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hakkais-hoe · 3 years ago

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How They Comfort You After a Bad Day at Work

Just had the shitest day at work so let’s see how the tokyorev guys choose to comfort their cryin s/o

Warnings: swearing, fluff, lots crying, mentions of nsfw stuff but none, overly sappy men 🥴

All characters are 18+, no age warning but there is mentions of ran wanting to have sex so you have been warned

Characters: Ran, Wakasa, Keizo, Chifuyu

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Keizo ‘Benkei’ Arashi

Comforts with words of affirmation and food

When you usually come home from work you happily announce your arrival n make sure to throw yourself at the hulking giant softie that is your dear boyfriend.

But today you shuffle silently past a slouching Keizo on the sofa and straight into your shared bedroom, not even so much as a smile in his direction, he even lent up a bit waiting for you to throw yourself into him for a cuddle after a long day, but nope, nada, nothing just straight into the bedroom with the door closing quickly after your retreating back.

“What the fuck?”

Keizo pushes himself fully up on the couch and stares at the closed door in pure disbelief, his baby didn’t even say hello to him how could they, Keizo stands to his full towering height and with a lovely crack of his back he makes his way towards the door to leave a rap of knocks on the wood. When no reply comes he calls out to you.

“Baby, can I come in? Is everything okay?” Keizo makes sure that his voice is calming and gentle as he speaks to you.

“N-no I’m fine… don’t w-worry about it love… I’ll be out in j-just a minute…” Though you try to keep your voice steady Keizo can hear the wobble in your tone, with a sigh he ignores your request and quietly opens the door to slide himself into the dark room.

“No no K-kei I said… I said to wait m-m coming out now…” The tears are evident in your voice when you speak, he can practically hear you choking on the liquid that’s probably streaking lava down your face.

“No baby doll, I’m here cmon… I’ve got ya baby tell me what happened, was it work love? Need me to beat someone up for ya?” Keizos offer makes a quiet laugh bubble out of your mouth. He makes his way over to you to pull you into a hug, managing to stub his toe on the bed along the way though.

“Fuck! Shit that hurt!” He stumbles into your arms another giggle escaping you when he reaches for his foot to clutch it.

“It was just a shit day babe, got hectic and people were being really rude. M just stressed ya know…” You trail off as you tell him why you’re upset. Keizo let’s out a huff and wraps his arms around you to yank you down with him onto your plush bed sheets, his strong arms pulling your body to lay across his chest so he can stroke your hair n rub your back.

“You know what I’m gonna say right baby? They’re all fucking dicks, fuck em all your amazing at your job, no one does it better than you love. You don’t need to cry about this it can all be sorted out, just speak to them about it or you can just tell em all to fuck off n do whatever darlin.” Keizos gentle with you as he comforts you, he’s desperate for you to stop crying he hates to see his s/o upset.

“Mhm yeh your right babe…” You mutter back to him.

“Want me to order food? We can just watch a film n cuddle then baby, don’t have to do any cookin n shit.” Keizo hums, already pulling his phone out to order you both some food.

Ran Haitani

Comforts with physical contact. (Attempt at suggesting sex but none)

The slam out your front door caught all of Rans attention, his previous phone call now the last thing on his mind, he keeps his eyes trained on the hallway connection to the front door as he waits for you to make your entrance, prepared for the worst.

“Mochi I’ll call you back. Y/n’s just come home think somethings happened at work… yeh alright… okay talk later.”

Rans phone call finishes just as you storm through the archway, no greetings are thrown his way as your warpath heads to the bedroom, tears welling up in your eyes but you manage to keep them there till you hear a knock on the door and Rans smiley face pokes through the crack.

“Hi there dollface, everything alright?”

Ran makes his way towards you to envelops you in his long arms and rests his chin on the top of your head. Now your tears decide to stream down your face as you blubber to your man about how shit your day was and how much you want everyone to fuck off n leave you alone.

“Okay okay it’s okay baby! You do so well at your job, you’re amazing baby, don’t let any of these people speak to you like you’re not, and if they do I’ll blow a hole in their heads dollface. Now why don’t I make my baby feel better? How’s that sound wanna do it in the kitchen?” Ran actually goes as far as to wiggle his eyebrows as he looks down at you.

A tear filled giggle fills his ears and you whack his chest with a smile. “Nope not in the mood just wanna cuddle n eat some food.”

“Now that I can do baby, I already ordered your favourite n you know I can cuddle my baby for hours let’s go snuggle on the couch huh? Ooo put your fluffy pjs on too I’ll stick my slouchies on doll.” Ran gets way more excited about cuddling than you but hey it’s adorable.

Wakasa Imushi

Comforts you through listening and physical contact

The door creeks open, altering Waka to you entering your shared apartment. He leaves the kitchen to greet you at the door but as he goes to speak you breeze straight past him, eyes already reddening with unshed tears.

“Hey! Where ya off lovely? Not gonna say hello or ought, get your pretty ass back over here n give me a hug yeh? Tell me what happened huh?” He hums, a lazy smile on his face as he stares at you, arms lazily waiting for you to fall into him.

You practically wail when you whip around and throw yourself into him, the force of your body almost toppling the two of you over but Wakasa easily stopped you falling then quickly drops the two of you to the ground to hold your weeping body to him.

From there he just holds you as you cry for a good 20-30 minutes, you just sob before finally going on a rant about how shitty work was and how shitty the people there are.

Wakasa ends up with a very soaked top and you end up with an intense headache nd dry sore eyes.

Chifuyu Matsuno

Comforts with words of encouragement and gentle massages and kittens

Chifuyu’s still at the pet shop by the time you finish work, he sent Kazutora home early and told you that he was closing up.

You’d had such a shit day at work so instead of heading home you decide to head straight for Chifuyu’s pet shop, though the door sign says ‘Closed’ you push it open the jingle of the bell announcing your arrival.

“Oh sorry we’re closed! We’ll be open tomorrow morn- oh hey there my love, watcha upto?” Chifuyu saunters out the back with a kitten in his arms half way through his sentence, a happy smile that brightens up even more when he realises it’s you in front of him.

“‘Fuyu had a really shit day at work, can I come and cuddle the kittens and you? Or help I just need to be with you right now.” You manage to keep your voice stony until he beckons you into the back, the smile on his face becomes less happy and more upset.

When you get into the back Chifuyu’s sat on the ground in the kitten pen with 10 fuzzy little kitty’s surrounding him, in another pen next to him are about a dozen little bunnies just munching on food nd chilling. Your heart melts at the sight of him smiling up at you surrounded by fuzzy animals.

“We’ll cmon then love. Got some babies for you to cuddle, some venting to do and a man that loves you ready to cuddle of course!” Chifuyu’s upbeat voice has your tear ducts flowing and you quickly but calmly make your way into the kitten pen, you start to vent as soon as you get in tears now flowing as you pout about how shit work went. Quickly picking up one of the little kittens circling you and your boyfriend.

“Hey love can I say something? Those people were only rude to you because they’re jealous that you do your job so well, they’re just not nice people. And that manager was just covering her own ass cos she did shit wrong. Don’t listen to any of em, and hey if it ever gets way too much take some time off and come work here with me and Kazutora, how’s that sound love?” Chifuyu takes hold of your hand as he speaks, he lays a kiss on your hand after he finishes his little speech.

“Oh and I love you even more when you’re surrounded with kittens n fluffy things.” He adds on with a cheeky grin.

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Requests are open :)

Comments & reblogs are appreciated 😊

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sunflowerandco · 4 years ago

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Act VI: Looking Back

Rating: T for language

previous acts on the link in my bio :)

Hey everyone. After my favorite combo meal of some good ol' depression™ and school, I'm back to writing! I really hope you enjoy and I'm very thankful for all of the support if you stuck around this long. Thank you so much ❤

I hope you enjoy this origin story for Duncney in this universe

5 years before Act V

Bridgette approached a very focused Courtney in the hall. "Hey, Court. Got any plans this weekend?"

She responded, her face still buried in the locker she was trying to organize before heading home for the weekend. "Studying, studying, and more studying. I've got two AP exams in two weeks and my livelihood depends on me getting good enough grades."

"Is there any chance you have one day to let yourself have some fun?"

Courtney pondered and knew her response wouldn't please her friend. Still, she delivered it with a smile. "No." She knew Bridgette's campaign for fun was coming any second now as she shut her locker.

“You’ve been studying all week, Courtney. Come to Wasaga with us! My step-dad lent me the beach house for the weekend.”

Courtney felt apprehensive at the idea of a day on the beach with Bridgette, Geoff and their insistent need to suck face most of the time. “No thanks. I don’t want to be your third wheel.”

“You won’t be! It won’t be just me and Geoff. He practically invited our lunch period. Plus, Duncan’s coming...”

“And that holds significance to my decision because...?”

“...Because you like him.”

“I do not! He’s annoying, has no regard for authority, and is so, totally gross. I don’t need you setting up dates for me. At least not another disaster like Bradley.”

“To be fair, you did have a crush on him.”

“That was before I knew he was a total jerk.”

“What matters is that you gave him a chance. Why not give Duncan one? I've seen the way you look at him.” Courtney gave her look, signaling her to quiet down in front of everyone else occupying the halls. Bridgette smiled triumphantly and shrugged her shoulders matter-of-factly, finally getting through to Courtney.

"See? I'm never wrong." Bridgette walked off presumably to find Geoff. "I'll pick you up at two."

"I didn't say yes!"

"Love you, too!"

***

Courtney could deal with sweaty teenagers in a crowded setting. She could deal with speakers blaring in her ears. But, she couldn't stand to see Bradley's face across the room before running to Bridgette.

"Why is Bradley here?!"

"I don't know! I know for a fact Geoff didn't invite him. He was the only person off limits."

She knew she'd have to spend the better half of her day avoiding Bradley.

Courtney stood in front of the bathroom mirror of the beach house, washing her hands and reapplying her lip balm. For one thing, she had to hide from the guy she wasted a month of her life on. On the other hand, she couldn't find him. Not that she cared. Oh, no, no, no. Not Courtney. She didn't come to this outing hoping she'd find him. And she would never admit that even to herself.

When she exited the washroom, she bumped into a brown-haired, blue polo-wearing dudebro practically standing in front of the door.

"Hey, Courtney. You know you can't avoid me forever."

"It doesn't hurt to try."

"Listen, I just wanted to talk."

"In order for that to happen, there'd have to be something to talk about."

"Well, there is. I want to start all over. You and me. I've got drafts coming up for university football. Having a girl on my arm would help with my image and, well, I figured you could benefit changing that uptight, boring image everyone has on you."

Courtney scoffed, feigning interest. "Wow. While that sounds incredibly tempting-" Courtney started off with sarcasm.

Bradley wasn't the most receptive to rejection, but still persisted. "I knew you'd see it my way. It would help the both of us."

Courtney rolled her eyes at his insistent need to cut her off at every chance she had to speak. Her eyes diverted from his and her eyes gravitated to the neon green hair she spotted across the room. He hadn't noticed her stare, but seeing him made a sense calm take over her mind.

"...I'm gonna have to pass. Don't come up to me again wasting my time. I don’t need to associate myself with an asshole like you."

She finally felt like he would leave her alone for the remainder of senior year after letting him hear it. Courtney knew that wasn't the answer he wanted from his displeased layer of expression on his face. She held her hand out with a smile.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He begrudgingly shook her hand to save face from possible onlookers.

***

Duncan, Geoff, and DJ were all engrossed in conversation when Duncan's attention rerouted in Courtney's direction. DJ's voice faded slowly out of the forefront. "...All I'm saying is if dude didn't want his underwear up the flagpole, he should stop leaving it around the locker room!"

"What is he doing here?" Duncan was covertly protective over Courtney in the aspect of terrible ex-boyfriends. His reaction to seeing her shake hands with him made Geoff and DJ turn in that direction.

"I don't know, man. I swear I didn't invite that joke. It seems like they're making up, so that's good." The can Duncan held warped in shape as his grip tightened.

It was no secret how Duncan felt about Bradley. He had to spend two months convincing people that pantsing him, throwing eggs at his car and TP'ing his house were all in the name of fun and not some way of avenging Courtney.

He didn't mean to avoid her after the fact, but it made controlling his emotions easier.

***

Courtney, fresh off of telling Bradley off, finally felt she was able to enjoy herself for the day. As the day transitioned into a darker, breezy evening, her introverted nature dwindled as she allowed herself to let go. Catching up with acquaintances from various classes, taking in the ocean views, and the overall atmosphere made her feel recharged in a rare feat. Still, it was hard to find Duncan while sticking to Bridgette's side. She'd hate to verbally admit she missed trading meaningless quips with him, and it was out of the ordinary for them to be in the same setting without exchanging any words. She separated from her friend when she wandered around several spaces of the house. Then, she heard him.

He was projecting his conversation loud enough for onlookers to hear what he said. "It's actually sad how many times and ways I had to reject that girl. Even today I had to tell her to stay away from me. I mean, why would I want to associate with her?" A few laughs could be heard from the same acquaintances she caught up with at his declarations of rejection all created by him.

Duncan decided he'd heard enough and approached him. "You better watch you say around here. Courtney's not around to defend herself, and I'm known for not using my words to solve problems."

"Oh? Is that bitch your piece of ass for the week?" Bradley immediately felt threatened at how much Duncan was fuming at him. Duncan swung a fist, but he moved out of the way quick enough to dodge the attack.

Geoff immediately came between the two of them to settle the tension. "Just get out of here, dude."

***

She heard every word of it. She didn't want to defend herself for once. Her mind just kept repeating to itself. You need to get out. She sat on the sand with her knees pulled to her chest. Courtney felt Duncan sit next to her without a greeting. She still spoke lowly to fill the silence between them. "What gives him the right to think he can do and say whatever he pleases like that?!"

"You're right. Let me let him have it, Princess."

"No, it's not worth it. He's not, at the very least. And you need to stop getting into trouble all the time."

At the time, Duncan's need for revenge couldn't be subdued. He'd let it go for now, but his mind wouldn't rest until he felt justice was served on that rich, entitled fuck. "It's not like anyone cares if I do. Everyone just wants to police me-"

"I do." She immediately retreated to the ocean's view after she blurted those two words out pretty angrily.

A silent moment passed between the two of them. His brain felt like mush hearing that and seeing the bright reflection of the moon on her skin. All of his previous thoughts were clouded leaving one subject clear. He quietly said the first thing that came to his mind. "You look beautiful."

Courtney had gotten used to Duncan calling her nicknames. They were mostly delivered backhanded in response to her insults. This time it was unprovoked. It blurred the lines between real and fake. She decided not to respond and change the subject instead. She crossed her arms in defense of the drop in temperature. "I want nothing more than to leave this stupid place."

"Here." He said as he peeled the t-shirt off his back. Courtney truly didn't mean to stare as the fabric became less and less attached to his torso. He handed it to her after noticing she shivered when the wind picked up speed. She looked away quicker than she wanted him to notice.

"As if I need another reason for people to look at me weirdly."

He knew she just reacted the way they're expected to treat each other, but it still upset him for reasons he couldn't decipher fast enough. She immediately noticed his face fall, instantly regretting her delivery. "I didn't really mean that. Thank you." She smoothed out the wrinkles after letting the shirt fall over her body.

He couldn't stay mad at her for long, especially when her regret was so apparent on her face. Duncan considered the embarrassment she faced, and figured she was trying to regain some normalcy in their relationship. "Don't worry about it. Let me take you home."

Courtney didn't object, following him through the sandy plains to his car. After finding a tank top in the trunk, he slipped it over his upper half. Duncan opened the door on the passenger side for Courtney to enter. Moments that didn't include bickering scared Courtney. it was an occurrence that gave her mind the opportunity to wonder what a prolonged version of this happenstance would result in. Her feelings floating to the surface of her deeply buried psyche.

***

He didn't mean to drive in radio silence, but Duncan was more nervous than he'd like to admit. He almost ran a red light when he noticed the newly-acquired tan the sun gave her soft, warm skin as she crossed her legs in the passenger seat. He slammed on the brakes just in time, still startling her. "Duncan! I didn't accept your offer with the expectation of dying in your car!" It wasn't the greatest question, but he was relieved she opened a window of conversation to flow between them.

"What was your expectation, then, Princess?"

"Delinquent-proof driving!"

"You know it wouldn't kill you to be...nice?"

"And ruin the amazing dynamic of our relationship? I wouldn't dare!"

"I don't want anything to be 'ruined' either. Nothing will stop me from annoying you, no matter what happens between us."

Courtney relinquished in relief. She then remembered the very moment her fear took over. Acknowledging it meant accepting the affect his words had on her. Accepting those indulgent stares and rare, shared smiles. Despite her fears, she asked. "If you don't want anything to change, why did you call me beautiful the way you did?"

Surprised by the indicative effect of his words, Duncan responded as if the answer were so obvious, still attentive to the road ahead of him. "Because you are...? Nothing's gonna change because of that. I've always thought you were. I'll stop if you want me to."

Courtney felt her heart triple in size when she boldly responded, letting herself say whatever her heart told her to. "Don't... stop?" She stammered, even changed the pace of her words as she fought off her nervousness. "I... don't want you to stop."

"Okay, beautiful." Courtney's chest radiated with warm waves as she looked out the window. She looked in the opposite direction and noticed one of his hands resting in the space between their seats. Her mind and heart wrestled back and forth between doing what truly called to her. To shut them up, she turned her attention to the road ahead. And, like some gravitational pull, her hand made it's way toward his free one. A swipe of the back of each other's hands was enough to: burn beneath the surface of their skin; Duncan immediately caught on to her intentions. He tried to stay focused on the road as they fumbled, palm to palm, and slowly interlocked their fingers with the other's one-by-one. The silence after realizing how perfectly they fit was easy, comfortable, yet deafening.

At a red light, Duncan used the hand on the steering wheel to turn the radio to any random station he saved. Neither of them knew the song, but wouldn't forget any lyric of it after this.

You can't stop us on the road to freedom

You can't stop us 'cause our eyes can see

Men with insight, men in granite

Knights in armor intent on chivalry

She's as sweet as Tupelo honey

She's an angel of the first degree

***

When he pulled up to her street and their hands pulled apart, Courtney felt hollow. Duncan's mind conjured ways to make the moment last longer. "I'll walk you to your door." Courtney didn't object once more, smiling at his reciprocated persistence.

"Okay." The path, while short and forward in leading them to the door, gave them time before the eventual goodbye they dreaded. Courtney fumbled with her keys hoping to buy more time. Fleeting, fickle, borrowed time for a moment they used to curse themselves for dreaming of. He initiated.

