#I found this creature (hunter) at the side of the road | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fleet-of-fiction · 1 year ago

Text

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Four

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 430 ~ Amelia

Gunshots echoed through the canopy. Birds cried out overhead, fleeing their nests. The sound of wings in desperate flight as they tried to escape an inevitable death. And I'd never particularly enjoyed it, to see their little bodies hit the ground and have to pluck their feathers and gut them like they'd never been living, breathing creatures of the earth we shared.

But I could no longer walk into a grocery store and pick one up all nice and neatly packaged. Plucked and skinned ready to be chopped or diced. I had to watch the life fade from their eyes.

"I think I got one." Jake said, lowering the rifle from his cheek bone. "I'm getting good at this."

He was a good shot. You couldn't deny him the satisfaction he took with each kill. Never more than birds or squirrels. Anything more would have been outside your realms as a hunter. You'd never been allowed to shoot anything bigger.

"Make sure it's a clean kill." You always said it, like there was a way to absolve yourself of having to take a life.

He was starting to grow a little line of hair above his lip and on the underside of his chin. I suspected he wasn't capable of garnishing his face with anything more, but it was starting to change the shape of his face. He looked a little more rugged. Like a man who had seen some things he dared not speak of. A man who had known suffering but could still smile despite it all.

"You don't have to do this anymore." He sighed, flinging his kill over his shoulder. "I can see how uncomfortable it makes you."

He would have done anything to give me comfort. He was gentle and kind and whimsical. He didn't belong on his own, he was a pack creature. He needed validation and love, but more than that he needed somewhere to belong.

"You want me to stay home and tend the house while you go out hunting? Like a tv wife?" I jested, balking at the sight of the dead bird he carried.

"Why not?" He shrugged with sincerity. "And then I can come home after a long day and kick my boots off and say honey, I'm home!"

It had never crossed my mind that Jake would take over some of the duties I'd been doing all by myself. That he would want to carry some of the burden of our survival. I'd hoped, perhaps, that he might integrate himself as somebody I could exist alongside of without too much of a struggle.

But in truth, I was falling in love with him.

"If only the apocalypse had been of the zombie variety." I said, rolling my eyes. "You'd have had all the opportunities in the world to shoot things."

I started back towards the cabin, following the muddy path back up from where we'd found ourselves down near the lake. All the birds liked to congregate near the water. To hunt game it was the best spot in the woods. A steep incline that was always an inconvenience on the way back up awaited us, and I was eager to get back inside before the light began to fade.

"The dead are still here, aren't they?" He mused, staying close behind but far enough away that the corpse on his shoulder didn't unnerve me too much. "Isn't that what you said? There's still time."

I couldn't help but giggle at his intimation. But I was still haunted by those vacant eyes on the slab. Telling me everything I needed to know without speaking a damn word.

"I think if the dead had any plans to rise they would have done it a long time ago." I replied, "And besides, we don't need another thing roaming around out there."

We heard them at night. Howling. All the dogs that had once been docile pets in the towns and cities, wild and free like their ancestors now. Those who had survived, at least. Those that had adapted. I pitied their struggle the most. Where once they'd known nothing but love, there was only the hunt to kill instinct.

And as I watched Jake take his prized kill home to eat, I did wonder how he had managed to retain all his softness.

Day 431 ~ Amelia

He didn't sleep in that bunk anymore. It had gone unslept in ever since the rain had stopped. Every night he'd asked me if I wanted him to go back to his room and every night I'd made a promise to myself that just one more wouldn't hurt.

And every single one of those promises felt as if I was making them to a faceless and nameless deity that held my life's destiny in their hands. Who was I making that promise to? Why did it matter? Would it be so terribly wrong to continue enjoying Jakes body next to mine?

I was never really certain who's voice it was speaking to me when I told myself that it was wrong to need him. That same voice screaming at me now telling me it was wrong to want him.

How could I not fall in love with him? He took his time with me. Spending hours whispering questions into my ear. Sweeping his hands over my body, asking me if I liked the way he touched me. If I needed him to do anything differently. Altering his pressure and speed to my preference. Reducing me to a quivering wreck without ever asking for anything in return.

Once I knew that it was inevitable, I couldn't stop the temptation anymore. Satisfying each other with our hands and our tongues, never stepping over the threshold of penetration. It was a risk I simply wasn't prepared to make.

"Amelia?"

I snapped my head up over the shelf of cereal that was slowly decaying away. Jake was standing on the other side, stuffing detergent and fabric softener into his back pack.

"Sorry, I was miles away."

He smiled at me.

The store was shrouded in darkness, daylight coming in from the entrance at the other side. The fresh food had long since perished or been eaten by scavenging dogs and what was left was either long past usable or too heavy for me to load into my Grandpa's truck.

"I said I need to head over to home depot." He repeated, "Gonna fix that door on the chicken coop."

The incessant rapping of it blowing in the wind had kept him awake. He was adamant that he could fix it, despite confessing to having little to no experience with joinery. Something else that really didn't seem to matter. He would try, regardless.

"I've got a few things I need to do before we head back." I replied, hoping he wouldn't venture into it any further.

Supply runs had always been something I'd endured more than enjoyed. There was something about built up areas that just soaked me in a fear that reminded me I was alone. And sometimes, I'd been afraid that perhaps there was a chance that I wasn't. Watching Jake grab things off the shelves and hum to himself as he scanned the ever dwindling aisles, I felt a sense of calm.

"Oh yeah, like what?" He questioned, cocking his head to the side as we met at the end of the cereal boxes.

"Meds supplies." I replied, pleased at the speed in which I'd come up with something that wasn't entirely a lie. "Used a lot of stock on you when you first got here."

His hunting rifle was tucked away under his pack straps. His hair tied back into a low bun, a serious darkness beneath his eyes where he hadn't slept making his gaze appear more sinister as he pulled me in.

"Meet you back at the truck in thirty minutes?" He whispered, sliding palms down the curve of my spine as he kissed the edge of my jaw.

"Thirty minutes." I agreed, letting him have a taste of a kiss before we went in separate directions.

The Roanoke planned parenthood was only a short walk from the depot, but far enough away that I knew he wouldn't find cause to follow me there. It was eerily void of life, as I'd expected. But I still had to step over the weather worn and ripped remains of pro-life flags that were strewn across the open entrance.

The irony was not lost upon me. How none of it mattered anymore and yet there I was, after the world had ended, responsible for ensuring I didn't get knocked up. I laughed a little, at the ridiculousness of it. Trying to keep my footsteps light as they echoed down empty clinic corridors.

It was far too close a reminder of those first days in the hospital. The shadows of others still lingering in the ether. But not anymore. The only thing that echoed was me and my choice not to bring life into a world that had purged itself of it.

Like everywhere else, it was dark. The windowless corridors winding down towards examination and consultation rooms that were equally void of natural light. It wasn't difficult to find where they kept the IUD's and implants, once I'd stumbled on the only cupboard that was locked.

I'd have to do it myself. Make the incision and implant the device into my flesh. It wasn't something they'd taught in medical school. Performing minor surgery on yourself in the event of the eradication of mankind. Yet, there I was. Scalpel in hand and a reluctance to watch as I made the incision. Blood dripped down my arm. Pain tore through me. I clenched my eyes shut as I clicked it into place beneath my skin.

I held my breath. Sent curses reverberating off the clinic walls. A massacre in my hand as I held the shaking blade up in disbelief that I had done it. I didn't even know if it would work. Everything had a use-by date. Even the medication I knew would one day become useless.

As I wrapped my arm up, careful not to apply too much pressure, I let my mind wander into a future that was so uncertain I didn't want to picture it. I could see a faceless child sitting on the porch steps, a sweet voice calling out to me in a dream like echo. But it wasn't my name they were calling, it was Mommy...

I shuddered. The dread spilling down my spine like a portent. I wouldn't. I couldn't. No child deserved to grow up alone. The fantasy that I could have spent my life never knowing how Jake felt inside me becoming a real possibility as I checked my watch.

Five minutes to get back to the truck before he would panic.

I was uninspired. Feeling the gravity of my choice and my blood. He would sit there with his cock in his hand. Hard and fierce. And I would know pain for this pleasure. The sacrifice entirely mine. For him? I would have cut myself a thousand times. Uninspired, but only because I hurt.

I felt the rush of adrenaline spike as I returned to the daylight. Kicking those flags to the side as I exited. No doubt in my mind that if by some terrible mistake we brought a child into this world it would be loved and cherished. But only by us. And that wasn't enough.

He was waiting by the truck as I approached. One knee bent against the wheel arch, eyes roving around in search of me.

"Sorry." I yelled across the empty street. "Got a little delayed."

There was palpable relief in his face as I greeted him, throwing my pack in the back along with whatever he'd thrown in there. I could see wood and tools and various other things we potentially didn't need, but he'd taken anyway.

"I realised something." He said, taking the liberty of moving my hair aside, making me pay attention to the seriousness of his tone.

I'd often wondered where he got this air of confidence from. It was as if there had never been any doubt in his mind of how he felt. How certain he was that I would never hurt him. I wanted to bottle it up and drink it.

"What?" I replied, letting him covet me.

"I missed you." He murmured, fingertips planing down my throat. "We haven't been apart, not really. I was walking through home depot and I was struck by this feeling that you should've been with me."

I could see the wistfulness in his deep brown eyes. He was picturing us sauntering through home depot together, talking about all the things we wanted to do to improve our home. Discussing measurements and which grain of wood would look best. Maybe he was imagining it before the world ended. Maybe there were other people doing the exact same thing and the exact same time in his little daydream.

I envied him of that dream. I wanted so badly to imagine the sweetness of it. But all I could feel was the throbbing ache in my arm.

"You're somewhere else." He mused, pulling me back as he realised I wasn't responding. "What's the matter?"

His hands came about my arms, trying to embrace me. I flinched, causing all the faraway beauty in his eyes to fade. Now there was only concern.

"Are you hurt?" He fussed.

"No, no. Nothing like that." I protested, shrugging out of his embrace so that I could lower my coat sleeve.

He could see the blood pooling beneath the bandage. I hadn't been careful enough with myself. But he seemed to understand. He traced a fingertip against the blood, looking to me to see if it hurt.

"I never would have asked this of you." He said stoically. "I'd have taken responsibility."

There was no doubt in my mind that he would have. The sweet gentleness of his discourse as he kissed me in the crisp late winter air was enough. Streams of breath converging as his mouth opened to welcome my tongue. The incessant throbbing that took home in my core beating a song that told me I had done the right thing. This was my choice. Regardless.

"We can't bring a child into this, Jake." I shook my head, steadying his mouth as it continued against mine with a hand to his cheek. "You understand that, don't you?"

He paused. As if the thought hadn't crossed his mind deeply enough to plague him. Such was the privilege of a man.

"I'd have been satisfied." He countered, "Haven't you been satisfied these last few weeks?"

To what end could we had rolled around in those sheets until we'd have become irrevocably connected? He was sweet to say it. But I'd seen enough of humanity to know their wants and needs.

"Jake..." I said matter-of-factly. "It's just a little cut. It will heal. It just means we don't have to be so careful now. Don't you want that?"

He closed his eyes slowly. Exhaling. As if the thought alone was a sinful repose of a dream that would be something he could truly have. I liked the way he thought about it. Making a low, gravelly sound as he pulled my coat my back up over my shoulders.

"If I ever wanted anything, it's that." He replied, pressing his lips to my forehead as he bundled me up and into the truck. "Now let's get home so that I can fuck you senseless."

I was about to explain about the seven days grace period for it to start working, but my eye was caught by movement down the street. I peeked over the edge of the passenger side door as I climbed in, taking note of the creatures that appeared at the intersection.

"Jake, look!" I whispered.

He was searching for the keys in his many pockets. Distracted. I grabbed his chin and forced his head up, causing him to still even his breathing.

Creeping steadily through the urban decay, they noticed us as we noticed them. A mountain lion mother and her cub. My heart was pounding in my chest. Round, black eyes met mine in a solemn gaze across the concrete keeping us apart. She understood that I meant her no harm. And she, in return, began to pad away from us in mutual respect for whatever life had been left behind.

"Get a lot of mountain lions around here?"

His voice was small. Riddled with fear. His hand reaching for the rifle on the back of his pack. I put my hand on his to steady him.

"No." I replied calmly, "Not for hundreds of years. Hunting grounds must be changing. She means us no harm."

The little cub took a curious look at us. Their whiskers snuffling into the air, no doubt catching our scent before following it's mother.

"For a world that doesn't seem to want life, it sure as fuck seems to have given precedence to other life forms." Jake huffed, "We're the only species who can control the outcome of sex."

"But for how long?" I sighed, "Life finds a way."

Maybe the portent was in this. As I watched the mother and cub disappear behind the building opposite, I was gripped with a sense that in reality I had no control whatsoever. Everything we were doing right now to prevent life was futile. Maybe it wasn't humanity that had been eradicated. Maybe it was just the humanity that we'd become.

Day 439 ~ Jake

The days were growing warmer and longer. I could feel the pull of spring in the trees. My lungs felt much fuller, now that I could draw breath without too much trouble.

The ground was drying up, it felt like the birds were starting to chirp in the morning more sweetly. What had been sleeping was starting to awaken. And it felt like I was, too.

Amelia was the sort of woman I didn't know that I needed. The sort of woman who craved to be taken care of but would ruthlessly abandon all requests for help. She didn't need me, I knew that I was surplus to requirements when she reluctantly allowed me to start hunting and chopping wood without her interference.

But I was under no illusion that she wanted me. She stood on the porch steps with a steaming cup, diligently watching me with the axe in my hand. Chopping wood was something I knew, something I'd always done. Something she hadn't needed to show me.

"Enjoying the show?" I teased, rounding off another harsh blow as the log beneath my strike split in two on the block.

She continued to sip on her drink, leaning against the rail. Wearing a t-shirt that I'd picked up during a supply run, grateful to be out of the clothes she'd given me to wear. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and nothing covering her legs, she looked like she'd only just rolled out of bed.

"You're putting on quite the performance." She giggled, sending my pulse into disarray.

It had been hours since I'd touched her. I knew it would be something I'd have to endure, knowing I was days away from being able to slide inside her and know what she felt like wrapped around my cock. I'd tortured myself with it. Ticking off mental hours as I'd laid in bed at her side.

I shook my head, strands of my hair falling out from the bun I'd lazily sculpted to keep it out of my face as I chopped. The heat of the exertion making me sweat beneath my flannel shirt.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch?" I asked, fighting the urge to stick my axe in the block and go over to her.

"Yes." She replied stubbornly.

I placed another log in the block. Rounding off to a resounding blow that caused the two halves to shoot off either side of the axe. I always felt more powerful when that happened, as if the singular blow was strong enough that I didn't need to pull it out and round off again to complete the split. It felt all the more satisfying knowing that she had seen it.

"Hmmm, you like to watch huh?" I threw the two halves into the pile I'd already made, throwing her an amused smile too.

Last night she'd been like putty in my hands. Her body stiff as I worked my way around her clit, her eyes closed and her moans stifled as I talked her through it. Telling her she was soft and warm, growing hard against her hip as she revelled in the way I spoke to her. The hemisphere of her lower body completely saturated, beholden to my whim.

I told her she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. That her pussy felt so good against my hand. Trailing a breeze of a touch over her swollen bud, making her buck upwards for a harder friction. I liked the way she begged me for more. Her little whimpering voice so submissive, so sweetly veiled in the question she wouldn't dare to ask for outside the realms of sex.

Weeks of foreplay building up to this.

"You know, it'll be warm enough to chop wood without your shirt on soon." She raised a playful eyebrow, mischief in her voice.

I stuck my axe in the block and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Releasing a few more buttons until my chest met the cool air.

"You're nothing but a fan, aren't you? I'm really sorry to tell you that I don't fuck my fans." I shrugged, watching her wrap the cardigan around her waist as she appraised me.

"That is a shame." She replied sarcastically. "Because here I was coming to tell you that the seven days were up."

The blood flow to my cock immediate piqued. I could feel it begin to stir, throbbing at the underside and tip as it slowly grew.

She lost all her joviality as she stared at me. Her blue eyes striking me, as they always did, like she could see straight through me into the parts of me I couldn't hide.

"What are you waiting for?" I dared to ask, the two of us locked in a strange stand off.

She let the cardigan open. I could see her chest rising and falling, her breath deep and shallow. She let it fall to the ground. With violent intent she tore down the steps, pulling off the t-shirt over her head. Messing up her hair, ragged breaths escaping me as I found myself struggling to breathe once more.

I stepped away from the chopping block. Buttons flying open as I ripped my shirt off. My fingers not doing as I willed them as I tried to pull my belt buckle apart. The anticipation was making every nerve ending numb, like I couldn't formulate a string of thoughts that made any sense. Not even the ones required to pull my belt off.

She took it from me. Yanking it from my failing hands. Pulling my body into hers with it, striking a match I knew would never extinguish. She unclasped the buckle with ease. There was no difficulty for her, no stumble in her step as she pulled everything down in a desperate attempt to take what she wanted.

There was nothing more beautiful than her desire. It was far more dark than who she was in the cold light of day. And I was drawn to the darkness, I always had been. The fathomless prose of her eyes as she wasted no time in dragging our bodies to the ground.

I could smell the earth. The moss and the fern. The wood and the soil. I could feel it at my back, solid and soft all at the same time. And her above me, like the Goddess that she was. All knotted hair and freckles as she straddled over my erection.

There would be time enough for gentleness. Time enough to savour it. What had been building for all those nights which came before demanded to be slaked. She didn't even waste the time that it would take to rip her thong off, slipping the fabric at her crotch to the side in haste.

"Fuck..." She hissed, a symphony of unadulterated songs there in her voice as she sank onto my grateful cock.

I couldn't stop myself from digging my fingers into her hips. Guiding her up and down in blissful rhythm. She felt like a tight little ribbon had wrapped itself around me from base to tip, coveting my shaft in smooth silken wetness that threatened to unravel far sooner than I'd have liked.

It was the combination of how she felt inside and the look on her face that would ruin me. The way her tits bounced as she moved, the way she softly cursed at the way I rutted upwards to hit deeper. My own words reeling out like poetry of filth.

"You feel so good, fuck... stretching me so good Jakey...I swear..."

Who was this girl? This woman? All those soft mumbles as I'd edged her to oblivion with other parts of my body had stepped aside for this demon who worshipped my cock. The altar set, her devotion of it unrepentant.

