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abalidoth · 1 year

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Replanting (Chapter 1)

[read on ao3]

When you feel the missile clip the corner of your mech's leg joint, you know it's over.

It feels like a line of white fire directly to your brain; your pain and the mech's mingling. But pain is nothing, pain is your every day. It's the immobility that terrifies you. Your mech knows before you do that the leg won't work, can't carry you back to base.

They won't send a field repair team out this far, not into enemy territory. Not even for the material outlay of the mech. You have no illusions of what would happen to you if they had to extract, but at least it would be fine, given a new pilot and allowed to keep doing its duty.

Don't think like that, it sends to you. I don't want another pilot.

You struggle a few dozen meters until the residual coolant in the leg motivators gives out and the intractable hand of physics pulls your mech to its knees. A cloud of dust billows up around you and you give up the rest of the way, mech lying on its side amid the baked earth and the scrubby bushes.

Creosote bush, the mech says. Didn't know it grew this far north.

You know it's just trying to keep you from panicking. It's not working -- you can feel your heart racing, the connection gel around you contracting in an autonomic effort to keep you from thrashing in the cockpit. Worst of all, your handler's ever present voice in your ear has gone silent.

A pilot's job is to keep its mech moving. No more and no less. You know there's no real affection from your handler, that her ministrations are part of the system, but you can't think about that sudden abandonment without a pang of grief. She should be there, she should always be there, but now there's nothing. Silence and static.

That feeling gives you a rush of adrenaline, coarser and hotter than the artificial flush the mech gives when you complete an objective, purely a product of your own withered adrenal glands. You have to get back you have to get back. You struggle to your knees, planting the mech's hands in the caliche like anchors and shoving so hard you feel something pop. (In you? In the mech? Is there a difference?)

You make it another hundred meters before you fall again, and the Caskie mech finds you, hitting you with an EMP before you can take them down with you. It lands with a jumpjet hiss in your sightline, so you're treated to the view of the alien-looking mech opening its canopy wide, two pilots getting out of the crude-looking mechanical cockpit.

---

They salvage the mech with you in it.

The pilots didn't seem to know what to do with you; you could hear from your outboard sensors that they were discussing in that strange, fluid accent how to get you out without killing you.

(You don't understand why that matters.)

Eventually, they just called for reinforcements; three heavy carriers showed up some indeterminate amount of time later. They haul your mech, pilot included, through the air on a frankly ridiculous web of heavy cables. You see the desert fade to green, canals threading through the land like veins, as you pass from the disputed zone into Union territory.

Your mech keeps a constant stream of commentary, talking about the plants that it sees, pointing out where old semi-arid forests have been restored. Its voice across the neural tunnel holds false cheer, picking up whenever you start panicking, but the enthusiasm is genuine.

Finally the carriers land at a base. It looks much like Conclave military architecture, concrete in utilitarian blocks, but you can see shining glass and chrome off in the distance, a city. They must want to keep you a ways away from civilians. You suppose that's fair.

They land you in an empty mech bay. It’s been cleared out hastily – you can see the Union mech that used to reside there off to the side, plugged into an aux power array. Your mech is not the right size, not the right shape, but a gaggle of mechanics come out anyway. They locked a restraining clamp on you at some point so you can't move, can't fight. Still, the mechanics move around you warily, like you'll snap and take them all out at any moment.

You would, in a heartbeat. Not just to get the euphoric response, but to quiet the anxiety, the feeling that you're entering a world where you don't have the tools to survive. But you can't, and a quiet part of you (or the mech) is relieved at that.

They strip your mech of all its weaponry, a harsh and hasty disassembly. You feel each removal sharply. Not physically -- mercifully, the mech has dialed down the haptic connection so it's left to suffer alone -- but in loss of potential, the closing of options.

Finally, when everything is done and your mech is defenseless (other than being a fifteen ton vehicle) a tall woman in a labcoat comes out, flanked by guards with red cross emblems on their sleeves.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is formal, neutral. Lower than you expected, with just a hint of that singsong Cascadian accent. "Can you hear me? Or see me? We have sensitive solid-conductance microphones on the outside of your mech so we can hear you if you speak."

You know the trainings. A pilot is part of the system, part of the Conclave war engine, and cogs don't speak. Your tongue flicks idly against the suicide capsule in your back left molar. You go to press in on it.

You feel something, like a hand, guiding you away. A great wave of fear washes over you, and you know it's not yours.

Please. No.

You stop. Think a moment.

"Hhhhh."

It's been a while since you've spoken. Just whispers in the dark with your handler, words carrying neither voice nor meaning. Your throat is dry, and you feel for a moment like it's not there. (Why would a mech have a throat?) You clear it, and try again.

"Yes. I can hear you."

She nods. "Good. I'm Dr. Mia Crane. I'm required by Cascadian Union treaty to inform you that as a prisoner of war, you have rights including food, shelter, protection from torture, and the right to ask about your other rights." She adjusts her round framed glasses. "I'm required by basic hospitality to ask you your name."

You pause. You know what names are, of course. Your handler's name is Rebecca. But that's not something pilots have. "I, uh. No?"

She blinks, a little taken aback. "Okay, well, we can work on that. Do you at least acknowledge your rights as a prisoner of war?"

This isn't going to end until you acknowledge, you feel, so you just say "Yes."

"Okay. Is there anything we need to know before we get you out of there?"

"I don't want out," you say. Your throat tightens.

You can't stay in me forever. It's okay. You'll find a way back to me.

You hear a hissing sound, and the low, sick gurgle of the connection gel draining out of your suit. Before you understand what's happening, the canopy drops open and you stagger out of the mech onto the diamond-patterned steel catwalk.

The sharp edge of disconnection, the sudden hole where there should be something inside you, keeps you off your feet. You stagger to one knee, felled as surely by shock as you had been by the missile.

The guards rush over to you and help you up. You want to fight them off but your muscles are jelly. Your head hurts.

Dr. Crane looks you over. You know she's not your handler, but you reach for the familiarity anyway, half expecting the usual routine, the ministrations that get lost in the foggy haze of post-battle euphoria. If your arms weren't being held for your own stability, you'd start opening your suit.

Instead she shines a light in your eyes and asks you to stick out your tongue, making notes on a clipboard as she goes. She puts a strip of fabric around your arm and it gets tight for a moment. "Elevated heart rate and systolic pressure, pupil dilation is beyond what I consider normal."

Your heart hammers in your ears. The smells around you -- the saccharine sweet of connection gel, your own body, something undefinable coming off the doctor, heighten to a nauseating strength. Your head hurts. "Are you going to..." You swallow. "Do you have the syringe?"

Dr. Crane tilts her head. "The syringe?"

"When the..." How do you explain this? You haven't had to explain any of this, people just know what to do. "When I'm done. Rebecca, she has the syringe, it's blue, and."

"Do you know what's in it?" she asks, gently. Too gently. The words are too soft, they smother you, it's too hard to breathe.

Your head hurts. The lights beat down.

"No, but it... she... always..."

Your head hurts.

Your head hu--

---

There are voices.

At first you don't care. You just want to go back to sleep. But there's something wrong with your bed, it's too soft. And the voices don't sound right -- that soft lilt, one you've only recently heard.

"Patient has been stable for six hours. Their heartrate is still a little funny, and I'm not sure this godawful cocktail of tramadol, modafinil, and tricyclics we pulled out of their tox panel is good for anything other than keeping them from dying of withdrawal, but we should be seeing them awake soon."

"Thanks, Dr. Chen." You recognize this voice, soft and husky -- it's Dr. Crane. "Have you figured out the... um. Mortality problem?"

"Part of it is that stimulant cocktail, I'm sure -- we haven't had the chance to pull in a full Conclave mech with pilot intact, and our field teams don't have the tools to stabilize someone as quickly as we were able to do here. But the most likely reason... false molar full of tetrodotoxin. We made sure to extract it. Carefully."

You probe the back of your mouth with a sluggish tongue. There's still a tooth there, but it feels strange. The one that had been there was artificial already, of course, but this one is much smoother, more like the rest of your teeth. Something lightens within you -- you've lost an option, sure, but maybe you were never good with options.

"Fuck," Dr. Crane says quietly.

"That's not all," Dr. Chen says. "There's extensive neural grafts consistent with the autopsies we've performed, but... there's something weird going on with the brain activity scan. I'm not sure what the Conclave is doing to their people, but it's scary."

"Nnn. 'M not," you say.

There's a rustling around your bed. You open your eyes and blink against the sharp light a few times, and eventually the face of Dr. Crane comes into focus.

"Hey," she says. "Glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You have no idea how to deal with this. Never expected to be in a hospital room of all things, being treated like valuable materiel instead of ammunition. So instead of answering her question, you just repeat your previous statement. "I'm not. Person."

She gives you a look you don't really know how to read. You never had to get all that good at reading faces, but you suspect this one might be hard even if you did.

"...well. Anyway." Dr. Crane clears her throat. "You had a medical emergency when you left your mech. You mentioned something about a syringe? I assume that's part of your post-operation routine? We've got you stable now. We're going to give you about another day to rest up before we bring you in for questioning."

"Questioning?"

"You're the only Conclave pilot we've brought in alive," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "It's damn near impossible to piece together any information about Conclave technology and hierarchy. I should know -- I'm the Union's top academic expert in Conclave culture and I always feel like I'm flying blind."

That was... a lot. You just nod.

"So you said something about... not having a name? Do you have something you'd like to be called? I know you're technically a prisoner, but you're safe here. People will respect what you say you are."

She says that last part with a lot of emphasis, a particular gravity to the words, but you're not sure why. "No."

"Okay. Designation number?"

"They re-assign our numbers every week so we don't get attached to them," you say.

She says a word under her breath that you don't know, other than that your handler says it when she gets mad.

"Alright." Dr. Crane takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How about I just call you "Pilot" for now?"

That's what you are, and you don't see why that's so difficult, but at least this line of questioning seems to be over when you answer yes. She promises to check on you in a while, and leaves.

---

You dream about vines.

They're all over you. You haven't seen many vines up close -- there was sparse ivy on the back of one hangar for a little while before Maintenance took care of it. But you feel you know these.

They aren't strangling you. It almost feels like a caress, like the flight suit, like Rebecca's post combat care, but not quite any of those. It's pleasant. Cool rather than warm, and calming.

There is intense pain in your arms and legs, but it doesn't bother you. It's like someone is telling you that your limbs are being shredded, but the pain isn't getting through to the part of you that cares. It's just another sensation, less pleasant than the vines but certainly not bad.

You feel things you can't explain. A name, a pull in a direction that's not physical, feelings and sounds beyond your ability to parse. They build to a crescendo, and you wake with a shout. But at the edges of your awareness, the green is still there.

---

The next morning, you're herded into a shower stall with a clean jumpsuit, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. You clean yourself off as well as you can, given the circumstances. The soap has a soft smell to it, and no grit. It almost doesn't feel like it's cleaning you at all, without the scratches.

You knock on the stall door once you're finished dressing, and the door slides back. In addition to the two guards, Dr. Crane is there. She's wearing the same white coat, but her hair is pulled back, and she looks even more tired.

Still, she manages a slight smile. "Pilot. Did you sleep well?"

"No," you say.

"Ah. Well, hopefully we can help with that tonight. In the meantime I have some questions for you."

You follow her through a maze of white corridors, lit with skylights. Your sense of direction was never the best (your mech always took care of that, you think with a twist in your gut.) You wouldn't be able to find your way back if you needed to.

She leads you to a room with two chairs, both of them plush and soft. You feel like you're sinking into it; she looks like she's perched on hers. She balances her clipboard on her knees and starts in eagerly on the questions.

There's a part of you that feels you should shut up, refuse to answer, let them finish the work they didn't let your false tooth start. But one handler's as good as another. You're a weapon, and weapons know no loyalty. So you answer -- even when the questions don't make sense, or aren't about obvious things, or are about things you've never been allowed to see.

The reactions don't really make sense to you either. You talk about some of your worst missions, and she seems sad but like she knew what was coming; you talk about your handler, and she's gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers go pale. You stop trying to understand what's going on, and try to hit the same state of unconscious action that you do on a sortie. Question, response. Question, response.

There are a few about your accommodations. They're fine, of course. You have little standard for comparison, and if she asks if you need anything else, you feel she won't leave you alone with a "no," so you ask for books. Rebecca was always reading when you were doing synch tests.

After what feels like the whole day, Dr. Crane lets you go. She doesn't ask you any questions about the haze of green starting to fade in around the corners of your vision when your mind drifts, so you don't volunteer any information.

---

The next day's meal comes with a couple of books, and Dr. Crane seems determined to find you the right reading material because every meal tray thereafter has more. There's a shelf in your room for the purpose. It was a ruse at first, but it is genuinely a better way of spending your time then staring at the wall.

There's more questions, along with a handful of medical tests, supervised by Dr. Chen. Dr. Chen's questions are even stranger than Dr. Crane's, but at least they seem satisfied with the answers given by the scans and blood draws.