"So... see you on Monday?"

"Of course. Um...thanks. For everything."

"It's no problem, Courtney. Goodnight." He leaned in and Courtney's breathing wavered. Duncan gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Courtney's hand rose to her face in an attempt to calm the burning sensation he left. This would suffice for what he really wanted to do. If he was right about the impact he assumed he had, he was doing the right thing for now.

Courtney hated to see him walk further from her and toward the car. In some entranced state, her hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him in closer.

Maybe she leaned in the wrong way; she over-estimated the distance between them as their noses collided with each other's causing them to both groan in pain. Her ache quickly shifted to embarrassment as she hastily spilled out her rambled apologies. "I'm so-so sorry! Oh my God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Her rambling ceased when Duncan pulled her in once again, his lips crashing onto hers with a yearning force. Her lips quickly overlapped his as his fingers tangled themselves in her hair, her arms linking around his neck. They parted for air but remained still with their hands attached to the other.

He'd never done something so worth it, unaware of the events to come.

#duncney #td duncan #td courtney #duncney fanfic

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tawakkull · 3 years ago

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ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 79

Chila (Suffering)

Denoting abandonment of all (worldly) pleasures and delights, and the affliction and hardship one bears when overcoming corporeality, chila (suffering) is used to express an initiate’s spending at least forty days in strict austerity and self-discipline in the name of spiritual training. During this period, initiates keep to the absolute bare minimum in meeting such bodily needs as eating, drinking, sleeping and speaking, and spend most of their time in worshipping, mentioning God, thinking and self-supervision. As if they had died before dying, they concentrate on death and are annihilated with respect to their carnal self and prepares for a new, spiritual life with the necessary endowment to be persons devoted to God.

Dervishes spend the period of suffering either in a silent corner of a dervish lodge or in a quiet room in their homes. Associated with austerity and even serving to fulfill some of its functions, suffering is an attempt to gain nearness to God or an active expectation of meeting with Him in the spirit. The original word used, chila in Persian and arba’in in Arabic, means forty, because such a period lasts at least forty days, although it may last less or more than forty days. It may even occur that the dervish feels obliged to suffer the whole life long in order to surmount the animal aspect of his or her nature. Regarding all hardships that dervishes suffer in God’s way as His precious gifts, they like life more as its griefs and hardships increase, and they welcome afflictions in the delight of living a conscious, deeply felt life. Some people of the heart consider misfortunes as Divine favors presented in that form, and desire more. Fuduli expresses his thoughts in this respect in the voice of Majnun as follows:

Never reduce Your grace on people of affliction; That is, make me addicted to more and more misfortunes.

Jalal al-Din al-Rumi likens suffering and afflictions to a guest knocking on our door every morning and stresses that the dear guest should be welcomed and entertained:

Every moment a grief comes upon your heart like a dear guest. When that emissary of grief visits you, welcome it as a friend; In fact, it is not a stranger to you, for You and it are acquainted.

Ibrahim Haqqi voices the same thoughts, dressing them in the style of his age:

If grief and melancholy come upon your heart, Suffer it and know that it is acquainted with you. If anything occurs to you from the Truth, Accept it with warm welcome. Sorrow is a guest, entertain it, so that God may find you welcoming every misfortune. ………… Hold not back from affliction so as not to become unmanly; Many people relying on God are happy with affliction.

Ashrafoghlu Rumi[1] advises that poison should be accepted as if it were honey or sugar:

Ashrafoghlu Rumi, this is what behoves those who love the Beloved, They should swallow poison as if it were sugar for the sake of the Friend.

In this way, it is essential to be very welcoming toward misfortunes, and to welcome with the same contentment whatever comes from God-good or bad, happiness or suffering. Moreover, there are some other principles which dervishes should observe during certain periods of suffering that they spend in retreat.

Suffering, which usually lasts for forty days, is the most direct way for travelers to God who are in pursuit of lofty ideals to purify their minds and hearts and to deepen in thought and feelings in consideration of the world beyond, and to rise to the level of life in the horizon of the heart and spirit where they will share the same aura with spiritual beings. Suffering exists in all the heavenly or unheavenly religions and religion-like spiritual systems; it is necessary in order to discover the innate power of the spirit. But here we will not discuss that aspect of it, which rather concerns mystical movements and parapsychology.

Muslim Sufis base their consideration of suffering on the forty days which the Prophet Moses spent on Mount Sinai before being addressed by God (see, the Qur’an 2:51; 7:142). They also refer to the forty years the Children of Israel had to spend in the desert of Sinai as a punishment for their refraining from fighting and as a preparation for their future life. In Christianity, there is the time of Lent (a period of forty days before Easter), which shows that suffering is common to almost all religions and religion-like systems. Furthermore, even if it only lasts ten days, retreat into a mosque without going out during the last ten days of Ramadan for the purpose of more devotion can also be considered as having some relation with suffering.

In the Muslim, Christian and Jewish worlds, and in different schools of thought in Islam, there have always been retreat and seclusion for the purpose of spiritual refinement and training. While such refinement and training have been performed in special rooms of retreat and seclusion, called houses of suffering, followers of others religions have performed the same in the seclusion of their places of worship.

Dervishes are taken into a retreat or a house of suffering by their spiritual guide. There they live alone, eating, sleeping, and speaking little, and spending most of their time in worship. They hold themselves under strict control and self-supervision, continuously breathing life into the heart, and traveling in the mind between their inner world and the outer world. Wholly dedicated to attaining a purely spiritual life, they try to feel the Lord with all their being and to see beyond the door half-opened on the heart. Endeavoring to discern and attain unity, they fear missing any signs of the Divine manifestations that may dawn on the hills of the heart. They express the limits of their capacity and the insufficiency of their will-power with sighs of poverty and helplessness, and become more hopeful with their reliance on the limitless Power of the Truth. When left with no means at all, they expect to be surprised by the opening of a door, and unburdens themselves to their Lord, Who sees everything, in the manner of a poor beggar, saying:

Be kind to me, O my Sovereign, do not abandon favoring the needy and destitute! Does it befit the All-Kind and Munificent to stop favoring His slaves?

As long as they grow in knowledge and love of God, they deepen in relationship with the Lord, and devote themselves wholly to feeling and thinking of Him. Keeping the satisfaction of their essential needs to the barest minimum, and overcoming their corporeality, they become confidants of heavenly beings in their states, attributes and being, and begin to breathe the breezes of friendship with the Sovereign.

Although suffering always takes on the same form, dervishes experience it differently according to their capacities and their powers of resistance. Some are almost completely freed from corporeality and worldliness, and are content with extremely little to meet the essentials of life, spending all their time in worship, thinking and mentioning God. Some others try to live consciously every hour, minute and second, letting no part of life pass without an effort to attain His nearness. Hours pass, weeks follow one upon another, and hunger, thirst and other hardships continue, without any sign of ending, but a dervish who has been accustomed to suffering as a way of life never desires the periods of suffering to come to an end. However, when the first period of forty days ends, the guide investigates to see at what stage the dervish is. The guide looks into the heart of the individual or reflects upon any dreams or visions reported. If the dervish has reached the point of being able to lead a life at the level of the heart and spirit, the guide will then put an end to the period of suffering with certain ceremonies. But it is always possible that new periods will be assigned if the guide considers that the dervish still needs more suffering in order to complete the spiritual purification.

In addition to the Mawlawis-followers of the Sufi order attributed to Mawlana Jalal al-Din al-Rumi-Persians, Azerbeijanis and even some Baktashis-followers of a Turkish mystical order-have ceremonies of their own for suffering. To whatever spiritual order or way a dervish belongs, the purpose of suffering is that travelers to God should purify themselves, discover their inner world and advance toward new horizons through the steps that are to be taken during the spiritual journey, leading a life at the level of the heart and then deepening through their other innermost faculties, such as “the secret” and “the private,” and “the more private,” observing their relations with and duties to the guide, perceiving the significance of obedience to orders, and endowing their spirit with humility and a feeling of nothingness, sincerely adopting the principle of being a simple human being among the people. This is what the guides, who teach dervishes suffering, and the dervishes who suffer, are seeking and what they expect from suffering. The final goal is to become true, perfect human beings.

However, it is not inevitable that one must suffer a certain period in order to attain what is expected from suffering. It is possible to obtain the expected result by abstention from doubtful things, being content with the pleasures inherent in the lawful sphere under the supervision of a guide who has truly succeeded God’s Messenger, upon him be pace and blesssings, and who has achieved the degree of great sainthood, by the acknowledgment of one’s innate poverty and helplessness before God, by thankfulness to Him, by zeal in serving His cause, and by exceptional piety, abstinence, and sincerity. What is absolutely essential in this way is that we should not approach the forbidden things, we should be careful about doubtful things, and we should benefit from the lawful only to the extent of what is necessary.

For those who succeed the Prophets, suffering is, rather than preoccupation with worship and the recitation of God’s Names in seclusion, and the abandonment of an easy life for the sake of torment, the pursuit only of God’s good pleasure and approval, always being aware of God’s company even while among people, arousing in hearts zeal for worshipping God with sincere Islamic thoughts, feelings and attitudes, representing Islam in daily life in the best way possible, stirring up Islamic feelings in others, and by developing in others the desire to believe. This is the way of the Companions.

Suffering in this sense becomes, beyond our own spiritual progress, the dedication of our lives to the happiness of others in both worlds and living for others. In other words, we should seek our spiritual progress in the happiness of others. This is the most advisable and the best approved kind of suffering: that is, we die and are revived a few times a day for the guidance and happiness of others, we feel any fire raging in another heart also in our own heart, and we feel the suffering of all people in our spirits. Rather than only being aware of selfish considerations, such as “One who has not suffered does not mean what suffering is,” we groan with the afflictions and pains which others in our immediate and distant surroundings endure.

Actively expecting (exerting the necessary efforts for) the subsidence of the storms of denial and heresy is a great suffering, while enduring with humility and grace life among rude and ignorant people in order to enlighten them both mentally and spiritually is double suffering. The struggle with the cruel people who take belief in and submission to God as a sport and who reject Islamic values is suffering upon suffering. Finally, in an atmosphere where all the causes of suffering already mentioned exist, and where friends are unfaithful, where time and conditions are pitiless, where troubles are numerous, where cures are extremely scant, where enemies are powerful, and where the wheel of events turn in the opposite direction, to always breathe in the atmosphere of the Truth while having to live every moment of life as if sipping poison is the greatest of sufferings. All of this will help travelers to God to reach the final point in a very short time.

Those who suffered the most in this sense are the Prophets, and on their right and left are the pure, verifying scholars who succeed them and the saints. The hadith, Those who are subjected to the greatest afflictions and suffering are the Prophets, and then come others (according to the depth of their belief)[2] indicates this fact and reminds us that the intensity of suffering is directly proportional to the resistance of the sufferer.

There are few who really suffer in the sense that has been discussed here. It is not genuine suffering that people are subjected to in daily life. Those who really suffer feel suffering and bear it in their private worlds. It cannot be shared by others. The Prophet Joseph, upon him be peace, whose suffering began when he was cast into a well, experienced suffering doubly in a foreign county when he was sold as a slave and thrown into jail, and left among a people who had a different culture and language, and who did not sympathize with him. The suffering he experienced purified and perfected him in the name of his mission as a Messenger; and God made him nearer to Him. The Prophet Adam bore his suffering with tears, and Noah had to breast terrible disasters and destruction, while Abraham, whom God took to Himself as an intimate friend, always had to travel in rings of fire. The Prophet Moses, whom God addressed directly, struggled fiercely against the rebellion of brute force. Jesus, a pure spirit from God, called people to God under the fatal shadows of the gallows. And finally, the master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, suffered all that the other Prophets and Messengers suffered. He wept tears, groaned and burnt inwardly for the salvation and happiness of others, but without displaying any sign of suffering.

Hundreds of sufferers from the first day of human history have tasted the pleasure of suffering for the salvation and happiness of others in both worlds in utmost submission to God and have been wholly dedicated to the life of others, without ever considering that they have been made to experience the greatest of sufferings. More than this, they have welcomed such suffering and have been intoxicated with the pleasure thus received.

Suffering of thought is also another great suffering. Thinking, leading others to think, setting themselves to solve the severest problems and world-heavy enigmas, including that of existence, is a form of suffering. Thought does not yield, but rather builds bridges between and composes the Divine Revelation and human thought, presenting to “hungry” and “thirsty” hearts and minds the pure extract produced from this composition. This is the suffering in which the heroes of suffering, who are as sincere as angels and who have followed the Messengers, have found an antidote for poison in the poison itself, peace and coolness in the fire, having experienced such with the greatest pleasure. Such people are fortunate that there is no end to their periods of suffering; they cannot be pleased with the idea that such suffering is bound to come to an end. If you attempt to take them out of gardens of suffering, you will not be able to do so; if you were able to do so, you would extinguish their fire and leave them to die.

It is this suffering which is the purest source that feeds the spirit of a true dervish, and which is the most powerful means for travelers to the Truth to reach eternality.

Our Lord! In You we trust, and to You we turn in contrition, and to You is our homecoming. Our Lord! Pour out upon us patience, and set our feet firm, and help us to victory over the unbelievers. And let God’s blessings be upon our master Muhammad, our leader, and on his family and Companions, who were the patient and faithful. [1] Ashrafoghlu ‘Abdullah Rumi (d., 1484) was a Sufi scholar and poet who lived in Iznik in the North-Western Turkey. He was taught by Haji Bayram Wali in Ankara and Husayn Hamawi in Hama, Syria. He wrote several books, the most well-known of which is Muzakki’n-Nufus (“The Book Which Purifies Souls”). (Trans.) [2] Al-Tirmidhi, “Zuhd,” 57; Ibn Maja, “Fitan,” 23.

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deku-leaf · 5 years ago

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early risers - part 1 - “that was intense” kageyama tobio x reader

summary: kageyama goes to the gymnasium earlier in the morning than usual to warm up and catches sight of an unfamiliar girl (you) doing yoga by herself. he might go a little out of his way to make sure he arrives early again the next day. and maybe the next.

author’s note: my first haikyuu fic! i def ship kagehina but i’ve only ever written x reader fics soooo here’s this, i’m having a lot of fun writing this so far

warnings: tobio kinda toes the line of stalking in this but it’s just cuz he’s so awkward. oh and swearing

word count: 2,521

Your muscles ache. You deepen your lunge, taking a long breath in and out. Damn, you’re sore this morning. Straightening your legs, you make a mental note that the uphill run you did yesterday afternoon really targeted your glutes, and you should run that route more often. You take another deep breath and lower your torso down to let your arms hang between your widened legs, enjoying the feeling of blood flowing to your head. Your fingertips touch the ground gently, flirting with the yoga mat below you. You stay like this for a while, breathing.

You’ve been coming to the school’s gym early each morning to do yoga before class for a few weeks now, and it’s been amazing. Your older sister is a third year and captain of the high school girl’s volleyball team, and she lends you the keys to the gymnasium each morning, as long as you get them back to her by lunchtime. So even though you’re only a first year, and you’re not involved in any school sports clubs, you can still enjoy the space. There’s something electric about the air in here, as if the school sports teams and gym classes leave their energy behind when they head out for the day. You’re more than happy to soak up the energy they left behind each morning.

A small clanking noise near the door interrupts the peaceful silence, and you straighten up quickly. You blink away some floaters in your vision as the blood rushes out of your head from the sudden movement. You glance around, still alone. Picking up your phone, you see that it’s only 6:45 - the boys’ volleyball team isn’t set to arrive until 7:15. Typically you’re out of here by 7, but that clank noise has thrown you off, so you pack up your things quickly. After rolling up your yoga mat, shrugging on your jacket, and shouldering your backpack, you step out into the cool air and lock the gym doors behind you. You sigh as you trudge towards the main school building, eyeing the sunrise on the horizon and mentally preparing for class.

Kageyama approaches the gymnasium with bleary eyes and a foggy brain. He checks his phone’s clock - it’s 6:40 am. Over a half hour earlier than he usually gets to school for practice. He had asked Daichi yesterday if they could possibly start their morning practices earlier than usual in preparation for nationals. In response, Daichi had tossed him the keys to the gym, saying, “Get there as early as you want - I’m not enforcing anything for the rest of the team though. Sleep is important. Don’t overexert yourself.” Kageyama nodded to his captain aggressively. Half an hour early seemed reasonable to him. If anything, he could start setting up the net and balls to save time for the rest of the team, and get a head start on his warm ups. He invited Hinata to meet him there early, as well, to practice tosses.

But there’s no sign of Hinata yet. As Kageyama approaches the gym doors, yawning, he fumbles in his pockets for the keys Daichi lent him. He pulls them out, but stops. The lights in the gym are already on. He sees movement through the window, and looks closer, the keys hovering in front of the door handle.

There’s a girl inside, all by herself. She’s off to one side of the gym, bent over at the waist with her arms dangling strangely below her. Her unusual stance makes more sense when Kageyama realizes she’s standing on a yoga mat. He blinks, watching her, waiting for her next move. But she just hangs there. She’s technically facing away from him, but with her head hanging down between her legs he can just make out her face. She looks serene, completely at peace. Kageyama finds his eyes wandering a bit, noticing her athletic gear and strong looking body. Was she on the girls’ volleyball team? Basketball? He’s not sure if he has never seen her before, but she looks so completely at home in that gymnasium, like she’s meant to be there, and he feels like he’s intruding, which he’s never felt when it comes to the gym, and -

“Ey, Kageyama!” Hinata’s too-bright voice calls to him from the bike racks and Kageyama promptly drops the gym keys. They clatter very loudly at his feet. His eyes widen as the girl inside jerks upright and turns toward the door, looking dazed. Kageyama ducks, swipes the keys from the ground, and quietly jogs around the corner, his heart pounding in his chest as he retreats. He feels an exhilaration not unlike the feeling of being chased during a game of tag as a kid. His throat is still tight with anxious energy as he approaches Hinata at the bike racks, greeting him as normally as he can manage. While Hinata cheerfully expresses his excitement for their early practices, Kageyama’s eyes wander to the gym doors being opened. The girl locks the doors behind her and turns to leave, absentmindedly running a hair through her hair. She continues towards the school, not even glancing in their direction.

“Who was that person?” Hinata asks thoughtfully, starting towards the gymnasium.

“I have no clue,” Kageyama answers. But I think I’d like to find out.