She had bled for this. She'd cut for this. She would have it and that fact alone made me feel as if I wanted to cum inside her right there as I stared up at her pained expressions. Brow furrowed and lips parted, panting wildly as her breasts rubbed against my chest as she leaned into a kiss that was dominated by tongue and arousal.

"You like how my cock feels?" I breathed, clutching her ass in both palms, letting my finger tips reach around for where I could feel myself sliding in and out of her.

She bit down on her lower lip, nodding passionately as I parted her ass cheeks and manipulated a single fingertip towards her sweet spot. She gasped. An evil little smirk taking place of the shock once I began massaging, any hope of romance dashed.

"It's everything...everything..." She sang, bittersweet because no matter how many times I would fuck her this would always be the first time.

It wasn't how I'd imagined it. I'd been the hero of that day dream. The one who had taken her, pleased her and pounded her into the mattress for as long as it took to make her cum on my eager cock. I'd been the one to instigate it, guide her into an orgasm that would've lifted the lid on her immortal soul. This was not that. This was real. Gritty. Down in the mud and with a ferocity that was all hers.

"That's it, my beautiful girl, take it..."

This wasn't about me, although I felt as if my cock had never known such a welcome as she clenched around me. This was about her. Whatever she wanted from me, she had earned. She deserved. I took her thrusts and shot my own into the rhythm, holding her ass as I pounded upwards. Her corresponding moans a clear signal that she wanted it like that.

"Fuck me harder, Jake...I'm almost there..."

I could feel that ribbon start to fray at the edges. My resolve fading. The tingle that shot up my shaft like the resurrection of a feeling I'd not had in so long I'd almost forgotten it.

"You gonna cum all pretty for me?" I asked, seeing the flush in her cheeks and the desperation to finish in her eyes. "Such a fucking beautiful pussy, give it up to me...It's mine."

My claim had her screaming a siren call that disrupted the nesting birds. She arched her back and let me see those tremendous breasts and the heaving of her stomach against her ribs as she released. The trees rumbled as the birds took flight, and so did her orgasm. Mine flowing out through the tip of my cock, spurting inside her as I tried to hold it together. To let her have her moment.

Because that was all it was. A moment. Not hours of love making. Hours of brutal fucking. Just a moment that she had taken, and I had given freely. And it wasn't until we were done that I'd known quite how much I'd been pining for a sweet little pussy like hers to let me in. How much I'd disregarded how much I needed it.

It was like I wasn't in survival mode anymore. I was thriving.

Day 469 ~ Amelia

We passed the wreckage where I'd found him on our route towards the road. It felt like part of the forest now, vines and shrubs growing around it. Reclaiming it. Sometimes I regarded it and wondered what might have happened if our paths had never crossed.

And other times I paid it no attention at all. Passing it like I would any other tree. For some reason, on this particular day, Jake had felt the need to stop.

"Do you ever think about it?" He asked poignantly, running his hand over the smoked frame of what was once his car.

"Sometimes." I replied, letting him figure out whatever it was that was hanging on. "But I try not to. We found each other, didn't we?"

I was obsessed with him. The way he looked, the way he felt. The way he tasted after drinking wine and the way he smelled after a shower. The shape of his lips and the way his mouth pockets moved as he spoke. Even the dark circles that were ever present beneath his eyes were a reason to love him.

"It scares the fuck out of me to think I could have driven right past you and never known."

I took his hand away and put it in mine. Entwining our fingers.

"You can't think like that. There's a thousand what if's and none of them stand against what we've got." I comforted him, "If we truly are the only ones left, how lucky that it was you and I that were left behind."

He coiled those big hands around my waist.

"You always know what to say when I get like this." He crooned softly into my ear, "Why don't you let me be the big strong man you need for a while?"

Day light would fade in a few hours. I liked it when he needed to feel dominant, I relished in it. But the walk we needed to take was another hour south.

"I would, but you know I have a surprise for you." I sighed, letting him rail a hand down the curve of my breasts. "So you'll have to save all that big strong manliness for later."

He grunted into my neck and placed a solitary kiss there.

"I love you, my sweet Amelia."

He'd said before in his sleep. But never in waking hours. I tried to keep my heart from soaring. But he noticed the way I held my breath at the sound of those words. Taken aback by them, almost. Unexpected. And yet soulfully beautiful, here in this tiny little moment where he needed something to hold on to.

"And I love you, my darling Jake." I whispered back, "Now, come on. There's something I want to show you."

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader

72 notes · View notes

freezing-kaiju · 8 months ago

Text

ALRIGHT, IT'S TIME!

THE SECOND RYUKI-AND-BLADE-ACCOMPANYING ANIME POLL IS NOW HERE!!!

SO, MEET YOUR CHALLENGERS!

AJIN Demi-Human

youtube

We start with a dark horror and possibly scifi about ethics in science, immortality, and an outlaw fugitive alien plot as a boy finds himself part of a group of immortals declared legally inhuman. While I have some misgivings about Oh No I Was Secretly A Creature All Along plots, I do fucking love horror and there’s a lot of ways for those plots to hit hard in the trans and gay and autism organs and be really important!!!!

Dimension W

youtube

The New Tesla Energy Corporation has monopolized the fourth dimension and the coils that connect to it. A duo of bounty hunters, one human and one robot, make money via repossessing illegal coils and seek out the answer to the mysteries within the dimension. I really wanna watch this one for a few reasons, the primary one of which is 'there are multiple fat women'. It seems to have freaks and weirdos and fun times, and its comedy is emphasized more than most of the other ones on this list so it might give some needed levity!

Kyoukai no Kanata

youtube

A bumbling monster hunter with blood powers meets an immortal via trying to shank him and ends up in an arrangement where she'll keep trying to kill him to boost her confidence while hunting monsters in what I hope is a monster-of-a-week show that came highly recommended by a friend as her favorite anime, or one of her favorites, so i have high hopes! Script's by the hibike euphonium guy and the power system seems quite interesting!

Air

youtube

A puppeteer (if he’s as good as Sakon will remain to be seen) stops his Road Trip To Meet A Golden Sun Jupiter Summon to stay for a bit in a town and, as happens to anyone who stops for too long, gets attached to the place and also meets a girl who might be said jupiteresque being. My friend informs me that it's gorgeous, sounds amazing (so I'll make sure to get clips), and has "nice sad vibes"!!! And it’s…listed in a “provincial horror” listing… hoho

Heike Monogatari

youtube

A child who can see ghosts and the future walks tirelessly through the tragedy of the war between the Taira and Minamoto families before the dawn of the first shogunate. It's wildly beloved by a friend of mine, and also centers a historical event i know some but not all about and definitely need to know more about the Taira side of. Seems like a beautiful drama, one I could lose my heart over.

SSSS Gridman

youtube

Digital kaiju! Digital hero! Digital amnesia! A monster of the week show about an unknown amnesiac summoning and merging with Hyper Agent Gridman to fight digital, possibly virtual monsters while making friends(?) in the real world! It's the one thing Tsubaraya Productions has that isn't Ultraman, and I expect some tokusatsu vibes from it along with the mecha stuff, i've also heard it has gay girl megatron??

Akudama Drive

youtube

It's a prison break and crime story set in a tech dystopia, starring a scene girl shoplifter, and featuring a bevvy of unpersoned convicts in what seems like an excellent ensemble clusterfuck!!! The Danganronpa crew made this thing! It's also beloved by a friend of mine, and I've heard it'll be a generally excellent tragedy of a time

Canaan

youtube

A reporter gets saved from assassins by a woman she might do yuri with, and the summaries I’ve found seem to imply a plot about terrorism and mystery! It’s a Type-Moon work that isn't part of the fate, tsukihime, OR melty universes! It might still have magecraft, but it's tagged sci-fi too, and a type moon take on scifi sounds interesting... it’s also based on. *checks wikipedia* a…perfect-Famitsu-score visual novel for the Nintendo Wii. So I might need to dig out some old hardware to watch this thing. For fun’s sake!

Killing Bites

youtube

A guy unintentionally becomes the underground wrestling promoter of a ?werewolf? Woman who murders his friends and wins him a shitload of money. The end goal? According to the summary, control of the economy!!! This was recommended as garbage and good lord I need garbage so much good god I need to put some trash inside of me.

#kj grabs a megaphone #kj watches anime #polls #IF YOU WANT TO VoTE MULTIPLE OPTIONS PUT IT IN YER TAGS

28 notes · View notes

boosoonhao · 10 months ago

Text

even death (bows before my feet)

vernon x reader 11k words supernatural au violence and death warning

You sigh, the puff of air visible as it leaves your mouth in the chill evening. The sun hangs low on the sky, a burning, orange orb hiding behind vibrant, green trees. Your heels clack against the concrete beneath your feet. Had your body been able to still feel the bites and nips of cold, you’re sure you would be freezing right now. As it is, it doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before the boy is bound to show up.

Infamous softie Joshua Hong shows up in a loud car and with a jacket he almost seems to drown in. He stops a few feet away from where you’re standing, closes his car door with a lot more force than necessary when he exits his vehicle. You’ve heard rumors about him, about the man who rescues people and demons alike, who only kills in self-defense. Even your people hold some distant, quiet sort of respect for him. Leaving him alone is an unwritten rule.

Not so much for his companion. There’s not a lot of softness left on Joshua’s face now.

“You want to resurrect your friend,” you say by way of greeting. Small talk doesn’t seem like much of a necessity. You both know the purpose of your meeting. You both know how many rules you’re breaking.

“Can you do it?” He asks, sees as little a point in dawdling as you do. His hands are clenched at his sides, the syllables that drift out of his mouth stiff and tense. It’s a wonder, really, how much humans seem to care about mortality, considering their short, insignificant lives.

“No,” you tell him earnestly. Well– mostly earnestly. You can, of course, if you pull the right strings and make the right deals. You’ve made some sort of preparations, so to speak; found the dead boy’s location and made sure the wrong creatures do not sink their claws in him. You’d rather leave the rest up to someone else. Joshua opens his mouth, probably to complain about deceit and waste of time, but you silence him with a swift palm raised in his direction. “But I know someone who can.”

“And you’re sure this Hoseok guy is going to help?” Joshua asks, for the third time in as many hours. You tap a long finger impatiently against the fogged up window to you right, try not to let it show that you’re uncomfortable in your seat. You can’t really remember the last time you rode in a car, but you remember – quite vividly – where your reluctance to do so came from. Your whole body feels off-kilter, shaken and rattled by every hole in the road and by the ever present thrum of the motor.

“I’ve already told you,” you mutter, struggle with how thick and clumsy your own tongue feels in your mouth; nausea pushing at the back of your throat. The man’s fast and careless driving does little to alleviate your motion sickness. “He owes me one. He’s going to help.” The memory of a city in flames drift to the forefront of your mind, an unwanted sort of nostalgia tickling at your bones and pulling the edges of your lips down just a fraction.

Joshua hums. There’s something discordant and unpleasant about the sound, despite the man’s soft, low tones. “And you demons sure do love your debts, huh.”

There’s a sort of bite to his words that you deem wholly unnecessary, that makes you want to bite right back. For centuries, you’ve been content with letting the war between demons and hunters wage on without getting involved, only stepping in when it was asked of you and retreating as soon as your tasks were done. Somehow, you had not imagined that your re-entering into that feud would be on the side of the weak, temperamental humans.

“You should be grateful,” you tell him, try to keep the poison out of your tone. You might not be human, might not be bound by the same emotional whims as the man next to you in the car, but you still remember the sting off losses of your own, and despite your reputation you’re not an emotionless, unsympathetic creature. To some extent, you do feel sorry for the guy. “Our love of debts is in your favor this time, after all.” You hope the air-quotes you can’t find the energy to physically make is visible enough in your voice.

Joshua doesn’t respond, but when he glances over at your stiff form, his gaze has softened. You smooth your thumb over the scar along your thigh, and you swear you can feel the bumps of hastily done stitches that left protruding, circular scars on both sides of a thick, ugly line even through the fabric of your pants.

“We’ll see,” Joshua says, and you suppose you will.

“Well, isn’t this an unlikely duo?”

There’s something about Hoseok that never fails to make the back of your neck tingle. His voice might be pleasant and his expression might be bright, but there’s a distinct sense of mockery that never strays too far away from his lines and his octaves, and even as far as crossroad demons go, he might be the one who makes you the most uneasy.

The demon in question claps his hands together over his chest, red eyes glowing almost ominously in the pale light of the morning. The hints of a sunrise peeking through the trees gives his tangerine hair a glow that reminds you, uncomfortably, of flames.

“It’s been a while, Hoseok,” you curtly reply, keep your distance as you step out of the car on wobbly legs. Joshua follows suit, stands at your side. You wonder how the demon-friendly boy is feeling now, stuck between two red-eyed monsters. “I hear you’ve been keeping yourself busy.”

A grin spreads on Hoseok’s lips, slowly and sharply and with the distinct feel of threat reflected in his sparkling row of teeth. You remember when Hoseok was nothing but a simple deal-maker, when his antics were limited to fooling desperate humans. It’s apparent, by his square shoulders and his confident stance, that he enjoys his newfound infamy.

He waves his hand in your direction, a low, rolling chuckle slipping past his lips. “Oh please,” he says, without an ounce of humility. “We’re not here to talk about me, I hope.” Joshua shifts, takes a step forward. You quickly put a hand on his shoulder, try not to cringe at the way his entire body seems to stiffen. You can’t really blame him, you suppose.

“I’m here to cash in on that favor you owe me,” you tell the crossroad demon, taking great care not to let the uncertainty slip through your teeth and into the tones of your voice. Hoseok’s eyes seem to grow in intensity, and the air seems to crack as he disappears, reappearing right in front of you. His breaths fall against your nose, and somehow the demon smells like death.

“Ain’t that interesting,” he tall man whispers, leveling you with a searching gaze that feels heavy against your skin. “I don’t suppose that favor has anything to do with this charming young man’s deceased companion?” There’s a glowing glint to his eyes that makes it blatantly obvious that Hoseok already knows about your recent visits to the underworld. Your jaw tightens, and you have to force yourself not to fold under his glare.

“How do you know about that?” Joshua pipes up from your side, suspicion dripping from his soft voice. Your hand is still on his shoulder, fingernails digging into the fabric of his thick jacket. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers twitch.

“He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies,” you mutter, not without disdain. Hoseok takes it in stride, of course, a sort of wicked pride tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“I do love pie,” he supplies with a jovial shrug. He takes a step back, and your stance relaxes a fraction. You never liked Hoseok much, even before he got chummy with the scum of the underworld. “I’m surprised, though,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “That you’d use your get out of jail free-card on this human boy.”

He’s fishing, you know, trying to dig into your head in that twisted way he does. Hoseok doesn’t just peddle in deals, and he is not above using your secrets against you if need be. You’re not about to give him any freebies, so you keep your mouth shut and in a thin line.

“But then,” he murmurs, his voice gentle in a way that makes you feel profoundly uncomfortable. “You always had an affinity for humans, didn’t you?”

You feel Joshua’s eyes on you. You ignore it. There’s complete silence dominates Hoseok’s crossroad, and it feels like the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. The crossroad demon’s lip twitches.

“Not in the mood for catching up, I see,” he says with a sort of sharp intake of breath through his teeth, as if to just accentuate the awkwardness of the silence. With a crack, he’s disappeared and reappeared back in the middle of his crossroad. A waterfall of flow-y smoke falls from between his long, pale fingers, and he produces an intimidating silver knife. He drags the steel across his own palm, flicks dark, almost black blood in your direction. It splatters across the ground, sizzles and burns holes in the asphalt.

“Twenty-four hours,” he tells you, dropping all of his playful pretenses and letting his true, low tones slip through his teeth instead. Somehow, Hoseok scares you less like this; seems far less threatening in his husky voice than in his fake pleasantries. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

And, well– that makes two of you.

“I told you,” you sigh, breath fogging up the window as you lean your forehead against it, hands gripping at the plush of the passenger seat. “Twenty-three hours and you’ll have your boy back.” Joshua breathes harshly through his nose, keeps his eyes on the road. His hands grip at the steering wheel.

“Yes,” he observes, with considerably less enthusiasm than you’d expected. “You’ve certainly made some powerful friends since the last time I saw you.”

He addresses you as if he’s your father; as if he’s disapproving of your boyfriend or your new circle of friends. It’s strangely intimate for acquaintances, and you don’t really know how to respond to the accusation, such as it is. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you settle on, shifting your legs awkwardly in the cramped space of the car. “Anyways, I hope you didn’t have your friend cremated, otherwise this trip is completely wasted.”

You think about the few hunter customs that you know of, of funeral pyres and of drowning your sorrows in revenge and booze. Joshua seems to have forgone all of that, but then, he’s not really a hunter, is he? He taps his fingers along the rubber of the steering wheel, eyes squinting as if he’s looking beyond the landscape rushing by and into some distant memory.

“It was my fault we were at that river in the first place,” he says, as if he totally missed your jokey comment about cremation (which, to be fair, might have been for the best). You feel an emotional story coming, and you brace yourself. Joshua Hong might not be your least favorite human, but this trait that humans seem to all possess, this need to share, you could be without. “We were on our way to visit his sister, and I just had to stop and look for fucking rocks.”

You blink at that, mystified by the nonsensical notion of stopping by a river to look for rocks, until you remember that the boy had, the last time the two of you met, had a collection of small, colorful stones in the pocket of his jacket. He had told you at the time, with a needle sticking into the skin of your thigh and a bottle of vodka on the ground next to him, that he needed something to collect, something to keep him grounded in all the crazy he was surrounded by.

“He was gone before I even managed to pull him out of the water,” he says it with the sort of detachment that only someone who has spent too much time agonizing over a tragedy can manage. No wonder he looks like he hasn’t slept since; you’ve seen river spirits before, know how violent and ravenous they can get. People give demons and vampires flack for killing without a reason; water spirits kill for sport, feed on the look of pain and fear in their victims eyes.

Truth be told, you’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure why you’re even still with the boy, why you’re enduring yet another horrid ride in his vehicle from hell. The young man had given you a sort of glare that seemed to tell you to get in the car when Hoseok had disappeared from the crossroad, and for some reason you’d just followed along. He’s lonely, you figure; desperate for interaction after the loss of his friend.

