he asked, eyes focusing on his brother’s concerned face. “Who—? Wait, where are we?”

“In prison,” Eren replied gruffly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His own face was bandaged, but he was mostly unharmed. “I never thought I’d go to prison for something I didn’t do, and yet here I am, in prison for doing jackshi—”

“Those Guardians knocked us all out and brought us in here,” Mav interrupted. “They took all our stuff, too.” Only then did Chrys realize his sword was gone, along with Mavaren’s bow and arrows and Eren’s armor.

Chrys looked around the cell. It had no windows with only one bed and one toilet. The bed he was lying in was hardly even a bed; it was just a solid block with a pillow.

“There’s no way those guys are Guardians,” he retorted.

“Well, we have no idea who they are, so that’s what we’re calling them for now,” Eren said, eyes filled with anger. “I can’t believe they just tossed us in here — the next one of those guys I see is in for a treat.”

Chrys attempted to sit up once more, letting Mav slowly ease him gently. “I don’t understand why they didn’t just kill us,” Chrys said. “What use are we to them?”

“I have no idea,” Mav sighed. “We can only hope they’ll let us go once they’re finished.”

“As if,” Eren scoffed. “They didn’t kill us then, so they’re probably planning on killing us now.”

“Don’t think like that,” scolded Mav. “We’re going to get out of here, we just have to wait for the right moment.”

“Well, I’m afraid that will be pointless — you three aren’t going anywhere.”

They all turned to the voice from outside the cell, greeted by the man who they had first encountered. “We were planning on just killing you,” he began, smirking, “but now that we know who you are, it turns out you’re too valuable for that.”

“Too valuable?” Chrys questioned. “What does that even mean?”

The man rolled his eyes. “As if you don’t already know.” He turned to the three Guardians behind him, nodding.

They walked forward, one of them unlocking the cell door. The Guardians filed in, each grabbing one brother.

“Hey, hands off, prick!” Eren growled, eyeing his brothers. “Keep your hands off them, you hear me? I swear, I will beat your—”

“Shut up!” the Guardian barked. “Or else I’ll make sure you never see them again.” Eren’s mouth snapped shut.

Mav opened his mouth but quickly closed it as a knife was drawn to his throat, barely meeting Chrys’ eyes. Instead, he gave a small nod to him as he walked out of the cell somberly, the Guardian not being able to carry his bulky figure.

When the final guard approached Chrys, he tried his best to avoid his grasp to no avail. He winced in pain at the Guardian’s roughness, seeing Eren’s eyes light up with fury and Mav stiffening.

“Now take them each to separate interrogation rooms,” the man ordered. “I have a feeling they’ll talk more without each other to rely on.”

“Hold on—” Mav started.

“Shut it,” his Guardian growled.

Eren tried to elbow his captor, seething with anger. “You’ll regret this!” he yelled.

“Did you already forget our little deal? Keep quiet!” Eren looked over at Chrys, eyes filled with an unnatural mixture of panic and fear.

Chrys struggled against the arms holding him back, kicking and yelling profanities. “Let me go!” he shouted. “Where are you taking them?” He watched with a heavy heart as his brothers were dragged away, both in different directions. “Don’t hurt them — please,” he begged. The Guardian paid no attention to him.

Chrys eventually fell limp, letting himself be dragged into a room and shoved into a chair. He could only imagine what was happening to Eren and Mav; they were all he had left. He felt tears well in his eyes just thinking of having to leave without them.

“Listen to me, kid,” the Guardian said, interrupting his thoughts, “we know who you are now; we found your IDs in your bags.”

“So?” Chrys asked. “There’s nothing special about us.”

“Yeah, right. You can give up the act and stop wasting my time.” He leaned closer to Chrys. “Now, tell me — how did they do it?”

Chrys looked at him, confused. “Who?”

The Guardian groaned. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” No reply. “Your parents. How did they do it?”

“My parents are dead.” The Guardian shook his head, and Chrys felt his stomach drop.

“Your parents are everything but, kid. Emilia and Bennett Hall are the only two people who have successfully learned to use the magic of the Corrupted; they’re immortal.”

Chrys felt the blood drain from his face. No. This isn’t possible.

“So, let me ask you one more time — how did they do it?”

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

My story:

Authors Note: So, a friend of mine suggested I put this story up here. Please let me know what you think... I wrote this after "Captain America: Winter Solider." So, it has Bucky and Sam it, plus all the Avengers. Steve and Sharon are together, and Clint and Natasha are together. Steve and Sharon had a daughter (Olivia Rogers) and Clint and Nat had a son (Collin Barton.) Any other questions can be answered, reading this story, or asking me about it. Please enjoy.