—

The next morning, Kageyama finds himself leaving his house even earlier than yesterday, a persistent curiosity in the back of his mind pulling him out of bed before his alarm. He just wants to see if the girl is there again today, or if it was a one time thing, he tells himself. Maybe if she’s there again, he’ll strike up a conversation and find out what sports she plays. Kageyama could afford to expand his social group outside of the volleyball team, but he doesn’t feel like he has anything in common with his classmates. Plus pretty much everyone he’s met at school is loud and extroverted, which Kageyama certainly is not. But maybe this girl, who seemed not only athletic but also content with her own silent presence, who had an aura of calm energy - maybe she would understand his quiet mind.

He shakes the soft thought out of his head as he approaches the school gates. What is he thinking? Why is he idealizing this person he’s never even spoken to? He doesn’t even know her name. There’s a tug in his stomach at the thought of learning her name. Saying it casually in conversation, calling it out to her in greeting when they pass in the hallway, texting her and seeing her name pop up on his phone.

Man, was he lonely or something? How could that be when he has an entire team to hang out with constantly? Maybe it’s the fact that the whole team has friends outside of volleyball that bothers him. Especially Hinata. Hinata can make friends with everyone. He’s constantly being approached by his acquaintances from other classes - even from other schools. How does he do it? It feels strange for Kageyama to care about that, but he does care. He may be introverted, but he’s still human.

Kageyama is suddenly at the door of the gymnasium again. And the lights are on again.

He glances at his phone - 6:32 am.

He peers through the window.

You are so revved up this morning. You had started with yoga when you arrived at the school gymnasium, like usual, but today you felt like you needed a little something more. You wanted to get your heart rate up a bit, and let off some steam. You ended up rolling up the yoga mat, pulling your sneakers back on, and fishing a jump rope out of the supply closet.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been jumping rope now, but you feel amazing. You’ve always been pretty good at jump rope, always getting gold in your school physical fitness tests growing up. It reminds you of being a kid.

Okay, you’ve been going pretty fast for a while now. Your breath is starting to become a bit more strained, and sweat is gathering on your forehead and upper lip. You take your body’s reactions as a signal to go faster, to push harder. Your toes are hardly lifting off the ground with each hop, your wrists barely twitching to swing the rope at top speed with minimum effort. You force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can even with your body moving this fast. Your eyes had been narrowed on the opposite wall until now, when you lower your head in concentration, sweat dripping onto the floor from the tip of your nose as you start to jump even faster.

A primal emotion deep in your stomach stirs. Something about pushing your body to its physical limit makes you feel more alive than anything else can. It’s strange, because you were never attracted to sports teams growing up, and hated gym class more than anything. The thrill you get from exercise is indescribable - but it’s always been something you’ve preferred to do alone, with nobody watching. You prefer to run in quiet neighborhoods, you’ve never signed up for a gym membership, and you’ve never taken a real yoga class before. Working out has always been something private for you, even now, in this gym.

Oh, shit. You’re still jump-roping at full speed. Your brain is yanked back to reality and your head snaps back up. You release the rope thoughtlessly in your dazed state and one of the plastic handles whips around to smack you in the shin. You wince as you double over, resting your hands on your knees and taking in big gulps of air. You swipe the back of your hand across your forehead to clear some of the sweat. Damn, how long were you jumping?

“That was intense.”

You straighten immediately at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, still trying to catch your breath. There’s a tall dude in a black tracksuit standing just inside the door, with keys in hand. You let your guard down immediately when you see that he’s a student, and continue to pant unashamedly. You wave your hand in front of you dismissively, resting your other hand on your hip.

“That was...nothing. You...saw nothing,” you manage between heavy breaths, feeling totally exposed in this state. Your eyebrows furrow at your own physical struggle and your eyes fall to the floor as you attempt to get a hold of yourself. “Jesus…I must’ve been going...for a while.”

“It was like 10 minutes,” the guy says. You look up at him again and there’s a slight blush on his cheeks. You’re totally making him uncomfortable with your sweating and panting. How were you oblivious of his presence for 10 whole minutes?

“How was I oblivious of your presence for 10 whole minutes?” He makes a strange face — guilt? No, probably embarrassment — before you continue. “I’m so sorry. You have practice and I’m intruding, I’ve probably been here way too long-“

“No,” he interrupts, his eyes widening. “I’m- I’m early. Practice doesn’t start for another half hour. I’m the one who’s intruding on you. I’m sorry.”

You purse your lips and look at the wall clock. He’s right, it’s only about 6:45. “Huh,” you say. You shift your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. Reality is finally sinking in now that you’re getting enough oxygen to your brain. This dude just walked in on you aggressively jump roping like some angry toddler. You don’t like when anyone sees you like that - let alone a guy your age who goes to your school that you will probably run into again in the hallways. Every time he sees you he’ll picture that girl who’s all sweaty, jumping up and down by herself in a corner. It’s your turn to blush.

The guy hasn’t said anything else, and you’re getting more embarrassed by the second, so you turn and start collecting your things quickly. “Well, I better rinse off in the showers before class now that I’ve overdone it anyways,” you say, walking past him with all your stuff in your arms, not even bothering to put your jacket on. “Gym’s all yours - have fun,” you say over your shoulder as you exit.

You take care not to trip on the sidewalk outside. You can’t really see where you’re stepping on account of the pile of things you decided to carry. Instead of, you know, putting it all in your backpack like a normal person.

“Wait,” you hear from behind you. You turn, looking up at the dude who walked in on you. He’s standing in the open doorway of the gym, facing you. He’s still blushing. “What’s your name?” He asks.

He probably wants to know so he can tell all his volleyball buddies to avoid you. But his eyes look incredibly innocent. You get the impression that this guy isn’t capable of having ulterior motives of any kind. Maybe he’s just being polite.

“Y/N,” you say, managing to smile. “What’s yours?”

“Kageyama,” he says, not smiling back but wearing a pleasant enough expression.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Kageyama.” You wave and turn, ready to wash this sweat (and his intense gaze) off of you.

—

So much for striking up a conversation.

Kageyama mentally kicks himself as he re-enters the gym. Why couldn’t he speak normally? Why’d he have to be so creepy and silent and scare you off? He groans and leans his back against the wall, sliding down and burying his face in his hands. He had stood outside the door for most of that ten minutes, contemplating whether or not to enter. He should’ve walked away the second he saw you inside. But he couldn’t help it. You were concentrating so hard, your nose scrunched up, your head lowered, your legs and arms working overtime to maintain your remarkable pace. The rope was a blur around you. You were jumping so rapidly you almost appeared to be floating just slightly over the gym floor. Kageyama must have been hypnotized. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to speak up when he finally did enter the room. He could only stand and bear witness to your private display of athleticism.

That was it - private. It had seemed so private and Kageyama completely ruined it. And then he went and blurted out that he was watching her for ten whole minutes. He was an idiot for thinking he could talk to her without making it weird.

At least he got her name, even though she probably despises him now. Y/N. He lifts his head slowly, feeling defeated. He eyes the abandoned jump rope laying just a few feet away. He sighs, rising to go put it away. But something else on the floor catches his eye, around where Y/N had piled up her stuff. A small, shiny mound.

A ring of keys.

part 2 coming eventually, hmu if you want on the tag list, thx for reading :*

#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama #kageyama tobio fic #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #kageyama imagine #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyu #kageyama tobio imagine #kageyama tobio x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #haikyuu imagine

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clareguilty · 5 years ago

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Charles/Javier/Reader Fic

Read it here on AO3 Rating: General | No Warnings (reader is gender neutral but masc) Word Count: ~4500

"I know, old girl," you patted your horse reassuringly as she let out a worried snort. "We'll find them soon."

The sun was sinking over the Grizzlies, and Flat Iron Lake was turning from purple to inky black as you carefully made your way along the shore.

You knew how important it was that camp remained well hidden, but you had hoped that you would at least be able to find the gang with nothing but Mary-Beth's letter to go off of.

Dearest Cousin,

The weather is growing too hot here now that spring is in full bloom, so we've decided to move somewhere cooler. Your uncle has found a great place for us to pass the season right on the shore of Flat Iron Lake, not too far from Rhodes. Just head East from town. Come visit us as soon as you get the chance, the whole family can't wait to see you again. I hope this letter finds you well.

Warm regards, Leslie Dupont

P.S. We passed through Valentine. It is a disgusting and rotten town, and the sheriff is very unhelpful.

The girl was clever. She had sent you the location of the new hideout without giving away anything else about the gang in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. You had guessed that the law had caught up with them around Valentine, and that the sheriff was on the lookout for any trouble. You had no need to go back there anyways. The past few weeks, you had been working a job at Emerald Ranch.

It was your first real job. Your first time being out on your own since you joined the gang. The freedom and independence meant a lot to you, not to mention the fact that Dutch trusted you enough to send you out on your own. You were tired of feeling like dead weight, and this was your chance to prove yourself. Hosea had set everything up for you, and you had gone undercover as a ranch hand for nearly a month as you gathered information and put all the pieces in place that allowed you to steal away in the dead of night with $800 and a satchel full of valuables.

But that $800 dollars would never make it into Dutch’s hands if you couldn’t find the goddamned camp. It was getting dark, and that wouldn’t help you any.

Or would it?

As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, you noticed a flicker of light through the trees. That fire had better belong to the gang.

You picked your way through the thinning trees, stumbling upon a pack of familiar horses.

“Oh, thank god,” you hitched your old girl and stripped her of as much tack as possible before striding determinedly towards a familiar white tent.

Arthur looked up from his journal as you passed his cot. “You’re back!” he grinned, pushing to his feet to follow after you. “Did you get on alright?”

“Yeah. Everything was fine for once.” You made your way to where Dutch was sitting. A few other gang members had noticed your arrival and were heading over to meet you.

Dutch greeted you with open arms and a boisterous cheer. “How great it is to see you,” he pulled you in for a chaste embrace.

You pushed your stuffed satchel into his arms. His grin widened as he hefted it, feeling the sheer weight of your score. He shot you a look of pure admiration. “You’re always so good for me.”

You flushed and smiled. Dutch was kind, and he cared for you. It felt good to be home.

A hand closed over your shoulder and you turned to see Hosea smiling just as wide. "Thanks for setting up that job for me," you clasped your hand over his.

"I should be thanking you for bringing my ideas to glorious fruition," the older man grinned. "You did good."

It was the warmest welcome you could imagine. A celebration was quickly under way, rejoicing at your return as well as the money you brought with you.

"You must be tired," Susan flitted over, "let me show you where we've got you set up." She led you to a spot by the fire. Your bedroll was laid out among the others, but that was all you could see.

"Where's my trunk?" You asked, unstrapping your gear and setting it neatly nearby.

Susan's brow creased. "It should be right over here. I had them unload all of your stuff already."

You circled the tent. Swanson's, Charles', and Javier's trunks were all neatly lined up, but no sign of yours. "It's not here."

"I'll have Bill double check the wagons. He was the one responsible for picking up your things." She strode off, and you wanted to feel sorry for poor Bill. Susan was a force to be reckoned with. But you couldn't muster up any sympathy at the moment; you wanted your trunk.

The sharp cadence of Susan's voice could be heard as you grabbed a beer and settled in by the fire. Uncle had pulled out his banjo, and Pearson was on the accordion, leading Sean and Lenny in a drunken and out of tune rendition of some old navy song.

You watched as Bill lumbered over to the wagons, peering in each one. He grew more and more frustrated as you watched him. At last, he threw his hands up and returned to where Susan and Dutch were sitting. You made your way over there as well.

"-must have gotten lost somewhere along the way," Bill was saying. "I swear I loaded everything up."

"Where's my trunk," you demanded.

The three of them turned to you. None of their expressions showed any promise.

Bill was the first to own up. "I promise you I packed it before we left Horseshoe Overlook. I don't know what happened, but I can't find it."

"My clothes are in there. My things are in there."

"I know," Dutch attempted to placate you. "We'll keep looking for it. I'm sure your things will turn up."

"I want my clothes," you were growing angry now. You had more than just your clothes in that trunk: a bottle of nice brandy, a bag of coins, and some jewelry you had stolen from some asshat in Strawberry, but Dutch didn't need to know about any of that. You had worked your ass off for weeks only to come back and find all of your things were missing. Not to mention you had to leave your spare shirts behind at Emerald Ranch to make room for everything you had stolen.

"We'll find them," Dutch raised his hand, "and if not, I'll set aside some of your most recent score so you can replace what you lost."

You took a step forward, glancing wildly between the three of them. "I just rode all the way from Emerald goddamn Ranch, stumbling through the woods to find this place. All I want is a clean shirt and a night of rest, but what do I find? My things are gone."

You could hear the camp fall silent around you, watching your outburst as you jabbed a finger into Bill's broad chest.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind you and large, warm hands closed around your shoulders, pulling you back a respectable distance. "Easy, Little Bear," Charles was grinning; you could hear it in his voice. "Let's wash what you've got on and hang it to dry overnight. You can borrow some of my clothes in the meantime."

You acquiesced, knowing it was useless to try and argue with Charles. He was more level-headed than you and always so damn reasonable. He steered you away from Dutch and Bill, towards the shore of the lake where the water lapped gently against the muddy bank.

"Your clothes will be too big on me," you complained. Charles was easily twice your size.

"Yes, but they'll be clean." He pointed a warning finger at you, a silent command to stay still while he went to grab something for you to change into.

You sulked and stared out over the water, watching stray boats drift across the horizon. Charles returned, a bundle of familiar fabric draped over his arm. You recognized his blue button down.

"Wash up and get changed. I'll help you wash your things." He handed you the clothes.

The polite thing to do would have been to turn him down; you could wash your own clothes. Instead you stepped behind the wagon, stripped out of your things, and tossed them in the general direction of Charles. He didn't say anything, but you heard his footsteps retreating towards the wash basin.

You waded into the lake. The water was still warm in the shallows, heated from the afternoon sun. The mud was soft and cool beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes until it dropped off into cold darkness. You swam out a few yards, scrubbing through your hair as best you could and trying to rub all of the Heartlands' dust from your skin.

The quiet of the lake was soothing, and you floated in the water until your fingers wrinkled and pruned. Finally, you waded to shore, drying off with a spare cloth before pulling on the clothes Charles lent you.

He was right; they were clean, and soft, and they smelled good. Charles must have stored herbs with his things because everything smelled like oregano and mint and thyme and leather.

They were also far too large on you. You rolled the sleeves up as far as you could and resorted to simply tying the bottom hem at your hips to keep the shirt from reaching to your knees. You rolled the pants to your ankles, working your belt through the loops with only a little difficulty.

You spotted Charles hanging your things out to dry. He looked you up and down as you approached.

"I look ridiculous," you groaned, helping him pin your trousers to the line. He made a soft sound, but didn't say anything.

"Thanks for loaning me some clothes," you placed a hand on his arm as the two of you walked back towards the fire.

"It's nothing," Charles shrugged. He passed you a beer and steered you towards the fire where Sean was giving a slurred, impassioned speech about what you assumed to be the beauty of a woman's breasts. You took your seat, waving off any comment about the fact that you were drowning in Charles' clothes.

The party continued on even as you laid down for the night. The younger men carried on and on without any care, much to everyone else's annoyance as things refused to quiet down.

Just as you fell asleep, you thought you heard the distant rumble of thunder, but that might have just been Uncle snoring.

It was thunder.

You woke to a sheet of rain coming out of nowhere, jolting you awake as well as Javier next to you. Thunder rang out over the water and the wind began to pick up more quickly than you could understand.

Javier cursed and began grabbing anything he didn't want to get soaked, dashing for the nearest wagon. A flash of lightning broke you out of your stupor and you jumped to your feet.

"My clothes," you whined. You ran to the line where Charles had hung them, but it was empty. The wind had taken everything. Not even the pins remained. "Aw, shit," you cursed, stomping in the mud.

Camp was in a state of chaos behind you. No one had anticipated the rain and people were running left and right to try and keep the storm from causing too much damage. The girls were all huddled in John's tent, sheltering Jack as best they could. Hosea and Lenny were trying to keep the ammunition dry, pulling a waxed tarp over the crates. It was a surprise the gang had dealt with many times before. Rain was nothing but an inconvenience.

Charles found you staring wistfully at the empty clothesline.

"They're gone," you said lamely.

"I'm sorry. I should have seen the storm coming," he tried to pull you at least under the bough of the tree so you weren't standing under the downpour.

"It's not your fault." You shook your head.

"Come on," he tried again to usher you towards some shelter, "there's no need to stand out in the storm." You followed along begrudgingly, settling in across from Javier in one of the covered wagons.

The storm passed, and everything was mostly dry by the next evening. You were now stuck in Charles' clothes indefinitely. Sean and John wasted no time in teasing you. You looked ridiculous.

"Please, Dutch," you begged, "just let me go into town and buy some clothes. I'll head straight to the general store and nowhere else."

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "Our presence, or lack thereof, in this town is of the utmost importance. We have an in with this Sheriff Gray and his family, and I'm not going to risk it for anything."

You stormed off, throwing your hands up in disbelief. Sadie shot you a look that could only be described as commiserating. She was in the same boat as you, forced to remain in camp until someone decided to escort her to town.

Javier waved you over before you could get too far. He must have sensed your plan to steal away into town without anyone noticing, because he forced you to go out fishing with him on the lake.

You let him row the boat out onto the water, too petulant to even take your rod out for the first 20 minutes. Javier was unfazed. He baited his hook and cast his line like you weren't even there.

You eventually gave in and cast your line beside his, bringing in a few small bluegill while Javier managed to hook a bass. "Not bad," he clapped you on the back. "Much better than Arthur."

The compliment made you feel better, and you offered to row back to shore.

Charles was waiting for your return. He took the bass from Javier and told you to give the bluegill to Pearson.

"This can be our dinner tonight," Javier grinned. "We catch it, he cooks it."

You had no objections to that, following the two of them over to one of the smaller fires where Charles immediately set to work preparing the fish.

"You know," Javier spoke up, "you can borrow some of my clothes if you need to. They'd probably fit better, and we all know I'm the best dressed one around here."

Charles didn't appear to take any offense to the suggestion, so you grinned at Javier. "Thanks for the offer. I can't believe Dutch won't even let me go into town."

The three of you shared a meal of fish and mushrooms. Javier and Charles were easy to be around, and they never hesitated to put another serving on your plate. You envied the easy familiarity between them, the soft touches and gentle smiles they exchanged. They had a bond stronger than any men you had known before, and you enjoyed this invitation into their comfort and intimacy.

Another sunrise, another day of Dutch refusing to let you go into town. Fed up with his nonsense, you wandered over to where the O'Driscoll boy was resting among the horses.