“There’s no use in obsessing over it now,” you tell him, for lack of a more comforting thing to say. Joshua hums, as if that’s just what he expected you to say. His hands grip a bit tighter around the wheel, but his face remains unchanged. “It’s fixed now anyways, isn’t it? You corrected whatever mistake you think you made.”

Joshua hesitates, looks like he wants to argue, but ultimately he settles on chewing on his bottom lip and muttering a sort of quiet and demure ‘thank you’, and the rest of the ride passes in silence.

You’ve never seen anyone awaken from the dead before, though you have heard the horror stories. Most of the time, they involve vampires, and their semi-barbaric ritual of making their ‘newborns’ claw themselves out of their graves as sort of a test to see if they’re strong enough to be accepted into the coven.

The graveyard is quiet, bathed in a soft, orange light that illuminates on top of shimmering gravestones. Birds hum in the distance and despite your inability to feel cold, goosebumps erupt along your forearms. Then again, maybe that’s just the tension from what’s about to happen.

‘Hansol Vernon Chwe’ the gravestone reads; elegant, golden letters against smooth, grey stone. The sound of dirt being shoveled distracts you from being too caught up in the solemn mood of the place, and when you level your eyes squarely on the growing hole in front of you, you see that Joshua seems to have finally hit the casket.

“Fancy funeral for a hunter,” you remark, forget to even take into consideration that humans tend to be a lot touchier about death than demons are. Joshua stops digging, gazes up at you from his deep hole. It’s actually a bit impressive, how competent of a grave robber the pretty boy would’ve been, had he not had such a spotless moral compass. He squints up at you, and you grimace. “Sorry. Graveyards make me uncomfortable.”

“His parents didn’t know,” he supplies, kneeling down to dust dirt and pebbles off of the surface of the casket. You take a step closer to the edge of the hole to look down. Even the wood of the casket looks expensive, you muse. “They think it was some freak accident.”

You wonder if that’s really true, or if it’s just another case of humans pretending to believe things because it’s more convenient. Whatever the case, you choose not to voice that suspicion, deciding to instead address an equally important question. “What’re you gonna tell ‘em now, then?”

Joshua exhales through his nose. It’s a long and exhausted sound, the kind of elongated sigh that sounds like it strains the lungs. When he looks up at you, a thin layer of sweat covers his forehead. “Well, you’re called the memory stealer, aren’t you?”

A muscle in your jaw twitches, and you have to fight back the urge to bite your own tongue just to keep yourself from coming with a scathing remark. You hate that name, hate the implications of it, hate that someone as soft and careful as Joshua Hong knows about it. Most of all, you hate that you can’t deny it. You don’t respond. It seems he doesn’t need you to. He pushes back up into a standing position, massages his own neck with a dirty hand and glances at the watch strapped around his wrist. It looks almost like he’s regained some gusto you didn’t know he possessed, his movements more energized, more confident.

Humans tend to need some sort of purpose, you suppose, some goal to work towards. No wonder he’s been so obsessive in his quest to revive this ‘Hansol’.

“I need you to help me open up the casket.”

A lot of things seem to happen at once. You take hold of the roof of the casket, feel the wood resist against your pull. The clock is ticking, and by the time you get the top of the casket off, the wood creaking in pain at the forceful handling, twenty-four hours have passed.

The boy emerges from the soft, plush inside of his not-so-final resting bed like an abused animal from a cage that’s just been opened. He flings himself over you with a force you’d be impressed with had you not been so caught surprised by it. He brings his fingers – bony and stiff with inactivity – around your neck, knocks his long, skinny body against you and makes you fall over against the walls of the hole. Dirt and grime drizzles down your face, your body, and once you’ve got your head straight again, you raise your hand to blast him back.

“Vernon,” Joshua half-whispers, half-yells from somewhere in front of you, his voice coated in something that sounds like a bizarre mix of relief and panic. You spot the man as he puts his hands on your attacker’s shoulders, his knuckles whitening with the forcefulness of his grip. “Stop, you’re safe. You’re back.”

His grip loosens, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, fingertips still digging into the base of your neck. That, at least, is a good sign; that he at least still have some semblance of sanity left. He stares you down, breathes so rapidly and loudly that it sounds like it must hurt his throat. Recognition flashes in his eyes. His hair falls down his forehead, pale brown and greasy against his skin.

“I know you,” he says, and his voice feels like being hit in the face; too low for his pretty face and too raspy for his smooth features. He lets his arms fall from your neck to hang stiffly at his sides. Joshua shoots you a suspicious glare. “You were there.”

He doesn’t even call it by name, doesn’t need to. The mere mention is enough to send shivers down your spine. It runs through your body, makes you feel the flames lick at your skin and the screams of pain echo in your head. At least he doesn’t look as ragged as he had done down there. You wonder if that sense of victory that blooms in the pit of your stomach is anything like whatever possesses Joshua to keep doing what he does.

“What the fuck is going on, Josh?” Vernon twists his head and upper body to face his friend, the detached, almost angry tone of his voice making the other man frown. There’s a stiffness to his body that you don’t think comes from having been dead, and you think back to the stories you’ve been told about people being brought back to life. About the man who lost his daughter, who sold his soul to get her back, only to discover it had been to late, that her sanity had been broken months ago and all that was left was a body. Not even a demon, or a ‘zombie’. Just a rabid, scared little girl.

Hansol – or Vernon, as Joshua had called him – doesn’t seem to be quite there, but he does seem to have lost something, still. There’s a lack of an inflection when he speaks, a robotic sort of tenseness to his movements, small as they are. You wonder if, if you strip him of his black blazer and his neat, white shirt, you can still make out the wounds and scars from the razor sharp, metallic whip that the demons of the underworld seem to favor.

“I’ll explain everything,” Joshua promises, puts his hand securely around Vernon’s upper arm. “But not here. Not right now.” His voice is hard, echoes with authority. You’re starting to realize that Joshua’s reputation as a soft, peace loving pacifist might not be completely accurate.

He did, after all, just disobey one of the most basic laws of nature.

Joshua clumsily helps Vernon out of the hole, both of their outfits getting smeared in filth in the process. The sun is starting to rise dangerously, and the time until they’re undoubtedly caught digging up graves is closing in on you all. Usually, you’d take this risk as your cue to leave, but somehow the blank, disinterested look on Vernon’s face and the low, terrified tones of Joshua’s voice has you hesitating.

“Go back to the car,” you tell them both, cracking the muscles in your fingers as if to warm yourself up. The art of manipulating time and space is not an easy thing, never a pleasant experience even for you, who has all the practice in the world at it. “I’ll take care of this mess.”

It seems to dawn on Joshua, then, that he had not thought things completely through, that he didn’t really have a plan for covering up this particular mess. You try not to roll your eyes, settle instead for a raised brow and a knowing look. Cleaning up after humans seems to be a byproduct of dealing with the species. Joshua nods, and you turn back to look at the mess. You inhale. And then you work.

Getting the dirt and the soil back in it’s original place is no task at all, truly. Just a matter of some levitation and a bit of willpower; even the newest, less experienced demons with an ambition in time and memory work could do something as simple, something that basically comes down to gardening. The fact that the grave was new, fresh to begin with works to your advantage, no need for grass to sprout on top of the soil once it’s put back in it’s spot.

Changing the inscriptions on the tombstone is a bit harder, makes the back of your eyes prickle as if someone’s poking you with needles. You replace the name with the first name that comes to mind, a name that never got a proper tombstone or a proper burial. You pretend to convince yourself that the sting in your chest comes from exhaustion.

The last part of the spell – as people has called it – the part that fills your mouth with a coppery taste and that has blood dripping out of your mouth, is the lingering, long lasting field of manipulation around the grave. You can’t completely erase Vernon’s existence, nor the actuality of his death, but you can confuse people coming to his grave enough to distract from it.

“Neat trick,” you hear from behind you, the voice so unexpected it makes you jump. You’re faced, unsurprisingly, with Vernon’s distinct features and tired eyes, his gaze not focused on you but on the tombstone behind you. “So do I just not exist anymore or what?”

You frown, twist your hands around to loosen the tension in your wrists. “Don’t be silly,” you tell him, more than a little bit uncomfortable with being alone with the dead boy walking. “For that I’d have to eat the heart of a newborn.”

Vernon blinks, but his face remains otherwise blank. For a moment you’re not even sure that he’s caught on to the fact that you were joking, and you suppose that’s on you for trying to crack jokes over the grave of a boy who’s been alive again for a whopping ten minutes. “Funny,” he supplies at last, but his voice is devoid of emotion. He shifts on his feet in clunky steps, looks back as if to make sure no one’s listening in on your conversation.

“Are you going to do that to my family as well?” He asks, and normally you’d be able to gauge what response someone was looking for by the way they asked the question. Having lived as long as you have, human behavior becomes sort of predictable, after all, but Vernon doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his voice, and all you really manage to do is nod. “Good,” he mutters, and that’s that. You wonder if he’ll have the same opinion on the matter once his emotions return – if they ever do.

“Did you tell Joshua? About Hell, I mean,” He goes on, surprisingly talkative for someone so dull and rough around the edges. There’s a raspy quality to his voice that you doubt is supposed to be there, and when you tell him that no, you haven’t talked to Joshua about Hell at all, Vernon looks the most relieved that he’s done since coming back to life. “Don’t. He doesn’t need to know.”

You don’t tell Vernon that you hadn’t intended to anyways, that you’d rather not talk or think about the underworld ever again. That’s not their business, just like Vernon’s decision is not yours. Vernon turns back to retreat towards Joshua’s car, and after one lingering glance back at the masked tombstone, you follow. You swipe your hand at the drying blood right above your lip, and you brace yourself for phase two.

(The mind is a fragile thing, vulnerable to impressions and attacks in all forms. This is true for all sentient beings, even those who dabble in memory curses and manipulation. For as easy it is to shape the mind as you want with your skills, it’s dangerous, not to mention draining, taking much more energy out of you than connecting made up memories to a place or an object. It’s a risk every time you do it, and you suppose that is how it has to be.

Which is why you tell Joshua to join you as you stop the car in front of Vernon’s parents’ house, why reluctance bites at your skin as you get out of the car. When you turn to look back, Vernon himself is staring unblinkingly at you from his seat.

His family is just what you’d expect from someone with such a bright and warm home, from someone who cared enough to put so much money into their son’s funeral. They greet Joshua like he’s one of their own, gentle hands and tight hugs making the both of you uncomfortable. They do not ask questions, do not put you on the spot, and for the first time in many years, you feel a pang of genuine guilt at what you’re about to do.

Stealing memories from a person feels sort of like sucking all of the air out of the room and into your own mouth. There’s a taste to it, in a way, a flavor of longing and love and pain tickling the roof of your mouth with each emotion, each thought that fills your body and occupies the space in your head. You can’t remove Vernon’s existence completely, not when there are so many objects that tell of his presence in his family’s life, but you can remove the hurt, the death and the funeral. That doesn’t make it un-happen, doesn’t make the pain erased from the world, only moves it somewhere else.

Your heart is heavy with each thought, with the memories of black clothes and high pitches crying that forces itself into your mind, and though you do not know the boy more than you know of his presence in the car right outside, you mourn his passing as if you’ve known him since birth. You want to cry, you want to yell and throw things around, and distantly you feel a sort of self-loathing for things unsaid, words that aren’t even your own but that feels undeniably true in your heart.

The last thing you recall before the spell is complete and you fade into unconsciousness is a strong, overwhelming thought of ‘why couldn’t it have been me instead’. And then everything goes black.)

When you wake up, you’re in an unfamiliar room, lying in an unfamiliar bed. The remnants of emotions and memories that aren’t yours linger in the back of your mind, makes the hair at the back of your neck stand. Your vision is foggy, your body hot and cold all at once.

”You’re awake,” comes the easily recognizable, raspy sound of Vernon’s voice from next to you, and when you twist your body around to follow the sound, you’re met with red cheeks and plump lips, pale brown curls that look a lot less lifeless after – you assume – a thorough shower. He looks down at you, looks considerable more alive than he did when you first un-buried him, but his gaze is still, for the most part, blank. That much is to be expected, but somehow, with the new surge of memories connected to the boy, it hurts to look at him.

”Joshua’s grocery shopping,” he explains, rolls his shoulders almost as if he’s uncomfortable. You hum, let your gaze follow the lines of his face and the arch of his neck before you sit up and stretch. Outside, the sun is high on the sky; you must have been out for at least a few hours. “We’re at a motel. He said you needed rest.”

”So you’ve just been creepily staring at me while I was sleeping, then?” you mutter, fingers clutching at your tense shoulder, nails digging into skin. Vernon exhales through his nose, drags a hand through his hair. He leans back in his chair, head slightly tilted as he watches your movements.

”Joshua’s acting like I’m gonna burst into flames any moment,” Vernon says without really looking at you, seems to fall further into the plush of his chair. “It’s driving me crazy.” Somehow, you’re not sure if he really understands how unsettling that sentence is, considering. “Besides,” he continues, leaning a fraction closer to your spot on the bed. You feel strangely exposed, put on the spot by the sudden closeness. “I feel less dead when you’re here. Why is that?”

The confession, blunt and careless as it is, sends a shiver through your body, makes you feel off-kilter in a way that’s both completely too familiar and strange all at once. It makes you mourn for him, in a sense, to know that he still feels dead after being resurrected. It’s one of the prices you have to pay, you suppose, when you play around with something as important as life and death. It’s unfair, really, that he had to pay it, as little as he had to do with the resurrection itself.

”I don’t know,” you tell him, leaning back on your arms for support. Your shoulders feel heavy, weighed down by the intensity of Vernon’s glare. It’s apparent that the boy’s not as easily swayed and endeared to dark creatures as his companion is. “I’m sure it’ll pass.”

Vernon hums, a surprisingly soft sound that vibrates through his closed lips as he turns his gaze to the open window at the end of the tiny bedroom. “Isn’t it kind of funny? You’re the demon, but I’m the one who seems less human.”

He doesn’t sound like he finds it funny at all. The inexplicable need to ease up the lines of tension in the lines of his face makes your fingers itch.

”If it makes you feel any better,” you start with uncertainty coating your tongue and making it feel awkward in your mouth. You’ve never really been good at comfort, never been put in a position where you’ve felt like you have to consider your words and mind your tones. Vernon looks fierce, looks strong; his jawline sharp and his features more defined with the hours he’s spent back above the earth, but somehow his presence feels fragile, like a string pulled too thin. “I ripped open a casket and defiled a tombstone. As far as humanity goes, I think you’re still in the lead.”

Vernon’s lip twitches, tells in low whispers of a secret sort of smile that almost breaks out on his face. It’s a start, if nothing else. “It doesn’t,” he murmurs, with a distant sort of warmth to his low tones. “But thank you for trying.”

The floorboards creak in the hallway, and when you snap your gaze in the direction of the barely open door, you see the flash of a figure disappearing from the opening.

It’s hard to care about the fact that Joshua’s been eavesdropping when Vernon’s eyes shine as bright as you’ve seen them.

(The third night of your stay at the motel, you hear a garbled sort of scream coming from one of the connecting rooms. You jolt up in your own bed, sit up with your hands clutching at the sheets and your eyes squinted in an attempt at looking around the room. Your first thought is that someone’s found you, someone who does not approve of Joshua’s attempts at playing God.

The aforementioned man himself appears in the doorway to your room, hair sticking out in every direction and face coated in a mixture of sleep and panic.

“He’s having a nightmare,” he explains, and the organ in your chest relaxes a fraction; at least that means no demons or monsters are knocking down your doors yet. “I can’t–” he cuts himself off, a layer of shame taking over his expression. “I can’t wake him up.”

There’s a tinge of resentment there, but underneath it you can hear the underlying tint of a question he’s reluctant to ask. You inhale, drag yourself out of the bed. Inexplicably, embarrassment burns at the back of your throat as you follow Joshua out into the hallway, the screams increasing in volume, it seems, with every step you take. Joshua pushes open the door to what you assume to be Vernon’s bedroom.

The boy lies in his bed, knuckles as white as the sheets his fists are clutching to, and his skin shimmers brightly with a thin layer of sweat. You shoot Joshua an uncertain look, only moving into the bedroom when the man nods, presses a gentle hand to your shoulder blade. You chew on your bottom lip, approach the screaming boy and put your hands on his face. His skin feels like fire.

“Vernon,” you murmur, realizing only after the fact that it’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud. He tries to wrestle his face out of your grip, but even in his sleeping panic, he’s got nothing on your inhuman strength. You dig your fingernails into his cheeks, force his face in your direction. You repeat his name, louder this time, more authoritative and with the barest tint of persuasive power slipping through your lips. “Wake up,” you tell him, more a command than anything else.

When he obeys, it’s with a sharp intake of breath and a jolt as if he’s been struck by lightning. He stares at you as if he doesn’t quite recognize you, and for a moment you worry he’s about to start hyperventilating; his chest rising and falling a tad too rapidly. When at last he murmurs your name, it’s with a softness that makes you feel off-kilter and strange; not entirely an unpleasant feeling. You hear the door close behind you, and then it’s just the two of you in the darkness.

“It was just a nightmare,” you tell him. A presumptuous statement, considering you know first hand how real dreams can turn out to be. Vernon grimaces, and when you make a move to remove your hands from his face, he moves quickly, hand coming up to grip at your wrist, keep your hand there.

“Was it, though?” He asks, eyes hooded. You feel the vibrations of his voice against your palm, and it almost makes your breath hitch.

An affinity for humans, Hoseok had said. You thought you’d ridden yourself of that quality ages ago. The warmth that spreads through your body as Vernon sleepily leans against your palm tells another story.

“You should sleep more,” you tell him, opting to ignore his question. He lets the hand that’s holding onto you fall, but does not loosen his grip, making your own arm fall against the mattress with it. “It’s still dark outside.” You hope he doesn’t notice the uneven quality of your voice. He falls back against his pillow. When you try to push yourself back up from your kneeling position next to the bed, his grasp around your wrist tightens, nails digging crescents into your skin.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything, but somehow his eyes tell you everything you need to know; fear and shame battling for domination in his expression. You sit back down against the cold floor, lean your back against the side of the bed, and only then does he let go of your wrist.

You spend the rest of the night listening to the discordant song of your heart beating in your chest, almost, sort of in tune with Vernon’s breath as it evens out and he falls back asleep.)