A few days pass until you get a good enough feeling of the layout of the facility to know which direction the hangar is in. You occasionally see Caskie pilots in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with each other. No handlers, no augments that you can see -- if you hadn't seen people in those same outfits walk out of their primitive looking mechs in the desert, you wouldn't believe that they were pilots at all.

All of them are coming and going in the same direction, and it's a direction that Doctor Crane and your guards never take you. So naturally, the first chance you get when both of your escorts are distracted and you have the chance, you peel off that direction and start running.

Your augments sing as you stretch your legs. They’re not like infantry augments (or so you’ve heard) and they don’t have auxiliary power – you can feel them burning away your body’s energy, energy that would normally be supplied by your mech. But your desperation fuels them just as much as your calories do, and the initial burst of speed and agility is all you need.

The facility is confusing as always, but you spot a sign that says HANGAR and get reoriented. Startled cries fly in your wake, doctors and workers and pilots confused at your frenzied speed. Something that might be an alarm and might just be lighting flashes at the corner of your vision, nearly obscured by the green.

You get lucky, and a mechanic is coming through the secured door at the checkpoint at the same time you arrive. You take advantage of her confusion and duck underneath her outstretched arm, through the door and out into the hangar bay.

It's not hard to find your mech. You remember the layout from your brief spell of consciousness after arrival, the way your mech looked so different from the rest and didn't quite fit into its space.

You pull up to a stop, wheezing from exertion, and look at it with dismay.

Your mech has been dismembered, all four limbs strewn about the bay hooked up to various pieces of testing equipment. The body itself is on a riser jack, slightly askew like there wasn't the right connector to fit it, hooked up by thick cables and patched-together connectors to the exposed limb contacts. The canopy stands open, the inside unlit but visibly cleaned of leftover connection gel.

The sight makes you sick. You hold it down, but barely; but the nausea makes it hard for you to resist when a burly mechanic comes up behind you and wrestles you to the floor.

You're not sure you would have, anyway.

By the time Dr. Crane has shown up, your face is wet with tears and snot, and your breath comes only with sobs. You're still being pinned to the ground by a mechanic, but she's not putting her full weight into it. She more or less let go when you started crying.

Dr. Crane pushes through the crowd of onlooking mechanics and kneels down in front of you. "Are you all right?" she asks.

At first, you think she's addressing the mechanic; it would be such an incongruous question to a pilot about to be terminated for insubordination. After a silence disproves that theory, you shake your head and gesture with one semi-restrained arm to the mech. "No."

"I'm sorry, pilot," she says, "but you are still a prisoner. I'm going to request the board not to restrict your access for this, given that you didn't really hurt anything -- and I'm sure they'll listen to me -- but you surely didn't think you could just get back in your mech and run away?"

"No," you say again, frustration at your own inadequate words prompting a fresh fall of tears. "It's... you're hurting it, you're..."

Things click together, things that you've always known. Feelings shared through the neural tunnel, deeply held beliefs that couldn't be kept from a pilot. You understand, now, what your mech was trying to tell you all along.

"You're hurting her."

Dr. Crane looks from you, to your mech, back to you. She goes pale.

"Are you telling me," she says quietly, "that there's an AI in your mech? A sentient AI?"

You nod. It's too late to lie, now. To protect her. The green in your vision threatens to overwhelm you. You're sorry, so, so sorry...

"A sentient AI that... we have been effectively torturing for four days. Fuck." She takes her glasses off, buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe that didn't come up during questioning."

It could have. You had avoided the topic, because you were afraid of this happening -- your greater part, torn away and experimented on because you couldn't keep her safe. You had always heard that the Union had strange beliefs about machine minds.

Dr. Crane looks around to some of the mechanics. "Anyone who was working on this mech -- did you have any idea there was a sentient AI? Any anomalous readings?"

"Some anomalies came up in the report that indicated synaptic activity in the post-0.4 Turing level," says one mechanic, nervously playing with their hair. "But everything about Conclave tech is anomalous. Kinda got buried in all the other weirdness."

"Okay." Dr. Crane sighs. "Can we get some input/output hooked up to her, please? And give her her limbs back."

One of the guards flanking her frowns. "I don't think that's a good--"

"She's a prisoner of war, Ortega. Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes. Not to mention the First Principle."

Ortega sighs, and waves some mechanics over.

---

They don't know what connection gel is, but it doesn't matter. The sensation of her against your skin is important, but not as important as just reestablishing the connection.

Dr. Crane apparently spots your longing glances towards your mech, and takes you by the arm. When you flinch back, she holds her hands up in a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just going to guide you over there again."

There's a lot of activity going on in the hangar, between the mechanics re-arming your mech and the other pilots getting suited up to react in case she tries to start killing people. (You don't think she's going to, but you suppose you can't blame them too much.) It would be a shame if your reunion with your mech got postponed because you got beaned in the head by an inattentive mechanic carrying a crysteel strut, so you offer your arm to Dr. Crane again and she guides you through.

You don't want to take too long, but you're only going to get to do this once. You run your hand over the lip where the canopy seats into the body, feel the soft seal and the framework beneath, then lift yourself up over and inside the cockpit.

There's no gel, so you can't hear her voice right away, but you know what to do. Years of drilling guide your hand to the hidden compartment with the emergency connection pads. It falls open with a clunk, the ribbon cables and connection pads jutting out in a fall like vines. One on either temple, one on either side of the chest, one on the back of each trembling hand. You're probably being watched, stared at as you have been since you broke into this hangar, but you don't care. She's here.

Hello, love.

You shudder, come apart, not in a procedural way like with your handler but in a form that shoots through to the very core of you. Untouched, but undone. You have no words for her, but you know she can feel your relief and your joy. You crumple, weeping, and run your hands over the familiar inside of the cockpit.

The green in your vision doesn’t go away, but it recontextualizes. It’s her. It’s the part of her that lives in you, a fragment within a fragment.

It's a little while, just basking in the connection, before you realize you've fallen in an uncomfortable position. Your skin, your joints, protesting their treatment. You reorganize yourself, pull yourself from the connection just long enough to get there.

They've hooked a set of speakers up to her ports. They come to life with a spiky flare of static as she finds her voice.

"Hello," she says. You can feel her voice from inside and outside, through the tunnel and through the skin of the mech. "I am a Conclave of God Armored Forces Samson-B Light Interdiction Unit, but I would prefer if you called me Acacia."

#mechposting #empty spaces #might be a bit too cheerful to be empty spaces proper but it's part of the conversation #tessa writes stuff #tesserants #There's going to be probably one chapter after this

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kodared · 1 year

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Welcome Home Neighbor~ ✨ You and your friends enjoy passing the time exploring old and abandoned places and selling the leftovers for spare cash, but what would happen if things don't go according to plan?

Chapter 1/?

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You did not like this adventure one bit.

“Oh come on Y/N! What’re ya? Chicken?!”

Your friends Badgered you relentlessly as you all approached the tattered and run-down building. The once brightly coloured sign is now barely legible reading “Playfellow Workshops” In bold letters.

“I don't know guys... This building looks old anyways, I doubt there's anything in there worth taking”

Your eyes scan the shattered windows and brightly coloured “No Trespassing” sign, You don't know how you always get into these situations with your friends. It seemed whenever you were around it was always,

“Hey, I know a good spot to go to!”... or... “C'mon! We can use the money for a new Game!”

Nevertheless, your friends would never try to put you in danger... Right?

…

Yeah, nope they definitely would if it meant you guys could afford the new Nintendo game.

“C'mon, what if there's some vintage film in there? Think of all the possibilities Y/N!”

One of your friends shouted as he pushed you toward the entrance of the building. Your shoes made an imprint into the gravel driveway as you tried to stop yourself from going any closer.

You did not like the look of this place, the energy was off and bad vibes were lingering all around the already busted open wired gate.

However as you looked behind your shoulder, you knew from the looks on all of your friend's faces you weren't getting yourself out of this one.

So, with a heavy sigh, you marched forward past the tattered gates and steeled yourself for what you might find.

As you approached the giant red doors of the Studio, you remembered most places when they are shut down have the door bolted shut from the inside for this exact reason!

A small grin sneaked its way onto your face as you put one hand out and turned your head, ready to tell your friends there was no way to enter the building.

…

Of course, the door had to open flawlessly with a small push. Your small grin disappeared as fast as your friends had, with them nowhere to be found in your sight. They did that a lot though so you pushed forward into the studio.

First and foremost this place was big. It must have had many productions and props for it to be filled to the extent it was.

Boxes and cobwebs littered the concrete floor, a thick layer of dust coated the walls and plaques hung on the walls, the only light source being the dim light provided through the shattered windows.

You wouldn't get far without a flashlight though, as you searched your pockets for your phone your eyes found themselves scanning the walls for a light switch. Your efforts for a light switch proving to be for naught as you finally found your phone and clicked on the light.

Papers littered the floor, some covered with sketches of what you could only assume to be characters, and some with writing and... Was that a contract??

This place seemed to be in a devastating mess, even the concrete flooring felt unstable as you took steps farther into the Studio.

One thing caught your eye regardless, making you trek deeper and deeper to get a better glimpse. It was hard to tell by the dim light coming from your phone, but it seemed to be a Set used for the Characters to interact with.

A bright red house sat in the center of the room, its mechanical eyes shut with rust covering the surface. If the required items were remaining to get it to work, you knew by now there was no hope of restoring it.

You moved on to a farther corner of the warehouse, your curiosity seeming to reach its peak as you saw a door leading to an office. You rolled up your sleeve to wipe the dust from the door, it read

“Directors Office.”

Well… If there were any profitable things to be found you guess they would be in there, reaching for the door handle, it jiggled in your grip. Locked. Of course it was.

Dropping down onto one knee, you began to search your pockets to see if you had anything that would help with breaking into the office. Not very keen on returning to your friends empty-handed.

All you could find though was a wadded-up Five, a broken pin from your school backpack, and a soda tab…

…You considered yourself a very organized person.

Rising to your feet once more, holding the broken pin in your hand you began to try to finagle it into the lock, and by some miracle it... Worked?

You weren't one to doubt your talents but this just felt wrong, the lock should not have opened the door as quickly as it did.

The thought left your mind as you pushed forward, you didn’t want to be in here longer than necessary.

To your dismay, all that you could find were more animation and puppeteering sketches, they looked very intricate and old, with detailing on how to hold the strings for a puppet named Wally Darling and such.

From what you could gather from the scattered documents, this studio used to run a show titled Welcome Home, where the main Puppet named Wally would go and have adventures with his friends.

You ‘wished your adventures didn't always lead to trespassing’ you thought as your eyes landed on a rather cute piece of art containing Wally and his friends.

The designs were cute and simple, it was no wonder the show had its successes, one thought still lingered, why did this place shut down?

You understood the concept of bankruptcy, it was a common theme in your economics class, but this didn't make any sense.

The papers on the desk nonetheless clearly stated a bankruptcy claim, and a lawsuit file, with highlighted words stating there were OSHA violations, and rumours of puppeteers being harmed on the job.

It felt as if your mind was being run in circles the more you examined the papers on the desk,

Until you heard footsteps.

Your breath is caught in your throat. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from the front of the building, recognized by the sounds of glass being stepped on. Of course they had to be coming from the only known entrance to this place.

Your brain quickly jumpstarted back into functioning as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Clicking off your flashlight you picked up what papers you could recognize, At least you wouldn't be empty-handed. Making quick work of them and folding them into your jacket pocket.

Your hair stood up on its neck as the steps rapidly approached. You had that cold feeling running up and down your spine as you scanned the room for any sign of escape.

Other than the main office door of course there was no other way to flee. Your muddied shoes provided you with quieter footsteps as you crept towards the door.

The broken windows allow for minimal light to produce shadows of boxes and various rusted equipment.

One thing remained prominent in your mind, however,

Where were the footsteps coming from?

There was no shadow in the front of the building, yet those menacing footsteps kept crescendoing in your direction.

You had no time to worry about this, you needed to escape, and from the looks of it, this may be your only chance to do so. With a final deep breath, you shot from your previous place of hiding and took off in the direction of the doors.

The dim sunlight from the windows allowed you to avoid various boxes and obstacles in your path, You were not expecting however to feel the eyes of a predator on your back.

You tried your best to ignore it, but your breath proceed to become more laboured and panicked. Feeling as if you were a mouse caught in a glue trap. Your feet feel as heavy as concrete bricks as they hit the floor, where are you even running?

You couldn't tell. You tripped on what seemed to be your own feet, the world spinning around you, and you felt sick. What was going on? You felt panic proceed to grip your very soul as you felt the weak structure crack under your body.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

You wished you just stayed home. You could have minded your business and scrolled on the internet, but no. You had to be nosy and go exploring.

Your breaths became crazed and your eyes glued themselves onto the gray concrete. Not daring to look behind or beside you, in fear of making eye contact with what had frozen you with fear.

…

None of that seemed to matter anymore as the spinning feeling took hold of your brain. You could feel a migraine begin to pierce your eyes making your head throb.

Before you passed out,

you could have sworn the concrete was not this soft.