He was eager to help, especially since he didn't know you were going against Dutch's orders. He helped you saddle up one of the Morgan horses, cooing to the beast as you mounted up and slipped quietly into the forest.

You pushed north until you broke the treeline, and then turned west towards the road. It was a straight shot to Rhodes from there. Sure, you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes but you weren't going to let that stop you. You could change once you got to the general store and then everything would be right as rain.

Except you didn't even make it to the general store. You were hardly at the edge of the farmlands before the thunder of hooves sounded behind you. Your pistol was in your hand before you had even turned.

Charles and Javier were gaining on you, and this borrowed Morgan would never be able to outrun them. You let out a groan of frustration, rearing to a stop and giving up before the men had even reached you.

They overtook you on either side. Charles scooped you up in one arm and deposited you onto Taima in front of him. Javier rounded up the poor horse you had borrowed from the O'Driscoll and began leading it back to camp.

"Little Bear, what were you thinking?" Charles was scolding you. "You're in Dutch's good graces after that job at Emerald Ranch, would you really want to ruin that by defying him?" You slumped forward. Charles threw an arm around your chest to keep you upright. "I don't understand why you can't just be patient. Javier and I can look out for you until Dutch says it's okay to go into town." He was right, but you certainly weren't satisfied with it.

You let them sneak you back into camp. For the rest of the night, neither one let you out of their sight. Whenever you strayed too far from the gang, Javier was there, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

Even more embarrassing, Charles moved his bedroll to be on the other side of you. You were trapped between him and Javier with no way of sneaking out in the night. Despite your frustration, you felt safe between them.

The days wore on with no chance of going into Rhodes. Javier took great pleasure in dressing you up, forcing a multitude of accessories on you and laughing to himself as he made you look 'proper.'

Arthur and John stood by with amused smiles on their faces, snickering every so often. You glared at them, but you doubt the expression carried any weight when you looked like a goddamned fool.

"They're just jealous that they can't look this good," Javier scoffed. "Let me comb out your hair."

If you thought you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes, you felt like a clown in Javier's. Sean and Uncle began to lay into you instantly, and you quickly grew too irritated to be around them.

The girls were the only ones who had anything nice to say about how you were dressed, but they turned all of their compliments to Javier and his impeccable sense of style. You were nothing more than a pretty doll for them to look at.

"You look fine," Charles assured you. "Javier’s look suits you. Maybe you should consider adding a waistcoat to your new wardrobe."

You rolled your eyes at the suggestion, but he didn't miss the way your hands smoothed over the fabric. You were considering it.

Javier followed you around constantly, showering you with praise that was really just him complimenting his own work.

"If you don't cut it out I'm going to take this off right now and throw it in the lake," you turned on him.

"But then what will you wear?" Javier countered.

"I'll borrow something of Arthur's," you waved a hand to where the older outlaw was scribbling in his journal.

"Huh? Me? Why can't you wear John's stuff?" Arthur immediately shot you down.

"Because none of Marston's stuff is ever clean," you said. Arthur and Javier both nodded in agreement at that. Marston was always filthy, and his clothes were worn and threadbare.

Remembering the true source of your anger, you turned towards Dutch's tent, fury in your eyes. None of this would be an issue if the bastard would just let you go into town. Javier quickly stepped in front of you, seeing how poorly this could end.

"Hey, hey -- easy, Osito," he backed you up a few steps, "just wear my stuff for a few days. I promise we'll get you something soon."

Ignoring Javier, you took a step toward Dutch’s tent. His arms locked around your chest and shoulders and he began dragging you away. “Dios mio,” he muttered under his breath, “Te amo, pero puedes ser mucho.”

You had no clue what he was saying, but you didn’t care unless he was taking you into Rhodes. Javier dragged you up the hill, past the horses and into the trees. You didn’t fight him, but you certainly didn’t make it easy on him. He dropped you in the leaves once you were you of sight of camp.

“What’s your problem, huh?” he demanded. “Dutch gives you one order -- una orden -- and you have to fight him at every turn? He has a job lined up for us. You can’t jeopardize that. Why can’t you just wait until he gives you permission to go into town?”

Javier’s scolding made your blood boil. You pushed to your knees, staring up at him. “He’s being ridiculous. Even you have to see that. I’ve lost everything. I hate being so dependent on everyone for everything all the time, and now I don’t even own the clothes off my back. I just want to have something of my own again.”

Javier opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the approach of someone else. You both turned to see Charles; he had probably heard everything. He walked straight towards you, helping you to your feet. You glanced between him and Javier.

“I understand you’re upset,” Charles spoke first. “You lost more than just your clothes in that trunk. Was there anything important?”

You looked to your boots. Charles wouldn’t tell Dutch that you were hiding money from him, but you weren’t as sure about Javier. Sighing, you spoke up. “A bottle of brandy -- the good stuff. Some jewelry I had stolen. A, uh, a bag of coins. Those don’t really matter thought, they can all be replaced. There were some letters from my mother -- heirlooms and things too. I can’t get those back.” You kicked at the underbrush.

“I’m sorry,” Charles smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Sorry won’t bring them back,” you hated that you couldn’t stop fighting. You didn’t want to argue.

“Can you do something for me, Little Bear?” Charles gently nudged your chin with his thumb and you looked up at him. Against your instincts, you nodded. As much as you wanted to take care of things yourself, it would be better to trust Charles. “Can you wait three more days?”

You frowned and turned to Javier, eyes pleading. He just shrugged and shook his head. This was between you and Charles.

“Three days,” you agreed. “After that, I’m doing things my way.”

Charles nodded.

The next morning, he was gone. You searched all over camp, but you knew he was nowhere to be found; Taima was missing as well. Several other horses were missing as well, The Count and Silver Dollar were nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Charles?” you asked Arthur.

“No clue. He left before I woke up this morning. Must be riding out pretty far, I reckon.”

You were tempted to break your promise. Who knew when Charles would be back? Three days was nothing. He likely wouldn't be back until next week. No one would notice or care if you left camp now.

Except Javier. Loyal Javier, who had watched you give your word to Charles. Javier, who was letting you borrow his clothes. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you dug in and did your chores, helped cook and clean and sew, always one ear to the ground for any word from Dutch or Charles. Damn that van der Linde and all his planning. You just wanted to be reckless for once, to run in without thinking. What did it matter, all these Grays and Braithewaites?

Night fell on the third day, and you slumped into the seat next to Javier. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Don’t worry,” he grinned. “Things will start looking up again soon.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, but Javier made a satisfied sound next to you. You narrowed your eyes and pointed a finger at his chest, “You know something, don’t you?”

“Who? Me?” Javier laughed, “I am not in the habit of knowing things.”

You knew you would never get a straight answer out of him, so you leaned into his side and watched the flames lick up towards the sky. You dozed off without meaning to, unsure if you imagined the feeling of Javier’s lips brushing against your forehead.

The sound of an approaching horse woke you. Someone had returned to camp.

Taima’s white flank shone in the moonlight and you raced to meet Charles as he dismounted. He scooped you into his arms, spinning you around before setting you on your feet. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“I’ve brought you something,” he retrieved a rather bulky parcel from his saddlebags. “Let’s move closer to the fire.”

You tore open the twine and paper, running your fingers over the soft fabric inside. “You didn’t…” you held up the shirt in the firelight. It was nicer than anything you had owned before, and it must have cost a fortune.

“I spoke to Dutch, and he agreed to let me ride to the tailor’s in Saint Denis. You should thank him when you get the chance.”

You didn’t think Dutch deserved any thanks for all his ridiculous impositions, but you threw your arms around Charles’ neck. It was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for you.

“There’s more,” he turned you back to the parcel. “I’m sure Javier wants to see them as well.”

You held up each item, letting both men feel the fabrics and admire the craftsmanship. There were shirts, trousers, a jacket, and even a tie. When you reached the last item, you let out a bark of laughter. It was a waistcoat, not unlike the one Javier had leant you.

“Muy hermoso,” he nodded in approval. “You’ll look almost as good as me.”

You rewrapped the items and tucked them next to your bedroll.

“You don’t want to change right now?” Charles raised an eyebrow. You were in his shirt and Javier’s pants. They were comfortable and worn.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” you shrugged. "Thank you… for taking care of me," you stared at the bottle in your hands. "I know I've been difficult to handle."

"You would do the same for us," Charles smoothed a hand over your hair.

"There's one more thing," Javier shot you a coyote grin. He reached into his own pack and pulled out a bottle. The firelight caught in the glass and glowed amber. "The good stuff," he passed it to you. It was brandy, nicer than the bottle you had lost.

You hugged him tight, uncapping the bottle and taking a drink before offering it to Javier. He drank and passed the bottle to Charles. It was some of the smoothest, sweetest liquor you had tasted.

#Charles Smith #charles smith/reader #Javier Escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella/reader #charles smith x reader #charles smith/javier escuella/reader #fic #rdr2

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astheravensighs · 5 years ago

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[Double Dark and Darker]

Gray meets Dazai for the first time, and things go as well as you would expect.

"Um," Gray almost whispered, tugging on Chuuya's sleeve gently. "Who is that..?"

Chuuya followed her gaze to the benches along the sides of the abandoned stadium, spotting a familiar pair of eyes watching them both like a mischievous hawk. Legs crossed and body bent forward in rapt fascination of the new addition to their equation.

"Ah. That's Dazai. He's…" Chuuya paused thoughtfully, if not slightly bitterly. "Well, let's use the word friend." He glanced back over at her and saw the same confusion as before she asked. "Just- he's not gonna hurt you. He's just watching. You can… trust him." He felt his throat sting, briefly thankful he was out of earshot. Gray kept her eyes on the distant figure. "He doesn't seem safe," she stated, retreating farther into the too-big coat he'd lent her. Chuuya choked down the embarrassment of showing his least favorite person his soft side and leaned down to her height.

"Hey," He said softly, waiting until her eyes met his own. "I've never once given you a reason not to trust me, right?" She hesitated, but slowly nodded. "Right. I promised I would keep you safe. I know for a fact he's not a threat," He stood back up to his full height and puffed out his chest a little bit. "But even if he was, I'd kill him before he ever got near you." "K-kill him?" "Or, uh- I'd knock him out, y'know," His posture deflated as he tried to backpedal his accidentally fearsome persona.

Watching curiously, elbow on his knee and chin resting on the back of his hand, Dazai couldn't help but grin a little bit. Chuuya was going soft. As funny as it was, he felt a certain responsibility to stop the odd change clearly taking place in his psyche. His rival should be his equal. Seeing him distracted, giving in to his overwhelming protective instinct, was irritating. Unfortunately, he found himself being affected too.

This little girl was barely shoulder height to his tiny ex-partner and probably jumped every time he coughed. Her eyes were colorless, no blue or green or brown at all. Just gray. He wondered briefly if Chuuya had given her the uncreative name based on her eyes. The clothes she was wearing he recognized- they were Chuuya's. They fit him when he was maybe 17 (and honestly, probably still did) but they completely enveloped her, and he recognized the way she retreated into it as if it was a bulletproof shield.

He could read her like a picture book. Everything about her, from the way she held her arms to her chest as she walked to the way her eyes darted around to assess every threat, screamed out to him one word- pitiful. And as much as he was a monster, and as much as he hated to admit it, Dazai had some human left in him, and that humanity was screaming for him to protect her too.

"A-anyway, y'know why we're here, right? I'd like to teach you some self defense stuff." Gray gave Chuuya a look that was equal parts fear for her own safety, and fear for his. He gave her a reassuring smile and took a few steps back. "Just outta curiosity, to see what I'm working with," He spread his arms out, completely opening up his abdomen, unguarded. "Try just a punch or something. Right here," He gestured to his stomach.

Gray looked down at her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist for a few seconds, before meeting his eyes again, eyebrows pushed together with worry. "But what if I… hurt you?"

An absolute guffaw from the sidelines startled her, drawing both participants' gazes. Dazai was attempting to stifle the giggles spilling out of him, eliciting a sigh from his 'friend'.

"Ignore him."

Gray gave him one last look before turning her eyes back to her protector, trying to ignore the redness she felt burning her ears.

"Just a punch. I promise you won't hurt me. You really, really won't," He insisted.

A few moments of silence and stillness as Gray takes a breath, calming her nerves, rattled by this simple task. She clenches her fist again, and forces it forwards, shutting her eyes and hoping for the best.

As the backs of her fingers make contact with the threads of Chuuya's vest, they all but rolled off, only creating a soft 'thud', and throwing her off balance. "Oh, woah-" Chuuya sputtered, not sure what he was expecting, but knowing it wasn't… that. He steadied her before she fell, withdrawing his hands quickly, remembering how she'd flinched at his touch the day before. He could almost feel the heat emanating from her cheeks in shame.

"…Okay, let's try again."

She turned to face him again, head tilted, still uncomfortable voicing her questions, but knowing he knew what she was asking.

"No, you didn't hurt me. I swear," He reassured, adding only in his own thoughts, 'You almost hurt yourself'.

He gave her the most encouraging smile he could, approaching her slowly. "Let me show you how to do it," He offered, reaching out to guide her before stopping- "Can I touch your hands?" She nodded and braced her skittish instincts as his gloved fingers barely brushed her own. Ignoring the alarms in her head as they began to scream at her to run, she watched carefully as he gently pushed her fingers into a proper fist.

"Chuuya, I think she's more of a visual learner, you know?" a singsong voice from behind them earned a small yelp from the already wary girl, as Chuuya whipped around to face it.

"Oi, you're supposed to stay back-" "I know, I know," Dazai interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I know how to demonstrate much better." "Dazai!" Chuuya watched him as he circled around him, holding out a protective arm to shield the now very uncomfortable girl behind him. "I told you-" He began, but was interrupted as Dazai pulled his own fist back, meeting the scared, colorless eyes peeking out at him. "Watch this carefully!"

Dazai knew Chuuya's guard was focused entirely on protecting his little fosterling, and not on his own safety. So as his fist struck the smaller man's abdomen, there was a look of disbelief on his face that Dazai reveled in as he followed through, putting all of his force behind the motion of his arm, sending Chuuya's body directly into the wall behind him with a disturbing 'crack'.

A moment passes completely silent as Chuuya's back slid the few feet down the wall to impact the rough dirt. Taking a second the shake off the shock, he gaped at the blood now dripping from his forehead, off his chin, staining his clothes. Steeling his glare, he moved to get up, to retaliate, to- Shit, he needed to get /her/ away first- But as he looked back up, the fire in his eyes faded.

Dazai had already seen what he was only just now seeing, already turning to face it. A shadowy mass of tendrils and dark smoke was taking over the spot Gray had just been. A low growl, rising in tone and intensity, echoed through the stadium, but was directed right at Dazai, who just couldn't help his own shit-eating grin. He saw the attachment between them. He knew there was potential hidden beneath that timid exterior. He knew she wasn't created in a lab, researched and studied and hidden away for years, just to turn out useless. He KNEW there was something to her, and he knew how to find out what. And as she stared him down with smoke and shadow where her eyes used to be, he felt no fear. He had no reason to. His ability was a nullifying get-out-of-jail free card, so to speak. And the satisfaction he felt from a successful plan almost outweighed the rumbling in his chest as the growling got louder.

"You know," he turned to fully face her. "You're cute when you're mad."

The growl turned into a roar as the mass of shadows lurched backwards, rearing up like an angry stallion, before careening back towards him. He lazily outstretched his hand, letting his ability activate, but it was for nothing.

The enraged, shadowy creature that was once a girl charged into him, almost through him, and out of the dark mist emerged a hand, black as night, balled into a fist so tight the claw-like nails dug into a bleeding palm. The limb was barely visible as it rocketed directly into Dazai's outstretched palm.

For just a moment, time seemed to slow down for the two men as they simultaneously understood what was happening, what was about to happen. Chuuya's face was pure, unfiltered shock and awe. Mouth open, eyes wide, mind reeling- but Dazai's face was something that he'd later come to treasure. He'd relive this moment in his mind a hundred times, seeing the image of Dazai's cocky smirk suddenly shifting to shock, the corners of his mouth dropping, his eyes refocusing- this isn't right… My ability..!- and then contorting to fear, his teeth gritting and eyebrows high. This beautiful scene only lasted a fraction of a second before the fist against his hand ignored the blue glow of his nullification ability and continued its destructive path directly into his chest, sounding a loud "CRACK" as his ribs buckled from the force, body suddenly being wrenched into the same trajectory as the leading arm, rocketing hard into the wall right next to the wide eyed man he'd dropped just seconds before.

A hush fell over all three of them as the dark smoke began to fade from the outstretched limb, revealing the shoulders, the neck, then the face of a very scared, very small girl. There were tears in her eyes and her every limb was shaking like a scared puppy. As soon as her mouth was visible she was talking, almost chanting, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" The rest of her body came into view as the darkness evaporated into the air like a lifting fog and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing and apologizing to Dazai, to Chuuya, to herself.

Chuuya pushed down the shock- maybe even fear- trying to keep him frozen and wrenched himself off the ground, ignoring the equally astonished body leaning next to him. With some effort he lifted his own limbs to scramble over to the sobbing mess on the ground, unsure of what entirely to do.

"Hey, hey, hey-- Are you okay? Are you- Look at me, please?" She couldn't stop the shame that escaped from her throat and turned into wails but she did meet his eyes with hers. She could see the surprise in his face, but she could also see concern- for her. Before she could look down again he caught her chin with his fingers- gently- and tried to think of what to say.

"Hey… I'm proud of you."

The four words overtook her thoughts like a wildfire. How long had she waited to hear that? Longer than she'd been alive. Proud of her. He was proud… of her. She did something good. Even though her whole body ached, her mind was reeling, and her wrist felt broken, she couldn't help the confused, blissful smile that crept up to her face. Then her head fell forward again, and her body slumped, unconscious, into Chuuya's arms.

(thank u for reading <3)

#otp: double dark and darker #gray’s original #gray’s writing #s/i: gray valentine

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bonniebird · 6 years ago

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Half of a whole

Daenerys x Daughter!Reader

Requested by Anon

“(Y/N) will not be easy to keep in the crypts.” Daenerys said across the table to Tyrion.

“Perhaps her fire would be useful?” Tyrion started. Sansa raised her eyebrows in amusement as Daenerys’ head snapped towards Tyrion and she gave him a withering glare.

“Absolutely not, she is a child.” She snapped, glancing at Jon who gave an awkward nod.

“I thought we needed all the dragons we could get.” Sansa said casually as she reached for her goblet and sipped from it as she looked over the brim with a blank face.