A long time ago, when you had a companion of your own, you were often told of how you carried yourself as if you were a cold, cynic being of the underworld, but that underneath you hid a myriad of too strong emotions. You used to vehemently deny this accusation, scrunch up your nose and make some sort of scathing remark.

But now, weeks into your new companionship with a makeshift doctor for demons and humans alike and a recently dead boy, you can’t really find it in you to deny it anymore.

Vernon is starting to act more like a human being again, chuckles at your throwaway jokes and chides Joshua for his hovering with true emotion coated in his voice. He still has nightmares, still clutches at your skin after every one of them. You’ve started renting only two bedrooms at the motels you stay at. Joshua looks at you with suspicion in his otherwise gentle face, but he says nothing.

“Sometimes I still feel the lashes across my back,” Vernon whispers, his breaths hitting your face with each syllable. Joshua might keep quiet, might keep his emotions masked and his true thoughts unheard, but Vernon– Vernon talks like he’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t. He tells you about his nightmares, about how he can’t be sure whether they’re just that– dreams, or if they’re suppressed memories from his time in the underworld. You want to assure him that they’re the former, want to reach out and smooth out the wrinkles of stress on his face, but somehow the sight of him steals away your ability to move and all you can do is listen.

You’re not sure if he even notices how touchy he becomes once he’s grown used to your presence next to him; his fingers running absentminded lines and shapes over your exposed skin, pressing into your flesh when he recalls something especially uncomfortable. It’s a strange shift, when he goes from that unintentionally restrained nonchalance that drifts over him sometimes during the day, emotions seemingly not the default setting in his brain, to that wide open, vulnerable and genuine being he is when the sun disappears behind the trees.

You think Joshua might be jealous that Vernon somehow feels more comfortable opening up to you than he feels towards his oldest friend. You want to tell him it’s just because he wants to spare him of the gruesome details. It’s easy to think, with just one glance, that Joshua is the protective one out of the two; the truth is that the boys seem to share a bond that’s so genuine and so fiercely loyal that nothing even comes close, least of all you, the newcomer.

So maybe, then, you’re the jealous one.

“I want to try something,” Vernon says quietly, voice barely above a whisper and almost not loud enough to pull you out of your train of thought. When you focus your gaze back up at his face, there’s open hesitation visible in the soft lines of his face. His fingers stop at the edge of your shoulder, plays with the hem of your t-shirt. You can’t be sure if the way his gaze drops for a moment, seemingly lingering at the bottom of your face, is a trick of the light or an actual thing. Whatever the case, it makes you heart do a weird sort of jump in your chest. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” you whisper, try to keep your voice steady. The exhale that leaves Vernon’s mouth if nothing if not relieved. And then he’s shifting on the bed, his hands coming up to rest against your cheekbones in a scene at almost perfectly mirrors the one that had started your shared living situation in the first place. At first you think that might be all he wants to do, to press his fingertips into the flesh of your cheeks and rub his fingers along the edges of your lips, but then he’s leaning closer, his eyes falling shut, and you forget how to breathe.

You’ve been kissed before, of course; by multiple people and in multiple circumstances. Some of them were slow and meaningful, others just a means to seal a deal. None of them felt quite like this. Vernon clutches at your face as if his own actions terrifies him, as if he’s not wholly sure that he should be doing what he’s doing. He breathes through his nose, sharp huffs of air against your skin, and for a moment all there is to it is a press of lips against lips. It’s nothing, all things considered, but somehow it feels like it’s everything. His pulse feels like a drum against your skin.

Somewhere between the tenth and the fifteenth beat of your heart, he seems to gain confidence, pulling at your face as if he wants to consume you, lips moving just enough to make your own hands grasp at the front of his shirt. Every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire; the feeling too much, too overwhelming, too pleasant for you even to consider what that means. When Vernon pulls his face away from yours, something that sounds partly like an exhale and partly like a giggle escapes his mouth, and your heart literally soars.

“Did you figure it out?” you ask breathlessly, head swimming and skin itching. Your lips feel cold, wet without his own pressed against them, and an impulse you barely manage to fight back urges you to lean after him. Vernon swallows thickly, his hands not leaving your face.

“I’m not sure,” he says with a sort of wonder coating the tones of his voice. He sounds more like himself, like the image of him that you stole from his parents, than he has ever done before. His gaze falls back down to your lips and he murmurs, “I think I should try again.”

You put your fingers gingerly at the back of his ears and you pull. You let him try again. And again. And again and again until you can’t even remember what the purpose of it all was in the first place.

More weeks pass, and somehow you fall into a routine. The routine consists of you telling yourself to withdraw yourself from the previous duo of two human boys, to leave before things get messy, followed by doing the exact opposite. You let Vernon tangle his fingers with your own in quiet, unnoticed moments, let him trail kisses along your jawline and press his fingernails into your hips, and you pretend that you’re not getting completely swallowed up by a boy who’s still learning how to feel again.

(Joshua, on the other hand, does not pretend not to notice, though that would’ve been the – in your opinion – more polite, less annoying thing to do.)

When two weeks pass without incident, without nightmares, you tell yourself you’re going to stop sleeping in the same bed as him. Joshua squints, glares intensely at you when you interrupt him at the counter of the next motel and tell the manager that you’ll need three bedrooms rather than two. Vernon almost doesn’t look nonchalant.

He comes into your room later that night, whispered words of apologies and worries eager to tumble out of his mouth. Has he done something wrong, he wonders. Has he made you uncomfortable, forced his intimacy on you without caring about your wishes? He’s careful not to speak of feelings, but there’s a distinct undercurrent of the thing, nonetheless.

(”Listen,” Joshua says, pulling you out of your clouded mind and troubled thoughts. When you look up to meet his gaze, there’s a sort of hardness to his expression that makes you feel oddly put in place, even before he’s opened his mouth. “We need to talk about you and Vernon.”)

“No,” you tell him, truthfully, with a heart that hammers too hard, feels to exposed. “I just thought, you haven’t had any nightmares lately. Figured you’d want to try sleeping on your own again.” You’re careful not to talk about your own wants, or your own wishes, scared of something you’re not ready to voice slipping through your gritted teeth.

“And if I don’t?” He asks, as if it’s a challenge, as if he’s revealing his cards just by virtue of the question. “Will you keep sleeping with me, then?” The phrasing catches you off guard, makes your skin feel hot and your palms sweaty. His own eyes widen, his face clearly reddened even in the darkness. He mutters, almost reluctantly, “You know what I mean.”

(”What about me and Vernon?” You ask, as if the notion of the two of you put together in a sentence is absolutely ludicrous. Joshua’s gaze sharpens, and somehow you think you’ve said the wrong thing. Unfortunately for you both, you’re not known for folding against a challenge. You put your chin in the palm of your hand, stare back at him with venom that mirrors his own harsh expression.

“Vernon’s still learning how to be alive again, he doesn’t need you confusing him,” Joshua says, and at least you can give him credit for putting it bluntly and not beating around the bush. The accusation stings, more than you expected it to, and for a moment you can’t muster up any sort of response. “I don’t mind having you here, but if you’re just playing games, you should leave.”

There’s finality in his tone, and for a second you entertain the idea. He’s right, of course, in that you should leave. Hanging around humans clearly isn’t good for your mental health, and certainly not for your reputation. But the sight of Vernon’s smile, still awkward and kind of uncertain, drifts to the forefront of your mind, and makes your breath come out as a shudder.

“You have to stop babying him, Joshua,” you murmur, attempt to make your voice as soft and smooth as possible. “Vernon’s more resilient than you think.”)

The smart thing to do, you think, is to tell Vernon to go back to his room, to get used to sleeping alone. There’s no need, really, for the two of you to share quarters anymore, and you’re sure that the reason he’s so reluctant to do so is that he’s gotten used to the shared warmth of two bodies in one bed. You tell yourself this, force yourself to believe it, because any other line of thinking undoubtedly only leads to heartbreak. But the mind; the mind is such a treacherous thing, and the thing that comes out of your mouth instead is:

“Of course.”

You move over, make space from him on the mattress, and when Vernon climbs in with something that sounds too much like a relieved sigh, lies down and pulls you against his chest, you can’t do anything but chastise yourself for letting yourself so wrapped up in the boy that refusing him seems like such an impossibility. His arm feels heavy over your waist, his feet cold as they tangle up in your own, but somehow, sleep has never come more easily.

The first time you sleep with Vernon, it’s an accident. Sort of.

You’re both more than a little buzzed, empty cans of beer littered over the floor and air hot with tension. Joshua has disappeared off to god knows where – something, you notice, he seems to do a lot these days – and the two of you are, more than ever, alone.

Vernon’s eyes are hooded, but his gaze is full of intent as he stares in you direction on the other side of the table. You try not to feel scrutinized, busy yourself with finishing off your beer. He reaches for your free hand where it lies with fingers spread over the brown wood of the table, intertwines his digits with your own and pulls. “Come here,” he murmurs, voice laced with the uneven notes of someone who’s had a tad too much to drink to be completely sharp in their pronunciations.

You comply, pushing yourself to your feet and walking around the small table to stand in front of his own seated form. He stares up at you with a sort of twinkle you can’t be sure if comes from the dim lights in the roof of the room or from something else entirely. He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls, wraps his legs around yours and presses the side of his face to your stomach.

It’s somehow both an oddly innocent and intimate action all at once, his fingertips slipping past the hem of your shirt to lightly skim over the skin of your back. He exhales, the sound stutter-y. When he speaks, the words vibrate against your stomach and you place your hands at his shoulders, if only because you think your feet might give out if you don’t.

“I somehow imagined a demon to have cold skin,” he tells you, affection blatantly present in his voice as he presses his fingertips along your spine. He twists his head, his nose poking against your ribcage. The feeling makes you squirm, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. “You’re warm,” he whispers, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. “You have a heartbeat, too.”

You clutch at his sweater, try to stop yourself from shivering as you look down into his mess of curls. You could tell yourself it’s the alcohol that makes your heart rate speed up, that makes you want to press your thumb against the pulse in his neck and lean down to hide your face in his hair. But in this; in this honest and semi-drunken moment of intimacy, you allow yourself to be candid, if only to yourself.

You really are falling for this silly, strange human.

“It’s just the benefits of a human host,” you murmur, not without humor, tangle your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp in a show of affection you’ll probably berate yourself for later. Vernon hums, and you feel the upwards curve of his lips against your stomach even with the layer of fabric between your skin and his mouth. You wonder how it looks, feels a bizarre need to see how each and every sort of smile paints his face. “There’s still a scary, dark creature hiding underneath my skin.”

“Interesting,” he muses. Then he’s staring up at you, chin pressing into your stomach. His fingers inches upwards along your back, scrunching up your shirt as he goes.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he confesses, cheeks red with more than just alcohol. The moment feels heavy, life-changing, somehow. His fingers inch higher, plays with the strap of your bra. “Like you’re just indulging me because of the whole… being dead thing.”

You feel like if you were ever going to admit that you often feel the same way, that you fear that you’re abusing the soothing effect your presence seems to have on him, it would be now. That if you were going to confess that your heart seems to skip a beat every time he as much as looked your way, this would be the opportune moment.

But you never were the most courageous of demons, so instead you tell him;

“As if a weak human boy could take advantage of a powerful demon like me.”

Vernon laughs at that; a true laugh, a laugh that starts in his stomach and erupts out of his mouth as if it can’t help itself. It makes his mouth spread in a smile that is too wide, that makes his upper lip nothing but a thin line and that shows off a beautiful row of white teeth. That makes your heart do a strange wallop and that makes unbidden words curl your tongue in your mouth.

Vernon stands up, his face light with humor and your shirt inch even further up your body. He takes a few steps, his face tilting slightly to angle itself against yours. “Is this okay?” He asks, pulls at your shirt as if to emphasize. You take hold of the bottom of your own shirt, pull it off in one swift movement, and once the garment is discarded, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into perhaps the first kiss between the two of you that you’ve initiated.

He exhales through his nose, digs his fingers into your skin and blindly guides you in the general direction of the bed in the other end of the room. You both fall down on the hard mattress, the air knocked out of you for more reasons than the impact, and when Vernon situates himself between your legs, grounds his pelvis against yours in such a forceful, needy motion that it makes your breath catch, you can’t even muster up the will to feel bad about your choices.

(The pendant you always wear around your neck – a gift from a friend from a long, long time ago – is nowhere to be seen when you wake up to an empty bed the next day. It reappears, though, around Vernon’s neck when you find him outside chatting with Joshua. He looks at you like you’ve hung the bright, yellow sun in the sky and you can’t make yourself ask for the piece of jewelry back.)

“I want to apologize to you,” Joshua says, seemingly out of nowhere, while the two of you raid the dairy aisle at the local 24 hours mart near the newest motel. The sincerity in his voice makes you pause, squinting in his direction as if you could decipher what he’s talking about if only you stared hard enough.

“What for?” you relent at last, unable to summon up some sort of mind reader abilities out of nowhere. Joshua shrugs, grabs a carton of milk from the nearest shelf, looks around as if he’s about to reveal some big secret.

“For what I said about your thing with Vernon,” he tells you, and the mere mention of your… ‘thing with Vernon’ makes your face heat up. Suddenly, the laces on your shoes become intensely interesting, and you can’t quite look up from the floor.

“Yes,” you reply, dragging out the vowel and making your tone carefully blank. You take care not to play into the confession you can tell he’s trying to drag out of you, responding instead with your natural instinct; to make a joke out of it. “I was sort of offended that you doubted my nanny-ing abilities.” Even to your own ears, the quip falls flat, and you grimace, grateful that you can’t see the look on the man’s face. Joshua hums, as he so often does whenever you’ve said something he finds interesting or telling for some reason.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he allows, a sort of playful edge to his voice letting you know that he does not fall for your attempts at dodging the subject. He clears his throat, shuffles on his feet, and you can tell, without even looking at him, that he’s about to spout some typical human sincerities at you. “I see how the two of you look at each other. I’m sorry for misjudging you, that’s all.”

You’re about to reply, to follow up with another obviously dodgy joke, when Vernon appears from somewhere behind you, carrying a basket full of beer and snacks. He stops just a step too close for comfort following the conversation you’ve just had with Joshua, and when he presses a hand to the small of your back your neck tingles almost uncomfortably. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Joshua, to his credit, seems to catch quite quickly that you’re not wholly inclined to indulge more into the subject and lifts up the carton of milk instead, shaking it lightly with a pleasant smile on his face. “Milk,” he says, his tone so ridiculously bright that it must be the most obvious lie in the world.

“Riveting,” Vernon replies, his thumb traveling along your spine in a slow, almost tantalizing line. Joshua rolls his eyes, strides past the both of you with a knowing look sent in your direction.

“Let’s get back to the motel,” he says, and then he’s walking towards the cashier as if he can’t get out of the store quickly enough. Once he’s out of sight, Vernon stares you down for a moment, before pressing a quick, casual kiss to your lips. It’s the sort of kiss you imagine couples must share; an afterthought more than a statement, but meaningful nonetheless. It makes you think about Vernon’s worries about taking advantage, about your own thoughts in that direction.

You’ve dawdled too long, you conclude, watching the two men’s backs as you all retreat out of the store and back to the car. You barely even feel sick when you ride it anymore. Unease grips at your bones as you make a decision.

It’s time to go back to your job as the memory stealer. Somehow you didn’t imagine you’d ever be your own client.

You find Vernon at the top of a hill a few days later, head tilted back and with a beer in his hand. Once you step closer, you see stars reflected in his wide open eyes, his expression relaxed and neutral as he taps absentmindedly against the metal of the beer can. Your heart feels heavy, head buzzing with exhaustion and pulling at the frayed edges of reality; it’s already hard to distinguish what is real and what isn’t.

“I need to tell you something,” you say by way of greeting, stopping right next to him and making yourself comfortable on the grass. The vibrant, green strands tickle against your skin, but somehow the feeling just makes you heavier. Vernon turns his head to the side, looks at you with worry in the creases between his brows.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and not for the first time you’re impressed with how far he’s come in terms of reading the mood. It’s easy to forget that just a mere two months ago, he barely even knew what a joke was, could not sleep without being overwhelmed by night terrors. You shrug.

“There was a boy once,” you start, deciding to just jump right into it. You try remembering when you told this story last, when you muttered the name that now resides on a gravestone that used to read ‘Hansol Vernon Chwe’, but you come up empty. “His name was Jihoon. He was a human, too.”

Vernon watches, his mouth pulled into a tight, carefully blank line. He does not speak.

“We were kinda like you and Joshua, I guess; companions on the road. He hated me at first,” there’s some nostalgia there, some fondness hidden beneath all the hurt. It had been an unfortunate – not to mention ridiculous – curse that had brought you together at first, that had forced you and the temperamental, small human to travel together. By the time you found the cause of it, a bond had already formed. You tell Vernon this, explain your whole history in short, stunted sentences.

Your words start cracking once you get to the part with the vampires, with Jihoon begging you to let him die, to make sure he didn’t turn. To the part where you disregarded your friend’s – because you do not call Jihoon your lover, even if that might have been the more accurate term – wishes out of your own selfishness. “I haven’t seen him since.”

“Sounds like you cared about him a lot,” Vernon says, his voice somewhere between understanding and something far less pleasant. He brushes his fingers along your knuckles, seems to hesitate with really touching you. “Where’s this going?” You frown, take a deep breath. No point in stalling the inevitable, you suppose.

“I’m a curse,” you tell him, fingers grasping for strands of grass as if you need something to keep you grounded. Vernon makes a joke about being surprised that demons are superstitious, and had the mood not been so somber, you might have been proud that he seems to have adopted your penchant for cracking jokes when things get too serious. You take hold of his face, make sure to keep eye contact. “I’ll just get to the point. I’ve made Joshua forget about me.”

Vernon’s already large eyes widen almost comically. He tries to wrestle his face out from between your hands. It’s a futile attempt, of course, but you applaud him for his effort. “What the fuck?” He sputters, his fingernails digging into your wrists forcefully enough to hurt. You wince.

“You don’t need me anymore,” you tell him, and suddenly you wish you had some sort of pre-rehearsed speech ready. The absolutely horrified look on Vernon’s face makes you feel sick, makes you want to disappear. “And I wasn’t supposed to stick around this long in the first place.”

It’s a lie, of course; nothing but a shallow, selfish excuse. The truth is that you’re scared. That you haven’t felt something as strong as whatever it is you’re feeling for Vernon since Jihoon, decades and decades ago. And at this point, you’re not sure if it would be worse if he reciprocated those feelings, or if he didn’t.