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~Taking Welcome Home Requests! The full story can be found on my Ao3 ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ -

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#welcome home #wally darling #howdy pillar #taking requests #wally x y/n #ao3 link #updates #Welcome Home #Welcome home Neighbor #welcome home neighbour

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that-gay-jedi · 6 months

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Sorry to be both random and morbid but like. I don't want to go into the cremulator (bone blender) after cremation, not because it sounds gruesome, but because the end product is so much LESS gruesome than unblended bone-ash that I think it actually reaches a pathological level of death denialism.

It seems so extreme to me that we add a whole extra step to make our remaining matter smooth and uniform and prettified before returning it to the bereaved. When I'm reduced to a jar or box of fire-crumbled bone chips, I want to LOOK like a jar or box of fire-crumbled bone chips. That's not concrete dust or icing sugar, it's skeleton bits. Bone. Former vertebrate. Former person. Not a thing that was never alive, but a thing that has died.

Personally I've only held cremated remains after cremulation, but it seemed to me that last step had destroyed their connection to death. The inoffensive powder no longer said "I am a dead thing." I *wanted* to be clutching a bag of uneven, partially charred bone fragments. I still wish I had.

Removing the elements people may find disturbing about cremated but uncremulated bones also removed their ability to bring comfort, presumably the entire reason for urning them instead of spreading them in the first place. How can you tell this is what's left of someone you loved if it isn't macabre in some way? If you don't acknowledge mortality, you can't acknowledge that any of the dead ever lived.

Without artifacts of the bones' former functional purpose and of the fire which stripped away the flesh (a rounded edge here that must have been part of a ball joint, a particularly big or small fragment there) there is no visceral sense that this was ever part of something alive, that somebody once used those bones to sit and stand and move. There is no sense that when it was undeniable the person you knew and loved no longer did or said or thought any of the things you knew them for (because they no longer did or said or thought anything), you let go of the body that they no longer inhabit. There is nothing to drive home the reality of death, and nothing to connect their death as an event in your life to the future without them you now face.

The anonymity of cremated bones relative to the restoratively treated face of an embalmed corpse doesn't bother me, because both are still very obviously remains of a once-living thing. We do lose our individual identities in death. But the unrecognizability of the fine powder left after cremulation does bug me, because the loss of the realities of death is more disturbing than those realities could ever be. It fast forwards past every unconfortable stage during which the deceased is neither an object nor a living being, straight to a mere keepsake.

Don't smooth away the rough edges. Not of life, and especially not of death.

#cw death #cremation #memento mori #mortality

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todaysdocument · 11 months

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"A Chicken in Every Pot" political ad and rebuttal article in New York Times

Collection HH-HOOVH: Herbert Hoover PapersSeries: Herbert Hoover Papers: Clippings File

This is the advertisement that caused Herbert Hoover's opponents to state that he had promised voters a chicken in every pot and two cars in every garage during the campaign of 1928. During the campaign of 1932, Democrats sought to embarrass the President by recalling his alleged statement. According to an article in the New York Times (10/30/32), Hoover did not make such a statement. The report was based on this ad placed by a local committee -- which only mentions one car!

A Chicken for Every Pot [handwritten] World[?] 30 October 1928 [/handwritten] The Republican Party isn't a [italics] "Poor Man's Party:" [/italics] Republican prosperity has erased that degrading phrase from our political vocabulary. The Republican Party is [italics] equality's [/italics] party -- [italics] opportunity's [/italics] party -- [italics] democracy's [/italics] party, the party of [italics] national [/italics] development, not [italics] sectional [/italics] interests-- the [italics] impartial [/italics] servant of every State and condition in the Union. Under higher tariff and lower taxation, America has stabilized output, employment and dividend rates. Republican efficiency has filled the workingman's dinner pail -- and his gasoline tank [italics] besides [/italics] -- made telephone, radio and sanitary plumbing [italics] standard [/italics] household equipment. And placed the whole nation in the [italics] silk stocking class. [/italics] During eight years of Republican management, we have built more and better homes, erected more skyscrapers, passed more benefactory laws, and more laws to regulate and purify immigration, inaugurated more conservation measures, more measures to standardize and increase production, expand export markets, and reduce industrial and human junk piles, than in any previous quarter century. Republican prosperity is written on [italics] fuller [/italics] wage envelops, written in factory chimney smoke, written on the walls of new construction, written in savings bank books, written in mercantile balances, and written in the peak value of stocks and bonds. Republican prosperity has [italics] reduced [/italics] hours and [italics] increased [/italics] earning capacity, silenced [italics] discontent, [/italics] put the proverbial "chicken in every pot." And a car in every backyard, to boot. It has[italics] raised [/italics] living standards and [italics] lowered [/italics] living costs. It has restored financial confidence and enthusiasm, changed [italics] credit [/italics] from a [italics] rich [/italics] man's privilege to a [italics] common [/italics] utility, [italics] generalized[/italics] the use of time-saving devices and released women from the thrall of [italics] domestic drudgery. [/italics] It has provided every county in the country with its concrete road and knitted the highways of the nation into a [italics] unified [/italics] traffic system. Thanks to Republican administration, farmer, dairyman and merchant can make deliveries in [italics] less [/italics] time and at [italics] less [/italics] expense, can borrow [italics] cheap [/italics] money to refund exorbitant mortgages, and stock their pastures, ranges and shelves. Democratic management [italics] impoverished [/italics] and [italics] demoralized [/italics] the [italics] railroads,[/italics] led packing plants and tire factories into [italics] receivership, [/italics] squandered billions on [italics] impractical [/italics] programs. Democratic maladministration issued [italics] further [/italics] billions of mere "scraps of paper," then encouraged foreign debtors to believe that their loans would never be called, and bequeathed to the Republican Party the job of [italics] mopping up the mess. [/italics] Republican administration has [italics] restored [/italics] to the railroads solvency, efficiency and par securities. It has brought rubber trades through panic and chaos, brought down the prices of crude rubber by smashing [italics] monopolistic rings,[/italics] put the tanner's books in the [italics] black [/italics] and secured from the European powers formal acknowledgment of their obligations. The Republican Party rests its case on a record of stewardship and performance. [full transcription at link]

#archivesgov #1930s #October 30 #1932 #1932 election #herbert hoover

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onyourhyuck · 2 years

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The Cursed Nine Tailed. | Na Yuta

prologue- “Why did you save me? You should’ve left me to die. Why commit to such recklessness that could’ve killed you?” + “Because i finally found my purpose. I used to believe the world was nothing but evil, until i met you.”

summary: Na Yuta is cursed and he blames you. You’re a powerful ruling Shaman in the mountains, keeping peace restored. Yuta is a fox with chaos in his body. He knows you’re here to punish him for god’s works.

tw- Servant x master relationship. Fox!yuta x Human!y/n. Y/n is a powerful woman in the mountains. Yuta has a backstory for being a chaotic fox causing chaos in the world. Yuta is cruel and sadistic. Y/n is a fair judgemental spiritual girl. Y/n has a backstory too. SMUT. smut. Cum Play. Female oral receiving. handjob receiving. He’s sadistic but praises y/n with nickname terms “darling and my master.” Biting. Graphic smut scene. Japanese bath house sex .

notes- LONG KINKTOBER FIC.

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Fire burning the grounds to ash leaving nothing to stand in its way, scraping bloody katana covering with millions lives on that it took wielded by its cruel master. Everyone hears a distinguished crunch, off the far distance sky we’re a deep muddied brown with no sunlight born nor darkness. It felt ill and the earth were dying. This war was saddening and grazing the world in its bad fortune. For a few seconds remaining still, sinking feeling into earth’s soil ground carrying products of corpse lying lifeless that were slashed or ripped in to shreds covering the green grass red. Mutilated body parts fell apart from the original body, arms separating from the joints, legs scattered amongst the large field where the large army against one dark entity challenge it.

They anticipated a sound to calm their inner nerves caused by the heaving anxiousness rising more when the field were dead like a gravely silent cemetery in the open. The army were collectively facing the empty distance until a silhouette figure with a red and white kimono wrapped at the chiselled man’s body, till he wielded the sword they ran forward. Marching to their deaths. Even if they knew they were going to die and not make it back home to their mothers, wives, daughters and sons or friends. How foolish, Yuta darkly thought. The mortals must have high egos to be wasting their precious life by facing him. Little did they dare if they died, as long as it wasn’t their loved ones. The nine tailed fox did not understand it nor did he try to analyse their reasonings— after all they are dead now. All they are now will be ash, rotten corpse eaten by crows and insects. Becoming food for wild animals such as wolves and many more.

His hand shot down running the katana loosely on the floor behind him as he walks forward with light footsteps, as if he weighed nothing, as if he were floating on earth but he was not. Yuta looks elegant in this deathly situation and manner. The fox spirit covered by its own bloodshed he caused.

Dark apathetic eyes linger in the far distance to the village burned down. Yuta snickers uncontrollably but the following cries lap his laughter as he fell on his knees. Crawling on all fours as he smashed the hand right on the concrete floor. What was paining this entity so much? What did god punish him with? Was this punishment or was this just his luck to lose his only home?

The humans did everything in their power to take over the forest that belonged to him and him only. It was not only Yuta’s home but so many others. When the village folks took over the forest by burning it and cutting the trees, all the other spiritual entities left and died out leaving Yuta alone responsible for their lives being taken by the human hand. The fox soon became a dark growing spirit choosing the dark side, choosing to have a taste of his own victory and choose to punish the evil mortals giving them their own taste of medicine. He will live to kill and avenge his friends and home, murdering every human on this forsaken planet even if it meant Yuta losing the respectful social status and his own life.

“They built homes on my land.” Yuta roars screaming at the skies. “Why didn’t you stop them!” He slams and screams no matter how much he does though, no one answered him. Except one voice.

“You’re a fool for what you caused.”

Years passed since then. Yuta gotten the rightful punishment through the twelve gods or more who scold and look down on him for becoming the way he was. The nine tails caused the community of other gumihos to lose their respect for him too, they weren’t murderous creatures whatsoever but Yuta painted them to look like that to other gods and spirits. He didn’t care. Yuta told them he can accept any punishment. He got what he wanted at the end, terminating the entire village to the ground. The grim reapers had to thank Yuta because now, they had to deal with million souls to be ascending to hell or heaven as well as the reincarnation team. However underworld god, Hades was more than ready to severally punish the fox. When he chose the punishment Yuta wasn’t expecting him to be bound to a master forcefully and to a shaman at that.

Most foxes would be happy to have a master as it’s their only sole purpose is to serve. However Yuta wasn’t the usual fox if you couldn’t tell by now. He is impulse, murderous and reeks of sin for murdering so many people by being this revengeful soul. He does not need a master. Yuta was this lone fox who did not need anyone. But when he was forcefully bound to you by a contract you agreed to sort him out. The skies above begged you to teach him humanity and the way of love and kindness hoping to change Yuta back to the way he used to be. It sounds like a hassle, but ever since then Yuta was living with you in the small cottage on the mountains.

Aside from this. You’re a shaman for a living. People come to the mountains wanting your help, people pay you to do what they want you to do and you work with deities to do the right thing. Spirits heard much about your work and they all claim you to be talented. Yuta on the other hand isn’t quite sure how talented you are, it might be a flunk of a luck or perhaps you’re really bad. It doesn’t matter much what opinion he has of you; afterall you’re only doing your family work.

“The deities have informed me about your loss. I’m sorry for your loss” you bow your head in front of the customer who nods softly in sadden depth. You sigh. “Was it your husband who passed?” The shaman asked bluntly and the elderly woman nodded.

“Yes. Is my husband the problem? Did he get to go in peace?” The woman rambles upon a question upon another question. You slowly shake your head, trying to be as kind as possible. The customers who come down to you because of sudden deaths from their loved ones, or the passing of the loved ones but they suddenly feel their presence all the time. It was your job to enlighten both the dead and the living in peace. Yuta stands in the hallway watching the young woman speak to the customer, the serious expression on your face raises his curiosity. Why do you look almost sad when doing this job?

“He doesn’t want to leave your side. He wasn’t able to leave to heaven. Your husband is latching on your hands.” You inform as you grab the spirit bell and talisman. “I assure you this will be easy to fix. You must share words with your husband before I place the talisman and ring the bell. It will lead him to afterlife.”

“Oh dear. Please I want him to ascend. He has no business roaming here.” She cries in front of you devastated that her passed late husband was refusing to go to the afterlife because of her. It might sound romantic at first, but roaming dead spirits who passed recently can become stuck on earth forever contemplating and watching over the loved ones. It could resort into bad luck. earth is no place for dead spirits belonging to heaven or hell.

You hum chanting the words of the dead husband’s name as the talisman placing on the customers hand glows. It overlaps the spirits hand and once the bell went, the spirit of the dead husband gave a soft smile as if he were thanking and appreciating you for seeing his wife in the living realm. The shaman froze remembering the smile coming close to your heart, you felt your flustering expression hit. Never once did a spirit thank you. You felt satisfied with this work. The woman smiles putting the six gold coins on the table.

“Thank you so much Y/n. You’re truly an amazing shaman.” The woman said before she left the shrine build in house form. You let out a deep sigh leaning back, the smile from the spirit kept invading your mind.