Before Danny could reply the doors pushed open and Sansa’s eyes fell on a child no older than seven or eight. Perhaps a few inches shorter than Lady Mormont she carried an air of importance. She was dressed similarly to Daenerys, the coat was light blue rather than white and three dragon pieces crowned her braids. There was no denying the girl was a Targaryen, the features were unmistakable.

“Mother. Varys has a riddle for me and I cannot answer it will you help?” You asked her as she lifted you to sit in her lap.

“Not just yet. Where are your guards?” She asked with a gentle smile as she stroked your cheek.

“The wolf soldier showed me how to sneak.” You said and mimed sneaking to Daenerys who laughed as you hopped down and rushed to show Tyrion your sneaking. “I can scare all the white walkers away. I just sneak and BOO!” You giggled as you scrambled under the table and jumped out at Tyrion who pretended to keel over in shock.

“Forgive me, Princess (Y/N) is getting very good at sneaking. Lady Stark finds her antics amusing.” Missandei said as she glided into the room.

“Go with Missandei sweetheart, I will find you once the meeting is done.” Daenerys promised with an encouraging smile. Sansa gave a smile that was clearly a smirk of amusement when you crinkle your nose and looked in her direction. “I do not want to hide inside! I want to play with Drogon!”

“(Y/N)!” Daenerys hissed, clearly flustered when she couldn’t get you to stop.

“Varys says I have to stay in the crypts but I WON'T! I will fight with my fire!” You said with a pout and squealed when Missandei tried to shoo you out of the room.

“Princess Targaryen.” Sansa said so camly that everyone hushed and looked at her as she rose from her seat and rounded the table. “If your fire can kill white walkers I must make a request of you.”

“Yes!” You said excitedly as she crouched down to look you in the eye while Daenerys glanced at Jon as if to silently beg him to intervene.

“I have hundreds of people preparing to hide in the crypts but almost all of them are unable to fight. The men will be too busy fighting to defend us. Bar Lord Tyrion of course. It would be a great comfort of you would agree to defend them for me.” She smiled kindly and held out her hand for you to shake. You quickly shook it and beamed a proud smile as Missandei led you out.

“Well that was easier than expected.” Varys said as he entered the room, having caught the end of the interaction.

“I grew up with Arya. It may not convince her to stay down in the crypts but for now she will entertain the idea, hopefully she will be spooked into staying safe.” Sitting at the table again there was a moment of awkward silence as Daenerys looked her up and down before surrendering a smile.

“Thank you.” Danny said softly before the meeting continued.

************************************************************

“They’re down in the crypts.” Jon said as he rushed to Daenerys’ side as she finished giving commands and folded her hands, looking over the army in worry.

“Hopefully they’ll stay safe. As safe as we can.” Danny muttered as she sighed and glanced at Jon who looked positively morbid.

They watched in silence as the army surged forward to challenge the first wave of enemies. In the distance Daenerys spotted someng, squinting she frowned and lent forwards a little.

“No!” She gasped as she realised you were riding your horse with the front row of Dothraki. She turned to start ordering people to rescue you until the dragons shrieked. Rhaegal surged forwards and let out a crime as the battlefield exploded in fire, the sound of it ignoring let a huge echoing boom rattle around Winterfell.

“Get her back.” Jon shouted after trying to get Daenerys attention but found he was unable to get her to focus on anything but your horse, retreating through the soldiers as a path parted for you.

“(Y/N)! I can’t lose her too!” Daenerys yelped and started to panic.

“Dany. It will be alright, soldiers are going to get her to Sansa in the crypts. The dragon is watching over her. We need you to fight…” Jon trailed off when she shook her head and left to find Drogon. With a quick glance he could see you, burning your way through White Walkers that had caught up to you and those who were fighting were quick to pick off anything that you missed. He was rather impressed.

“She is the Khalakki of my Khalasar. I lost her twin to a witch and we thought she would not survive the desert, they begged and pleaded for me to leave her with her father, to die. Yet she did survive. I will not abandon her now. I never will. No one will tell me too.” She barked at Jon whose face changed to one of sympathy before nodding.

“Forgive me your grace. I didn't mean to imply that you should turn your back on her. It is just that she is holding her own. I will try and have her sent back to the crypts.” Jon said politely. She nodded firmly and rushed to climb onto Drogon. He chuckled a little when he saw your horse knocked off its feet and with no hesitation you scrambled onto Ghost’s back before Jorah yanked you away and shooed you towards the crypts..

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #bonniebird #jon snow x reader #jon snow #Sansa Stark #sansa stark x reader

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to-write-ornah · 5 years ago

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Thanks, Idiots

Word Count: 3104

A/N: fluff. Lots of fluff. Hella fluffy Sweet Pea just adorableness okay? (Readers personality is lowkey inspired by me cause I’d rather be at my gym than a party any night. Well, unless Sweet Pea was actually there then I might make an exception lol 😂)

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, Fangs being a sneaky boi

———

To put it simply, you hated parties. People were loud and got drunk and did stupid shit, and the only way you could forget it was if you drank. Unfortunately, drinking to forget results in a massive hangover, which is almost worse than the party itself.

Your best friend Fangs, on the other hand, loves parties. It was one of the only things you both disagreed about; he saw them as a fun way to get drunk for free and have a good time. And you, well, you’d rather be at your gym, pounding a punching bag or sparring with one of the coaches.

That being said, tonight Fangs had managed to drag you out of the gym and to Toni’s trailer to get ready for a party. You were friends with Toni, but you hadn’t known her since birth like Fangs, so you were slightly uncomfortable when she told you to strip and tossed you an outfit.

‘Damn,’ you thought as you looked yourself over. You fingered the black suede skirt Toni had lent you. She’d paired it with a black brallete and a sheer long sleeved crop top, black ankle boots, and she’d let you keep your leather jacket.

Toni pushed you into a chair and fussed with your hair and makeup for a good fifteen minutes before declaring you party ready. She already looked great in thigh high boots and a tight red dress.

Looking in the mirror, you couldn’t help but gasp. Your hair looked fantastic and your makeup was on point.

“Thanks Toni,” you said, grinning. She offered you a smirk.

“You look great, girl. Let’s go kill it.”

______

“Damn, what happened to my tomboy best friend?” Fangs teased, reaching out to ruffle your hair. Toni grabbed his wrist and gave him a death glare.

“I spent forever doing her hair. Touch it, and you’re dead.”

You giggled at Toni’s dramatics and straddled your bike. “What rich Northsiders house are we invading?”

“Reggie Mantles’.” Fangs nodded as your jaw dropped. “Apparently he’s cool with the Southsiders now that Sweet Pea’s on the basketball team.”

“I still haven’t met Sweet Pea,” you remarked as you fastened your helmet.

“Ooh, I’ve gotta introduce you,” Toni gave you a look you couldn’t quite read before starting up her bike. You and Fangs followed suit, and Fangs took the lead, you and Toni following him to the Mantles’ house.

________

Several other bikes were already there when you pulled up. Fangs led the way again, parking next to a brat style cb550. You parked next to him, and Toni beside you. You let out a low whistle.

“Nice bike.”

Toni and Fangs shared a smirk.

“They’re gonna get along great.” Toni said easily as she dismounted her bike. You got off yours as well, taking a moment to adjust your skirt as you stared in wonder at the huge house in front of you. Well, house was hardly the word for it. It was practically a mansion.

“Hey,” you snapped at Fangs, “you’re not ditching me tonight.” He smirked.

“I won’t leave you alone. Promise.”

You rolled your eyes, following Toni up the steps toward the noise of the house. She pulled the door open and the noise hit you hard. Music, people, yelling, laughing. Loud would be an understatement.

The smell of cheep alcohol invaded your nose as you followed your friends to the kitchen. Although you knew other Southside students would be there, the amount of Serpents in the house surprised you. And the amount of leather.

Fangs grabbed your hand as he dragged you through the crowd, Toni breaking away from your group when she saw someone she knew. Fangs led you around the island, which was loaded up with cans of beer, red solo cups and a punch bowl that was probably spiked. He pressed a cup into your free hand.

“Drink up!” He called.

The kitchen was crowded and the lights had been lowered. The space was instead illuminated by a disco ball on top of a cabinet and a LightIn The Box, which was currently blue. You wrinkled your nose as you narrowly escaped collision with a drunk boy who reeked of beer.

“Fangs, where are we going?” You shouted, trying to be heard over the noise and music. You doubted he heard you until he looked back and flashed you a grin.

“Almost there!”

You followed along blindly as you were led down a staircase at the back of the kitchen, doing your best to drink without spilling red punch everywhere. The downstairs was a giant den with a tv and several couches. Over the crowd of people you could see open double doors on the far side of the room, leading to the pool and backyard.

Fangs stopped next to a small kitchenette you hadn’t noticed, which a group of Serpents seemed to have claimed. A short blonde girl was pouring drinks and handing them out; a dark haired boy was slamming back jello shots as his friends cheered him on.

“See. Fun, right?” Fangs asked, pulling you to stand next to the counter. You gave him a disapproving look as you finished the rest of your drink.

Fangs squinted as he glanced around the room, looking between you and the counter before motioning for you to sit on it. You quirked a brow but did as he asked.

“This way I won’t lose you. Shorty.” He said, smirking. You glared at him.

“I’m not short. You’re just tall.”

“Whatever you say, munchkin.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna go grab more drinks from upstairs and find somebody. I’ll be back.”

“No,” you whined. “I don’t wanna be alone.” He held up two fingers, your silent way of letting each other know how long you’d be gone. You pouted as he grinned and turned, starting toward the stairs. You lost sight of him only a moment later when a moving wall blocked your view. Okay, maybe not a wall. A person. An extremely tall person.

Your eyes moved up, and up, and up, taking in a leather jacket, dog tags and a Serpent tattoo. You finally found the face of the person in front of you and you had to remind yourself not to let your jaw fall open. Dark messy hair, dark eyes and high cheekbones.

‘Hot damn,’ you thought. His mouth curled up into a smirk and you almost wondered if you’d said it aloud.

“Can I help you?” You asked. He moved to lean on the counter, crossing his arms.

“You must be Fangs’ girlfriend.” His voice was gruff and had a slight tone of annoyance to it. You blinked a few times in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, just saw him kiss you then go upstairs. You’re not together?” If he didn’t stop looking at you like that you weren’t going to be able to control your blush. His words finally registered and you let out a laugh.

“No, we’re not together. He’s my best friend though.”

“Well that’s good. I didn’t wanna have to fight my friend for your attention.”

This time you couldn’t control it, and you felt your face heat up, which made the boy chuckle.

“So, you’re a Serpent?” You asked, desperate to move the conversation in a different direction. He tilted his head to the side, exposing his tattoo even more. You forced yourself to look away from his neck and keep talking.

“So one of those bikes out front is yours?”

“Yeah, it’s a Honda.” Your eyes lit up.

“It wouldn’t happen to be the cb550, would it?”

His yes widened in surprise as an impressed look took over his face.

“Yeah, actually. It is. So I take it you know a thing or two about motorcycles?”

You laughed. “You could say that. I’ve got a ‘72 Harley, and I work at my brothers shop on the Southside. We mostly fix bikes.”

“Well then, my respect has doubled. That’s not an easy job.” He said as his gaze took you in. “Imagine that. A beautiful mechanic who cleans up pretty damn good.”

Your face flushed again, but before you had to say anything, Fangs appeared with a drink in each hand. You gratefully took one, gulping the alcohol as Fangs greeted the other boy.

“Hey, Sweet Pea! You met Y/n.”

You choked a little. “Wait, this is Sweet Pea?”

Fangs gave you a half confused half smug look. “Yeah, why? Did he not introduce himself?”

“He didn’t, actually.” You gave Sweet Pea a pointed look. He held his hands up.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t know I was that important.” Fangs scoffed.

“Sure. Well, you both seem to be getting along great. I’m gonna go...find...someone.”

Fangs turned to leave again but your hand flew out and caught his arm.

“Excuse us for a second, Sweet Pea.” You set your drink down and hopped off the counter, dragging Fangs a few feet away. The noise of the party covered your conversation well enough that no one would be able to hear you.

“You said you weren’t going to ditch me!” You accused, smacking his arm.

“No.” The smug look was back. “I said I wouldn’t leave you alone. You’re not alone, you’ve got Sweet Pea!”

You groaned. “Fangs, I barely know him. And besides, I think he was hitting on me,” you pouted.

“Yeah, well look at yourself, Y/n! You look hot. I’d be more worried if he wasn’t hitting on you. That might be a sign of a concussion.” He said seriously. You groaned and hit him again.

“Not helping!”

Fangs rolled his eyes. “Well I’m gonna go hit on someone, so if you wanna be around for that you’re welcome to come with me.”

You screwed up your face. “Gross. No thanks.”

“That’s what I thought.” He squished your face with one hand before rushing off, leaving you there with Sweet Pea. You rolled your eyes at your best friends retreating figure, grabbing a drink from the island and walking back to Sweet Pea. His eyes were still on you as you returned, but he now had a drink in his hand.

“Sorry about him.” You both said together. You both began laughing, and you had to put your drink down to avoid spilling it.

“No really, he’s being weird tonight,” you said between laughs. Sweet Pea nodded, a grin still in his face.

“Yeah, he was acting weird yesterday too. I wonder what’s up with him.”

You shrugged. ”I have no idea. He never tries to make me come to parties, but he was insistent on this one.”

Sweet Pea wet his lips. “Well I’m glad he was.”

You took a step back and looked up at him in surprise. A soft smile formed on your lips. “I am too.”

Conversation flowed easily after that. You were now, more or less, pretty tipsy. Sweet Pea caught on once you started to take a little longer to answer him.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol.” He grabbed your cup from you and put it on top of the cabinet, barley having to stretch to reach it.

“Hey!” You protested, laughing. Your face heated up as you caught yourself staring at his chest and arms.

‘Dammit,’ you thought. ‘What is wrong with me?’

You snapped back to reality just as Sweets turned back to you.

“Hey, do you wanna go dance?” He asked, gesturing you toward upstairs where the music was coming from. You smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Sweet Pea grabbed your hand and led you upstairs, past groups of drunk teenagers and around piles of empty solo cups. The music got loud as you approached what you assumed was normally the living room. Another string of lights was the only thing lighting up the room. The lights flickered and changed with the beat of the music, going from blue to purple to red. The effect threw shadows across the crowd of sweaty teenagers dancing in time with the music.

Sweet Pea pulled you into the middle of the dance floor, letting go of you as you turned around, pressing your back against his chest. His hands settled on your hips as your body moved with the music. He whispered a stupid joke in your ear and you laughed loudly, turning to face him as you danced.

By the third song, you were both breathing hard, and Sweet Pea suggested you go get drinks. You gratefully agreed, following him into the kitchen. You hadn’t even made it out of the living room when you got separated in the crowd. You could see Sweet Pea but you couldn’t get to him; too many people were pushing against you as you found yourself back in the living room. You groaned in frustration, ready to try and push your way into the kitchen again when someone’s large hand slipped into yours. You looked up to see Sweet Pea with a soft smile on his face. He held up your intertwined hands.

“Now I won’t loose you,” he said. With your hands laced together, Sweet Pea led you to the kitchen again. This time you made it without getting separated.

Sweet Pea poured you a drink from the punch bowl before making one for himself and taking your hand again. He brought you out to the deck, and you were surprised to find it empty.

Someone had left a few picnic blankets folded on top of the covered hot tub in the corner. Sweet Pea set his drink on the rail of the deck and quickly made a pallet on the floor. He grabbed his drink and took your hand, helping you sit down before joining you. Even sitting up with his back against the house, Sweet Pea’s legs were still longer than the blankets and his feet hung off the pallet, which made you giggle.

“What’s so funny princess?” His words were finally becoming a bit slurred, which made you laugh more.

“You’re so tall, Sweets,” you laughed. “And you’re getting drunk.”

“I’m not as drunk as you are,” he countered, taking a sip of his drink. “But I am a little tipsy.”

“Well I think you’re cute when you’re drunk.” You took a sip of your drink, completely missing the blush that was covering Sweet Pea’s face.

“Well then I’d happily be drunk anytime.” He murmured softly.

_______

You weren’t sure what time it was. You and Sweet Pea had finished your drinks and laid down a long time ago. First you had looked at the stars and pointed out constellations, Sweet Pea finding some kind of snake nearly every time. But now you were just talking. About anything and everything. And you were impressed. Sweet Pea was insanely smart, and pretty much any topic you could think of, Sweet Pea could talk to you about.

All the drinks you’d had had died down to a faint buzz; just enough to make you think all of Sweet Pea’s jokes were funny. (Although you were sure you’d think he was funny even without the alcohol.)

The night had cooled off since you had gotten to the party, so Sweet Pea insisted that you snuggle him. For warmth, of course.

So there you were; curled up against the giant Serpent boy, with your head on his chest and his jacket draped over your legs. (He has worn a long sleeved shirt, so he insisted you take his jacket when you started to shiver.)

You breathed deeply, taking in his scent. He smelled a little like your shop, leather, and an earthy smell you couldn’t place. You curled in a bit closer to him. Damn, you could get used to this.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked quietly, fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder. You tilted your head up at him and your lips curved into a smile.

“Just that I really like you. And how I could get used to this cuddling thing.”

He chuckled. “Well I really like you too, princess. And the cuddling. This is nice.”

You snuggled into his side again. “I agree.”

He was silent for a moment, and you looked back up at him to see his brows drawn together, deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked his question back to him, putting an emphasis on the word ‘you’.

A smile crossed his face as he looked down at you.

“Just that...well...okay this is gonna sound kinda dumb,” he looked at you hesitantly and you sat up. Sweet Pea sat up too, ad you took his hand, giving him an encouraging nod.

“It won’t.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “So...shit, this sounds so cheesy. Okay, I know we just met, but I really like you, Y/n. And, I’m not the kind of guy who’s good with casual hook ups whenever it’s convenient to be in each other’s lives. I want a real relationship. And I don’t mean to scare you,” his eyes searched yours quickly, and your heart hurt from the amount of fear they held. “But, I’d like to ask you out. If you’d like to.”

You gave him a gentle smile, cupping his cheek with your hand. He immediately leaned into your touch.

“Sweet Pea, I’d love that.”

He grinned. “Really?”

You nodded, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You pulled away quickly leaving a dazed smile on his face. He laughed.

“Wait a second. That definitely wasn’t long enough.” He said, grinning. You smiled, brushing your thumb along his cheek.