*All grammar and spelling errors are mine. Olivia and Collin are mine, everybody else is owned by Marvel Studios and Disney

Olivia’s POV

    The rain wasn't helping, they ignored it, the best they could. Olivia was exhausted, hungry, bruised, and beaten. Her right cheek had a bloody scratch, it was slowly healing, but it was still painful. Not to mention the broken arm, that was dangling by her side, the one she tried so very hard to fix, but couldn't. The rain made her loose hair stick to her face. This wasn't going according to plan, they both knew it. As much as she was in pain, and wanting to stop, she knew that she couldn't. Collin, her best friend, was just as bad as she was. He had a twisted ankle, a knife cut on his forearm, a black eye, and the ice cold rain wasn't helping. She also knew that he was just as dehydrated, starving, exhausted, and needing medical treatment, more than she did.

Everything blew up in their faces. One minute they are lounging in an old abandoned warehouse, the next they are running from the gang that took them in.

Blackfang, the gang they had joined about three weeks ago, wasn't happy with Collin. The leader, Jaz, who loathed Collin, was having an argument with the young kid. It had something to do with Olivia. She knew that much. Mainly because Collin never let her out of his sight. He didn't care who you were. He trusted nobody, especially if Olivia didn't trust them. And Olivia didn't trust anybody in the gang.

Olivia wasn't the only girl in the gang, but it was a rule that girls had their own rooms. If they wanted a man in the room, it was okay. If it passed the girls permission. That being said, Jaz, had to be one of the men in the girls room. Olivia had said no. Collin was the only guy who could go near her. She knew what he did at night, when he thought she was sleeping. Collin sat under the window, that was right in front of the door. He would sit there watching, and waiting for anybody to come through. That was until he fell asleep, then Olivia would get up and curl into him, and Olivia figured he knew, because he would wrap his arm around her. Pull her as close to him as he could.

They lived like that for years. They met while both were on the run...when Olivia was eight he was nine. She met him, under a bridge, she hadn't met to get caught, by a bunch of punks. It was Collin that saved her from getting beat up, and used. Ever since then, they were a team. They had found closure, they found peace.

“No!” came a disgruntled cry. Olivia had skidded to a halt. While Collin punched the brick wall about ten times. Olivia could see a bit of sticky liquid running down the wall, it was his blood. She gently took his arm, and pulled him back.

“We’re stuck.” Collin supplied, he was trying to get air in his lungs. Olivia looked around, they were in an alleyway, to her right was another brick building, to her left was a smooth, solid, metal building. Olivia gently put a fingerless gloved hand on the smooth metal. Something about it felt,familiar, she didn't know why, or how. Olivia turned to her friend. He was out of breath, hands on his knees. His blueish-grey green eyes looking directly at her deep blue ones. Footsteps became closer. Jaz, and his band of misfits were coming.

“We can't climb it.”

“I know”

Olivia turned her attention at the dumpster. It was empty, but something shiny caught her attention. With her unbroken arm, she picked up the round circular object. Just like the metal walls, the object was smooth and somewhat familiar, again she couldn't place it. She looked directly in his eyes.

“We win this, we head for Washington DC.” she states. Collin, simply nods, what he doesn't know, however, is her fatigue and hunger, are catching up to her. She puts the object on her healed arm. She can feel the heaviness in her eyes. The rains pitter patter on the roofs and the sidewalk, make a very peeling music. Olivia drives the sleepiness away. She forces her brain to focus. Once she feels herself awake enough, that's when Jaz and his posse come. She glances at Collin, a knife in his hand. She hopes she can stay awake through this.

“Looks like the duo made it this far.”

“Leave us alone.”

“Or what? You guys are worn out. You have no place to go. Come back, there is always a place for you.” Jaz used his soft voice, it was soothing and made the fatigue worse.

“No. If you want her, you have to get through me. Now. Let. Us. Go.” Collin stated, angrily. His eyes narrowing and staring straight at Jaz.

“That can be easily arranged.” the gang leader decided, as he pulled out a glock .42. Olivia’s eyes widened, she gave a silent prayer to the man upstairs. Collin called her crazy, how could she believe in a God, who put her in terrible places. She simply stated that it was humans, not God. He rolled his eyes, and stated, if God could get them out of a sticky situation. He would believe.

Olivia heard the “bang” and she dived. She knew Collin would kill her, she didn't care. The bullet bounced off the round object. She needed full strength and she didn't have that. “Remember that time you stated that if God got us out a sticky situation…you would believe? I think it's time to believe.” Liv told her friend.

“He hasn't gotten us out, yet.” Collin confirmed.

“Then pray.”

Just as Olivia said that, her arm with the shield fell, another bullet came and hit Collin in the shoulder. He was taller than her, he had just turned eleven, she was just shy of eleven. He was tall for his age,agile, and lethal. His body was built like a mixture of an acrobat and a ballerina. Collin fell hitting the concrete,blood seeping through his tattered shirt.  Olivia screamed, and turned to the gang leader. His smile was coiled, like the best thing happened. Olivia turned to the dumpster, praying for something. Anything to appear. She dropped the shield, and it rolled over to the gang leader. Olivia didn't care, she bent down and put her hands on the bullet wound.