“What the fuck does need matter?” Vernon hisses, his voice almost poisonous in his growing anger. He tries, once again, to force your hands away from their steel grip on his face. “I want you here. Joshua wanted you here. You have no right to fuck with our memories.” Your eyes feel wet, and you ponder at how long it has been since you last cried. This part, you prepared for; this part you have a response to, cruel as it might be.

“Just like I had no right to fuck with your parents’ memories?” you bite back, every word feeling like a dagger to your own chest. The scandalized look on Vernon’s face does little to help the situation. But still, you keep going. “There’s no moral high ground in these matters. This is my job.” There’s heartbreak open and visible in the lines of Vernon’s face, so genuine and so real that you almost believe in it.

“I’m so stupidly, irrationally in love with you,” you tell him, press a dry, simple but undoubtedly meaningful kiss to his down-turned lips. You feel a strip of something wet run down your cheeks, feel the taste of salt at your bottom lip. “And I can’t stand it. I have to go.”

Vernon’s eyes turn blank, and you know that the continuous force of energy you’ve forced upon him has finally taken effect. You give him simple instructions, enough to make him get back to Joshua and the motel, but not enough to make his brain go haywire.

And then you leave, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. For the first time in decades, you feel the taste of ashes on your tongue.

(The necklace Jihoon gave you used to be that one thing that anchored you, that made you feel real when memories tried to overtake you. The only thing you feel now when you put your hand up towards your neck is the bone at your collar and the distinct feel of loss. I love you I love you I love you echoes in your head, forceful as a punch to the face.

It doesn’t echo in your own tone of voice.)

Six months later, you get your first customer since your prolonged leave of absence.

At least, you assume it’s a customer, because only someone who comes to your new house with the right code in the form of four precise presses of the doorbell knows who you really are; The Memory Stealer.

You’re sleepy, dizzy as you push yourself off of the couch and take the mandatory steps towards the front door. Your back complains in the form of a stinging pain with the less than ideal position you’ve been sleeping in these past few months; somehow you can’t quite get yourself to sleep in a bed.

All of that is completely forgotten when you open up the door, a familiar face greeting you on the porch. There’s something more human about his features than you’ve ever seen before, something more innocent and questioning, but the person standing in front of you is undoubtedly, heartbreakingly none other than Vernon Hansol Chwe.

“Hiya,” he says, his voice light and airy and unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He smiles in that way you’ve preferred to remember him; his lips stretched too thin and his teeth almost blinding. For a moment, you falter, stuck in your own lingering emotions. But then he says; “You’re the one they call the memory stealer, right?” and the bile in your throat seems to soothe, the pain in your chest lingering, but not overwhelming. ‘Right’ you murmur in response, and then he’s pushing past you, entering your home with all the gusto of someone who doesn’t know what fear feels like. It’s as heartwarming as it it frustrating.

Vernon twists his head from side to side, takes in the empty walls and the non-decorated home you live in. He turns back to look at you, tilts his head in a way that reminds you of precise kisses and whispered words.

“You sure took a long way to track down,” he tells you, fiddling with the hem of his own jacket. You try not to lean into the pleasant tones of his voice, try not to remember how much you’ve missed Vernon and his soft, plump mouth.

“Is that so?” you reply, the question detached and not really a question. “What did you come for?”

Vernon stares at you, sizes you up and down as if he wants to fight. Then he’s grasping at a thread around his neck, and a pendant you recognize all to well appears from underneath the neck of his sweater. “Do your recognize this?” he asks, and all at once your body seems to shut down; your legs wobbling and your breath hitching so loudly and so quickly it rasps against the walls of your throat.

“I’m so mad at you,” he says, taking a few measured steps to end up right in front of you, staring you down. He cups your face, and only then do you realize that your cheeks are wet. Vernon’s thumbs rub against the innermost parts of your cheekbones, and you feel so holy, so heavenly that you fear you might actually burst into flames.

“You’re lucky I’m so stupidly, irrationally in love with you,” Vernon says, and his smile is wide enough, bright enough to put the sun itself to shame.

#svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios

36 notes · View notes

little-diable · 2 years ago

Text

Take me Home - Dean Winchester (smut)

Inspired by the song "Take me Home" by Kameron Marlowe. I don't know why, but this is such a 'Dean song' for me. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: A fight finally forces Dean to tell the reader about his feelings for her.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.8k words)

I don't wanna be here anymore, I'm tired of all these buildings, and the people that fill their hollow floors

The sun was painting the sky dark orange, forcing (y/n) to stare at the passing by clouds and the horizon, telling stories she wouldn’t pick up on if she didn’t pay enough attention. Silence engulfed her and Dean, no word rolled off his tongue, eyes set stoically ahead. They were leaving another godforsaken town, not daring to speak of the creatures they killed, the blood that had been shed and the words Dean had screamed at (y/n).

Anger still flushed through his veins, a biting emotion he didn’t dare swallow down just yet. It had always been easier to be mad at her, to curse and scold her, than admit that he felt something by far deeper for (y/n). His jaw muscles were ticking, trying to stop himself from giving into the words he wanted to speak, unable to understand why she had tried to gamble with her life, for the sake of his.

By now Dean should be all too used to her tricks, the games she kept playing with those they were hunting down, and yet he still found himself confused every single time. Perhaps Dean couldn’t understand that somebody would trade their own life for his, not used to feeling this kind of love. Perhaps Dean couldn’t bear the thought of living a life without (y/n) by his side, even though he couldn’t show his love for her like he wanted to.

Whatever it was, Dean was in deep, pulled in further into the darkness as if a nightmare had its grasp on him, not allowing the hunter to wake.

“What is that?” (Y/n) broke the silence, listening to the unfamiliar sounds Baby was making. Her eyes tried to find Dean’s, hoping that he could tell her what was going on, why the car was slowing down. But Dean didn’t reply, curses rolled off his tongue, parking the Impala on the side of the road before they’d be forced to stop in the middle of it.

All (y/n) could do was watch Dean step out into the evening, popping open the hood of his car to figure out what had happened. (Y/n)’s thoughts were racing, watching him work with his arms exposed, flexing his muscles with every movement left her trembling, thighs unconsciously pressed together. Her blood grew hotter, pumping through her veins as if the devil himself was chasing every plasma cell, making her awfully aware of the feelings Dean elicited inside of her.

She watched him reach for his phone, calling whoever was close to help him with the Impala, “Can I do something?” (Y/n) murmured as she stepped out of Baby, arms wrapped around herself. The evening was colder than expected, making her shake with every blow of the cold wind. For a second their eyes met, allowing Dean to take in her frame, eyes wandering to her hands, how they stroked up and down her arms to try and warm herself up.

“Get back into the car, I can’t have you growing sick.” His voice dripped with annoyance, forcing a deep sigh out of (y/n). Her patience was wearing thin, not understanding why Dean was acting like that, wondering if he’d ever give in and treat her with some kind of kindness lingering in his actions.

“Can you stop treating me like a child for once?” Her snarky words forced Dean to halt in his movements, body now fully turned towards her.

“Well, maybe if you’d stop acting like a fucking child I’d be able treat you like an adult.” She had her teeth buried in her lower lip, not expecting the sudden outburst of his. He was running on anger, unable to see clear as his vision grew more blurry, body guided by his emotions. “I’m sick of you acting like that, you should have stayed with Sam.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Without my help you’d be buried six feet under by now.” (Y/n) took a step closer, hand gripping Dean’s wrist to stop him from turning away once again. Something dark was lingering in his green pupils, something that made her tremble in confusion, unable to understand why Dean was acting like this.

“At least I’d be able to stop worrying about you. Fuck. Do you know how exhausting it is to be around you, to worry about everything you do, because I can’t bear the thought of seeing you getting hurt?” Dean’s words were met with silence, forcing his eyes to momentarily flutter shut. He had hoped that he’d be able to stop himself from ever speaking those words, not wanting to embarrass himself like that – well aware that his feelings weren't reciprocated by (y/n), at least that's what he kept telling himself.

"What? Why would you worry about that? We’re hunters for fuck’s sake, Dean. I’m bound to get hurt.” She loosened her grip on his wrist, only to step even closer, not giving Dean a chance to run from this very conversation. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as it got harder for her to breathe.

“Not as long as I can protect you. I can’t watch you get hurt, let alone let you try to sacrifice yourself for my life.” It was a whisper, one with the cold breeze. But now it finally made sense to (y/n), forcing a smile to widen on her lips, hand cupping his cheeks. She stood close enough to take in his freckles, splattered on his cheeks and nose like a galaxy full of stars, telling a story of their own.

They love to leave you when you're down, but want to hitch a ride when you take flight

“Dean,” she murmured his name, eyes flickering back up to meet his. “Kiss me.”

It took him a second to snap into motion, unsure if (y/n) had truly asked him to kiss her. He kissed her with some kind of urgency she had never experienced before, communicating every emotion lingering in their system, the need they had buried years ago, praying that they’d find each other and their racing hearts some day.

Dean didn’t part from her, not as he closed the hood of Baby, not as he pushed (y/n) against the car. His hands wandered down her sides, burying his fingers in her clothed flesh to reassure himself that she was actually right there with him. Their tongues met, slow at first, not daring to rush the new sensation, though the second a soft moan rumbled through (y/n), Dean wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, forcefully tugging her even further against his body.

“I,” a heavy breath spluttered from her lips, followed by a soft chuckle. “I’ll always try to sacrifice myself for you, Dean. As long as you feel the need to protect me, I’ll feel the same need for you.”

A groan rumbled through Dean, forcing a throaty “We’ll talk about this later” from his plush lips before he kissed her once again. It felt as if they were guided by a poison, a spell unleashed upon their body and soul to force them closer. There was no running, no breaking from whatever had its grasp on their flesh cages, made for one another by the spirits guiding them.

“I reckon we’ll be here for a while, huh?” He watched her with twinkling eyes, how she tilted her head from left to right, making sure that they were alone – counting on the fact that no other car had passed them for the past hours – before she sank to her knees. The street felt cold beneath her clothed knees, making her awfully aware of the bruises that would soon form, and yet (y/n) would do it all again – just to see the surprise arise in Dean’s green pupils.

I know I'll find myself again if I just left this place, I hate feeling like I'm someone that I've never been before

“Christ, are you sure?” Dean’s murmurs only spurred her on, hands working on his belt, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans. She didn’t reply, at least not verbally. And all Dean could do was watch her spit into her palm, wrap her fingers around his cock and start pumping him. He didn’t hold back with his groans and moans, admiring her kneeling frame and the desperation swimming in her pupils.

“Can I?” He almost missed her whimper, mind focused on the feeling of her hand, how she added more pressure to her touch. And with a small nod shot her way, (y/n) parted her lips, sucking on the tip of his cock before she tried to take more of him. He felt heavy on her tongue, making the corners of her mouth burn, a feeling now engrained in her brain, forever remembering this very moment.

“Fuck, like that, should have known that you’re good at this.” Dean’s praises wrapped themselves around (y/n) like a blanket, keeping her warm and protected, even with the cold lingering on her exposed limbs like raindrops not daring to evaporate. Their eyes met every now and then, hers glassy, his full of secrets she eventually would uncover.

A galaxy was living inside the forest green eyes that stared down on her, making her homesick for a life they could have already been lived many months ago.

She pulled away for a moment, needing to catch her breath. A string of saliva dripped from her chin, a sight that would forever rush through his thoughts, making him hard just from thinking of (y/n) on her knees for him.

He twitched inside her mouth, begging her to keep up with the fast pace of her bobbing mouth and her pumping hands. Soon he’d fill her mouth, allowing her to taste him with moans spluttering from her lips, one with the emotions filling their bodies. Dean’s head rolled back as he came, pumping her mouth full with his release, forcing her to swallow every drop.

“I’ll never let you go again, I hope you know that.” Dean pulled (y/n) to her feet, lips crashing against hers. He could taste himself on her tongue, making an unfamiliar kind of pride arise in his system. “Get back into the car, I’m not done with you.”

I hate feeling like I'm someone that I've never been before, take me home to Carolina, I don't wanna be here anymore

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #supernatural imagine

229 notes · View notes

moicaire · 3 months ago

Text

It’s WIP Wednesday my dudes (AHHHHHHHH)

Thanks to @hircines-hunter for tagging me!

* * *

She started out the Riverwood gate at a jog, which quickly turned into a run. In the distance, smoke rose from the burnt city. Where had the horrid creature gone? Was he going to return to Helgen? Move upward to Riverwood, to Whiterun? Divines forbid. Aeilif ran as fast as her worn footwraps would allow. The cold wind stung her face and her throat but the urgency pushed her forward.

“Hold up.” The guard standing at the gate of the city stepped in front of the door. “The city is closed, with the attack on Helgen and all. No one can come in.”

“Have news… about Helgen,” Aeilif heaved. “Need to speak to the jarl. Now.”

The guard looked her up and down. “Gods, you were there, weren’t you? Get inside.” He fumbled with the bar on the gate and let her in. “Is it true? Was it really a dragon?”

Aeilif nodded. “A dragon.” Without waiting for a response, she tore up the road towards Dragonsreach. She repeated the explanation to the guards as she ran by. They let her pass.

The Whiterun court all turned and stared as she burst into the hall, breathing hard, covered in ash, disheveled from her flight from Riverwood. The housecarl immediately rose and stood in front of her, hand on her weapon.

“Who are you and what is your business here, woman?”

“The Jarl. I need to speak to the Jarl. Helgen—I came from Helgen,” Aeilif panted.

“Anything you need to tell the Jarl you can say to me,” the elf woman said suspiciously.

“No. Let her come,” the Jarl instructed. With a glare, the housecarl moved to the side with a nod. Aeilif crept up the stairs and stood in front of the throne. “Now. What is it you were saying about Helgen?”

“The attack on Helgen—it was a dragon. I barely escaped with my life. The town was utterly destroyed.”

The hall, previously filled with the light chatter of servants and court members around the long table, fell dead silent. A cup clattered to the floor and the sound echoed over the roof beams.

“A dragon… so it’s true,” Jarl Balgruuf growled. “Divines have mercy. First the war, now this. Can our walls withstand such a beast?”

“I don’t know. But Riverwood is in danger,” Aeilif blurted. “The dragon could be headed there next.”

“Very well. We must act at once. Irileth. Send some of the men over to Riverwood. We need to be prepared for anything,” the Jarl said, turning to his housecarl. She nodded curtly and rushed toward the door. “As for you,” he continued, turning back to Aeilif, “You have gone to great lengths to bring this warning. Whiterun and myself are in your debt. In the meantime, you are welcome at to rest at the inn. Speak to me tomorrow and I will reward you for this. Proventus, with me.” He rose from the throne and exited the hall. Aeilif found herself alone once again.

As she caught her breath and opened the door back into Whiterun, the reality of the situation came over her in a wave. She was alone here, with no money, and all her supplied destroyed in the fire. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and the axe she had taken from Helgen, and the small meal she had received from Gerdur. She found a couple of coins in the pocket of the Stormcloak gambeson, but it was not even enough for a meal at the inn, much less a room. Aeilif sighed, and slowly headed back down the steps to the center below. She sat on a bench under the tree. It wasn’t as if she could go back to the palace and ask the Jarl for coin. A trip back to Riverwood seemed to be the only option, but the sun was creeping towards the horizon. It was not a safe journey to make in the dark. She couldn’t help but think about that same fateful journey that Halbjorn had taken, that one awful evening. I miss you, Halbjorn, she thought. You would know what to do.

#oc Aeilif #skyrim #tesv #tesblr #skyrim oc #shhhhh yes it’s just the main darned quest

5 notes · View notes

amaurotine-daydreaming · 1 year ago

Text

VII. Noisome

“You like gysahl greens very much. Yes, very much. Just as the hunters told me.”

The chocobo at the Vath’s side chirped and dipped its head once more. Bracing the vegetable with one of its taloned feet, it tore off another broad leaf with its beak. The Vath stroked its soft flank as it continued observing its companion.

“They call me the Birdkeeper now,” the Vath said. “I am happy to have a name, yes, very happy. But you are strange for a bird.”

A big brown eye swiveled toward the Vath Birdkeeper quizzically, then went back to its meal.

“You have the feathers and the wings, but you cannot fly,” the Vath Birdkeeper explained. That eye swiveled to them once more, a bit more balefully.

“Perhaps that is rude,” the Vath Birdkeeper amended, chastened. It moved its claw from the bird’s flank to its wing, smoothing down the ruffled feathers there. “You must forgive us for saying so. Indeed, please forgive us. You do not need to fly. For that we have our kongamatos.”

The chocobo relaxed, soothed by its master’s hand, and with a soft trill nudged the Vath Birdkeeper’s head with its own. The Vath Birdkeeper in turn clicked its mandibles, relieved. These birds were very understanding creatures, it had come to understand, but it had also come to recognize the guilt and sorrow it felt when upsetting them. Such feelings were alien when it was part of the Onemind.

“The hunters tell me we must choose a name for you,” the Vath Birdkeeper told its friend. “We find this difficult—very difficult. We have only just found our own name. We do not know how to name others yet.”

The current bunch of gysahl greens was now down to a nub no bigger than a large fruit. The chocobo tossed the last mouthful into the air and caught it, its gullet working as it slid down its throat. The Vath Birdkeeper patted it, impressed.

“The Vath come to these decisions because of a skill. A very special skill. The Storyteller, The Kintamer, The Deftarm.”

The chocobo chirped. The Vath Birdkeeper found these strange, flightless birds to be very good listeners.

“We hope you will like the name we give you. Since you cannot choose it yourself, we are told. But we do not know much about you yet. Only that you are a cho-co-bo. But all your kind share this name, yes?”

Another chirp. The chocobo craned its neck around and tucked its beak into its feathers, grooming.

The Vath Birdkeeper nodded. “Such is the way of the Onemind. It is the way of the Vath to be individual, and this is what we wish for you, too.”

The red earth of the Forelands was taking on an even more fiery hue, and the shadows were growing long. As its companion went about its after-meal preening, the Vath Birdkeeper reached up and adjusted the saddle and its straps, checking that it was resting comfortably and securely.