“Well you’re in luck, Sweets. I agree with you.”

————-

“I knew it. You owe me five bucks.”

“No way, we both called this. Let me see?”

Toni handed Fangs the binoculars and stepped back as Fangs pushed through the bushes to get closer.

“Damn,” he said after a minute. “We’re great at this. High five!”

He and Toni laughed as they high fived one another.

“Get outta here, you two!” Sweet Peas deep voice called from the balcony, making Toni and Fangs jump before taking off, running toward their bikes.

“Next time, we’re doing a stealth operation!” Fangs called to Toni.

“How about there isn’t a next time!” She retorted as they both hopped on their bikes, starting them up and racing out of Reggie’s driveway.

Up on the balcony, you and Sweet Pea were still laughing.

“We should send them a thank you card,” you mused, leaning into Sweet Pea’s side.

“Yeah,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Maybe we should.”

~~~

_______

#southside archive #southside sweet pea #sweet pea fic #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea #riverdale x reader #x reader #riverdale serpents #southside serpents #riverdale fic #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale #fangs fogarty

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emmauscentrett · 2 years ago

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youtube

Lent is....a message from Emmaus Retreat Centre. Register now for the upcoming Lent Silent Directed Retreat at Emmaus.

#emmauscentrett #emmauscentrearima #emmausretreatcentre #lent silent directed retreat #lent2023retreat #lenten retreat #Youtube

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suckasstakenames · 5 years ago

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Craig and Those Guys Week: Day 2 - Camping 🏕

This one is from Token’s POV! Enjoy!

As part of @craigandthoseguys-week

----

“- and then…he DIED.”

“Clyde, that’s not a ghost story. That’s something you saw on 1000 Ways To Die.”

Telling ghost stories around the camp fire at 2am; that’s where this night has ended up. Clyde, Craig, Tweek, Jimmy and I had decided to spontaneously set up a tent in the woods around Stark’s Pond. It was pretty abandoned during these hours and we weren’t likely to be disturbed, so we brought beer, smokes and junk food, and set up a boy’s night. We’d been sitting on deck chairs in our PJ’s around a portable camp fire that my dad had lent to us, breathing it the humid summer air (and tobacco smoke), catching up on everything that had happened since we last met. And then Jimmy brought up how telling ghost stories was part of 'the traditional camping experience', and here we are. Tweek didn’t even flinch, that’s when you know Clyde is telling a terrible ghost story.

Time to interfere.

I grabbed the torch from the floor next to my chair and shone it onto my face, briefly flickering it for dramatic effect.

“Have you heard about the tale of Mr Bennigen?” I whisper huskily.

“Who?” Craig says bluntly.

“He was a man who lived in South Park 47 years ago. He lived by the church.”

“Father Maxi’s church???” Tweek squeaks.

“The very same one. He had a habit of wandering the streets late at night, and it used to upset his wife because she thought he was meeting hookers or something. His marriage was rocky, to say the least.”

“Like most marriages in this t-t-t-town. Go on.” Jimmy jokes.

“Well, one night he told his wife he was going for a walk in the woods. And as usual, she got pissed off and they argued. So he stormed out of the house. BUT...she followed him. And unsuspectedly, while he was looking out over Stark’s Pond, she approached him from behind and pushed him into the water, screaming ’No more!!'. What she didn’t know, was that her husband couldn’t swim……and he drowned to his death right there and then.”

Craig blinks. “…and?”

“It doesn’t stop there. A year passes, and his wife pays a visit to his grave one evening. While walking back home, she was grabbed by the hair by an unknown force and dragged into the woods of Starks Pond…..and she was never seen again…......true story.”

A moment of silence falls onto the other guys, before we get a very expected reaction.

“GAAAAAH-HA-HAAAAA” Tweek yells in horror. “True story?!? What do you mean true story?!? We’re at Starks Pond right now!! Oh god!!”

“Geez thanks Token.” Craig groans. "Any chance of Tweek getting even the slightest amount of sleep tonight has flown right out of the fucking window.”

“Now that’s a g-g-ghost story.” Jimmy applauds me.

“…d-did she drown? or did she really just...v-vanish out of thin air?” Clyde’s on the edge of his seat; I can tell I really freaked him out.

“I have no idea.” I tell him. “You’ll have to look up the article to find out.”

“So it IS true???!!!??” Tweek cries.

“Don’t worry, ghosts aren’t real.” Craig tries to comfort him, but it doesn’t seem to help much. Tweek flinches as soon as Craig places a hand on his knee.

“You look like you need another b-beer, C-Clyde.” Jimmy says, picking up a bottle and handing it to him.

“Damn right. This shit creeps me out man…you never know whether these stories are really true or not.”

“Well, we’ll know if it’s true if you get dragged into the water by a mysterious force.” Craig jests, looking at Clyde.

“Shut the fuck up!! Why would it come for me??” Clyde protests.

“Because you’re the fuckboy. And fuckboys always die first in horror films.” Craig says savagely.

“Actually I’m pretty sure the minority in the group always gets it first-” I spit the truth.

“He’s n-not wrong...” Jimmy agrees.

“Exactly CRAIG.” Clyde pouts.

“-but when the minority doesn’t die first it’s usually the manwhore.” I continue.

“TOKEN.”

Suddenly we’re interrupted by a loud rustle coming from a bush nearby. We all turn our heads in alarm.

“What was that?!” Tweek scurries behind his deck chair to hide.

Craig isn’t too fazed, but still raises an eyebrow. “Probably just a fox or something.”

“Or it’s Mr B-B-Bennigan…” Jimmy chuckles.

“STOP IT!! GHHHH”

A moment later, a howl in the distance distracts us once again. Tweek lets out a high pitched scream and jumps on Craig’s knee, clinging to him Scooby Doo style.

“You’re something else Tweek.” I titter.

“This might be a good time to retreat to the tent for the night…” Craig huffs from underneath a trembling Tweek.

“R-retreat, he says…” Jimmy looks over to Craig. “Sounds like someone else sees a p-p-p-potential threat in the woods.”

“Fuck off Jimmy.” He snaps. “It’s an animal…we’re surrounded by them. If it was a ghost guy I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be fucking howling like a dog.”

After a little while we started to grab some our stuff and head towards the tent. I was in the middle of packing up the deck chairs when I heard an unfamiliar voice in the distance. The only other voices were Craig and Tweek bickering about something I wasn’t really listening to. This voice was deep and husky, and sounded like it was mumbling to itself. Separating myself slightly from the group, I walk closer to the woods to peer through the trees and investigate. I can just make out a shadow shuffling towards us; tall, lanky and wearing a long coat.

I decide to address him since he was heading in my direction anyway. “...you okay there sir?”

The man stops, looking directly at me. He’s now close enough that I can make out some rough sideburns and a bushy beard. He doesn’t say a word, just continuing to stare.

I try once again. “Uhh…...sir?”

No answer. Just a continuous death glare. It sent shivers down my spine.

A sudden tap on my shoulder makes me abruptly whirl around. It’s Clyde.

“Who are you talking to dude?” He asks.

“I saw someone coming over here so I-“ I turn back around to show him. He was gone. Completely vanished. Typical horror movie cliche…

“Someone came over here?” Clyde looks past me curiously. “Where?”

“…he was right there. Staring at me. I swear…”

Clyde smacks my arm in annoyance. “Dude, stop! The Mr Bennigan story was enough for me tonight!”

…oh I see. He thinks I’m joking.

“No Clyde! I honestly just saw-“

“I’m exhausted as fuck. Come help me put away the fire pit.”

I try and shake off the weird encounter before going over to help Clyde put out the camp fire. We’re just about finish and Craig was already in the tent.

“Tweek I already unrolled your sleeping bag.” He shouts from inside as me Clyde and Jimmy wrap everything up.

“Thanks man, do you think you could--“ Tweek stops mid sentence, and an odd silence follows.

“Do you think I could what?” Craig replies, poking his head out of the tent. I happen to look over to him first, and the look on his face was what spurred me to check on Tweek.

Tweek was stood with his back to us, staring upwards at a tall, lanky homeless man. The very same guy I just saw in the woods.

I quietly get Clyde and Jimmy’s attention and then all four of us are solely focused on Tweek. We stay silent and still, as if the man were a wild bear that mustn’t be disturbed.

The man opens his mouth. “…no…more…” he croaks.

That’s all it took. Tweek screamed louder than he’d ever screamed in his life, which then caused Clyde to scream just as loud. Tweek turned and darted towards the tent at lightening speed, bowling into Craig and sending him flying backwards with a thud. Clyde hid himself behind me, gripping tightly to my shirt as Jimmy and I started to back away from the man.

He turned his focus to us and took a couple slow steps towards us. “No….more…?”

Clyde shrieks again, pulling me so tightly that I fall backwards onto my behind, knocking over Clyde himself. The two of us scurry into the tent as fast as our legs could take us, with Jimmy shuffling closely behind. Eventually he jumps in and I zip up the hole so the man couldn’t come in.

“It’s ok you guys…leave the c-cripple behind and s-s-save yourselves…” Jimmy exhales.

“SHHH!” Clyde shushes him. The man was still outside, but I don’t know what being quiet would do. He saw us come in here….

We do it anyway, and we see the man’s shadow shuffling around the outside of the tent. He’s quietly grumbling something unintelligible to himself. Thank god the zip is on the inside…

Eventually he walks away from the area and we’re finally safe. I turn to the guys; Jimmy is next to me sprawled on the floor on his back, Tweek is clinging to Craig and trembling, and Clyde has completely hidden himself inside his Terrance and Phillip sleeping bag.

“…is he gone?!” Clyde emerges slightly.

“I think so…” I say. “Damn that was creepy…”

Craig rolls his eyes. “…you guys know it was just a homeless dude, right?”

“What if it was Mr Bennigan?!?” Tweek cries. “He was saying ‘no more’…just like in the story!!!”

Craig shrugs. “He probably meant if we had eaten all of our food.”

“We could’ve g-g-given him something…” says Jimmy.

“We didn’t have anything left. Clyde ate all the potato chips.” I try and lighten the mood a little.

“Did not!!” Clyde snaps in return.

“A homeless guy huh…” Tweek calms down a little, letting go of Craig and crawling over to his sleeping bag. “…m-maybe you’re right...”

“Exactly.” Craig comforts. “You think you’re gonna be able to sleep ok?”

“Ngh, maybe in like...3 hours.” Tweek curls up into a ball. Craig walks over to his own sleeping bag, placing it directly next to Tweek and climbing in, before slinging his arm over his boyfriend so that he’s spooning him.

The rest of us follow suit and get into our own sleeping bags to get comfortable for the night. I look at my watch as I’m taking it off my wrist; it’s almost 4am, not a time I’m very used to seeing. It’s only ever when I’m with the guys that I stay up past midnight. I turn onto my front and nestled my head into the pillow, closing my eyes with relative ease.

About 5 minutes later, I hear some rustling coming from my left side. “…....pssst. Token.”

“…what is it Clyde?”

“….do you think Mr Bennigan likes Doritos?” He whispers, crunching on some.

“I don’t know. You should ask him next time. G’night.”

“Okay……night Token……………night Mr Bennigan.”

#craigandthoseguysweek #craigandthoseguysweek2019 #craig and those guys week #craig and those guys #aged up characters #craig tucker #token black #clyde donovan #jimmy valmer #tweek tweak #south park #south park craig #south park token #south park clyde #south park tweek #south park jimmy #south park fanfiction #south park fanfic

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specialagentlokitty · 5 years ago

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Diego x Sister!reader - Missed you

Diego Hargreeves x sibling platonic relationship? Diego and the reader were always the closest but drifted away when they grew up? After the passing of their father they’re close again? Thank you :))) - @hahaboop 💕

You were sat in some cheap motel room when you got the news, turning the TV off you payed on the bed, hand in the air as you played with the black mist.

“Suppose I should go home then...” you muttered.

Jumping off the bed, you pulled your black cloak around your body, it stopped just above your ankles, and pulled the hood up so it covered your face and fastened your sword to your waist. The only things visible were you dark clothing.

“Wonder if they missed me...”

Heading to the darkest corner of the room, pitch black mist rose from the shadow, when you stepped through it, you were back in your childhood home.

Glancing around idly, you walked over to the side of the hall and leant against it, just waiting. Shadows swirled at your feet and around your legs. That’s when you heard voices, silently, you came closer and stood in the doorway just as people were leaving.

“(Y/N)?”

You glanced at the person in front of you and found Klaus.

“Hello Klaus.” You said quietly.

“Oh it’s been so long~” he sang.

He went to hug you and you stepped to the side, tripping him up with a thud and watched as he fell to the floor.

“Right.. right no touching...” he muttered getting up.

The others didn’t seem to know what to say, you offered no input. Then Luther cleared his throat and you directed your gaze to him.

“Come to the courtyard and sundown.”

Shrugging, you disappeared to your room. What brought you back downstairs and outside was the commotion. You simply just watched silently as Five appeared, then trailed behind them to the kitchen.

“Nice cloak.” He said to you.

You said nothing to him and half listened to the conversation.

When the funeral came around, you just stood in the pouring rain arms crossed. You didn’t care for the man, you weren’t even sure why you were here.

Then a fight broke out and Bens statue was broken. You watched Diego throw one of his knives but before it could hit Luther you caught it with a shadow.

“(Y/N)?” Allison gasped.

Turning away, you disappeared once more to your old room. Sitting on your bed, you let the mist manifest and and spread out across the room.

Your bedroom door opened and they seeped out as Luther came in.

“I uh... wanted to thank you.”

You said nothing and he sighed, heading to the door.

“It’s good to see you.”

With that Luther left and not even a minute later Diego walked in. He sat on the edge of your bed and stayed quiet for a moment.

“I remember when you were a kid, you were terrified of your mist and shadows. You used to think they were monsters.” He chuckled.

The mist retreated until it was surrounding just you, gently swirling around your body.

“Why be scared of what I am?” You asked quietly.

“You aren’t a monster (Y/N), I’ve always told you that.”

You stood up and headed to the wall, a mist portal opening up in front of it.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

You didn’t reply you just left. A few days later Diego found you sat on the pier. He sat next to you and gently kicked your foot.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time (Y/N), remember when we were kids? We used to be so close. What happened?”

“Life...”

Diego sighed, you turned you to face him, but he couldn’t see under the shadow of your cloak. His fingers came up to the fabric.

“Can I?”

You placed your hands over his and pulled the hood down slowly, (E/C) eyes met with brown and he smiled warmly.

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

“Yet you have...” you replied softly.

Reaching out, you trailed your finger along his scar gently. He chuckled and crossed his legs as he faced you properly, you did the same, you knees just barely touching his.

“What happened to no touching?” He teased.

“You know... that rule never applied to you...”

Diego took your hands in his, your skin was paler than it was supposed to be. He sighed and rubbed your knuckles.

“It was us against the world, us against dad and Luther.” He laughed.

Diego stood up and pulled you up with him and begun to lead you towards his car.

“We didn’t need anyone but each other.” You smiled a little.

Diego stood you in front of the car before he quickly pulled you in for a hug. You didn’t respond for a minute but then you placed you hands softly on his back.

“I missed you Diego...”

He sighed and tightened his hold on you.

“Me too, I was so worried...”

Pulling back, you smiled a little at him.

“Please don’t leave like that again... I don’t want to loose you. You’re my sister and my best friend, it’s not the same without you.” He said softly.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore Diego...”

Diego placed a hand on your shoulder and he gave it a squeeze. You placed your hand on his arm and lent forward, resting your head on his chest you closed your eyes.

“You’re never alone kid, I’ve always got you.”

Your lips twitched up a little bit and you just stood there. Diego held you closely and you clutched his shirt, for the first time in a while you felt happy again, you forgot what it was like to have someone to lean on, you forgot what it was like to have your best friend

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella a ademey x reader #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years ago

Text

OT3FIC: Pitbull

22 - hate locket hammock

The first time she only heard about it at the other’s querying - and she’d sat outside on the steps whining to the massive wolf for over an hour the next time he visited.

The second time, she hadn’t been at home at all and had received the text advising her that ‘he’s here again’ and then neither man had answered her calls for far too long in her book that Jo had been tempted to abandon her hunt and turn her car around immediately.

The third time, she actually spotted his godforsaken coat disappearing around the corner of the house as she came out the side door with the washing basket on her hip. He actually deigned to say the first words to her in long enough that she stumbled on the final step in surprise. That they were a slight at how domesticated she’d become felt like a slap in the face more than she ever thought that word should be.

It was after that point, when the weather was turning warmer and the fireflies were starting to float through the woods and over the field as the snow gave way to rain and then to sunshine, that she finally decided enough was e-fucking-nough.

Sitting in the swinging hammock chair, knees crossed and feet danging just off of the ground in a state of complete relaxation, she knew that it would give the desired outcome the moment he was compelled to arrive as she lent down to light the single candle and set herself swinging calmly with a push of her bare toes in the warm dirt as the nighttime creatures began to scurry back to their holes and nests as the sun began its journey across the sky for the day. Jo felt the clumps of dew coated grass and the dry dirt brushing against the bottom of her foot as she swung her feet, waiting his arrival.

“A bit early for a house call, wouldn’t you think Joanna?” The clipped tone was from behind her shoulder, as if the man had thought it made a smarter choice to sneak up on her rather than appear in front, as if it would make any difference between them that he thought he could surprise her.

As if it wouldn’t result in a deep, dark growl from the dark shadows at the back of the tree trunk as the other demon stared with yellow eyes fixed on the new arrival. Jo felt herself smirking as she turned her head slightly to see the once King appear to almost jerk to the side in the surprise of his own at the other’s attendance. As if he thought Jo would have come up with a plan that had her unsupported and alone in such a space. Not that she thought she needed any back up when dealing with this demon - the sigils carved into the tree trunk behind her ones that she’d seen as a child and copied direct from her father’s battered old journal ones that acted like those of the angelic type she had once used right before meeting this very same demon, and if that weren’t enough, she still had her knife tucked into her boot, ready to show him as good a time as those who’d been under it had if he tried a single thing - but when she’d growled out the suggestion that very first time, the solemn paw on her knee and the whispered query if he wanted to help that got an equally solemn nod had made the choice simple.

“I just thought I’d catch you on one of the gaps in my busy schedule. I’d had it mentioned how much you’d love to catch up with me sometime,” She replied, smirk wider still as the suited demon shifted away from the tree where the wolf padded forward and then stood at the ready, eyes focused entirely upon him, and moved to kick at the small alter Jo’d assembled to summon him with a look of disdain. “So since I am the busy one of us, after that whole...dethronement-”

“I was not dethroned, you tempestuous brat.” “Weren’t you? I thought you got bumped down to just the Crossroads.” “Oh what you think and what is reality is often so very clouded, Joanna.” “I doubt that very much.”

“Is this what you requested me here for? To discuss the hierarchy of your future home?” Crowley hissed the questions out, the accent making the words seem all the more sinister as he kicked at the bowl and candle again until they fell and the candle rolled to a stop near her toes and the flame suddenly flared up a little more than such a candle should ever achieve. Jo pulled her foot up for a moment before it flared back down and then out, her expression turning from surprise to bemusement. “You desperate to know where you’ll eventually fit in, are you?”