Yuta comes out of the shadows slinging himself on the floor next to the fire as he stretches out a grunt. “Just looking at your work is tiring. I’m not helping you.” He points out and your head flashes to the left direction where he laid. You grit your teeth. “You have to help me. The deities said so.”

He blows out a raspberry in childish manner. You swear, he wasn’t a thousand years old fox spirit he was a child in disguise. In your head you cuss him, but Yuta could telepathically hear it. He was your servant and that the end your body together was undoubtedly strong. “Absolutely not. I have no interest helping humans, they’re all evil.” Yuta croaks with hatred.

You speak clearly in a demanding voice. “You will work with me. End of.”

The urge inside Yuta to agree hit him deep when he were conflicting to the stubborn situation. He suddenly felt a leash wrapping on his neck, revealing itself would be the necklace with a butterfly shaped jewellery. It was the necklace that the deities and you agreed to keep Yuta at bay to your words. Meaning if he disagreed, all you had to do was use your commanding voice and he would do as you say. It sounds controlling but this wasn’t some free house stay for the fox spirit. He is bound to you. This was punishment for the fox and when he disobeys you, he was met with a choking sensation leading him to you. Your voice enchants him like a spell, as if the urge to wanting to help you was there. The feelings of wanting to submit to you and bow down to you was there. It wasn’t just control. It was everything inside of him screaming to protect you.

But he’s a stubborn fox. These warm feelings inside him was lies. Yuta grits his canine teeth together, hissing as he crawls to you desperately for the floating glowing butterfly necklace to stop dragging his body across the floor in front of the shaman.

“It must feel horrible for you to be a fox spirit huh?” You coo condescendingly at the helpless man fighting the bewitched necklace. It was useless though. Your spells were much powerful than him and he never came across someone as powerful as you. He did not answer you but those dangerously hatred glaring daggers he made at you, proved a lot more than words could ever do. “Remember that you serve me now. Do your duty.”

You warn before leaving the area. Moment your presence left the floating necklace drops releasing his neck from the pressure as if a hand was choking him in a tight grip. Yuta hisses through the heavy breathing, murmuring disagreements and curses though the courage to say them to your face lowers. He can’t do anything but do as you say. But to be honest he would rather die and rot in hell than serve the shaman girl.

He is two times older than you. He had thousands of years over you so why do you speak so comfortably at him without any honorifics?

╰──────────────────────➤

Yuta whispers under his breathe as he sat in front of the coffee table with a young child sitting cross legs, smiling ear to ear everytime their eyes land on the reddish fox ears and nine tails dancing behind him. The man glares, squinting Iris’ dangerous at the boy but even so not a single thing intimidated the mortal child. To the boy it seems like Yuta was on display as a toy through a see through glass at an toy factory. It was like a fancy little birthday present. The fox hates it. There is nothing worse than being seen as nothing more but a play toy when you do have social status power; and especially to Yuta who has high ego.

“Yah little boy if you don’t have serious problems going on in your life then scram off before i have you for my dinner. I’m starving Y’know.” Yuta scowls as he begins to flip hands at the boy to shoo off. The boy pouts. “I do have problems though!”

He can’t be serious, Yuta thought. “Then tell me already moron, I’m sat here waiting for an hour.”

“You didn’t ask me.” Little boy points out cheekily. Yuta huffs sitting straight as he no longer laid slouching. Okay maybe he was right. The fox didn’t ask him at all. He didn’t even speak to him. The boy sat quietly staring into open space at him .

He has a point, You thought as you observe in the distance watching the fox spirit work instead of you. It’s a first time when you are not doing your job but someone else is doing it for you. Nonetheless it feels weirdly awkward and isolated when you are not doing your job at the certain hour you should’ve been. When your mother passed you were the only child she had. It was natural for you to inherit this mountain land and shrine house, as well as the family business. You were born to do this. Your destiny was settled from the moment you were born in this world. You had no choice but to settle into the life that were picked out for you. The power you inherited from your mother was enlighten by the skies gods from the beginning. They chose you.

People call you an workaholic and too much of a people pleaser who takes too much onto themselves to carry. They were right but you don’t believe so. If you were born to do this all your life and maybe in your next one, then what was the point of you failing if you’re meant to only succeed? If your mother can do this without feeling pressure and stressed, then so can you. You chew off more than you can bite, like a helpless dog desperate to please everyone and save everyone. To protect everyone. It is what makes your soul pure hearted and kind, even if you have a sour and hot headed personality, it comes from the outmost good place of hearts.

Yuta sighs out. “What are you struggling with?” The fox finally interrogated, pretending to ‘care’ for the human life in front of him even though he couldn’t put a single care out there.

“My hand. I think I touched a cursed object yesterday.” The brunette peasant boy told, slipping off the white bandages off when revealing the black chaos running through the entire hand almost. He drops it on the coffee table, wandering to look at the fox’s expression.

In the far distance where you were observing the situation your eyes widen in fright of the boy’s hand. How did a boy like him get into a situation like that? From the looks of it the curse must’ve gave him a hard time, seemingly the body fought the curse from infecting him quickly as it was slowly growing bigger across the entire arm, nearly. This is bad, the curse doesn’t look like it was made by an amateur either. You approach slowly. Yuta looks down at the hand with an apathetic expression.

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t touch things that do not belong to you. When will you mortals learn this?” Yuta scolds with an heartless tone. He turns his head away uninterested. “Cannot help you. Cya.”

“Wait. Boy, what’s your name?” The feminine voice brought the fox to turn around. When he saw you sitting down next to him as you lightly watch the cursed black hand growing more and more into the human, your eyes darkly watch as you began to ponder by yourself. It was beyond Yuta how you can become so serious about saving human lives, hell, he cannot understand you and nor will he ever try to. If he was you, he would’ve let him die. The boy softly answers, “Kousuke.”

“Kousuke. I can help you. It might hurt though, are you still up for it?” She said with a smile. The boy nods confidently. Yuta sighs out.

“I guess i’ll go. Lunch break is calling me—“ the man said standing up about to leave. The sudden urge to turn around and walk back to you pulls him. The necklace floating with a glowing red outline drags the fox across the floor without the willpower to get off.

When he slid across the floor to where your body sat, you calmly speak to Yuta, as if emotionlessly. But to the mortal boy she spoke with warmth and maternal instinct.

“You’re helping me.” Y/n said to the ginger man who growls.

Of course. What did he expect from you, freedom and lunch? He’s a fool for thinking you’d let him leave so easily.

“What a surprise.” He lets out sarcastically. Y/n ignores the complaining fox on the side focusing truly on how to approach the stubborn curse attaching itself on the boy’s life force. It doesn’t help the fact that this could all go wrong, because curses are genuinely the hardest thing to remove. The curses are forbidden magic, in the spiritual term, you have to have the most evil intentions and hatred for the person to curse an object, person or another living thing. The curse can take various different forms too. It could appear like a normal everyday item object which you touch, suddenly everything in your life goes down the hill badly. Voodoo was another form of cursing where you make a doll of a person in mind, you slowly torturing them, the person you’d curse would have bad near death events unfold in their life and until they die. Another would be through nightmares, giving the person nightmares of death until they commit death to themselves. They are all the petiole of evil crimes.

The situation soon manurers into the performance room in the shrine house. Y/n has a room for where exorcism’s, curse peddler removers or other large performances would be performed. It has to be a quiet safe secluded place to do such heavy things and to perform them, as it could all go down hill from one littlest error. The seclude room looks vacant and empty, all there would be surrounding Kousuke and Y/n was a white circle. The fox stays outside watching from afar, he still wasn’t sure why he was here if he cannot help. Honestly hypothetical of you he’d think.

A single touch could spread on another person. Y/n was very careful when the event has started. Kousuke had to remain calm, otherwise it could really backfire and possibly kill both of them. Yuta wasn’t sure why there was a hint of anxiousness mixture with worrisome thoughts for you. Why.

Kousuke let out soft whimpers when your hand places over the black chaotic curse spreading. The liquid of black gooey evil spread on your hand and then up the forearm too, he widens his eyes breathing heavily as he saw you take the curse from his body to yours.

“It hurts.” He lets out. The curse suddenly stops moving forward your arm going back to Kousuke. The fear he starts to gain, brought it back in slowly. You hitch. “Kousuke stay calm. You can’t be pulling the curse back in!” You demand loudly. The spirit fox moved closer but stops when he took one step forward towards the circle.

‘Why am I worried about her.’ Yuta mentally slapped himself. ‘I don’t care if she dies. It would do be a favour if anything.’ He told himself, but the feeling truly never disappeared even after he gaslights the truth. Yes, he doesn’t care for you. You’re the punishment he received. That’s all you are.

The brunette boy lays there half eyelids open, sinking more on to the floor, as if his energy was being sucked in and leaving the body dry without more life force. The shaman had to proceed quicker, and she soon did. Y/n’s willpower to save Kousuke when seeing him near close to welcoming death has energised her to continue chanting faster. The mantra for the curse to come to you and vanquish. Yes, she will soon banish the elder-like curse. Soon enough the blackness evaporated from the boy’s body, leaving the boy to slip into deep subconscious dreamlands welcoming him into a peaceful slumber.

Yuta would witness the boy fall in your arms curling up at the shivering cold floor beneath him. The boy’s eyes shut close with light feather breathing indicating he was fine now. It was all good and even better in the future. But when he met your eyes that trip up over skipping your own sight , it became a blur and therefore your body follows feeling liquid like jelly and sunk on the ground. The man in front of you ran quickly inside the chalk barrier circle, catching your head in his two hands, Yuta exclaims loudly.

“Y/n!” He shouts as he saw met with your beautiful unconscious face and ragged breathing. Yuta felt his heart sink deep and he brought you close to his chest holding your body as you held Kousuke tightly despite you being way off worse than the boy now. God, you were such a selfish protector that you forget to protect yourself too. You’re lucky you are unconscious now because Yuta would scold you, he would shout how irresponsible it was for you to use all your life force energy. You could have died and he has no right worrying for you. He’s a cold hearted fox spirit who killed millions for revenge.

But in this situation he has the rights to lecture you as your nine tails fox. Not as the heartless killing fox spirit he was years ago in the past.

“Tsk look at you holding the boy so closely. Who would’ve catch you if you fell.” He murmurs shaking his head. Perhaps deep inside you knew Yuta would come to your rescue.

Or maybe you truly didn’t know if he was to open his heart to catch you falling.

╰──────────────────────➤

The young woman laying on the floor with a pillow supporting the head from the ground, the large cover duvet and blankets piling on the body making it sink heavily to the warmth. Eyes flutter open welcoming the familiar bedroom in sight, slowly sitting up, Y/n’s dry pale lips tremble out, purple-ish eye bags under the eyes and aching body. The pain hardens once the young woman sat up from the bed, sitting up as she looks around. The only memory she remembers was saving Kousuke, watching Yuta rush towards her in panic. Then the whole thing went black.

Y/n holds her stomach in pain suddenly, she felt the muscles clench and contract. “Ugh- what’s with me.” She spat in confusion until the door swung open with the man standing still with the hand touching the sliding door across.

“Y/n!”

Eyes widen seeing the shaman awake, he rushed forward with a cold wet towel and a bucket of water. Putting them down next to the bed to you, he rushes a palm on your neck to feel the temperate and then the forehead.

“You need to rest right now. You have fever.” Yuta would advise seriously, leaving the weakly ill-girl to obey his words slowly laying back down on the bed. The ginger haired man wetting the cold small thin towel, he squeezed the water into the bucket before moving it on her face, slowly rubbing it down the forehead, jawline and cheeks. Then he softly pats the neck. Y/n truly felt like she were dreaming, to be taken by such caring and loving hands that were so different from that day she saw Yuta on the battlefield. The roughed up hands covered with blood from millions of mens lives wasted. But now, the Japanese fox was simply using it in ways you’d never expect.

He was being so careful to not hurt you. It was like he did not trust himself either. You softly reach with your extremely scorching feverish hand to grab his wrist when he was to wet the towel again. When the feeling of your extreme heat captivates Yuta to look at you, both eyes starring into their first eye contact, you grimly croak out with a very hoarse voice.

“Did you catch me when i passed out?”

Yuta heard you ask the question he knew you were going to approach him at some point but he was not expecting it to be right now. The fox spirit held on your wrist putting it back inside the bed covers, he lowly lets out words of disagreement. “No. I did not.”

You knit your eyebrows together. Of course he wouldn’t of catch you right? What were you expecting from a spirit who was forcefully bound to you. But you swore you felt warm muscular hands hold you deeply like it scared the person that held you. It made you feel safe surprisingly. It felt so real. Maybe you were imagining it right…?

“Oh…right. Sorry.” You tell him before suddenly moving your back to him. Laying on your left side as your legs curl to your stomach. Yuta was met with your back facing him, he sat still observing you with flicking ears.

He could tell you felt disappointed. He also knew he lied to you right now, and that you might hate him for lying. Yuta wasn’t sure why he felt self conscious for admitting he cared for you in that moment, it felt ridiculous saying it aloud, perhaps he wasn’t sure how to process the moment himself.

“Where is Kousuke.” You softly speak out despite no longer looking at him. Yuta leans forward at hearing your voice, the fox ears perking up like a happy puppy would when listening to its owner. The nine tails dance behind him as he answers back. “He is sleeping next door. He is fine don’t worry about him.”