“Something you are skilled at…” the Vath Birdkeeper mused, next checking the straps on the simple pack and bedroll behind the saddle’s cantle. “You are very skilled at eating these greens. Indeed, very skilled.” The Birdkeeper peered around to where its companion’s head was still tucked. “Maybe we will give you the name Greenseater,” it ventured.

The chocobo lifted its head, stretched its neck forward, and gave a short, shrill retort.

The Vath Birdkeeper winced. “I see. You do not like the name. Well, we are–” it tilted its head, hesitant, “I am–not called the Namegiver, and it seems this is for a reason.”

It gently inspected the reins on its companion’s beak. “But you and I will come to an amicable solution, yes? An amicable solution.”

The chocobo bobbed its head. As the Vath Birdkeeper stood there, lost in the dilemma of a suitable name, its companion scratched its talons against the earth restlessly and prodded at the dirt.

“You are also very good at finding things in the soil. Perhaps… Earthdigger.”

The chocobo eyed them.

The Vath Birdkeeper’s shoulders slumped and its head bowed. “We will think on it further while we are on the road. Come.”

The chocobo obligingly knelt, and up into the saddle the Vath Birdkeeper swung. Its feet still scrabbled a bit at the stirrups, but it was careful not to accidentally scratch its friend, as it had done the first time the kind hunters at Tailfeather had tried to show them how to ride.

“You know the gysahl green, but do you know about the others?” the Vath Birdkeeper asked, as they left the shelter of the forest for the open expanse of the Wastes. It nudged the chocobo’s flank and gently tugged on the reins, directing attention to a cluster of sprigs poking out of the ground a few paces away. Though the Wastes were very dry, the long leaves shone as if they were wet with rain.

“This one is called silver dew. The dragons find it noisome, yes, very noisome. We light our censers to keep them away.” The Vath Birdkeeper looked to the open sky, clicking its mandibles. “We appear to dragons a tasty snack. A tasty, savory snack. Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside. We find this thought distressing, so very distressing.”

The chocobo shifted its gait, sensing its rider’s unease. A boon of these birds was how well they came to understand both words and nonverbal gestures, but the Vath Birdkeeper had to remind itself now to still its nervous clicking. Being able to understand a Vath’s feelings, the Birdkeeper thought, was not always helpful for either of them.

“We will protect you from the dragons with this noisome silver dew,” it said, patting its companion’s neck. “They will not take you for a snack if you smell of it.”

Its companion whistled happily, and although the bird’s strides lengthened as they traveled, the pace remained leisurely. Similarly more at ease, not least of which because of a sky unclouded by any Dravanians looking for a meal, the Vath Birdkeeper took in its surrounds with a more inquisitive eye.

It had always known these lands, but the idea of stopping and looking at this place for its beauty–or for anything that wasn’t food or a threat to the Onemind–remained new, even moons on. Every day, it found new things to simply look at, and marvel. It was glad its boon companion also had an appetite for the sights of the world, for even short journeys tended to become twice as long with the Vath Birdkeeper in the saddle.

The sun was only halfway behind the mountains, its light slanting long, and so the Birdkeeper consoled itself that the Vath of the guild could at least not scold them for arriving home from their journey after dark again.

The setting sun’s orange hues reflected off of the Vath’s carapace, but its companion seemed to simply absorb the color, lending its feathers a fiery glow.

“Sunkeeper?” the Vath Birdkeeper asked, surprised by the serendipity of inspiration. “Your feathers shine like the sun, they are so very golden and beautiful. Like you have captured the rays in your coat.

“If you do not mind sharing part of a name,” it added. “The hunters share names sometimes. They have a special word for it. We think it is ser-names. They put them in the front on some occasions, as with ‘Ser Jantellot.’ It is clearly respectful, yes, very respectful. But we have noticed that the ones who share names placed at the end are very close, like family.”

The Birdkeeper’s companion did something unusual then: it wiggled, its feathers puffed out not with displeasure or anxiety but with pride.

“Kweh!” it trilled.

“Sunkeeper,” the Vath Birdkeeper nodded, satisfied that its companion was satisfied. “Your name will be Sunkeeper.”

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #vath

30 notes · View notes

metalmonki · 1 year ago

Text

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love (Revisited) Part 2

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

4.5k word count

Summary After completely ignoring Deans warning you find yourself reunited with the Winchesters after a perplexing case brings them back down under.

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

Warnings mention and description of death

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

It's been a year since I met the Winchesters. I tried to return to my old life, but the knowledge that there were creatures out there that could kill me at any moment made it impossible to concentrate. So, I decided to hit the road. I packed my most important belongings into my car and left everything else at my mom's. I dropped out of university and began searching for other hunters. The Winchesters didn’t leave me a how-to guide on hunting monsters, so I had to figure it out on my own. I traveled far and wide, leaving messages for hunters wherever I could—monster books in libraries, notice boards, online chat rooms, you name it. After two months of relentless searching, I was finally contacted by a guy named Johnny. Johnny owned a roadhouse near Broken Hill, one of the few hubs for hunters. He gave me a list of known hunters' hubs, a list of essential tools, and a job to get me started. "An easy find and burn," he said. He advised me to call him for jobs for now and assured me that I would gradually learn how to find my own hunts. And that's how I ended up on the job I'm working today.

I had driven through the night to get back to Sydney, to the suburb of Blacktown where my story began. It was the first time I'd been back since everything that happened with the boys. This time, a similar case had brought me back: a ghost causing accidents at the local pool, leading to 11 deaths so far. Something needed to be done soon. The latest incident occurred just a week before. A paraplegic kid had seemingly stood up from her wheelchair, climbed onto a diving board, and dove headfirst onto the cement below. The ghost was escalating its attacks, putting this case at the top of my list. Before tackling the case, though, I needed to rest. I decided to book into a hotel, take a hot shower, eat, and sleep. I had only enough money for one night, so I found a cheap hotel close to the pool with vacancies and pulled in. As I parked and hopped out of my car, a certain vehicle caught my eye. Everything else was quickly forgotten as I ran to the room the car was parked in front of. I stopped to catch my breath before knocking on the door.

"Well, well, look who we have here," Dean said, crossing his arms with a smirk as he opened the door.

"Hey, Dean," I smiled.

"Y/N, is that you?" Sam asked, appearing behind Dean.

"In the flesh," I replied. "What brings you two back to town?"

"We're working this case," Dean explained. "A friend of ours called after getting a tip from a hunter here—some ghost killing a bunch of people at a pool."

"What a coincidence. I'm working that case too. It's been on my radar for the last three months, but it's really ramped up in the last month, so I figured I should probably get my ass back here and take care of it."

"I thought I told you to stay away from all this," Dean suddenly snapped, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"I tried, Dean. I really did. But I couldn't shake it. I was second-guessing everything and everyone, and I felt like I needed to do this to feel safe," I said, recoiling at his words.

"I told you there were other people like us doing this job so you could be safe. Trust me, this isn't the life you want."

"You packed up and went back to the States. You left me here where there are barely any hunters. What did you expect me to do?" I snapped back.

"I expected you to listen to me!" Dean yelled, jabbing a finger toward the ground.

I flinched away from Dean, and he immediately noticed. The regret on his face was clear. He tried reaching out to touch my arm, but I moved back. Sighing, he stepped aside, allowing me into the room. Sam motioned for me to come over to the sole table where he was working on his laptop. Dean, meanwhile, moved to sit on his bed on the opposite side of the room. Sam ran me through everything they had found so far. He mentioned a friend of theirs named Bobby, who had been contacted by a local hunter overwhelmed by the case. It was something I had noticed too, and it had only motivated me more to become a hunter. Over the past year, I had been taking on the harder cases that other hunters struggled with. I had made contacts at all the hunters’ roadhouses in Australia and had hardly had a day to myself since. I told Sam about Johnny, a name he instantly recognized. Apparently, Johnny had been the one to call Bobby, requesting the boys' help after many other hunters had come up short.

"What have you found so far?" I asked Sam.

"Well, the earliest accident recorded at the pool was two months after it opened," Sam replied.

"I found that too during my initial research. She was running, slipped on the wet floor, and got impaled on a sign pole. Not a nice way to go, but it doesn't seem like something to create a vengeful spirit," I said.

"My thoughts exactly," Sam sighed. "But I can't find anything about the place being built on a burial ground or sacred site or anything."

"So, what you're saying is there's no reason for these deaths to be ramping up at this joint?" Dean finally joined the conversation.

"Well, none we can find," I said. "This is why I've avoided the case for so long. Every time I've looked into it, I haven't been able to find a reason. Nothing I know of could be causing this, nothing Johnny knows of could be causing this. Maybe Bobby might know something?"

"I'll call him," Sam sighed.

Sam grabbed his phone and left the room. I looked at Dean in confusion. We were working this case together, so why would Sam leave? Dean mumbled something about Sam thinking best when he was walking around. I just shrugged and stayed at the table, waiting for Sam to come back. Dean and I fell into an uncomfortable silence. I knew he wasn't happy with me being here and giving everything up to become a hunter, but I didn’t see any other choice. I understood the dangers; I knew a hunter's life was often short. But if it meant making a difference while I was still here, then so be it. Dean needed to understand this.

"Dean..."

"Save it. I know I won't be able to change your mind, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you leave my side," Dean said, looking over at me. "I wanted to save you from this life. I wanted you to walk away and never look back. I don't want you to end up broken like me."

"It's not like I have anything to lose. My father abandoned me, my mother and I barely talk, and I don’t exactly have any other family. Just friends, and as far as they know, I came into a small fortune and I'm off traveling the world," I sighed.

"Sounds like every hunter origin story I've heard before," Dean chuckled coldly.

"Why? What's your story?" I asked.

"Mum died, Dad abandoned us, then he died. I'm one of the lucky ones, though, because I got Sammy. And I guess now I have your dumbass to look out for too," Dean smiled at me.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," I laughed.

"Oh, it is. You're a pain in my ass," Dean laughed too.

"Who, me? Nah, I'm delightful."

Sam walked back into the room, greeted by the sight of Dean and me laughing our asses off, a stark contrast to how he had left us. He looked between us before awkwardly starting to explain that Bobby would investigate the situation, contact some other hunters in the area, and call Sam back if he found anything. Until then, Dean decided it would be best if we grabbed some food and called it a night. Dean left Sam and me to clean up the table while he went to get what he called the world’s smallest McDonald’s burgers. Sam and I just shook our heads at him and continued to tidy up. We talked about what the guys had been up to since they were last here and everything I had done. Sam was quite impressed at how quickly I had learned to spot signs of the supernatural and my ability to research and handle problems. It turned out they had heard from Bobby about a badass new hunter on the scene out here, but they had no clue it was me. It didn’t take us long to clean off the table, and soon Dean returned with the food. He dumped the bags on the table and began tossing burgers at each of us, cursing when he reached for the fries and found they had all fallen out in the bag. Sam and I shook our heads at Dean and started on our burgers while he fixed the fries. After we had eaten, we all agreed to get some sleep while waiting for Bobby to get back to us. Sam went off to shower first while Dean kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. I, on the other hand, moved toward the door, planning to book my room for the night.

"Where are you staying?" Dean suddenly asked, stopping me in my tracks.

"Going to book a room for tonight, then probably sleep in my car until this is over. Why?" I turned back towards Dean.

"You can't be serious."

"Well, normally I'd loo or a free campground, but we're in the middle of a city. Luckily, I recently found this really cool inflatable bed thing. You move the seats forward, put it in the back seat, and it acts like a real bed. It's actually pretty comfortable," I rambled.

"Like hell you're sleeping in your car. Take my bed, and I'll take the couch," Dean grumbled, getting up from his bed. "Besides, it saves you the money you'd spend on a room for a single night."

"Dean, I can't kick you to the lounge again," I sighed.

"Nonsense. Hunters need a safe place to sleep."

"We don’t exactly get paid, Dean. I do odd jobs in the towns I’m in between or sometimes even during hunts, just to get enough to eat and to put fuel in my car. I can’t afford a hotel room."

"And that’s where credit card scams come in," Dean smirked.

"How? I mean, you’d need fake IDs and birth certificates, not to mention the limits. Eventually, they’d cut the card off."

"Bobby hooks us up with a whole host of fake IDs—cops, FBI, CIA, you name it. The trick with credit cards is to get the card with the highest limit. For instance, a card with a $10,000 limit before repayments are needed. Use it for the case, and before you get out of dodge, withdraw the remaining amount. That way, when they come looking for Mr. Hector Rodriguez, it looks like he never left town."

"Jesus, Dean, that’s insane."

"That’s the life," Dean shrugged, making himself comfy on the lounge.

I took off my shoes and made myself comfortable on the bed while waiting for Sam to finish with the shower. I had planned to use the bathroom to change, but I must have been more tired than I realized because I nodded off. I woke up the next morning to an empty room and noticed that Dean’s Impala was gone too. They must have heard back from Bobby and headed off to chase a lead. It kind of sucked that they didn’t wake me up first, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, mostly for background noise, before heading to my car to grab a change of clothes. With clothes in hand, I went to the bathroom for a shower. I always found that the shower was the best place to organize my day. I turned the water on, cranking up the heat until it was almost unbearable. As the shower screen fogged up, I began to write out my plan for the day. First, I needed to find some breakfast, then I needed to locate the guys. The problem was, I didn’t have either of their numbers and wasn’t keen on driving aimlessly around the city to find them. After washing up, I begrudgingly turned off the water. As I reached for a towel, I was horrified to realize there were only two towels in the bathroom. I rummaged through the room but found no additional towels. I returned to the bathroom, eyeing the two towels on the rack. At this point, I was almost dry, so I grabbed the obviously unused towel and quickly dried myself off, hanging the towel back as neatly as possible when I was done. Once I was dressed and dry, I grabbed my phone and keys before heading out to my car. I was honestly surprised that Dean had managed to pick out which car was his and which was mine. The engine roared to life as I settled into the driver's seat. I drove to McDonald's to grab a breakfast deal. After I got my food, I figured I might as well continue investigating the case on my own. As I waited in the drive-through, I pulled out my phone to continue my research. It was then that I noticed a text message from Dean, which caught me off guard since I hadn’t saved his number.

Hey sleeping beauty, when you get this, give me a call. If I don’t answer, I put Sammy’s number in your phone too.

I chuckled to myself before dialing the number. After a few rings, Dean picked up.

"Hey, enjoy your sleep?" Dean laughed.

"It was great, thank you. Your bed is very comfy."

"At least someone’s enjoying my bed," Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, you should really try it sometime. It's so comfy and warm, it would put you straight to sleep," I taunted.

"Pfft, who needs an awesome bed when they have a perfect lounge to sleep on?"

"Where are you anyway?" I laughed on the phone.

"About to head to the pool," Dean sighed. "We’ve exhausted the library. They have nothing on the pool that we didn’t already know, so the only place left is the pool."

"Have fun with that. I’m just getting breakfast. Oh, and here it comes!" I squealed, winding down the window.

"Yeah, yeah, stuff your face then get your ass over here," Dean chuckled, hanging up.

I took my food with a thank you before pulling into the parking lot. After parking my car, I started on my breakfast. It didn’t take me long to finish, and I tossed my rubbish into a nearby bin before heading to the pool. When I arrived, I parked towards the back of the lot and went inside. It annoyed me more than it should have that I had to pay to enter the pool, even though I had no intention of swimming. It felt weird paying just to watch, but being on my own, it seemed the only option. I walked down the ramp into the main pool area, which featured a wave pool, a splash pool, and two 25-meter pools. It wasn’t overly busy, so it didn’t take more than a quick glance to spot Sam and Dean. It also helped that they were the only people in the building in suits. They were standing near the wave pool controls, talking to a lifeguard. As I started making my way towards them, I was suddenly halted by the sound of a giggle. It was a giggle I would recognize anywhere, sending an ice-cold shiver down my spine. I almost turned around and fled back to my car, intending to wait for Sam and Dean to finish. The only thing that stopped me was Dean spotting me and giving me a wink, which caused the lifeguard to look over her shoulder towards me. I squared my shoulders, held my head high, and walked over to them. Upon reaching them, however, my mouth started spilling out words before my brain could catch up.

"Hey, babe," I said, leaning against Dean's side. "I thought I’d come for a swim while you take care of things, but I don’t have any swimwear." I winced inwardly at the cringe-worthy line.

"Oh, hi Rachel! Haven’t seen you since graduation. Still lifeguarding, I see?" I greeted, trying to mask my awkwardness.

"Y/N, yes, I am. It pays quite well. How did you end up with such a handsome man?" Rachel asked, crossing her arms and giving me a disapproving look.

"Well, as you probably heard, I’ve been traveling the world, and during a trip through America, I found this handsome man," I said, smiling up at Dean.

"Lucky you," Rachel scoffed.

"Yeah, lucky me," I replied, still smiling at Dean.

"Anyway, baby, here’s my card. Go get yourself some swimwear and have a good time," Dean said, handing me a card.

"Thank you," I said, taking the card and giving Dean a quick peck on the cheek before darting off.

As I was leaving, I heard Dean say, "Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask all the staff about the incident."

I went to the main counter and bought a swimsuit—one of the things I had left behind when I packed up and left, thinking I’d never use it again. With the swimsuit in hand, I headed back to find Sam and Dean to return Dean's card, thank him for his help, and apologize for putting him on the spot. As I wandered back into the main pool area, I quickly spotted Dean standing at the edge of the splash pool, talking to a lifeguard. Just as I was about to approach him, a hand suddenly came down on my shoulder. I jumped and spun around, ready to punch whoever had touched me.

"Wow, easy there," Sam chuckled.

"Sam, why would you do that?" I slapped him on the chest.

"I didn’t mean to scare you. Just figured I should fill you in before you blow our cover story any further."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I muttered, dropping my head.

"Oh, it’s fine. No harm done," Sam smiled. "Anyway, we were researching the deaths this morning, and one of the victims was a young girl on holiday from America. So Dean and I decided to come in and ask some questions, posing as representatives from the American Embassy investigating on behalf of the parents."

"That’s actually pretty smart. I’ll go change into these swimmers and stay out of your way. Also, can you give Dean back his card?" I handed it to Sam. "I feel kinda bad for taking it."

"Well, it’s not our money anyway, so nothing to feel bad about," Sam smirked.