“Collin, stay with me.” Olivia cried. Tears fell from her eyes. His eyes connected with hers. Olivia felt his blood cover her hands.

“Collin!” she begged. She watched as her friends eyes closed. She looked up at the gang leader, his leering smile slowly disappearing, as his eyes went from the discarded shield to Olivia’s fierce blue eyes.

“Leave.” Liv growled. Fatigue, hunger, and medical attention leaving her consciousness,  and was replaced with anger, and regret. The leaders smile came back.

“Or what?” he asked.

“Or I’ll make you leave. Mainly because it's trespassing on government issue land.” a voice behind the gang announced. All bodies turned, and behind them stood three people. Males. One with blonde hair, and built like a boxer. His hair was damp from the pouring rain, and his body was tense, like somebody had held a string to his back and pulled. He wore shorts, and a gray tight workout shirt. Another male had brownish black hair, he wore a black wife beaters tank top and black shorts. His left arm was shiny, against the flashes of lighting. The last man, had a fierce look on his face. Almost like he hated that there were older kids beating up on a girl. His hair was a dirty blonde, and despite it being dark outside, he wore sunglasses. Like he didn't want anybody to see his eyes. Between the three men, Olivia took a step back. She didn't know what side they were on, if they even had a side. She looked over at Collin, his chest was going up and down. A very small indication that he was still alive.

“Free country. We can go and do, whatever we want.” Jaz stated.

“Oh, son. You don't know what freedom is.” the black haired guy stated. Olivia got a sense that he really did know what true freedom was.

“Take them down. I don't care who they are.”

Jaz gang went after the three men, while his eyes went back to his “prize.” Liv backed up again. Her anger was disappearing and that wasn't good. She took a step back.

“Leave me alone. You creep.” Olivia stated. Jaz just smiled, he had backed her to the wall, trapping her against the wall. He flicked out his knife, and Olivia knew just how sharp it was.

“I would, but...you need to learn your lesson on running away.”

Olivia squirmed, her fatigue seeping through. She had to fight, that was the only thing she had left. Her body was giving up, the pain of her broken arm filled her mind as anger faded and fear replaced it.

“Let me go,” she pleaded, “Please.”

The gang leader didn't listen. He put the blade of the knife on her tank top strap. Olivia closed her eyes, as the leering smile and his darting eyes scanned her body. She had been told since she was young, that she was beautiful.

Out of nowhere, the weight, disappeared. Olivia opened her eyes to see one of the men, the one with a metal arm, throwing the gang leader down on the wet concrete, and using his flesh arm and smashing the boys face. Olivia felt her strap, it had been cut. As fast as she could she used her hand and covered herself up, she looked at Collin, his breathing had been shallow.

“Collin!” Olivia cried, dropping down and placing her hands on his chest. She opened his mouth and breathed in. She started pumping, ignoring the cut strap. Nothing, he was slowly dying.

“Collin! Collin!Collin!” she begged and pleaded for him to respond. She was so absorbed in her best friend that she didn't feel arms around her, until she was being pulled away. She began to struggle, but whoever was holding just got tighter. She cried out to her friend, and she didn't know if it was out of exhaustion or if it was reality, but she saw him, his breathing getting shallower and shallower, but his eyes. His green eyes looked directly at her. She let out a piercing cry, before her fatigue and exhaustion consumed her. Her eyes closed.

[transparenthideoutobject]

Thessaloniki: where triple-headed dogs and Buddhism hold the key to modern Greece

4.5 minute read

The only people I’ve seen all day is a family who turned up for an hour in the afternoon, splashed around in the (still tepid) Aegean, constructed a couple of sandcastles then skedaddled as a thin cover of cloud rolled in off the hillside. Personally I’m drawn to the seaside off-season: the forlorn beach cafes, the abandoned sun loungers, the aftermath of the party viewed in the cold light of day. All that trudging slowly over wet sand. But, at least in this part of the world, I seem to possess uncommon tastes.

So I’m slightly surprised to see a silver Honda crunch up the gravel path, curl across the tarmac, and nestle up to the van. Archie looks up: friend or foe? We receive a welcoming smile from a youthful-looking sexagenarian. He’s slim, wearing some killer shades, and all in all a pretty laid back looking chap. He owns the house in front of which we are parked, metres from the sea. I learn that he worked in San Francisco for twenty years and has returned home to retire. He’s definitely brought some easy-going Cally cool back home with him. I ask him if we can stay for a couple of nights.

“It’s not permitted to camp on the beach.”

“Oh OK.”