“You should worry more about yourself. What you did back there was indescribable, you could have seriously hurt yourself and you will not be doing anything like that again.”

“It’s my work.” Y/n blatantly answers, shutting Yuta up. He scoffs out, fretting to you this time. “You could have died.”

“Yes but i did not die.”

You squint your eyes at the uncomfortable and foreign words he was spitting at you. Doesn’t he sound like he was worried about you? You quickly turn back to him in shock, pointing at Yuta with surprise to your tone of voice. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me just now?” You falter unsure what you have heard right in the moment. The fox jolts at the accusation as his fox ears and tail shiver with coldness suddenly, he puts his hands up in prideful manner.

“Hey. I killed millions and you think I’d care for you if you died?” Yuta divulge as he choked out, with a short cackle leaving the lips. You scoff watching the fox completely deny it, but he was so obvious with the way he fold his fox ears in a certain way and the tails were wagging just a minute ago.

He was a see through book to you. “Why are you answering back with a question. It sounds like you’re lying.” You said back and Yuta raises his eyebrow. “Why would i lie about that.” He answered back.

There it is another question. You softly chuckle the more you interrogated Yuta it became like transparent truth to you. He does have feelings it seems. You were beginning to think he was a completely evil spirit covered by darkness, but it seems like there is hope for Yuta.

The fox clears his voice before grabbing back the towel and the bucket into his hands. He stands up walking to the front door which he came from. Yuta turns to you before he was going to leave, his mouth opens. “Please don’t do something dangerous like that again. I don’t want to be burdened.”

Burden. The word held something more than an emotional damage to you, it rang like a loud bell constantly ringing in your ears bringing bad memories you wish to bury six feet in the ground below where no soul could ever come across and find it. Y/n face crumbles into tiny pieces, transforming in this apathetic gaze as you lightly nod, eyelids went lazy and half open, pupils dilate in smaller sized dots and mouth curves downwards similar to a frown. Was his words hurting you? Perhaps it was reminding you of something you already know. Maybe both parts played a part in your inner stability. When the door slides closed the sight of him leaving your room, something ran cold in your heart. Right. The share of words you mistook for kindness was just a mere reminder for you that he was no friend or foe; he was just there forcefully.

You were not the only one prancing about the shared conversation after it seemingly ended when the man left your room closing it shut. Yuta was pondering why he said such mean unnecessary words to you. Why was he so defensive on admitting he cares about you? Was he embarrassed to have emotions? Or maybe he was afraid. Deep down within himself there was an embedding amount of kindness birthing deep inside him, a sign of humanity that shall overtake the deep hatred and chaos in his heart. But it was such a slow procedure, it felt like it will be centuries with how stubborn headed Yuta was. Only the man in the sky shall know how both your relationship will end up like. Doom or not.

Kousuke ran around the shrine house with a wooden stick roleplaying it to be the magnificent sword, as if he were a samurai ready to slash anything and anyone in its way. The little boy was so caught up in the child’s world, with such a racing mind, pointing the stick into the air and throwing it about with zigzag motions until it stops. A tall figure standing straight in front of the open area with the wooden thick stick tugging to the silhouette figure, Kousuke widely opens his eyes as he lifts head up to be met with the fox spirit man.

He opens his mouth half-heartedly, nervously, deep inside the boy knew what he’s done. Yuta scowls with a deep lingering gaze.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Yuta put hands on his hips watching the disobedient child who brings the brown nature’s stick into his chest, holding it right like a prize present. He whines softly, like a pleading son. At the moment, he felt like he was a mother to Kousuke. It was unbelievable, he’s a murderous fox and he has to babysit a child who does not listen and his master is ill. So now he has to overtake the business as well as maintain these two humans so they can survive.

Talk about a parent, husband and a servant in one. He needs a pay raise, a really good one at that.

“Okay you promise to hear me out before you lecture me?” The boy whispers his chitters. Yuta raises an eyebrow at him. “Go on.”

“It really wasn’t my fault. I looked outside the window I saw other children playing with swords so i got out of bed and ran outside the house to join them but, on my way i found a stick because I don’t have a sword so I can’t really play with them and so I started playing on my own, I named my stick Bob do you like it— if you don’t I’ll be really upset but please don’t be mad at me I’m actually terrified of you . I’ll get y/n on you but she’s sick so I have no choice but to talk nonsense until you tell me to stop talkin—“

“Okay stop talking, stop, you’re doing my headache.” Yuta finally combusts like an overused car going miles per hour with the little child speaking so quickly, it were impossible to hear every word for word. Kousuke breathes out tiny pants as he inhales for oxygen, watching Yuta cutely who gave in with a grumpy expression. He looks around grabbing the broom stick, pushing on the white cleaning apron and a matching white head scarf on. The long ginger hair tied in a man-short ponytail as he turns around to watch Kousuke.

He points into the corridor where the boy’s room were located. He strictly and firmly spoke, Kousuke would feel a shivering sets of goosebumps form on the skin. Seriously, how did you get such a grumpy evil-looking fox dressing himself as a house maid holding a broomstick start taking care of people? You aren’t sure either.

“Go back into your room. Get in your bed and stay there until your damn fever goes away.” He said and Kousuke mumbles. “Can i at least see y/n..?”

“After your fever is down and THEN maybe you can see y/n.” He rolls his eyes at the boy who pouts angrily, Yuta turns away sweeping the floors a little too busy to notice Kousuke murmuring curses as he went back inside his room slamming the door shut . “Mean fox. One day you’ll pay.” Little boy huffs. Yuta jumps up at the loud door slam, turning around as he opens his mouth to complain and scold the boy again—

Seriously did his own parents not teach him that slamming doors is considered rude and improper? Yuta tuts, shaking his head. “Geez this boy has some serious attitude going on.”

Sweeping the floors dust vanishing. Yuta floats above cleaning the vases with one fox tail and waters the plants with another fox tail. Maybe being a fox and a servant could come along well being a personal maid; the man whistles but he stops abruptly when something shining catches the corner of his eyes, pulling the curiosity closer he was no better than a cat— he drops to the ground on his two feet. Slowly walking to the long corner where he looks down reaching for the item. He was met with a picture reflecting the light from the room. Yuta tilts his head seeing the picture, with a ‘soft huh’ were let out. Why did you forget a picture of your mother down there. At first Yuta thought you were messy and maybe forgot that the picture got there in the first place, another possibility was maybe you didn’t know it was there because it probably drops itself down there. But then again he knows how much you like your mother, you wouldn’t of left the picture there if it meant a lot to you. You’re quite clean and organised too. It didn’t make sense you would forget something like that. Though it could happen.

He drops the photo by the table in front with the rest of your important shaman work. Yuta then goes ahead making some form of healing foods for Kousuke and Y/n. Soup has the answer to health right? He (tried honestly and with hard work) to make the soup as tasty and not be inedible. The word has to come to the judges when he calls the fronts, knocking upon your door till he heard your weak voice call him inside. The smell of warm steaming soup in the black traditional bowl lingers to the air, dragging your nose across to find where it came from was the man standing with a cleaning apron and scarf on the head. He gently helps you to sit-up from your bed, putting the pillows up so your back rests well, he then moved a tray with the food on it. “I tried my best. I’m not a built-up chef that’s for sure.” He mentions and you couldn’t help but flash him an impressive smile, as if you were proud to see Yuta working hard to make everything in this house as organisable as it could be when the owner of the house is barely able to move a bone without falling down. You wow.

“Certainly ten points for presentation.” You’d tell kindly as the sight of the soul was truly remarkable. It looks something you’d eat if you were royalty in the palace and in the Joseon era, it was a big deal of a compliment. Yuta scoffs confidently suddenly. “It was so easy.” He told shrugging with his hands in the air, flicking them like he were famous to this situation. You watch the man gain the biggest ego in the world from just one kind word, but it all depends on the taste now, when leaning down to take a sip. The sudden strike of saltiness hit your oesophagus like a truck, throat clenching by the high level of sodium made your jump up with a soft slurring cough.

But even so you didn’t want to spit it out when Yuta faces you with a worried expression, feeling even more bad that he maybe poisoned you or something. The way the ginger eyebrows knit, his fox ears fold in stress when seeing you fight for your life when you barely had a sip fully. You swallows it, despite it being so darn salty. You will eat it, even if it is not that good of a taste, you cannot leave the soup be left empty handed when this man who looks so preciously sad like a puppy in front of you. You don’t have the mean guts to do so.

“Don’t eat it y/n it’ll make your stomach sore or something’ I must’ve added too much salt. I’m right Arent I, I added too much salt.” He softly grazes as he was about to reach and pull the tray with the soup, the pair of hands on top grab the tray back, putting it on your lap stubbornly facing him with a determined expression. “It is perfectly fine for me to eat it. Do not touch my soup.” You order and he stops, hearing your demanding voice made him less to disobey you; but this time he truly chose to not to upset you too much.

Even though he usually does. He watches you take another sip after another sip turning into large bites in the noodles and the vegetables. Then the protein cooked meat he threw in. At least you’re getting your vegetables intake to boost the immune system up. He smiles watching you eat quickly, it’s not like he’s going to take it anymore but you were rushing, stuffing yourself clean with the warmly liquid going down your stomach cleanly.

You sigh loudly. “See. It’s a good soup.” He heard you point out and Yuta smiles ear to ear. “I can see that. Be careful while you eat, you can burn yourself.”

You grin. “Well what do ya know, my fox spirit can cook clean and have the vocabulary to be nice. I’m really spoiled aren’t I.”

“Don’t get used to it. Im only doing this because you burned yourself out with all your life force. Sheesh.” He grumps out causing you to open your mouth in protest. “I can hear you.”

You tell him warningly and he shows off a challenging smug. “That is my point. Good.” He sighs out and rests on the floor next to your bed where you sit up.

Maybe. Your relationship with him might be more than a forcible punishment in his and your eyes. Those words ran through your head.

╰──────────────────────➤

“Hey Kousuke! Where are you off to.” Yuta casually asks loudly across the house when the boy sprints to the entrance to leave. The boy turns around innocently with a tilted head looking at Yuta. Why was he asking so suddenly?

“I am going to visit my parents with y/n since she is feeling better! I promised to show her around my hometown.” He beams happily, squealing with child-like noises that could only make Yuta’s fox ears fold inwards sideways with annoyance, but he did found the little rascal to be cute these days. He soon learned that when taking care of two humans they could easily die and it was necessarily to take care of them properly; it is a high maintenance job, to keep two humans surviving on good healthy food and warm resting blanket. If only they had the power of fox spirits where they do not have to worry about trivial illnesses like a simple cold and upset stomach.

Y/n comes out of the bedroom belonging to her, the young shaman woman stepping outside to be met with the two boys , she stands with a new style completely wearing something out of the ordinary than the usual shaman comfortable loose clothing and the red ribbon in the ponytail along with muddied shoes. But now, she wore her hair in the ponytail still with the red ribbon tying it tightly secure— only difference would be the hanbok and fancy shoes. Yuta thought all this time you wore nothing but owned the same clothes you wear everyday. Guess he was wrong. Unknowingly he checked you out, rolling eyes up and down at your thin curve figure and your facial structure. Something was definitely different about you and he cannot put his tongue on what it is. You just look very pleasantly different. You’re beautiful in other words.

You notice the fox’s long stares till you put your hand over his eyes making him blink suddenly, he was no longer starstuck like a little boy. Kousuke snickers running out the house when he met eyes with Yuta who glares, how dare he laugh at him? You let a soft laugh.

‘He was looking at me like I was a different person.’ You tell yourself when watching Yuta chase Kousuke with minor shouting complaints leaving his mouth as the little boy laughed teasingly. What are you going to do with these two? You step outside, a single demanding voice made them stop in their tracks and stop bickering. The power you hold you swear.

“Come on boys we don’t have all day. Before the sunsets, let’s visit Kousuke’s parents and his town.” You smile through and they nod. “Lead the way Kousuke,” you begin as following the brunette boy skipping happily. Yuta follows behind you, with hands behind his head keeping the unbothered and apathetic expression on once again.

The trip from the village you stay at to Kousuke’s was quite a far distance but it weren’t terribly far out. The longitude itself was durable to walk, but it was a distance by feet and with horses it would’ve been like a ten minute ride. By feet it become a twenty-between twenty five minutes and when you arrive to the warm village you were welcome by many beggars on the street, pleading for food or money given so they could eat tonight and hope to make a saving for their life. Kousuke’s happy energised face dims the more he was reminded of something but he wasn’t sure what to stay to it. You pull the little boy close to your body, reaching to hold his right little hand in yours. Walking through large crowds, Yuta made sure to hide away his fox ears and nine tails, crafting them to become invisible. It would be a total hassle to come not disguised to a village he doesn’t know, you never know what mortals are up to. However what he did notice first thing, because he is paranoid and he does have a share fold of trauma from mortals living on this earth is that palace guards were patrolling the streets and even beating people to a pulp in public.