I laughed at Sam's comment and walked away with a wave towards the female changing room. Only two other people were in the changing room when I walked in—two young girls, probably no older than 18. It seemed they had just finished their swim and were getting ready to shower and change. I ducked into an empty changing booth on the opposite side of the room from them. They were giggling and whispering between themselves as I walked by. If only they knew what was happening here, what was happening in the world. I quickly slipped into the swimsuit—no easy feat when both you and the suit are as dry as the Sahara Desert. Just as I bundled my clothes in my arms and was about to open the door, the room was suddenly filled with a blood-curdling scream. I dropped my clothes and threw open the door. One of the girls from earlier was now pressed up against the wall on the opposite side of the room, while the other lay motionless on the floor.

I ran over to the girl on the floor and dropped down by her side, assessing her for any signs of life. She was gone; her neck was clearly broken. Standing up, I walked over to the other girl as more people began pushing their way into the bathroom. Sam and Dean were among them. Seeing the scene, they began pushing people back and asking for someone to call emergency services. I took the other girl into my arms, shielding her face from the horrific sight and encouraging her to look away. I nodded to Sam and Dean, knowing they would need to leave the building quickly but quietly while I stayed behind to answer questions. I tried to ask the girl what had happened, but all I could get was the word "why," spoken in a whisper between sobs. I just held her, rubbing circles into her back while waiting for help to arrive.

It felt like forever, but it was probably no more than 15 minutes before the police and ambulance arrived. The police stood back, allowing the paramedics to do their work. Once the paramedics confirmed there was nothing they could do for the girl on the floor, they turned their attention to her friend. They checked her over and then escorted her to a waiting ambulance. The police followed, making sure I stayed put in the room. Returning to where I had discarded my clothes, I gathered them up and sat on the bench running the length of the room. Holding my clothes to my chest, I suddenly felt naked in the now-empty room. It wasn’t the first time I had seen a dead body, and living the life I chose, I knew it wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t make it any less jarring. The absolute stillness of her body, the lack of the normal rise and fall of her chest, the absence of any movement, the fading pink hue of her skin—it was all so stark, so sudden. I closed my eyes and prayed she went quickly.

The quiet of the room was soon broken by the arrival of crime scene techs and coroners. They completely ignored my presence and went about their tasks, examining the deceased girl and the room. The only interaction I had was with a woman who came over and asked for my clothes. Confused, I asked why, since they hadn't been near the girl. She insisted it was needed just in case and that they would get them back to me as soon as possible. Reluctantly, I handed over my clothes and filled out the paperwork she provided. With no other address to use, I gave her my mother's address for the return of my clothes.

I watched as the coroner bagged the girl's body and removed it from the room while the techs continued to take pictures and discuss their theories about what had happened. Eventually, after what must have been 30 minutes, the police returned to the room to speak with me. They asked a flurry of questions that blurred together: Did you know the victim? No. Did you see what happened? No. Do you know Samantha? Was that the other girl? No. What were you doing here? Changing to swim. On and on, question after question. They questioned me for over an hour. It felt like a waste of their time, as I had nothing to offer—they were asking a witness who hadn’t witnessed anything. Before they let me go, I asked what Samantha had said about the incident. They gave me the usual response: they couldn’t divulge much but assured me that the investigation would reveal the truth.

I thanked the officers and left the room. I fell into a sort of autopilot. Before I knew it, I was out of the pool, in my car, and back at the hotel, with no recollection of the drive. I parked next to Dean’s Impala. As soon as I shut off the engine, I began to shake uncontrollably. I took a few shaky breaths, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I climbed out of the car and walked to the room door, knocking and waiting for someone to answer. When the door finally opened, it was Dean standing there.

“They took my clothes,” was all I managed to say before the weight of the day hit me. In the year I had been working cases, I had never seen a dead body or witnessed someone die. I had only read about it, keeping a safe distance from the true horrors. The only dead body I had seen before this was my grandmother’s, and I had hoped she would be the only person I would have to see die in my lifetime. Today’s events had dredged up all those memories and emotions I had tried so hard to bury.

As I broke down, Dean pulled me into the room and shut the door. He wrapped his arms around me, offering a safe, warm refuge where I could finally let my emotions flow.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #castiel #castiel x reader #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam x reader

33 notes · View notes

berylcluster · 1 month ago

Note

"i see you ." (Ingvar and the unintentionally ominous introduction, for Dean, from this meme — responding to something he said to himself, perhaps?)

➫ HE hasn’t traveled far from the car, they’re supposed to go deep into these mountains but Dean hasn’t been outside flat rural in ages so he feels the itch to explore. Sam and he are on a mission to find whatever creature has been saving the unlucky travelers who venture out this far into the mountain range and happen to veer off the side of the paved road. The local police and investigators couldn’t figure it out so the next best thing was a hunter. They had debated it all the way up to this part of the mountain, angel or something else.

In fact, they were in a bit of a fight about it, thus why they decided to split up, at least until they found what they were looking for. Dean had traveled down the side of the paved road, steep and covered in trees, but you could see where cars had carved out imprints in the mountain side. He thinks briefly they should be thanking this thing, in his opinion an angel, instead of bringing it out and hunting it. With a swing of his flashlight, Dean starts talking to himself, as you do on a creepy mountainside. “It’s so damn dark, how are we supposed to find anything? SEE anything?”

Until he hears the most eerie response to his questions, and it’s not his little brother. Dean shines his light on what he thinks is a tree, and he sees a face. His face contorts into horror and he stumbles a bit on the steep slope he’s on. “JESUS - fucking sweet Christ!” He nearly screams, the light running all around while he tries to catch his balance so he doesn’t get the clearest view of this thing. “What the FUCK.” He lands on his ass, staring up at where the voice had come from.

#riiese #one of those quarter fortune machines; asks #☆: dean winchester #excuse his potty mouth ingvar he’s a little startled

4 notes · View notes

lady-wallace · 2 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 5: Sunburn

Vampire AU whump for today's @whumptober prompt!

A/N: This fic is set between the stories "Hunter's Moon" and "Confessions and Revelations" but you don't have to have read any of the series to enjoy this since it can standalone.

Prompt: Sunburn, healing salve Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5 (Vampire Hunter AU) Character: Bucciarati