Usually such barbs from anyone else - from the asshole monster, from another demon with the most evil of intents once upon a time, from the dark haired woman and her angelic puppet, from the dark haired girl with the same face but evil intent, from the face she saw in the mirror every morning - would make her shrink, but from this one made her let out a peal of laughter into the crisp morning air as she lowered her feet to the ground fully. From the demon she all but vanquished, it was more of a joke than any comedian’s set could dream of. “Oh, that’s funny! That’s very very funny. I didn’t know Hell had stand up comedy nights, you must have been practisin’ that set for quite a while.”

She could tell immediately that wasn’t the reaction the demon was after, as Crowley’s smirk slowly morphed into a look that would have made her shudder in fear once upon a time. That would possibly still make the hair on the back of her neck stand up if she didn’t know there was little to be frightened of while the darkness stood next to her.

“You and I both know you do not find that so entertaining an idea-” “No, but from you it’s hysterical.” “I look forward to seeing just how... hysterical you find it down the line in the depths of Hell one day, Joanna.”

“If you’re still kickin’ by then!” She rebuked cheerfully, pushing herself out of the hammock and letting the multicolored fabric swing behind her as Jo got to her feet and stepped forward, over the upturned bowl and moved to stand defiantly before the King of the Crossroads. Hands firmly on her hips, and the gentle wind of the morning not bothering her at all despite the coolness on her bare legs. “But that’s beside the point ain’t it? You want to know why I summoned you here.”

“You do know some of us are more important than others, darling, so I’d appreciate the abbreviated version. If you know what that word means.” “So witty. So funny. No wonder you’re the king’a laughs.” “I’d watch your tongue if I were you, Joanna, before you find it missing one day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jo snarled back at his own nasty growl, and if she’d held a mirror up beside his face then she might even recognize the same curl of their lips as the pair glared at one another in hate and disdain for a long moment. Pulling back a second, not giving ground but resettling her position to herself as in control of this conversation, the blonde rolled her shoulders a few times adjusting as the demon’s own snarl turned into a dark sneer at the thought she’d backed down to him. “Anywho - you’re here so I can tell ya it’s the last time ya goin’ to be on this property.”

“What makes you think that, darling? You think that you can command-” “Oh, that’s exactly what I think, darlin’.”

There was a beat, as Jo watched the sneer trip for a second to disbelief before coming back full force with even more venom than she remembered seeing in him since she stared him down across the edge of a trap with two fingers tracing out and finalizing the symbols that would suck his borrowed power from him and back where it belonged; and taking another step back, Jo found herself smirking as she sat back down into her hammock seat as she awaited what was sure to be an explosive response.

“You dare to think that you - a pathetic, stupid, insolent and worthless little human - can command me to do anything? You believe you’re something greater than me?!” Crowley’s voice was slowly rising as he spoke, the relaxed hands in his pockets drawing out as the words spilled out of him, fists formed tightly before he stalked towards where she swung gently with a finger out and pointed straight at her as he practically bit down around the words. “You do not frighten me, Joanna, you do not dictate to me and you do not command me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Crowley,” She replied, swinging her foot as she heard a growl coming from beside her as if trying to hurry her along or confirm that it wasn’t her commands that the demon should be worrying about but she couldn’t quite tell which. “I’m not even commandin’ you by the way - I’m givin’ you a friendly warnin’. Do not come back here again, there is nothing here for you; and if you do come back, you’ll never be able to again.”

Crowley growled in response, his hands retreating back to his pockets whereby she could no longer tell his frustrations by them alongside the twists of his face, and even glared towards the dark, furred demon that Jo felt the tickle of his fur next to her foot as she swung back a little too far. “And you, Marquis, are following the little girl’s commands too?”

Jo let out a small yelp as she felt the side of the hammock press in closer to her and then the giant wolf’s head appeared, white teeth snapping out at the other harshly, as he pushed past her towards the other at the comment. Pulling her feet up into the nest of the swinging fabric, pressed unfortunately against the hot, heavy haunches of the demon-wolf beside her, Jo looked on in surprise at the almost silent battle of wills happening as the wolf moved further - her seat swinging a little as the support left - and forced the other demon stumbling back at his approach. They looked so clearly were at odds and the match more favoring the one cloaked in fur and darkness this time around if they’d square up from what she could feel of the electricity in the air, a hand reaching up to smooth down the fly-aways caught up in the static energy radiating from the pair.

There was a moment of silence, and Jo found herself relaxing back into the warm cocoon of the woven colorful fabric that held her so comfortably and safe compared to the friction outside of her locket, before the Marquis sat down with an almost smug look upon his face as the King of the Crossroads took a minute footstep backwards.

“Well then,” Crowley’s voice was tight for a moment, his accent clipping the words off for a moment as he tugged and righted his sleeves as if they had moved even an inch from where they were supposed to be, before his eyes drew back to the blonde’s with a harsh glint to them. “What is it you believe you have to your name that gives you the right to order me about, little girl?”

“More than you could know-” “So nothing then?” “If you do not leave us be, I will show you.”

“What have you got then, Joanna?” The demon snarled back, stepping closer again and Jo could feel the way the Marquis’ head merely tilted but made no move to interject as the British man approached and held either side of her hammock in his hand, dragging her closer as if tugging open the sides of her locket to reveal her secrets. “What can you do to stop my visiting my dear friend? Or acquainting myself with your other little friend? What can you do to - what was it? - make me never do so again?”

“I’ve got-” “You have nothing, little girl. You are not a Winchester - you have no demon killing blade. You’re not an angel - you cannot sanctify me. You are nothing.”

“I have an angel blade.” Jo hissed the words out, leaning forward towards the demon’s leer as he’d ran an eye over her considering until she pushed up towards him into his own space in return. The look that flashed across his face felt powerful for her - the way there was a hint of surprise and hesitance as she shifted her weight forward, tilted towards him and pushing him back out of her domain - and pushing forward further, her hands wrapping and gripping over the demon’s own live vices as she shifted her weight, almost standing a top the hammock chair as she pressed into his realm with a sneer. “I also have a knife, still imbued with the power of Purgatory that someone so thoughtfully gifted to me.”

“You’re bluffing-” “I also have an archangelblade-” “Liar!”

“And worst of all for you? In case that driving through your heart wouldn’t be enough to burn you from the inside out all the way out of existence?” She snarled harshly, standing upright and nails digging into the other’s hands who looked up at her in a mixture of disbelief and disdain, his lips curled harshly and the flex of power and electricity in the air again as they stared one another down, the flash of shadows through the others eyes reflecting back her own fire to her. Jo could feel it - powerful and dark and making her skin crawl - but releasing her grip over his hands to hold the wooden bar above her that held her attached like the loop of a locket attached to the chain that was the tree, the woods, the field, every piece of ground that surrounded the little house far behind them, her lips twisted into a dark grin as she hissed the next words out, “I can just lock you away-”

“How.. would you achieve such a task, little girl?” Crowley returned the question with the same amount of loathing as her own words as he flexed his powers over her again trying to crush her down back from her stance; but Jo could feel something holding her upright through it as if there was something else supporting her defiance in return that she thought may have a very furred origin. “You wouldn’t be killing virgins to throw me into the less entertaining afterlife, you’re too frightened of your grubby little soul going downstairs to do so.”

“No. But I can lock you away in a little box I own.” “Oh really? A box?” “Yes, a box. You’d have great company in it. I have some... friends of yours already locked away in there.” “Do tell, little Joanna, what little box and which little friends are you trying to frighten me with? I know for a fact I’m not at all interested in seeing your box.”

Jo rolled her eyes at that, before hissing quietly. “Maybe you’ll see it the next time you’re here. And as to who’s inside?” She slowly stepped down from the fabric beneath her to solid ground, the same support helping her push through the electric-air that buzzed as she glared back with a tiny quirk to her lips in a smirk. “At the moment it’s a handful of mooks and the last of your kind I sucked into it was someone called... Sitri?”

There was a beat and then the forces from both sides that had been waging around her evaporated as the black eyed demon stumbled a foot backwards at the name while the demonic wolf jerked himself to his feet as well, pads kicking up at the dirt almost furiously for a moment as the Crossroads King jerked back even further. She’d been surprised the demon had thought himself all that when she had trapped him inside the strongest trap she had known of before a twenty-hour straight exorcism to drag the demon free of his form and into the inky depths of her father’s heirloom. She’d looked up the name afterwards - the twelfth and a Prince at that - but all she could think at the time was just how much she needed a glass of water and a hamburger.

“You dare-” “Now, I’m not playin’ ‘round.” “I don’t believe a word of that, darling.”

“Well, how ‘bout this, Crowley,” She replied, running a hand up to pull her hair back from her face with a smile. “You head on back to your important work and then you go see if you can find who I say I have-”

“Like I believe a word you say.” “See if you can locate him, and if you can - then you know my threats are nothin’, and if you can’t...”

“If I can’t, what?” The demon returned with a smug look, as he tugged his jacket back into line and looked down at her. “I don’t come back here? Leave you and the other one to your happy little abode-”

“And leave Grey alone.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, as if Jo’s words could be seen drawn out in front of one another and waiting for the other to accept them. There was no sign to it, that Crowley was even considering their existence, until a growl started up again - as the wolf glared at the pair of them, the support for the statement but not the rest of what have been revealed - and the Crossroads King took another, almost imperceptible step backwards.

The sharpest shards of the sun’s first light streaked across the field behind him, his face thrown into the same darkness that was inside, and Jo was forced to blink first. Her hand came up to shield her eyes from the glint that went straight into her face, and when she managed to blink her eyes clear of the echo of the bright light from her gaze - there was nothing to look at and the smell of sulfur and ozone in the air.

Blinking her eyes rapidly, Jo wasn’t surprised to open her eyes to see the bright white teeth in her face, and what might be perceived in a real wolf as a rabid snarl directed right back at her as she took a step back, sinking into her woven cocoon. The wolf approached again, and stepping backwards as the fabric draped about her and she ended up against the trunk of the tree she had hung from; and giving a sigh, Jo muttered quietly, “He was causin’ trouble, and I didn’t know who it was.”

There was a louder sound, as if suspicious, for a long moment, before Jo added gently. “I don’t know how to reverse it, and I didn’t think he was even a friend of yours, anyways.” That got another noise one she thought, as the shape stepped away and then turned to prowl off towards the house without another look at her, that was more of a laugh than she’d ever heard before from the demon.

Tucking her feet up under herself again as the sun started to warm up the air as well as the sky, Jo bit down on her bottom lip as she started to swing gently, wondering to herself if she’d once again succeeded in something to do with the foul demon.

#ot3 grey/jo/will fic #jopov

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slash-em-up · 6 years ago

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I noticed that Michael doesn't typically kill kids, and my brain took that and ran. Imagine Michael killing some couple in their house and turning to find this little 3 year old watching him. He intends to just leave the kid in the house for someone to find but the little tyke follows him out, he tries to lose her by taking the long route to his house but she refuses to be left behind. He even tries sticking her in another house but she finds her way back to him. He's grudgingly impressed.

I LOVED this prompt!! I was totally in the mood for a little cutes-y humor, so excuse Michael being pretty much entirely OOC. Fair warning- this has definitely not been edited.

You were pulled from a dead-sleep by the sound of a slamming door.

This was far from unusual, as your boyfriends’ ‘extracurricular’ activities often lent themselves to late-nights and frustrated furniture assaults when the afore-mentioned activities had gone poorly.

Blinking blearily up at the clock you scowled at the sanguine 2:30 AM that started back at you.

Pressing your face back into your pillow, you prepared to resume your rest when a second sound made you sit bolt-upright in bed.

Interspersed with the normal sounds of Michael stomping around downstairs was the light, tinkling laughter of a child.

You were fully awake and tossing the covers away by the time Michael had stomped his way up the stairs and opened the bedroom door.

“Michael? What’s going on?”

Not bothering to answer you (not that he normally would), Michael grabbed you firmly by the upper arm and pulled you out into the hallway. Your continuing questions only seemed to make Michael try to make you move faster, and when you both arrived at the top of the staircase the large man at your side pointed an equally large arm imperiously down to the first-floor landing.

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the sight of a small girl crawling up the stairs on her hands and knees.

She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old and looked every inch the angelic, cherubic-type with round cheeks, blonde curls, and blue eyes. All rounded off by a coo-inducing smile displaying several missing teeth.

A smile directed like a heat-seeking missile right at your boyfriend.

You hustled down the stairs and gathered the toddler up in your arms, checking her over quickly for injury – seeing none, but noticing a suspicious rust-color staining the soft bottoms of her tiny shoes.

You were surprised even further when the small girl turned in your hold and held her chubby baby arms out towards the towering man still standing atop the staircase; making small giggling noises and blowing raspberries as Michael tilted his head in consternation.

Catching his eye, you raised your eyebrow as you began to bounce the girl on your hip.

“Want to explain this to me, Michael?”

Earlier That Evening…

Screams filled the air as Natalie Burns met her untimely end at the edge of The Shape of Haddonfield’s knife.

Michael watched in satisfaction as the life slowly drained from the teenager’s eyes, as she grasped weakly at the large kitchen knife sticking out of the side of her neck.

The blood shined a deep burgundy against the paleness of her skin, giving The Boogeyman a nearly artistic sense of satisfaction with his work that night.

A sharp yank to the handle and Natalie’s body fell limply to the wood floor – no longer supported by the steel instrument of her demise – and the deep red began to pool around her head like a halo.

Michael gave a slight frown under his mask. The wooden floor was too dark to allow the liquid to be properly appreciated in the low light of the living room; but Michael was content with work he’d done and prepared himself to begin the trek home.

He stepped over the dead babysitter and walked towards the back door – already planning the remainder of his evening at home; clean himself up, microwave the leftovers in the fridge, do the dishes, go to bed – barely noticing the small child observing him from beside the couch.

Michael didn’t bother to close the backdoor behind himself, and in retrospect this may have been his damning mistake.

As he silently prowled across the grass and down the alley, his ears were met with the sound of quick pattering steps coming up quickly behind him.

Turning sharply, knife raised, Michael was greeted by empty air.

Until a small weight pressed itself to his left leg.

If Michael was a particularly spiritual man, he might say it was karma that allowed this tiny child to hound his steps this night.

Once he’d pried the child from his calf he began to walk – quickly, but not too quickly – he wasn’t fleeing, and he’d be damned if he ran from a toddler (who was not at all ashamed to run after her new big best friend), but power-walking away from the scene of a crime was just good sense – it had nothing to do with the miniature menace approaching with arms outstretched… Nope.

Michael made sure to take a more circuitous route than normal in order to return to the home you shared – in order to throw the police off his trail of course.

He was definitely NOT concerned that the one tailing party he had acquired seemed to easily slip through gates and under fences – and annoyingly (impressively) through a dog-door – in hot pursuit.

It wasn’t until he reached the back gate to your house that he began to feel true annoyance at his small shadow.

Turning to face the small human (probably a girl, if the annoyingly pink bows in her obnoxiously blonde hair were any indication), Michael raised his bloody knife in a threatening gesture.

The girl giggled.

Michael made a shoo-ing motion with his hands.

The girl waved back at him.

Letting out a nearly soundless sigh, Michael turned and stomped up the steps and into the house; Not at all surprised to hear a light, uneven step following him up into the light of the kitchen.

Now…

“Wow. Karma’s really making you it’s B-I-T-C-H tonight, isn’t it Michael?”

You couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped your mouth at your gigantic boyfriends exasperated sigh – you were half-expecting him to put his hands on his hip and shake his head at you.

“MY-MY!”

The little girl exclaimed loudly, making you both gaze down at her in shock.

She clapped her hands and giggled before pointing straight at Michael and repeating “MY-MY!!”

You nearly howled with laughter as Michael Myers (or, now, My-My to all three year-old girls in the vicinity), pressed a hand to his masked forehead, and angrily walked back up the stairs.

You continued to laugh at your boyfriends retreating figure.

“Wait! My-My, come back!! We need to figure out what to do with her!!”

#jessica writes #Michael Myers #Halloween #slasher fiction

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catholicartistsnyc · 5 years ago

Text

Meet DC Metro-Based Artist Colin O’Brien

(Assumpta)

COLIN O’BRIEN is a Hyattsville, MD (DC Metro area)-based artist, whose disciplines include painting, choral singing, writing (poetry, essay), and fashion design. (O'[email protected])

CATHOLIC ARTIST CONNECTION (CAC): Where are you from originally, and what brought you to the DC area?

COLIN O’BRIEN (CB): I was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minn. and lived in Minnesota until I was 25. I moved from St. Paul to New York City in 1999 and lived there (Harlem and then Woodside, Queens) until 2010 when I moved to DC. I went east from Minnesota to have an adventure and to distance myself from a difficult family situation. I moved to the DC area because I was in a relationship with someone who was established here; I was also a little tired of the noise and pace of New York after 11 years. The relationship didn't result in marriage, but we're still close and dear friends, and I have a strong community in the DC area that supports me. I feel at home with the people here in a way I've not felt before.

CAC: How do understand your vocation as a Catholic artist? Do you call yourself a Catholic artist?

CB: I would say I'm a Catholic artist. My faith is both central and foundational to my daily life; I'm a professed Benedictine oblate, which means I have made a promise to live according to the Rule of St. Benedict according to my state in life. From that monastic basis, I strive to live a life of "ora et labora" (prayer and work) that is central to Benedictine spirituality. My painting and writing is an expression of that faith, though I rarely paint works with explicitly "Catholic" themes. My paintings, however, have a noticeably religious spirit about them that viewers enter into.

My personal mission as a Catholic working in the arts is to use my talents in service of evangelization; I wish to depict the Hope of life in Christ to viewers in fresh, accessible ways. Additionally, I hope to show to fellow Catholics that modern, contemporary art can still be a vehicle for evangelization. I think many people are tempted to look back to earlier periods, such as the Baroque, and remain fixed there as ideal time periods for Catholic art. To me, that strikes me as an admission of defeat; the Gospel is relevant to our own time and can be conveyed ever new using contemporary themes as a jumping-off point.

CAC: Where have you found support in the Church for your vocation as an artist?

CB: I have to give credit first and foremost to Leo Feroleto, owner of Six Summit Gallery, who curates the art display at the Leo House in New York City. Leo House is a Catholic guest house/hostel in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, a vibrant arts community. I've been blessed to have Leo invite me to display my paintings there, where hundreds of guests pass by them.