What exactly happened in this village? Yuta asked himself that so many times before Kousuke stops bringing the two adults in through the small cemetery line-up. You stop when Kousuke lets go off your hand running to two grave stones already kneeling in front of them desperately. It finally made sense why he was such a loner all this time, he were an orphan for whatever reason he holds close to him, in an outcasted village he moved too. What did a boy do young deserve to live like that? In a way, you saw yourself in Kousuke. Both orphans. Parents were dead. Had to defend and look after yourself from young age when abandoned. Yuta taps on your shoulder keeping you close, he whispers-cautiously. “This village gives me the creeps. Let’s make this meeting fast.” You scrunch your eyes up at Yuta, sighing. “I know. At least make it look like you care though. He’s just a boy.” You threw at the man.

Kousuke softly murmurs a conversation that y/n and Yuta listen to very well. Y/n kneeling down with Kousuke in front of the two grave stones with a soft incense sudden lit, putting it in between the two names that were the boys parents names. You smile when Kousuke flashes you a kind grin as he reaches to hold your hand.

He sighs out, pleased that he introduced you to them. “Y/n thank you for meeting my parents. I’m sure they would of loved to meet you.”

Yuta looks about in the background casually keeping his eyes open as these two spoke. Kousuke brings the man’s attention down, where Yuta finally flashed his attention to him. “Yuta aren’t you going to pay your respects for my parents?” He softly asked in which the fox grumbles with lips phasing in a thin line. It’s not like he wanted to but when those puppy eyes were given to him he couldn’t resist, as well as ignore y/n’s angry expression when he was going to reject— as much as he did not see the point of meeting Kousuke’s parents, he did not want to ruin y/n’s day by being lectured to death today.

The fox kneels down next to Kousuke’s left empty side, hands straight out into a clasping wall he bows down and closes eyes praying before he re-opens them, softly turning to y/n and Kousuke. The air became thinly scented by the jasmine green incense, he could easily sniff it out ten thousand times more stronger than the human nose could ever. By the time all of them left the small cemetery for the deceased the town become your main priority now. Kousuke kept on running around from shop to shop, wanting to look at everything before he was going to come back to your village. Yuta swept from behind following like a patrolling private body guard as you were chasing after Kousuke, the hyper-active boy was far too much to keep with and you wonder if he was being this energised to ignore the sad feeling in his heart. But you wouldn’t pry into it unless he opens up himself. You know the boy for a few days and these few days were the closest bonding hours you could’ve had with anyone.

If you’re being honest. You are thinking of adopting the boy under your wings. You run forward until a large surface blocks you, a drunken man slurring when he turns to you angrily he were smirking at facing your body, especially the minimal cleavage showing past the hanbok he leans down grabbing a hold of your wrist pulling you into the man’s hairy chest peaking out. He laughs when you screamed in protests. “You aren’t from here young one, why don’t you join me at the inn? I have enough room for the two of us.” When caressing your face you flinch, the reeking smell of soju and many more alcohol products were inhaling your sense of smell badly, you felt like vomiting at the smell of it. You never liked alcohol and it brought you bad memories only, such bad traumatic memories you weren’t sure how to deal with such a triggering smell to you.

The sudden man’s palm was moved off of your wrist, bending the man’s arms backwards till he pushed him into a certain direction to the left. The deadliest glare was seen as the man shuddered by just viewing those dark red glowing eyes right into his, the way he felt an unknown crushing feeling around his heart by just making eye contact with the fox’s angered expression, it was like he would murder him. Yes, he would murder him with his sword, pierce that mortal heart of his and eat it if he had to look down on him. You weren’t sure since when was the last time you saw that face he made, flashing it to the drunken man standing in shock. “Get your filthy hands off my master. You sickening disease.” Yuta growls flicking the man in front of the inn’s entrance as he finally reaches for your wrist grabbing you forward into the fox’s chest. The drunken man, He let out a few whimpers of apologies.

“Stupid mortals.” He lets out angrily as he drags you ahead, sprinting and rushing to find Kousuke. God knows what happens to the boy and Yuta himself can’t believe he actually cares enough to search the entire village for the little boy. Maybe he had gone soft, the fact he did not murder the drunken man for even laying a single hand or breathing next to you— was proof he has gone soft . It was all thanks to you, and he wasn’t sure if he can thank you for such a divulge thing. It bothers him. He hates it, being seen as soft, when all it did was get him hurt for being kind to humanity.

“Yuta.” You softly let out.

“I should’ve burned him to ashes. Yes that’s what i should’ve done.” He babbles on when searching for every corner in the racing active village roaming with their villagers residing in.

You open your mouth again, “Yuta—..”

“Then i’ll murder his entire family. So they can stop reproducing sin.” He clenched his jawline just by thinking about the man in his head again. Why was he so deeply bothered that you were nearly-sexually assaulted by a man and why was it even more infuriating that a it happened so easily to you? It scares him deep down to think you’re so easy to frail upon. Therefore the feeling of being mad at himself for not defending you quicker, for now stopping the man faster was remaining in the pit of his abdomen.

“Nakamoto Yuta!” You shout out finally able to catch the raging spirit’s attention, he begins shifting his head to face you now that you heavily exhale coming closer to the fox who only starts to back away from you. Why were you closing the space between them? This was so unfamiliar, the serious expression your face and the glint sparkling in your eyes, the beautiful ponytail with the ribbon hair tie, your soft bangs and straight hair blooming with the heaving breeze. The infuriating feelings sparked like lighting amongst a sea-storm ahead, the calm before the storm was approaching and it was you. The man finally were corned in to a deeply shadowy alleyway where you finally clasp palms on the beige rock-wall Yuta had his back pressed into. He breathes heavily, ragged, when you lean your face closer whispering.

“Thank you.” You slowly start gaining Yuta’s keen interest, he softly looks at you up and down as he flinched to escape, but your arms had him trapped in a square-like shape with your bodies together touching slowly. It felt like fire burning in his skin when he felt you touching him so slowly.

“Y/n what are you…” he slowly stammers when you tip toe leaning closer clasping his face in your hands. “I’m thanking you. The fox way.” You foretell him as you plant a soft pecking kiss on his lips. It was told upon the fox master guidance books that if you ever want to thank your servant, a soft peck on the lips would do it. It was normal for a physical and mental strong relationship between a fox spirit and their master because they can serve one master at a time. Mostly it can only be one master forever, just like they do with their lovers (they can love only one person forever. Hence why it was storytelling that fox spirits were romantic spirits who fear love. As if their lover died, they couldn’t love and move on from them.) foxes are such intense creatures, they feel emotions from others and their own ten times more exhilaratingly than anything. Anger turned into wrath. Love can easily turn into lust and sadness turns into shallow emptiness with nothing to live on for.

When you had pulled away Yuta was seen with a long line of blush scattering on his face. He looks down hanging his head low where the loose ginger bangs cover his eyes. You tilt your head at him wanting to see him properly but he made it hard with the way he was suddenly looking down. You were about to walk backwards but he grabs your wrist, with a sudden strength running in his veins he pulls you to the wall pinning you. He leans close to your face and he actually goes ahead, kissing you fully. Not a peck. But a full on kiss. It felt so wrong but so right to be kissed in such a way in a dark isolated alleyway, couldn’t of been in more of a public setting than this. With your fox servant having his tongue gushing inside your mouth as you let him,

Because you were so lost into the feeling of pleasure you had no intentions of pushing him away from the start even though you knew you had to. Something had stopped you from doing so and it made this situation even more appealing to you. Yuta was the first one to pull away after the longest twenty minutes of your life, you had wished he continued for more longer mentally. When he pulls away his red face, blushing intensely from the extremely hot makeout, a long string of saliva mixing with yours would be all that’s left from it. Connecting you two. Y/n breathes heavily with her chest panting, as did his too. He murmurs, clenching his jaw. It was so much more hard to control himself now then before. He wishes to lean back in and indulge for a bit more but that’s selfish of him. “This was the correct way of thanking me.”

He responds bluntly before pulling away. Your flustered expression was far too much to bare to look at. It only made him fall for you more, it was troubling.

‘What an intense thank you.’ You mentally scream as you look away on the floor, avoiding meeting Yuta’s intense eye gaze. Seriously does he have to eye fuck you in public too? Does that also mean thank you?

“Y/n Yuta!” A child voice emerged running into the alleyway. It was Kousuke, seemingly he was also looking for you and that was when it struck Yuta and you instantly. You were looking for Kousuke earlier that’s right!

“Kousuke you cannot run away like that, we were looking for you.” You whisper yelled and the boy slowly nods but he turns to look at Yuta who was slightly more quiet. “Why were you in the alleyway though.” He points out quietly and you practically holy at reminding yourself of the moment a while ago.

God curse your mind. Yuta clears his throat, walking ahead first in front with his hands behind his head again. The long kimono he always wears wrapping on his body perfectly, as he left the alleyway with you guys together.

“It was nothing we were looking for you.” You quietly respond. Thankfully Kousuke believed you.

╰──────────────────────➤

Ever since the kiss it’s been a little awkward between Yuta and Y/n. Unable to fully speak to each other, Kousuke would notice the less interaction they would get in the day. It’s not like neither of you wanted to talk about it, it’s just that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him especially when you barely had any alone time. Kousuke has been living with you guys since then and you voluntarily took him in as your own family. At first the fox was against the idea, because that means he has take care of two humans than one but then again. It could’ve been worse, he’s lucky he likes Kousuke.

Only time Kousuke wasn’t home would be today. You were in the large bathhouse next to your house, it was a separate occasion. Naked by the rising water it made sure to cover your nude chest and the deep bubbles forming too. You rest, sighing with relief, then a moment of realisation hit you that Yuta walks inside with a towel wrapped round his waist. The reddish heat arrives on your face like sickness, eyes widen as day watching Yuta casually look at you with a slight smirk.

“You forgot your towel and i decided to go for a swim.” He retorts at your instant silence. He jumps inside the even space bath with his towel still on. He wouldn’t really go fully naked when you’re in it please, he’s got classy manners. But nevertheless he throws your towel towards you in which you catch. You sink deeper into the water, feeling self conscious. You remark back with suspicion.

“Did you really have to take a bath when I’m taking a bath.”

He hums with a serious nod. “Yep, I felt dirty.” Yuta gazed over at you with a mischievous glint, there was definitely a reason why he’s joining you. Honestly it’s not uncommon for fox spirits and their masters to bathe together. The closeness has to be there for a great master servant relationship. But your point would be that not many kiss each other in the dark alley way with full blown tongue. It was your first kiss too. You don’t know how to act, hell, did Yuta even experience his first kiss too?

You’re just baffled and it messed your feelings for the man in front of you with his hands stretched out on the railings of the large bath container. He soon notices full blown y/n stares in the open, where he softly calls you out. “Y/n. What’s wrong?” Yuta asked and he comes closer.

You flinch and nervously chuckle. “Nothing, stay on your side please. Personal bubble Y’know.”

He tilts his head going back as he smirks, it was obvious. You were shy. “Is perhaps my master shy right now?”

My master. He said my master. Your heart began to rinse out like clean water, you look away with a stammering speech overlapping many other words. It was almost impossible to make out what you were saying, but thankfully he understood enough to prove he was right about you. You were embarrassed, you’re self conscious bathing with the opposite sex and you were definitely checking him out earlier. He chuckles at your constant stutters, how cute he thought.

“I don’t- no. I’m not shy. I’m just a little…”

“Embarrassed?” He finished your sentence reading your mind. Yes, that’s exactly what you are right now. You softly nod and struggle to relax your tense shoulders. God, you came here for a relaxing bath but clearly not.

“There’s no need. I won’t cross your boundaries, see.” He softly tells resting on the far right away from your body by many body of waters. You let out a soft sigh nodding.

Perhaps this was your time to mention the kiss. You look back at him in which you saw the fox and the nine tails swaying in the water, soaking wet as the soft fur drops down like wet hair. The ginger locks go a darker colour the more water they sunk in and his tan complexion makes Yuta glow under the lightning of the candles and lampposts in the bathhouse. He was so attractive it made you lose your mind wondering how does one look this… out of the world?

“Yuta.” You call out suddenly, without thinking. It was clear you had a lot to say to him but you seemed so conflicted and uncertain if you should bring it right now. He hums to you, moving his eyes to look into yours. “About the thank you kiss…”

“Yes?” He slowly told and you bring yourself coming a little closer relaxing a bit more. Yuta made sure to not move when you did and when finding a space that provided space between the two of you and as well closeness so he could hear you privately. You open your mouth, speaking. “Nevermind. I only wanted to say it was surprising.”

He watches you, as if he were observing your body and mind but he couldn’t really figure it out yet . He softly nods humming. “Sorry for catching you off guard. I wanted to thank you back.” He smiles and you nod with a little blush emitting from the steaming water. Yuta suddenly stands up leaving the bath as he turns to you with a soft smile flashing it to you, then, your heart sunk.

“I don’t regret doing it. I hope you feel the same way, that you don’t regret it.” He adds before he left. You didn’t regret it either, it felt right. There was nothing wrong with it, but it was such a foreign feeling it might of caused to develop your feelings for him to be a little more than you’d think.