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

The Violence In Daylight

Bruno falls afoul of some people who are not happy to have a vampire poking around, so they try to see how much sunlight he can really take.

~~~~~~~

Bruno gritted his teeth as he was dragged across the ground with the silver chains wrapped around his body. Two men walked on either side of him with pitchforks to make sure he didn’t try to escape—as if he could.

This was not how he had intended the night to go. Suspicion of some sort of supernatural creature killing livestock had led him out to the country to investigate, but the farmers had been less than pleased to see that the Hunter they had called in was a vampire himself.

He could deal with the prejudice—it would always be there and he could agree that it would look suspicious for a vampire to show up when a vampire was a suspected culprit, but the genuine hostility had surprised him.

No sooner had he started his nighttime investigation earlier that night than the men from the village had come to confront him.

“Another sheep was slaughtered tonight,” one of the farmers said grimly. “You have anything to do with that?”

Bruno straightened from where he had been inspecting tracks, remaining calm in order to hopefully defuse the situation. “Whose farm was attacked this time?”

The men didn’t reply. “You know well enough, fang. Now confess or we’ll start shooting. And before you ask, yes, we’ve come properly equipped.”

Several of the men raised guns, pointing them directly at the vampire.

Bruno held up a hand. “This doesn’t need to get out of hand. If you will allow me to show you what I’ve found during my investigation—”

“I asked for a confession, not excuses!”

Bruno pressed his lips flat. “Then you’re going to be disappointed, I’m afraid, because there’s nothing I have to—”

The blast, followed by the whizz of a bullet past Bruno’s ear, put an end to what little discussion had been happening. Silver or not, he didn’t really want to spend the rest of the evening digging bullets out of himself, so he took the only option he had and ran.

The men were after him like hounds after a fox, herding him to the outskirts of the property.

Bruno knew he could easily outrun them, would be able to get back to the main road where the coach waited, and hopefully the team could come back in the morning and defuse the situation.

That was the plan anyway, until his foot found a trap that had been set beneath the tall grass.

Bruno went down with a sharp cry, feeling the burn of silver digging into his flesh.

“He’s down! Get the chains.”

Before Bruno could act, two men rushed forward. They stripped him of his cloak and overcoat before they started wrapping silver chains around him, pinning his arms to his sides and trussing his legs. Bruno struggled, glowering balefully up at the men.

“How exactly do you expect me to investigate the killings if you have me like this?”

“Far as we’re concerned we have the culprit right here,” the man who seemed to be the appointed leader of the group said pointedly.

The trap around Bruno’s ankle was released and he gritted his teeth against the pain as he was dragged across the ground, the chains digging into his flesh. A trail of blood slid across the grass from his slowly bleeding ankle.

The men took him out to the pastures, toward an old cistern that seemed to have been dried up and out of use for a long time. Bruno was heaved unceremoniously over the side, falling with a painful grunt against the stone.

“You can stay there until you’re ready to confess to your crimes, fang. We’ll see how the morning sun loosens your lips—if there’s anything left of you.”

Several of the men spat on him as they left.

Bruno wriggled in the chains to see if there might be a weakness somewhere, but the men knew what they were doing, wrapping them too tightly to give him room for movement. At least they weren’t directly pressed against his skin, but he could still feel the uncomfortable burn through his clothes.

He knew it would be nothing compared to the sun once it came up. He had yet to feel the full effects of the daylight in his vampiric state, since he obviously tried to avoid going out during the day as much as possible and if he had to, he was always careful to wear his full cloak and carry an umbrella with him.

If the true culprit hadn’t already fed that night, Bruno might hold out hope that it would take another sheep and relieve him of the guilt the farmers had assigned him, but that was incredibly unlikely, and it looked like Bruno was going to have to either figure a way to get himself out of this, or wait for the others to realize something had happened.

He rolled back and forth to fully view his prison. The cistern itself wasn’t impossibly deep. He would be able to climb out of it if he wasn’t trussed like a roast chicken.

He wriggled again but the action only caused the chains to press harder against him, the burn more uncomfortable.

He finally gave up and took a breather. His ankle had stopped bleeding finally, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

He looked up at the sky. The moon was getting lower, he could barely see it now from where he lay. He probably had about three hours before dawn.

Bruno would just have to hope that he would have enough of a shadow to shelter in. He shouldn’t really have to worry until midday and hopefully by then his team would catch on that something was wrong.

The hours washed away as he continued to attempt to free himself. His struggles became more desperate as the sky started to lighten to a pale lavender, hailing the oncoming sun.

The first rays spread over the landscape and Bruno rolled to the side of the cistern that would be kept shaded the longest.

He watched with dread as the sun continued to rise, the bar of light dropping further and further down the stone wall on the opposite side of the cistern until it finally reached the ground.

Bruno turned to face the wall, trying to make himself as flat as possible. His skin prickled from the heat as the hour stretched on. The warmth was growing increasingly uncomfortable as his safe zone continued to vanish.

He eventually picked up the sounds of heartbeats approaching, and glanced up stiffly to see several of the farmers from the night before standing at the top of the cistern.

“Still alive, vamp?”

“He’s got too much shelter there,” one man commented, wielding a pitchfork. He knelt on the side of the cistern and used the pitchfork to prod at Bruno, catching the tines under the chains.

Bruno struggled as he was dragged away from the wall, while the men jeered.

The sun hit his face and shoulder in instant agony. He cried out and tried to jerk away from the pitchfork, but his struggle only caused the pointed tines to rip through his sleeve, leaving his arm bare to the light. Blisters instantly appeared where his skin was fully exposed.

“You ready to talk yet, fang?”

“I already told you,” Bruno gritted out. “I’m a Hunter, you’re wasting your time.”

“Way I see it, whether you’re the actual fang we’re looking for or not, it’s not a waste of time to do away with one of you,” the man said decisively, finally stating what Bruno had known all along.

The pitchfork was finally removed and Bruno wormed his way quickly back into the slim shadow, pressed himself against the cool stone as agony seared across his right side.

“Enjoy the shade while you can. Couple more hours and it will be gone,” the men said before they left.

Bruno moaned low in his throat, tilting to see his exposed arm. It was red and blistered and he clenched his teeth, knowing parts of his face and neck would be nearly as bad. They were right though, he wouldn’t have much longer before all the shadow was gone from inside the cistern.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the sun grew closer and closer, forcing him to press himself more and more flat against the side of the cistern until he could feel the heat against his back, burning through his clothes. No matter how much he shifted, he couldn’t escape it, the constant agony. He tried to curl as much as possible to hide his face, but the burn was maddening and he had to tell himself that giving in to his response for flight at the moment would only make it worse.

He eventually became aware of more heartbeats heading closer, but these were more familiar.

Bruno felt a surge of relief as he detected Mista’s scent above him.

“He’s here! I got him!” The gunman shouted, then, “Bucciarati!”

He jumped into the cistern and hunched his blessed shadow over Bruno.

“Hey, are you good?” the gunman asked as he crouched, reaching to touch Bruno’s shoulder.

Bruno flinched, his flesh so sensitive even the light touch was agony. “Get the chains off, Mista,” he croaked hoarsely.

More voices sounded overhead and Abbacchio was soon dropping down next to Mista, yanking his coat off.

“Holy shit, is he staked down?”

No, they just trussed him up. Here, I’ll hold that, maybe you’ll have better luck with these.”

Mista spread Abbacchio’s coat overhead to add more cover as Leone crouched, working at the chains. Bruno hissed as every movement pressed against his scorched skin, and Abbacchio pressed his lips together in frustration.

“They locked them, does anyone have anything to pick this?”

“I do,” Giorno’s voice came from above and he also jumped down. He handed off the umbrella he carried to Abbacchio and crouched swiftly, pulling a lock-pick set out of his pocket.

“Just a minute,” Giorno promised as he made short work of the lock and Bruno finally felt the chains loosen, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

Mista instantly helped him sit up and wrapped Abbacchio’s coat over his shoulders, turning the collar up and putting his hat on Bruno’s head.

“Ready to get him up?”

Leone nodded and Mista scrambled back up. Giorno handed him the umbrella and Mista took that in one hand to shield Bruno as Leone crouched and made a stirrup out of his hands. “I’ll do the work, just get your foot in here.”

Bruno weakly managed to get his uninjured foot into Abbacchio’s hands and the hunter raised him high enough for Mista to grab and help out of the cistern.

Abbacchio and Giorno climbed out as well and helped Bruno to his feet, tucking his arms over their shoulders as Giorno held the umbrella over them.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to get here,” the dhampir apologized. “We didn’t even get back to the house until an hour ago. We caught the vampire who’s been eating the livestock—he was newly turned and has agreed to pay for the damages.”

Bruno nodded, exhausted but glad the case was at least solved. “I’m glad it was you that found him. The farmers would not have gone so easy.”

“Bastards,” Abbacchio muttered.

“I misjudged their prejudice,” Bruno admitted. “But it’s over now.”

They got to their waiting carriage and Bruno gratefully sank into the dark interior. Giorno made sure the windows were closed tightly as Abbacchio lowered Bruno into the bench.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

Bruno cringed as he settled, not having realized just how much he hurt. “I’m not sure. My whole back stings.”

“Narancia and Trish already headed into the village to buy supplies for salve,” Giorno said. “I’ll treat your burns when we get back.”

Bruno nodded gratefully and rested carefully into the corner of the carriage, the darkness soothing his pounding headache.

Once they got back to the cottage, Narancia and Trish came to greet them with worry.

“Bucciarati! Are you okay?” Narancia asked and his and Trish’s eyes went wide upon seeing him.

Giorno held the umbrella over him as Leone helped him limp inside.

“I’ll be better once I’m out of the sun,” Bruno replied weakly.

The two hurried back inside ahead of them.

“We made up the salve—I used Fugo’s recipe,” Narancia said.

“And I tore up some fresh bandages as well,” Trish added.

“Good,” Giorno replied. “Thank you.”

Abbacchio helped Bruno to his room and settled him carefully on the bed.

“Let me look at your ankle first,” he said.

Bruno nodded and Abbacchio knelt and helped him off with his boots. Bruno gritted his teeth against the pain. His ankle had swollen, making it hard to get the boot off, but Leone eased it out carefully and prodded the area.

“Nothing’s broken. I’ll make up a saline bath to soak it.”

By the time he had gotten the foot bath ready, Giorno came in with the salve and bandages, setting the tray on Bruno’s bedside table.

“Do you need any help?” Abbacchio asked.

“I think I’ve got it,” Giorno said.

Abbacchio nodded. “Let that soak for about five minutes. I’ll be back to get the water.”

Giorno nodded. “He’s going to need fresh blood.”

Abbacchio pursed his lips but gave a sharp nod. “Alright.”

He left the room as Giorno rolled up his sleeves and reached out to help Bruno unbutton his waistcoat and shirt.

Bruno hissed as the material scraped across his burns. Giorno had a grim look on his face as he slowly eased Bruno’s arms out of the sleeves.

“These look incredibly painful,” he said.

“It would have been worse if you hadn’t gotten there when you did,” Bruno replied.

Giorno turned to the tray and took up the pot of salve and some of the clean bandages, folding them into a pad that he dipped into the salve.

“Let me start with your face. Luckily you only have some blistering around your chin.”

Bruno tilted his head back to let his hair fall away from his face and squeezed his eyes shut as Giorno worked. His head was still pounding and he was honestly feeling a little queasy.

Giorno moved steadily down his neck and to his shoulder and right arm which were the worst. He was extremely careful on the blistered parts but the pain was still enough to make Bruno’s nausea even worse.

“I guess I underestimated how bad it really was,” Bruno huffed a wry laugh. “Even in my years Hunting, I haven’t really seen first-hand what sunlight does to a vampire.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Giorno commented.

Bruno was silent for a moment, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from making any sounds of pain, before he asked. “Have you ever been burned this badly?”

Giorno worked in silence for a few seconds before he replied. “Once. I…my stepfather was upset with me and he chained me by my ankle outside so I couldn’t move when the sun was at its height. Dhampirs don’t burn as quickly, but we still feel the effects from prolonged exposure.”

Bruno felt yet more fury for his younger teammate and how terrible his childhood had been. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I survived,” Giorno shrugged and moved on to Bruno’s back.

The salve was providing a cooling sensation to his burns that was taking the edge off of the constant pain.

“There we go,” Giorno finally said, setting the salve aside. “Now for the bandages.”

He wrapped the linen loosely around Bruno’s arm and torso and though he was still uncomfortable, he wasn’t in nearly as much pain.

Giorno finished by dabbing Bruno’s injured ankle dry and bandaging that as well.

By the time he had finished, Abbacchio returned with a glass of blood and a fresh bandage around his arm. He handed the glass to Bruno who tried not to let his eagerness show at the smell of the blood, his stomach twisting sickly.

“How is he?” Leone asked Giorno.

“Nothing too severe, but we should apply the salve twice a day for a few days. Other than that, just rest and fresh blood,” He turned back to Bruno. “You’ll probably feel nauseous for a while from the sun poisoning, but that should wear off by tomorrow.”

Bruno nodded and sipped at the blood Abbacchio had given him. “Thank you. I’m still learning all of my new weaknesses.”

“This one was hardly your fault,” Leone growled. “Those bastards deserved to lose their livestock.”

“They’re just ignorant,” Bruno said tiredly. “Hopefully someday they will see that vampires aren’t really that far from humans after all.”

He finished the blood and felt quite exhausted. Giorno helped him to lay comfortably on his stomach before he cleaned up the medical supplies.

“Let us know if you need anything. I’ll let you rest for now and be back to change your bandages tonight.”

Bruno hummed tiredly as Abbacchio picked up the footbath and followed Giorno out of the room.

His eyes were already sliding shut and he drifted off in the cool dark interior of his room, grateful for the team he had made.

#whumptober2024 #no.5 #sunburn #healing salve #jojo's bizarre adventure #fanfic #jjba part 5 #vampire hunter au #vampire bruno bucciarati #bucciarati whump #vampire whump

3 notes · View notes

ninapi · 1 year ago

Text

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Premise: The last option to overcome the illness that holds you was very much uncertain. A place only known to be a myth became your last chance to survive. Welcome to the fox village, a place full of mystical beings, a place to finally call home, a place where love knocks in more than one door at the same time and choosing which to open might as well change your life forever.

Word Count: 4129

Note: Welcome to the second half of my fantasy story, to understand what’s going on you would need to at least read the chapter 0 of the first part (link here). ✨

Chapter 0: The lost girl

Not the owls nor the bakenekos were able to find a cure to the bird disease that held you captive, your friends from the Tengu clan were succumbing to despair as your condition worsened every day that went by.

After discarding the other possible options, the only one left was to embark in an ill fated quest with not much of a success rate on your own, your decision aggravating your beloved friends and earning you a one way ticket to the land of the unknown.

The way from the east side of the forest down south was a treacherous path, you were told this by many, but you didn’t expect it to be this bad. It’s been raining heavily during the past few days, the path flooded and almost impossible to walk through it, but you had to keep going.

You made a promise, a promise to your friends, the closest thing to a family you’ve ever had. You would survive, you would beat this disease and live the life you were supposed to have, to find happiness. Nothing some muddy water would stop you from achieving.

The days were long, the food your friends gave you was now gone.

You didn’t know where you were or how long you still needed to walk to find this village. They didn’t even know if it was actually real or just a myth. Everyone still alive that knew about it refused to give you word of its whereabouts hoping you would die trying, anything was better than getting the foxes attention.

The sky was finally blue, not a single cloud in the sky. Not being able to eat or drink for three days straight and tired of walking miles without a rest, your consciousness was starting to fail, black dots suddenly in every surface, until black was all you could see.

The fall was hard, you could feel a sharp pain on the side of your head before finally disconnecting yourself from reality, you thought this was probably your end, the village was nowhere near and you haven’t seen any creature of the forest for days now, nobody would find you here. But you had a decent life, at least you were able to spend some more time with your dear feathered friends before passing.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Tsumu, what’s that?” the youngest of one of the most prominent families in the village spotted something big fall on the main path while he was picking up some fresh mushrooms close by. “What was what?” his twin was concentrated in his task, making sure he wouldn’t confuse the edible mushrooms with the poisonous ones, the beating he took for making that awful mistake once still lives in his skin. “Something fell hard on the road, sounded like something big though, like a person.” he was peeking through the foliage, their village is very well hidden, no human had step on it in over a millennium, could it be hunters? “You’re delusional, Samu. Focus.” but he was certain of what he saw, it also hadn’t move since it fell, should be harmless. So he dropped his basket full of mushrooms and ran over to the road.

You were bleeding, clearly dehydrated. Your feet were full of heavily infected blisters and seemed like you lost a shoe somewhere.

“Tsumu, it’s a girl... I found a girl.” he grabbed a stick, poking your side gently with it, cautiously. You looked anything but dangerous, but you looked human after all and humans were dangerous.

“You found a what? You mean like a human girl? Or from a different clan? Get your ass back here if you don’t want to be kicked out of our village like Aran did.” he was still mourning the loss of his friend who had run away with a girl from the bakeneko clan, he just left like if his clan meant nothing to him. Hundreds of years of friendship thrown in the trash. “I think she's human. Don't be an ass, Just take my basket.” he was carefully lifting you up, trying to get you on his back. “Oh no, you are NOT bringing that thing with us. Put it down, NOW!” his fangs were out, growling at his twin in disgust, “Shut up, I do what I want with my life. You can tell Ma you picked up all the mushrooms. I saw your basket you had like three.” Atsumu scoffed, peeking into his brother’s basket which was full to the brim with high quality picks. “Fine! If she bites you don’t say I didn’t tell you so!” he went back to his mushroom hunt while Samu headed towards the village, drops of blood falling on his shoulder and alarming the young fox.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Once he arrived at the entrance of the village, the gatekeeper and his senior, Omimi was giving him a hard time. “Osamu, we can’t allow strangers in, you know this.” he was shouting all the way up from his post at the watch tower. Your breath was getting shallower, and his anxiety levels were rising quickly, “Can’t you see she’s hurt?? I feel her dying on me, please just let me in, I will take in the consequences.” with a heavy sigh, he let the gate open up just a tiny bit trying to draw as less attention as possible, “Hurry.” Samu nodded to his friend, smiling briefly at him before dashing towards the healer’s house.

“Kurosu-sama, please help me!” he was banging on the elder’s door, hoping he was there. A groan coming from the inside, “Come in, Miya. What is it, that can’t wait for my nap time to be over?” Samu opened his door, kicking his sandals off and rushing inside. “Please help her. I think she’s dying.” he lowered you down on the tatami floor, gently holding your head with one of his hands to accommodate the lack of pillows in his proximity. “Miya, this is a human girl. What have you done…” he was terrified, he hadn’t seen a human in centuries, “I know, but she needs help. Can you do something? I found her not far from here already looking like this.” the older man handed him a pillow to put under your head, hoping to get some space to take a good look at your injuries, “Move, kid. I won’t eat her, if you want me to help her, I need to see what’s wrong.” hesitantly, he moved to the side, providing some space but without going too far in case he had to act if he tried some dirty trick on you, “Fetch me some water, we need to clean her wounds first.”

Lightning fast would not be enough to describe how fast Osamu came back with a bucket full of water and some clean rags, even the elder was surprised, he’s usually pretty slow and lazy, very unexpected of him, “Clean her feet, I’ll take her head.” Samu was doing his best not to hurt you, but your feet were looking pretty bad, you flinched when he touched a deep cut on the side of your ankle, “You’re fine, it’s ok, it’s just water. Kurosu-sama will help you very soon.” his voice soothed the frown on your face, lulling you back to sleep right away. The elder was worried, he’s never seen the kid act this way, Aran’s story coming back to him just as it did to Atsumu. But at least Aran wasn’t stupid enough to bring the girl to the village, this was almost unprecedented, it happened once, and that’s why they were not pure foxes anymore but half breeds, this won’t be seen well by the rest of the village. “Osamu, once I heal her, we are taking her back to the forest before anyone else can see her, you hear me boy?” he was shaking his head, carefully applying a clean bandage on your left foot. “Kurosu-sama, her head. How is it?”

“She took a heavy blow against what I think was a rock, but it’s just a flesh wound, not what made her collapse. She is very malnourished and dehydrated, though. I’m going to make a tonic for her, stay here.” nodding, he looked around for a blanket, it was a chilly afternoon, seemed like it would rain again soon.

Once he was back, he saw you covered with one of his favorite blankets, Osamu had already cleaned your face and there was no sign of blood on you anymore. With a heavy sigh he handed him the tonic so he could give it to you, somehow, he felt like it would trigger the kid if he went any closer to you.

He took the small bowl with one hand and lifted your head carefully with the other, bringing the bowl to your lips. It started spilling all over the place, your lips just not opening wide enough for the liquid to go inside properly. “Kurosu-sama, is the tonic dangerous for me?” he was looking desperate at this point, half of the tonic already spilled, “No, why would it be dangerous for you-“ without letting him finish his sentence, Osamu took the remaining tonic in his mouth and pressed his lips against yours, making sure you would drink all the content as you should.

The healer was more flustered than Osamu himself at his actions, it wasn’t like he was trying to steal a kiss from you, he was just frustrated with the stupid bowl. “C’mon boy, let her rest. Let’s wait for her to wake up outside.” reluctantly, he obeyed.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

It took three full days for you to wake up, Samu never left your side, this causing the entire village to realize something was off.

He was not one to miss his shift at his parent’s owned restaurant, it was the only one in the village, so more than one villager realized he was missing. Atsumu was spotted a few times close to the healer’s house and Omimi was even more quiet than usual, this picked the leader’s interest.

The village used to be run by an elder woman, she was the eldest among all the current population of that side of the forest and had finally passed after a bountiful 5366 years of age. Her grandson was appointed as the new leader, despite his young age, he earned the respect of every single one of them, no one would go against his grandma’s wishes anyways.

You woke up to the feeling of something fuzzy poking your nostrils, making you sneeze. The sudden loud noise waking Samu up, one of his fuzzy ears was just a bit too close to your face. “Finally, you are awake.” he was rubbing his eyes tiredly, looking down at you like if sharing a futon with you was the most normal thing to do, forgetting this was the first time you’ve actually seen him. “Where am I?” all you could remember was the sharp pain on your head which was still present but way less intense. “We are at the healer’s house, I found you almost dead on the road, so I brought you to my village. Miya Osamu, by the way. My name.” you looked at him bashfully, he was handsome, but what had your attention were the fuzzy ears on the top of his head, a fox. “Is this the fox village? Did I find it?” your smile caught him off guard, giving you a short nod, “You were looking for my village? Why?” you were now sitting up beside him, taking in the building you were in, “Oh and I’m (Y/N) sorry, I got sidetracked. Thank you for saving my life, Miya-san. I will be forever in your debt. I was looking for your village because I have a rare bird produced disease. I actually came all the way here from the east side of the forest, my friends from the Tengu clan were trying to help me get rid of it, but not them nor the owl clan, not even the Bakeneko clan could find a way to fix it. I don’t mind dying. But I made a promise that I would try my best to survive. So, they sent me here as the last resort.”

The healer who was hearing everything from the other side of the wall, walked in unannounced, “We can’t help you girl. We might have overly long lives, but we aren’t gods. Our ways wouldn’t help you, we are different species.” your eyes wavered, a sad smile painted your features. Another dead end.

“Unless….” Samu stood up, looking at the healer. “Unless nothing, kid. She won’t receive Inari’s blessing.” you tugged on Osamu’s yukata, silently pleading for an explanation. He sat back down, looking into your eyes, “There’s an ancient legend that says if a human receives Inari’s blessing, they will become one of us. Since we aren’t mortal beings, your disease wouldn’t kill you.”

The leader of the village made his way inside the room where all of you were, having heard the last part of Osamu’s story, “Though, only one human had ever received such blessing, my grandfather, and he is dead, we aren’t completely immortal after all, we all die eventually. So, no one knows how he did it.” you bowed, imitating your new friend, he seemed like someone important. “But leader, the rest of the legend says that-“ Kita interrupted Osamu’s disrespectful outburst, “That true love from a fox and a human can bring Inari’s blessing. Yeah, I know. But my grandfather wasn’t sick, he lived here for ten years with my grandma, very much in love, before he received the blessing. So, we don’t know the whole story.” Osamu deflated next to you; would you even have ten years to figure it out? How long did love even take to flourish? What did true love even feel like?

More people kept coming in the healer’s house, now becoming an audience of some sort.

“I told him he should of just leave her to die on the road.” Atsumu scoffed, his harsh words making you coil behind Osamu.

“I’m not going to side with your brother, Osamu. You did a very noble thing; you have my respect for that. But you know it breaks the village rules, you can’t bring a human here. Not after what happened with my grandfather breaking the rules.” your head poked from the side of Osamu’s arm, looking at two toned haired fox. “What happened?” your voice was nothing but a whisper, but they all could hear you, “We are not a pure breed anymore.” your shaky hand held onto Samu’s strong arm for moral support, “Is…Is that a bad thing?” you were seriously curious, you’ve heard of the Bakeneko clan, they couldn’t care less for the origin of their partner, you actually found that endearing, even inspiring.

“Well, I don’t particularly think that way. But that’s how it’s always been, we don’t mess with rules around here.” the leader looked down at you, frowning, no wonder Osamu took a liking to you, you were just as disrespectful as he was.

“Almighty leader, may I say something?” the sarcastic son of the most prominent house of the village, the Suna family, spoke, coming out of nowhere. “You may.” he made some space for the new face to go into the room and revel on the presence of the newcomer. “All the elders expect our generation to bring pups and to not let our village die. But how are we supposed to do that when there’s only one girl around our age and that happens to be my sister, who’s very much sold to your family already? Wouldn’t it be convenient to have at least one more female around? Or do you expect me to make babies with the twin’s mother? Because I am very opposed to that, not even sure if she can even have more.” Osamu’s fist was clenching hard, placing a protective arm in front of you. “Don’t know what you are even talking about, Suna. Looks pretty claimed to me. What would you get out of this?” the man was now crawling his way over to you to peek behind the massive man guarding your form, a sly smirk on his face. “They just met, that’s not how we do things around here, the Miyas know this well.” he was a bit scary, didn’t give you the sense of safety Osamu did.

“He is right. It’s not first come first served. We would all have the same right to claim her, even you, leader.” Atsumu was now on your other side, making you shrink even more, holding onto Osamu for dear life, “Back off you low lives. You are scaring her.” his canines ready to bite an arm or two off any second now.

Heaving a deep disappointed sigh out, the leader straightened his back, a power display causing the younger foxes to retrieve. “While the claims of the Suna family might be accurate, this must be discussed with the eldest of the clans. We are indeed already a half breed, if we mix it with the same other half, it wouldn’t make the offspring any less pure than we are.” Samu released the breath he was holding at his words, relaxing his clenched fists, “This, however, will not guarantee you keeping the girl, Miya Osamu. And it will also not guarantee she will ever get Inari’s blessing. True love requires two hearts, feeling the same, weighing the same. We don’t need a woman who cannot provide offspring for the clan, so this isn’t up to me. All I can do is grant permission for the time being for her to be here. But you know the rules, she can’t go back to her world, she would have to stay here for good, or we would have to kill her.” he gave you one last look before leaving the house.

Osamu turned to look at you, he thought you would be crying at hearing such harsh words, but you were already destined to die, this wouldn’t shake your resolution. It was a complicated process though, is not like you can force a blessing from a god.

“Shall we go to my house? I’m sure we have enough room for you, at least until the leader dims you worthy of getting your own house.” you got up with his help, getting ready to walk to this new destination.

“Nah-uh. What did the leader say? The girl isn’t yours. Why would she stay in your house?” that blank stare and sly smirk were seriously giving you trust issues, he didn’t seem dangerous, it felt more like if he was desperate, but that was equally scary.

“Back off, Suna. She’s injured, scared and needs time to rest. It’s not time for romantic drama, besides, who do you think she would prefer being with? Someone who actually cares for her and is wiling to get kicked out of the village just to bring her to safety, or someone who’s just after her womb?” he was getting kicked out for you? Why? Why would he go to such lengths for a stranger…?

”So you are telling me that’s not what you’re after? What is it you wanna do with her, bake together? Do you think we are all stupid? I’m not letting the Miya family take the only girl available so easily, not without a fight, besides, we own the only inn in the village. Wouldn’t it be more suitable for a young unmarried woman to have her own room in a public inn rather than compromising her to not only one but two of her courtship options? That’s playing dirty.” he was going to take you away, wasn’t he? Samu could feel your heart rate pressed to his ribs, you were clearly scared and didn’t want to go with the sly fox.

“Hey, hey. Don’t be scared, you don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to.” he was cradling your face with one of his large hands, melting you to your bones. “Hands off, Samu. You’ve been awfully touchy with her, disgusting. I think she should go with Suna too. Even if that means I won’t have my share of time with her right now, at least it would keep you at a distance. Who would have thought you’d be such an intense rival.” you held his hand down from your face and padded your way over to the sly fox. “I…I don’t want to cause you any more troubles, you’ve already done so much for me. I’ll be ok.” the adoring look on your face, causing Samu’s lungs to stop working.

Suna guided you out of the house and towards his inn, a defeated looking Samu left alone to sulk in the now empty room.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you in any way. I’m actually pretty harmless.” his comment startled you but you could see he was just trying to break the ice, “My mother will make sure to give you a proper room and we’ll take care of your meals. Just make sure to rest and recover quickly. I’m usually at the counter on the first floor, you can always come to me if you need anything. I won’t lock you away or anything like that. That’s not how you get someone to love you, I guess.” you gave him and appreciative smile and limped on your own towards his house. It annoyed him to his core to see how you were desperately clinging onto Osamu, almost cuddling him, but you refuse to ask for his help even if you are in obvious intense pain. This wouldn’t be an easy win for any of them.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The Suna family was unexpectedly very warm and kind. They gave you a nice big room with a lovely view of the mountains. The sly fox told you to call him by his first name as in the village many people had the same last name it would just be confusing to all. He brought you a fluffy comfortable futon and dozens of kimonos for you to wear at your own convenience. He was doing the best he could, and you were grateful, you didn’t hate this side of him, he was in all truth very kind and funny even.

The leader of the village managed to convince the elders to give you time, give their protective god a chance. Reminded them of the legend once told by many, the one now hanging from the wall decorating the walls of his office. A prophecy of some sort.

The legend didn’t end there, there was more to it, though this bit wasn’t shared with the common folk, “Time will come when the true heir of Inari is born to humans and will bring happiness and prosperity to the village in decline...”

Kita believed in true love, that’s how his grandparents were able to be together for thousands of years helping to build the well balanced and prosper society they live in right now.

But will there be enough time for that?

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Masterlist

26 notes · View notes