I think, however, that the Church needs to do much better generally in supporting the arts. By this I mean that religious education should incorporate an artistic dimension. A painting or sculpture needs to be "read" in order to understand the fullness of the symbolism contained within. We direct much effort toward literacy with regard to text, but very little toward understanding visual symbolism, which leaves us bereft.

In addition to education, we need to cultivate an understanding of art as a common good: it's not enough for artists to be trained to make beautiful works that convey the faith or that enhance the liturgical life of the Church. We also need to foster a spirit of communal support by encouraging people of faith to buy pieces by contemporary artists, for example. We need gallerists, impresarios, and collectors who are willing to give material and spiritual support to artists.

CAC: Where have you found support among your fellow artists for your Catholic faith?

CB: Among the artists here in the Route 1 community, it has not really come up as a topic of extended conversation, I'm sad to admit. During open studio tours, I've mentioned the faith aspects of my paintings. I talk about faith with one of my artist acquaintances; he talks about the church he goes to, and one time he came to evensong that I sang with the Anglican Ordinariate community.

CAC: How can the Church be more welcoming to artists?

CB: Recognize our contributions and being willing to pay for our works. I know many church musicians who volunteer their time, or who are asked to sing for friends' weddings and the like on a volunteer basis because it's "for the church." Musicians ought to be compensated fairly. I volunteer to sing in my parish choir, as well as in the schola with my Benedictine oblate community, and also for evensong once a month with the Anglican Ordinariate community; I'm at home with those and it's a way of doing service. However, especially for weddings, couples ought to be willing to budget the musicians' time into their wedding plans, rather than to expect friends to volunteer.

For the visual arts, as I said earlier, I think educating Catholics on their own artistic heritage is fundamental. This can, at the practical level, mean having discussion groups or retreats at the parish with artists or art historians who can talk about the importance of art in supporting evangelization. Paintings and sculpture can strengthen devotion serve as catechetical works as much as they are beautiful adornments.

Additionally, we need to know that there are current, living artists of faith who are creating beautiful works reflecting and illuminating our faith; we ought to showcase those works and support the creators where we can. An example of this that comes to mind is the case of a couple from Ukraine who wrote icons on pieces of wood salvaged from ammunition crates from the war currently going on in eastern Ukraine. The Ukrainian Catholic cathedral in Philadelphia displayed had those icons on display inside the church in conjunction with the recent enthronement of their new archbishop. Through efforts like this, the Church exposes the faithful to contemporary artists and also potentially draws in people to view the works who might not otherwise go inside the church building. This can be a win-win situation where artists get exposure and support and the Church can introduce people to the beauty of her own artistic traditions.

CAC: How can the artistic world be more welcoming to artists of faith?

CB: I think approaching artists of faith on their artistic merits is a good starting point, and the artists I've worked around have been good about that and supportive.

CAC: Where in DC (and beyond) do you regularly find spiritual fulfillment?

I am a member of St. Jerome's parish in Hyattsville, and I sing in the choir there. Additionally, I'm a Benedictine oblate of St. Anselm's Abbey in northeast DC. I periodically go to pray the liturgy of the hours in choir with the Dominican brothers at the Dominican House of Studies, which I find particularly refreshing. The chapel is beautiful, and the brothers welcome the laity to pray with them. I also have friends who are members of the Anglican Ordinariate, which is in full communion with the Catholic Church but retains the Anglican liturgical and cultural traditions. Lastly, I also worship with the Ukrainian Greek Catholics at the Shrine of the Holy Family, particularly during Lent. The Byzantine liturgy has fullness and grandeur to it that I deeply appreciate; almost all of it is sung, with the congregation responding to the priest in harmonies. It's a transcendent experience.

I periodically visit New York City and enjoy going to Mass at the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer, which is an exceptionally beautiful Gothic church with stained glass windows, paintings, and statuary that make you feel like you've stepped into a medieval cathedral.

CAC: Where in the DC metro area do you regularly find artistic fulfillment? Where do you go to get inspired?

CB: Washington, DC is a great area for free museums: the National Gallery of Art, the National Portrait Gallery, the Smithsonian Museum of American Art, and the Renwick Gallery are all favorite places for me to go spend an afternoon.

A lot of my work is inspired by things I've seen in dreams or by things I read, so often any place that's quiet where I can have some time of silent prayer or reading is where I can exercise my imagination. Periodically I will see an image or a phrase will come to me while I'm at Mass, and I tend especially to pay attention to those things that come to me while I'm praying.

CAC: How have you found or built community as a Catholic artist in the DC metro area?

CB: My parish has a rather strong community, so when I moved here I was already dialed in through the woman I was seeing at the time. Over the years, I've been able to build a large and supportive network of friends, including with people I've met from social media. Ironically, I don't have much of a network of artists that I socialize with regularly, so I'm in some ways an outsider to the artistic community. I'm an introverted person, so "networking" type events are not something I tend to seek out, preferring instead to spend time with close trusted friends. I have 24-hour access to my studio space, so I work there on weekends or at night; my favorite time is when I'm there by myself and I can turn up my music while I work.

(Phthalo Blue)

CAC: What is your daily spiritual practice? And if you have a spiritual director, how did you find that person?

CB: As a Benedictine oblate, my primary devotion is to pray the liturgy of the hours each day. I do my best to pray morning prayer and evening prayer, as well as the office of readings. Additionally, I go to daily Mass at noon, which is the center and focus of my work day. Sometimes I pray the rosary, too, but it's not a regular daily practice. I carry a pocket copy of the Rule of St. Benedict around in my backpack and periodically take it out to read and meditate upon. Though it's primarily a rule of governing religious life, it's also a rich spiritual text that has many principles worth emulating and incorporating into your life.

My spiritual director is one of the Benedictine monks at St. Anselm's. He is also the oblate director, so it is through him that I came to be an oblate. I met him at the recommendation of one of the other monks, who recommended him to me as a spiritual director.

CAC: What is your daily artistic practice?

CB: I'm a little embarrassed to admit that my practice is very much start-and-stop. I've had some health problems over the past year or so that have left me easily fatigued. As a result, I'm often tired out after a full day of working at my full-time job. However, I've noticed that my mood significantly improves if I do even about an hour's work in the studio. I try to get in a couple of hours each week, even if it's just to put a coat of gesso on a panel.

CAC: Describe a recent day in which you were most completely living out your vocation as an artist.

CB: I recently was in New York in conjunction with the High Line Open Studios Tour in Chelsea, as the Leo House was one of the stops on the tour. I enjoyed visiting other artists there and also interacting with people who came to see the works on display at the Leo House. A thing that moves me is when people ask me about my work and I explain to them the symbolism or the meaning I'm trying to convey, and they open up about their own spiritual lives or emotions. To have an experience of knowing I've reached the heart of the viewer is a very special feeling.

CAC: How do you afford housing as an artist?

CB: I work a full-time job that allows me to pay my bills including my rent, car insurance, and expenses. I live in a house with roommates, after a time of living in an apartment by myself. I room with two of my closest friends, both of whom are self-employed. One of them was diagnosed this past winter with cancer and so I moved into a spare room upstairs at her house to help her out with expenses and to be of support while she undergoes treatment.

I've sold some pieces, but at this point, I work primarily for my own pleasure rather than with a financial motive or an eye toward supporting myself through my work.

CAC: What other practical resources would you recommend to a Catholic artist living in the DC metro area?

CB: I would encourage people to visit the studios and galleries along the Route 1 corridor just outside Washington in Prince George's County. There are new restaurants opening there these days, as well as craft breweries and Vigilante Coffee in Hyattsville, which is an artist-friendly space with the SoHy Gallery next door. We have an art supply shop, Artist & Craftsman, that is a bit of a hub for local artists to get supplies and to banter with the friendly staff. We're just down the road from the University of Maryland campus in College Park, and the Catholic University of America in Northeast DC, so there's a nearby college scene.

(The Lovers)

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tarralin · 6 years ago

Text

Fraternization

a Clauses and Contracts story

Chapter Two

Thank you @tsundere-mitsuhide for beta and proof reading!!

TW: mentions of medical treatment

~☆~

Duchess stared down the mahogany door as if her eyes alone could demand more time from the polished wood.

It had been decided between the three of them that Duchess be the primary contact for the medical staff after the last relapse. Even Shingen's seemingly infallible good spirit had plummeted with that hit and Yuki nearly blew up in the office when the news reached him. Neither Shingen's heart nor Yuki's temper could take another head-on attack like that.

Duchess could handle it. One good thing about growing up in the way she did was learning how to detach herself when needed and the doctors were confident this would be the last of their personal plague. There were good chances the call may never come…

What foolish thinking.

Most of the solitary drive to the coast after that dreadful call had been spent in silence as she refused to break down until she could sit at the water's edge. Only then did she allow her own emotions to flow freely under the moon when no one was around. Once the worst part was over and her shoulders finally stopped shuddering, she hopped back in the car and made her way to the condo that had been her home for the last of her high school years to break the news. Today was as good a day as any since everyone would be gathered together, no point in suffering further by delaying the inevitable.

Sunday was ‘family’ day and her attendance had been demanded for many years now. ‘Dad’ would not tolerate tardiness of any kind either. Even on days when his ailment got the better of him, her phone would fire up if she wasn't there by breakfast. She wasn't late today, but she wished she had prepared herself a little more for the looming conversation ahead. Finally steeling her nerves, Duchess turned her key into the lock.

Yuki manned the stove as usual while Sasuke chopped breakfast vegetables for the omelets. Kenshin would most likely be sitting with Shingen out on the balcony.

“Morning, Duch--” Yuki started as he flipped sausages in the pan before her expression caught his attention. “You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened?”

“Well, I drove all night from the coast for starters…”

“The coast?” Sasuke froze in his chopping and set the knife aside, addressing her with his full attention now. “You only go out that way when something troubles you. What is it?”

Great, no way out of this with both of them alert now.

“After breakfast?” She pleaded. “No one will want to eat if I say anything now.”

A muscle ticked in Yuki's jaw as he plated the cooked meal in front of him. “It was the latest test results wasn't it?”

It took everything within her to keep from breaking down on the kitchen floor but a merciful deity somewhere lent her the strength to keep standing. The silent tear that slipped from her eye was a different matter.

“After breakfast,” Yuki nodded stiffly.

She sighed a breath of relief. It could only be put off a few more hours, but they would have one last normal breakfast together…

~*~

Duchess tapped her heels into the floor impatiently, the carpet preventing any evidence of her frazzled nerves.

Of all possible days to be late… why today?

This idea of Shingen's had sounded ridiculous at the last family breakfast when she had played the part of harbinger. Even more baffling was the fact that Kenshin agreed to it. Then it was announced she would lead this laughable venture. She knew the value of a powerful connection but did it really have to be her facing her best friend’s husband? Especially after her own post-wedding breakdown several months ago?

She had just started pacing when a familiar flash of red bolted around the corner leading to her private office.

“You're late!” She hissed as Yuki stopped in front of her, only one arm properly suited by his blazer. “They're already in there!”

“Sorry, I can't control a funeral procession.”

She huffed as she helped straighten the disheveled jacket onto his shoulders. “You can leave earlier, you know, not five minutes before you're guaranteed tardy.”

“Whatever,” he threw his hands in the air before reaching for her door handle.

Duchess planted her hand on the edge of the door, preventing Yuki from opening it. “Before we go in there, beware I'm not holding any punches. I need to know you'll be able to handle that.”

“I'm good.” Yuki rolled his eyes.

“You sure? You swear on your St. Thomas beach house?”

“Ugh, what is it with you and that property?”

“It's St. Thomas! I honestly don't understand why you don't fly out every chance you get.”

Another eye roll and a sigh of resignation. “Fine! I swear on my St. Thomas beach house that I am good and I dare you to throw your hardest hits.”

“Double dog dare?” She grinned now, knowing her attempt to lighten the mood was working by the visible drop in his shoulders. The phrase from their childhood usually only appeared in these moments before a business battle, but still always worked as intended.

Without waiting for a verbal answer, Duchess swung the door open and allowed Yuki to enter before her. A decision she immediately regretted when that familiar honey-laced voice snapped out a ‘lap dog’ comment.

Great, back to damage control again...

“Now, now, gentleman,” Duchess chastised lightly as she graced the room and pulled the attention to her, squashing whatever rebuttal Yuki was about to snap out. “We're here to play nice and discuss business.”

Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Mitsuhide each claimed a spot on one of her two matching couches while Sasuke and Yukimura held place on the other. A company lawyer stood to the side while the three visitors finished signing confidentiality contracts.

“Business with such security that you couldn't inform us of it in your invite?” Nobunaga questioned.

“And forcing us into essential gag orders?” From Mitsuhide.

“Ah,” Duchess acknowledged as she took a place on the couch opposite Nobunaga. “Apologies for any inconvenience but I will not risk any leaks of information that could cause panic among our shareholders or the public. Aside from Kenshin, Shingen, and us three, everything we discuss here today will be the first it has been spoken to anyone and it has not been written anywhere within the company database. As far as any outside this room are concerned, I invited you to my office for a friendly luncheon--”

A knock sounded from the closed door.

“--And that would be our cover.”

Yuki answered the door and retrieved two large bags clearly marked with a restaurant’s logo from downtown.

Nobunaga's eyebrow arched in amusement as the fragrant mass was set upon the coffee table. “Mercutio’s?”

“Princess's recommendation.” A shrugged shoulder from Duchess while she pulled a covered box with her name on it. “I did say it was a luncheon. I'm not so evil as to lie about feeding someone. We'll discuss business second.”

Nobunaga ate quietly, typing away on his phone. Duchess was the same, barely completing three bites between buzzes. Yuki happily chewed away on his bite of steak while watching her fingers. Once she put the device down again, he snatched it away and dropped it into the seat cushion crevice.

“Excuse?!” She whispered vehemently as she got up to retrieve it. “Give that back!”

He slid to cover the crevice where her hand was reaching, forcing her to retreat. “You can have it back after you eat.”

“I am not Shingen, I don't need mothering.”

“Apparently you do!” The red-suited vice president snickered as he batted away her attempt to push him out of the way.

“Same for you,” Hideyoshi spoke for the first time since entering the office, mimicking Yuki’s actions and pulling Nobunaga's phone from his fingers.

“It's Princess, not work.”

“I don't care, she'll understand. Eat.”

Everyone finished their lunch in silence after that as the two heads of the room pouted through the rest of theirs. With the awkward meal out of the way, Duchess rose from her seat--after unceremoniously snatching her phone back from Yuki's clutches-- and leaned upon the edge of her desk, crossing a heeled ankle over the other.

“So, now for the real reason you're all here. Uesugi-Takeda Technologies would like to open discussions for a possible merge with Oda Tech.”

Hideyoshi had just started sipping his water when that piece of information almost choked him. He managed to catch the gulp and direct it down the correct pipe before verifying the absurdity she had just spoken. “A merger? With us?”

“Precisely,” she grinned triumphantly. “I'm sure you're all wondering ‘why on Earth is UTT interested in a merger?’ And ‘why in the hell would they ever consider Oda?’ Correct?”

A bark of laughter escaped Nobunaga. “My thoughts, exactly.”

“Sasuke.”

The vice president in question passed identical grey portfolios-- all bearing the UTT logo-- to each of three men in front of him before returning back to Duchess's side. Hideyoshi immediately opened up and began poring over the information while Mitsuhide glanced over the second half of the reports. Nobunaga laid the folder over his crossed thigh without breaking Duchess’s gaze, that overly smug smirk never leaving his features.

Duchess suppressed an irritated sigh as she continued. “These progress reports cover the last three decades for all major rivals in our targeted market. Oda Tech is, of course, the most well-rounded corporation as well as the most successful. Joining forces would ensure both of our companies’ futures and finally lay this ongoing rivalry to rest.”

“That answers the second question,” Mitsuhide commented while his eyes remained trained on the documents in front of him. “What about the first? Why are you interested in a merger at all?”

Duchess paused at that, glancing to Yuki who gave her a stiff nod before crossing his arms over his chest like a shield from an inevitable blast. The silent communication seemed to reinforce her own resolve as well for she pushed from her perch at the edge of her desk and squared her shoulders.

“Takeda is dying.”

The room fell into a deafening silence as disbelief played openly upon two of the men's faces. The third simply sported a grimace as if her statement had confirmed what he already suspected.

Hideyoshi blinked several times as he recovered, glancing from her to the two vice presidents. “Is there… are there any treatments?”

Sasuke nodded. “Several procedures have already been performed, from removing the masses to radiation therapy. Remission is achieved each time but only for a short time until it returns just as violently as before.”

“Surely there must be other methods?” Mitsuhide questioned.

“Oh, I'm sure there are,” Yuki chuckled darkly. “Takeda refuses further treatment… and his decision is firm.”

Silence enveloped the room again as they continued to process this new information.

“Should we decline the merge,” Nobunaga was the first to direct back to business. “What does the future of UTT look like?”

Duchess’s smile turned back into the polite businesswoman. “Then we continue as we always have. Should Kenshin choose early retirement, Sasuke is more than prepared to take his place. The same as Yukimura is to take Shingen's. I, of course, would remain here as well.”

“Should I choose that…” Yuki grumbled in a low voice Duchess hoped the visiting executives didn't hear.

We are not hashing that out here.

“I know there are many variables for you to consider before coming to a decision. However, time is something I fear we don't have a lot of--” Yuki shoved from his place on the couch and marched from the room, ignoring the arched eyebrows and questioning glances. “Please, forgive him. This has been especially difficult for Sanada… May I ask for a solid answer in ninety days?”

“Should be sufficient enough,” Nobunaga agreed before the usual smugness found its way back to his lips. “I would, however, like to have an associate of mine here to evaluate and determine if our company values are a good fit for each other.”

“A reasonable request. Just give me a name and I'll get HR started on credentials.”

Nobunaga's grin grew into pure amusement. “Wonderful.”

~☆~

Master List // Ao3 // Ko-Fi

Bookmark Fraternization on Ao3!

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