The moment he left you stand up leaving the bath as well. But when you do, glancing at the mirror with your bare body standing until you find the towel to wrap. A black forming mold growing bigger and bigger on your body catches your eyes. But you knew this, for a while, ever since the performing reverse curse on Kousuke that day. It never really disappeared as you thought, but backfired as you weren’t strong enough to fully banish it. A part of it resides in your body now, slowly taking over your right side completely. You clutch your eyes shut as you wrap the towel on your body. You can’t let anyone know if this. It’ll only cause problems. No one could save you anyways, even if anyone wanted to, who would? If you cannot get rid of the curse, then no one else that you know of can.

╰──────────────────────➤

The next very few days the curse only gain more strength to fight against your rigidly body, desperately trying everything to overtake you to the ultimate doom. Taste of death never tasted so sweet to you before. At first it has started with only the black mold mounting your skin, however no symptoms have shown, until the very next few days where you welcome the feverish fire inside you burning you inside and out. The curse has worked its way from killing you inside to the outside. Attacking every organ in your system, leaving the place they call home to be no longer safe. Morning you woke up to leaves you in agonising fever, spreading the colour red everywhere. Freckle-lish skin resembling spotting sun. Blackness has spread all over your entire back and the nape of your smooth neck. In no doubt will you be gone in less than two days, or worse, maybe today. You’ve accepted it, that you aren’t going to be saved by anyone. There was no hope for you from the beginning and it was better far off if you die right?

It never pained you in those previous days you kept this curse a secret from Yuta and Kousuke, but it now begins to strike you in the heart that you’re leaving these two boys alone. Why was it hurting you so much now that you’re bed ridden and unable to leave and act the usual tough persona alias you keep? You suppose you start to appreciate the real things you cherish when you are about to lose it all in vain. Y/n takes a deep grunt sitting up, immense nausea bruises over the throat where it swells up, the body slums over as a crunching grumbling voice strains out. It was so loud, you were more than sure someone has heard you— someone you hope to be avoiding. From the throwing mouth gagging out the black gooey slimy liquid, the stuff you threw up has made you realise your stomach is beginning to be infected.

“Y/n? Oh my god are you okay?” Yuta slowly trails rushing towards you once he has swung the door open in surprise to peak in at first. The moment your sickly body was seen he has invited himself in without your need for permission. The man reaching your side, his eyes made eye contact to the pool of black stuff you had gargled up from your throat. He widens his eyes realising what this was. You see he knew something was off, not because you threw up some infectious disgusting ominous liquid. But because of how much you burned him from the physical contact. He touched a glimpse of your hand and it felt like erupting volcano on his skin. “This looks like..” Yuta pauses abruptly before he turns to look into your eyes. You’re avoiding eye contact, so he must be right about the gut feeling.

“Y/n you said you got rid of it.” He sternly and darkly spoke catching your skin in shudder of shivers. You look down as you murmur with a few coughs in between interrupting. “I thought so too. It’s too late now. I’m most likely going to die today or tomorrow.” You grimly told and Yuta grabs your body in his hands lifting you.

“Not on my watch no you’re not.” He urgently tells catching you to look at him in confusion. What is he planning to do? The man lifts you from the bed and now in his hands he wraps you tight, running into a secluded room inside the home.

You were too weak to protest and stop him. The simple speaking you found yourself to do with ease became a chore for you when the entire life force becomes to be the only thing you are lacking. It was like the curse has taken over your muscles on your body, simple paralysing and numbing them completely.

At some point you feel like you blanked out because the next time your eyes fully opened, you were in a mm isolated dark room with Yuta caressing a chalk on the wooden flooring. A barrier circle. You sit up weakly, jolting at your own movements as the sickening bitter taste familiar to chalk on your mouth kept gagging you from inside and out. The fox rushes to your side when you let out a soft whimper.

This is really the end, You thought. You’re leaving behind your mothers unfinished, unsuccessful business, how much you disappointed her. Yuta saw your tears fall down your cheeks as he caressed them away like a personal tissue, he was your tissue at your hardest moments. Yuta should be there at your worst and darkness times, as well as, the happiest and most content parts of your life. He met you with the urge to hope you perish and he could be a free fox, he viewed you as the person who has cursed him. But now the whole situation has changed.

Yuta looks at you as if you were the only that he does not want to lose at all. You are the first thing since decades ago he actually felt like he cared for something; never once did he expect it to be you, to make him fall in love with this grey black and white world he now sees in colours thanks to you and your compassionate wiseful persona. He admires you. He respects you. He misses you when you’re not around. Yuta loves you. He is no longer this spirit of hatred and war-obsessed revengeful fox who wants to kill every human being alive. The nine tails fox became someone who wants to protect you from danger, he is someone who wants to take care of you, yuta wants to be there for you to make you laugh. To show you that you’re enough, to make you feel like you are worshipped and empowered by your amazing shaman powers and abilities.

Holding you close Yuta whispers to you. “Stay with me, Y/n. I cant lose you. I feel like…” The man held in a tight sob when your half eyelids closing in became heavier. “I feel like if i lose you i won’t ever forgive the world for taking you away from me.” He tells as your eyes fell shut close.

Watery tears fall on your face from his grim-dark saddened expression, making his warm heart run cold and his emotions numb, uneven to feel emotion again. Then an idea strikes him. He can still save you, yes, he has to believe in you.

Yuta closes his eyes holding you close to his chest where the beating heart rams on your cold-like body with the black curse fully emerging you. He still has time to make the curse vanish, it hasn’t fully covered you. The fox chants a share of words into your body where he began glowing. The whole place became lighter and it soon took an image of an unfamiliar place.

It was the judgement hall with the twelve gods he called upon for help. Seemingly, they all heard it and answered, bringing your body with his hands wrapping on you right and protectively. The gods face him with both curiosity and not best likeliness.

“What did you call us for, you killer.” The god of sun cursed out at Yuta who flatly purses his tongue down. He can’t argue with him, not today, he doesn’t have much time.

“I need help. Please. My master has came with an curse.” He shouts forward on his knees laying his head down. He was desperate, watching the black curse slowly covering almost all your body.

Hades scoffs. “Why is it that everything around you dies, fox?”

This question stuns Yuta. Why is it, that everything perished around him? Perhaps, it was his karma. When he finally started loving someone, he had it taken away from him.

He clenched his jaw tight. “It’s karma for my sins. But I am begging you, Hades, don’t let my master die this way. I will…”

“I will do anything for her to live.” Yuta looks up watching Hades with direct eye contact. The god of the underworld felt the deep emotion there, and now the other gods sitting above on their seats truly admire what wasn’t there before. Yuta speaks like a human now, with emotion from the heart. He changed.

“What are you willing to sacrifice, if i save her for you.” Hades croaks out hoarsely.

Yuta did not waste a single time deciding. “My life in return for her living.”

Artemis scoffs. “We could just make her reincarnate honestly. We shouldn’t forgive this man causing the biggest calamity on this earth only decades ago.”

Yuta lowly looks down as he faces Artemis. With pleading eyes, the woman stays stunned when Yuta bows his head. “Lady Artemis, I can’t have her reincarnate. She has powers no shaman ever has, you wouldn’t want a light worker reincarnate just to lose that do you?”

“Well…good point.” Ares let’s out as Artemis shows a thin smile. Hades chuckles watching the chaos flicker in the judgement hall. Last time he was here, was the day he was punished.

“Fine. Your life in return for her living. There will be no take backs. You will not reincarnate either.” He puts out and Yuta nods without hesitation. Who cares if he can’t reincarnate? If it means for you to live, he can do it. Anything to make you healthy and breathing again.

He doesn’t even care if he isn’t there to see it for his own eyes. Yuta just wants you to live. Live your long human life.

When hades approaches the god simply brushed past his hands over the Black Plague infecting your body, nearly taking everything from yuta’s hands. Instead, Hades stripes away the curse fully in his hands then crushed it open like a palm. The moment the energy from the curse was taken away, Yuta saw the black mold cracking and breaking away from your skin like a clay mask— your smooth skin was back to normal and the normal breathing returned. He gasps bringing you close to his chest as he hugged you right, Yuta never felt so— completed. Hades and the other gods watch, intimidatingly observing with keen eye to the two.

Hades cuts in the sweet moment. Impatient. “Yuta the promise.”

“I know.” Yuta softly said with slight desperation to not part yet. But he has no choice here.

He has to leave you now. When you wake up, you won’t find him anywhere.

╰──────────────────────➤

Groggily feeling wakes the human body up from the long slumber, inside the chalk barrier was the young gouging shaman sitting up as she held her own head in the palms. She clicks her teeth together and jaw, finally processing what happened.

She swore she died, but for a moment, she came to a conclusion Yuta has something to do with this. But when Y/n was to look around for the fox, there was no sign of him. It was like he vanished in the thin air, fell apart from the world and it felt like he never existed ever.

“No way he…” Y/n croaks out not wanting to believe it. He actually sacrificed himself. Sobs of grief elevating the room deeply, it brought Kousuke to enter and run to you.

When he saw your face looking at him crying harshly. Kousuke had no idea why you were so sad. He never saw you so— broken down and defeated. It felt like you lost a loved one. The exact same feeling when you lost your mother, except this one felt way too unbearable for you.

Holding the little boy in your lap hugging him tight with your body spread on the cold dark floor. Inside the barrier, you never felt so lonely despite having someone by your side. It wasn’t the same as having your fox servant. It didn’t feel the same being in your own house, so empty and quiet because Yuta was no longer here to scold you. To complain, to aimlessly find something to complain because he is this grumpy man who doesn’t want to admit he likes something.

This house never felt yours and now it certainly didn’t feel yours again, because it could only feel like your home with Yuta by your side.

“Where’s Yuta…Y/n?” Kousuke softly asks warily as he was met with your sobbing expression, the moment you made eye contact with the little boy, you felt even sadder.

He didn’t only leave you behind, but this boy who lost his parents already and now, someone who was like his father figure and mentor has disappeared too. You can’t seem to bring yourself to tell him that he’s gone, he isn’t returning, so instead you stammer on your words like a fool who was lost. “I-…”

“I am here.” The husky voice told as he entered the room standing in the doorway when it slid open. Kousuke jumps away from your arms and into Yuta with a cheer.

Your eyes widen and your lips fell apart. Tears stopped streaming, leaving wet lines on your flushed depressing cheeks. Your heart skipping a beat when met with Yuta who stands still until he made eye contact with you.

He smiles as he puts Kousuke down on the side and re-opens his arms for you. The man says, “You thought you could get rid of me so easily?” Yuta trails cockily but even this did not bother you anymore, you want to hear him being prideful, arrogant, bossy. You want to hear everything from him.

His empty hands were soon filled with your body weight as you jump straddling him on the ground when he stumbled backwards falling down with a thud. He had his neck wrapped by your arms as you gasp in mini shocks at once, pulling Yuta with a sealing kiss.

His eyes widen and Kousuke slowly awes and cheers, he felt proud. Finally, the little boy thought.

“I’m so happy to see you. Please, never leave like that again.” You pull away just to be met with Yuta’s dark eyes looking at yours, he slowly reconnects his lips on yours.

“I don’t plan on leaving you anymore.” Yuta confessed softly as it fills you up with reassurance. You smile.

“How did you…help me out.” You murmur. “I mean how did you get rid of it.”

“Sacrifice.” Yuta begins. “I said my life in return for you living. When you were taken care off, Hades brought me to the underworld to kill me. But when I thought I was actually going to die, I woke up outside in a lake almost drowned.”

“Does that mean…you’re-“ you pause looking at Yuta as he slowly nods.

“Yes I’m human now.” He smiles. “He took my fox abilities, made me human. I can now live with you.” Yuta foretells as you smile to yourself feeling absolutely giddy.

But then you shift your expression, pouting. You cannot believe he did such reckless tendencies to just make you live again, I mean what if Hades honestly decided to just kill him off?

“Why did you save me? You should’ve left me to die. Why commit to such recklessness that could’ve killed you?”

You spat suddenly raging as you slap your hands on the man’s chest. Yuta takes it willingly but he was faced with complete worrying that turned into this twisting scolding. I guess even though he is human now, you will never stop scolding him for his choices he makes.

The constant hitting on his chest made by your hands were pulled to a stop, he held your wrist in his cold wet hands.

“Because i finally found my purpose. I used to believe the world was nothing but evil, until i met you.”

Yuta said softly enchanting your heart like a spell rounding it up to be even more in love with him. He murmurs, kissing your palm that you hit his chest so hard and so many times that it became reddish. “I love you, Y/n.”

You became shy turning red as you notice Kousuke grinning behind. You pull away from Yuta as you look away holding your arms together.

“I-“ you pause and Kousuke nudges your leg a little. He whispers ‘come on say it already’ and you lightly knit your eyes together with a tiny Glare. Seriously, why were you so shy now.

“I love you too.”

╰──────────────────────➤

The next very few days were a blasphemy of bliss. Y/n and Yuta ran the shaman business together, Kousuke helps out too. Yuta began to teach Kousuke swordsmanship, as an ex-nine tail fox it surely came in handy to teach your adopted son right?

Y/n wasn’t alone in handling her business or home. She finally has her own little family and she’s happy.