“But the police don’t enforce. Stay all week, stay all year, I don’t mind.”

I’m struck by his attitude: the land is a resource to be shared; of course I can stay. As if to illustrate, he disappears into his kitchen and returns bearing handfuls of fresh fruit.

“From the garden,” he explains. “If you want some grapes, just climb over my fence and help yourself.”

I wonder how this conversation might have progressed if a Greek man was camping outside a property in, say, Southwold, or Ramsgate.

At dusk, two fishermen arrive in open top trucks. With great efficiency they unpack their kit, launch their little wooden boat, and are soon bobbing on the ocean. They are, I suspect, working some marine timetable to which I’m not privy. Their flashlights and the alien glow of their fishing floats are the sole illumination for miles around. I doubt this method of fishing has changed in millennia.

It’s quite a contrast to Thessaloniki, Greece’s second city, an hour or so up the coast, where I’d spent a few days wandering the back streets in search of antiquity. It’s not an easy task. Truth is, the present has continually layered itself over the past for centuries in a kind of perpetual redecoration project. Occasionally a gate or a tower will poke out from behind the facade of the modern city but its very easy to miss unless you are looking hard.

I found more satisfaction strolling along the promenade with Archie. It’s mercifully absent of the kind of tat that clutters Britain’s coastal towns. No penny arcades, or sticks of rock to coax the pennies out of your pocket. Instead, families dog walkers, the young, the old stroll, all strata of life perambulate the two mile long walkway in warm southern sun. They share jokes, hold each others arms, enjoy each others company. The Greek economy may be banjaxed but, it seems, not at the expense of conviviality.

There are two things guaranteed to start a conversation on a walk. If I whip out my analogue rangefinder, someone somewhere will stop me and ask me about it: ‘cute camera,’ they invariably say. The other, seemingly irresistible, cute conversation starter is the brown four legged dude at my side. Two men, legs dangling over the harbour wall, are talking earnestly, heads bowed in confab. One of them spies Archie and beckons us over.


“I have the exact same dog, “ he says. “But blond. Let me show you.”

The man proceeds to show me his own blond, beloved, four legged dude. He tells me the Ancient Greeks held dogs in high esteem because they posses almost divine-like attributes. Indeed in Virgil’s Aeneid, Cerberus fiercely guards the entrance to Hades with ’triple-throated baying’. Cerberus, of course, being in possession of three heads: past, present and future.

“Do you think Greeks are still in touch with this ancient past?”

“Frankly I don’t think so. The modern Greek is lost. We are searching for our identity, how we fit into the 21st century.”

“Personally I admire the Greek way of life. Despite the current state of the economy, you don’t seem to have lost your sense of what is important: Family, love, friendship. Unlike in Britain where everything is about money.”

“Believe me the Greeks worry about money. But the spirit of the Greek is to be unafraid of tomorrow. We have today. If tomorrow we die, so be it.”

I discover he’s a Buddhist and I wonder how much this is contributing to his viewpoint. I tell him I struggle with Buddhism, how to apply the concepts to living a pragmatic, practical life. On the one hand practising acceptance and letting go (of ego and selfness), and on the other hand having drive and motivation. How to balance this equation for they seem to me like polar opposites. He tries, in vain, to explain; perhaps I’m not ready to digest the arguments. That’s ok.

Even though most Greeks are not Buddhists, I suspect this laissez faire attitude (one I do admire), has contributed to their current economic predicament. By living in the moment, they neglected to save for the future. Further down the promenade, I make way on a bench for a young fellow hobbling on crutches. He’s been involved in a motorcycle accident and is bemoaning the Greek healthcare care system. He continues the theme.

“In my view, it’s the fault of my grandfather’s generation. They squandered the opportunities they had and now we must pay the price.”

He is not, it must be said, the first to make this argument. It falls on sympathetic ears.

“But,” he says, “what can you do? In the summer I will, if my leg recovers, work as a captain. Rich Russians tourists want to charter a boat for a couple of weeks and cruise around the islands. It pays well. In the winter I study Business.”

He seems to posses a well-balanced outlook. He has accepted the situation, letting go of ego, and yet is making plans for the future, possessing drive and motivation. I wish him well in his studies.

It’s this last conversation which fills me with hope and makes me think the Greeks will be fine. Yes, the elders, like their peers in my own country, were born lucky. But, unlike the prevailing attitude in Britain, there is still a generosity about them: sure, the older guy owns a nice second home by the beach; but he’s happy to share it with the world. The middle generation is thoughtful and cerebral, delving into the past for answers to the future. And the youngest. Well, there’s no doubt they’ve been dealt a bad hand, they’ve inherited an utter mess. But, as the young man said, what can you do? Accept the present situation and make some plans for the future. I think it’s all any of us can do. Cerberus would bay in approval.

[blogegi]

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lets hear that order !!