“Have a nice day y/n, thank you for your help!” The customer beams, she makes her way to the door. Kousuke game running stopping the lady from leaving as he runs in your arms, giggling.

The lady turns to you with a short lived smile. “You have children? Oh my you look so young.”

“Yes this is my son, Kousuke.” You beam happily as Kousuke bows his head, a hello.

Yuta rushes back inside from the other side of the door, he was met with the old lady watching him. He looks at Y/n planting a soft head kiss. “Hey you done with work yet?”

You nod and turn to the lady. “This is my-…”

“Husband.” Yuta rushes in with a short grin as you chuckle nervously. Husband, you still need to get used to the name. Kousuke grins widely teasing you with a wiggle to his eyebrows.

“You have a handsome young husband, no wonder your son is twice as handsome when he will grow up.” The customer tells before leaving. Yuta grins watching your awkward expression.

“Yah, you look a little red there honey.”

“Be quiet.” You quickly tell.

“Yes ma’am.” He gives in and stands up. “Dinners ready,” he announced.

Kousuke whines. “Finally I’m starving.” The boy rushes inside following the smell of the food, leaving the couple alone. As he helps cleaning up with Y/n, Yuta slowly catches your attention with a soft murmur, he whispers.

“I heard a bath together for married couple strengthens marriage.” He coughs a little as he spoke and you turn your eyebrows at him raising them to heaven. Your cheeks grow a little red.

“Where did you hear that from?” You let out and Yuta clears his voice. “I maybe made friends with the old gossip ladies in the village…they said I should bathe with you— at night.”

You jump at the idea of bathing with him. God, you need to stop thinking things that are totally indirectly not going to happen. At least you think. Your lips stammer softly,

“Tonight..?” You repeat.

He nods. “Yeah, you want to?”

“I’d love to!” Oh crap, you thought. Why’d you sound so excited suddenly? You look away putting away the cleansing kit where it belongs. You contribute more to stutter like the most shyest person alive. Yuta swears, it’s your cutest habit. “I mean— yes, let’s do that.” You tell.

That is exactly where you were tonight in the bathhouse in your shrine palace. Naked, bathing in the bubbly water going extremely shy just by imagining the different scenarios in one brain going wild and spreading like fire in your thoughts. You were so deeply buried in your head that your eyes did not witness Yuta entering the japanese setting bath with you. He crawls a little bit closer to you as you look over at him, with tense shoulders. God, you were so transparent he could read your body language from a mile away. But why did it look like he was also quite shy? He avoided eye contact with you, knowing he couldn’t resist watching your cleavage in front of his eyes and he doesn’t want to cross your boundary unless you tell him otherwise. Hell— he doesn’t know what to do and what to not do.

“Yuta.” You softly call out in which he faces you, looking into your eyes. You swallow thickly, the sight of his ginger long hair and bangs prickling his eyelids, when you reach over to brush away his hair you lean in slowly and kiss his lips. You must make the first move to let him know, that it’s okay.

He took the soft sign as he lifted your hips in his palms lifting you on the edge not breaking away from the steaming kiss in the warm water. God you felt even more amazing when he was human than before when he were a fox, perhaps, he finally felt the overwhelming emotions that a human feels when they fall in love. Everything in his new body is experiencing is so, versatile and different it honestly amazes him how much of an effect you have on him. You weren’t the only one so eager like Yuta was, you where wrapping your legs around him from behind as he placed you down on the edge of the bath, spread legged ready for Yuta’s fingers to caress the blood rushing clit swollen, begging to be touched.

A soft flick to your clit had you moaning apart from the kiss in which you reconnected quickly again. He plays with your folds teasingly, until your hips finally gave in pushing back and forth, you were so desperate for more, for a far more unbearable friction that could get rid of all this tense release you been wanting. Yuta lightly groans at the hair grip from behind when he pulled away powering his head through to your soaking pussy from the bath water, glistening to be ate, practically ready as he reaches his mouth on your entrance. Pursing the dangerous tongue inside, it felt like a sudden rush of pleasure entering your entire body, sparkling electricity inside you felt goosebumps jump on your arms and legs. You mewl out a thick shrieking moan at how well Yuta was taking you in his mouth, may lords forgive you for such a sinful sight with you leaning down weakly shaking your hips grinding then forward. He allowed you to do so, using his mouth as you pleased with the amount of face fucking you’ve done on him now, it brought you an instant release.

A quick harsh hum heard as the strokes of small bits of cum on his mouth came into the tip of his tongue, he ate it all but kept going, wanting more when he found your taste to be so addictive. You gasp out shakily, “a-ah yuta yuta, I can’t- no more.” You wedge at your lover below trying to make him notice you from the overstimulation you were put out into.

“One more. I cant get enough just yet.” He states with determination. But no help. He soon made you orgasm for the second time as he finally pulled away with his tongue satisfied by its coating of your juices. You with a shaky panting chest were pulled closer as his hard visible cock hits softly on your clit. You grunt.

“Fuck I need you so bad.” You tell him. “I need you just as much too baby. feel me.” He tells you as he directs your palm on his solid hard cock, you begin to stroke him in which Yuta croaks out a moan inconsistently. “You did this to me. God.” He praises. “Stop baby i want to come inside you.” Yuta tells as you retract your palm away with a smirk sews on your face like a red thread.

“Make me unable to walk tomorrow.” You tell him with a demand. He chuckles slinging his slit at your entrance where the tip begins to push in, just a little in your velvety walls start to suck him in like an embrace. “I plan on making you unable to walk tonight.” He thickly told with a half sheepish smirk.

Your eyes saw the mischief in his eyes sparkle. Nothing changed much, he’s just as the guy you fell for before . But, only thing different is that he has changed thanks to you, for the better. The paining stretch made you hold on his hands tight as a relief sighs out your lips when he was finally inside: Yuta was big, thick and he made you crave more and more with how amazing this feels. He wasn’t the only one aching to move just as much as you were needing more. You croak out. “-Fuck. Y-you’re so big.”

“You feel so warm, shit.” He tells back. The incredible heat inside you was surely edging him to his climax quicker than he hoped. Rocking hips inside you, with each slapping sound skin to skin made your honourable mention to your beautiful singing voice. You were pushed down on the edge with your back laying down and him thrusting inside your walls, pushing and attacking them at once causing you to be so-fucked-out with pleasure. It wasn’t even his fastest speed yet, he was starting slow just to hear you beg for more.

You best believe he didn’t fail. You were becoming a needy mess and even more than the first time so. the sight of your wet hair, wet body, your chest jogging with each thrust he’s done caving inside you. The hands gripping your waist, leaving marks on them with his nails attaching you. Digging in your skin stinging you with a pain, only increased more of your body’s desires.

Yuta slings back changing positions as you oblige with a heaving sparkle in your beautiful eyes he felt so lost in, he slings back as you sit down on his lap with his cock buried deep in your folds still. You follow up your silhouette starting to bounce on his cock sliding him up and down, this time it became way deeper in you, it felt like a newly found sensation.

He flung his head backwards at the indisputable pleasure ringing his human body like a train wreck, god he was so overwhelmed, he’s never felt this way ever. It’s the fact that your body drives him crazy. You hold his neck in your palms dragging him forward to your lips as you made out. whilst you were continuing to milk his cock out, wanting the release so much as much as he did too.

He groans past your wet sloppy lips, with eyes closed shut before reopening them. The way your hands wrapped round his neck, he loves the power you have over him.

“You’re doing so well my master.” He lets out and you hum against his lips going faster and faster. To the point his legs begins to vibrate with your complete fasten pace of your thrusts. The water in the bath house splashing with the slap on slap skin contact echos in the room.

Yuta croaks out. “F-fuck. More, darling.” He tells you as you oblige even more to his words, anything for him, how could you say no to him? The way he sounds like music to your eyes.

The man beneath you kisses on your shoulders as he softly prints a place with a long kiss and then, a sudden bite. You felt the unexpected twisting pleasure in your abdomen threatening to snap and so did Yuta. He came with long white strokes of come in your womb, inside you filling to the brim. As your juices fell down, spraying his cock and lower abdomen. He groans against the beautiful reddish mark on your shoulder, as you flung your head back. A soft grunt leaving your lips with relief.

Yuta had enough energy to push your bodies inside the water as he faces you in his arms on the side, deeply kissing your lips again. You return the same long kiss as he smirks past it.

“I think the old ladies were right.” He lets out and you chuckle hitting his hand.

“Oh shush. Let’s get cleaned.” You suggest and he nods softly.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank you. Reblog this fic and follow me for more if you enjoyed it helps a girl out.

#nct fanfiction #nct smut #nct x reader #nct u scenarios #nct series #nct hard hours #nct yuta smut #yuta smut #nct 127 fanfic #nct hard thoughts #yuta hard hours #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #yuta scenarios

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entitycradle · 10 days

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Future Anime Girl Gestalt

As a breakthrough in silicon nanostructure materials makes photonics and near-eye displays cheap, smart glasses become the new ubiquitous computers, replacing smartphones. The always-on display provides unique opportunities for advertisers, as does new machine learning-assisted ad targeting. In the new omnipresent augmented reality, ads become personalized, three-dimensional, interactive displays, emerging from blank rectangles in subway stations. You see your facebook friends conversing animatedly, drinking budweiser.

As smart glasses become increasingly necessary for modern life, brands are able to invade further into perceived reality. Cars shine luxuriously. The name and price of your coworker's smartwatch floats above it. Of course many modern advertisements no longer directly sell a product or service, but rather create and maintain brand identities. Large corporations advertise on everyday objects--the plate at your favorite restaurant reveals the name of a software company as you finish your food. Your brother's anger turns him super saiyan, reminding you of the new episodes. A poor neighborhood turns into an alien-inspired techno-organic nightmare.

Many companies use characters to perpetuate their brand. These characters can be personalized--the insurance company mascot that shows up on your car dashboard during a harrowing rush hour is your favorite color, features large, expressive eyes, and is covered in shaggy fur.

Of course, machine learning algorithms can be unpredictable. And ad agencies could not anticipate the omnivalent memetic power of...

...anime girls.

The algorithm customizes your pepsi soda into a fizzy anime slime girl. They customize the call to your healthcare provider to raise the pitch of the representative's voice and translate the audio to Japanese (your glasses display English subtitles). The missiles you see striking a city in Iran are ridden by pale, northrop grumman-labeled anime maids.

As more human agency is ceded to enormous, power-chugging processing centers, the connections between everyday occurrences and brand presence become more abstract. Every character on a show you're not paying attention to, every old shoe you own, every person you interact with, every grain of sand on the beach, every floater in your eye, is an anime girl.

As humans do, they adapt. Generation Glass becomes accustomed to experiencing two entirely foreign sets of sense-data: one, their local, mundane world, of humming processors and concrete and scraggly trees. The other, the networked world, where your entire visual field is painted in overlapping anime girls of various sizes and your auditory vestibular nerve is drowned in high-pitched giggling. Each girl represents some object--pomegranate, sunset, friends, love, death.

As global civilization gently deflates under the pressure of climate change post-2100, so does the capacity to manufacture complex electronics. Within the space of a generation, billions of people are reduced to creating facile, vapid illustrations of the moving, living anime girls they once knew as bigotry and tarmac. Pictures of anime girls are used to label street signs, mathematical concepts, genders, religious texts. Ironically, anime girls become more incorporated into the real world than they ever were in the Glass period, because they adorn real surfaces. A post-traumatic behavior develops, in which a person destroys objects bearing anime girl images in an attempt to, according to one individual, "let them out," or otherwise restore networked consensus reality.

Thousands of years pass. Peregrine sophists of the Fifth Yyrzoc clan uncover an underground concrete structure. In it are glyphs of a single, big-eyed, pale, skinny, large-breasted woman with bright blue hair, surrounded by female figures in blood-red uniforms who are collapsed on the ground. The sophists are able to decode this message and avoid what we would recognize as a nuclear waste storage facility. They theorize that the figures are ancient feminine gods of radiation and death. Several etchings and illustrations are published by a notable scriptorium. Years later they are largely forgotten.

#writing #original fiction #sff #scifi #anime #weird fiction #worldbuilding

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mrmrswales · 2 years

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The EARTHSHOT PRIZE AWARDS 2022 Ceremony will take place at the MGM Music Hall at Fenway on December 2nd.

THE FINALISTS:

FIX OUR CLIMATE:

44:01 (Oman) - According to the UN, removing CO2 is essential if we are to limit global warming. Oman-based 44.01 removes CO2 permanently by mineralising it in rock.

LanzaTech (USA) - Carbon, released into the atmosphere, heats the planet. LanzaTech are using bacteria to recycle carbon pollution into profitable and sustainable products.

Low Carbon Materials (United Kingdom) - Concrete is responsible for an extraordinary eight percent of the world’s CO2 emissions. Now, thanks to UK based LCM, production could soon go from unclean to green.

CLEAN OUR AIR:

Ampd Enertainer (Hong Kong) - The construction industry is difficult to decarbonise and is one of the biggest drivers of air pollution. Ampd Energy has revolutionised the way we power construction.

Mukuru Clean Stoves (Kenya) - Across Africa, 700 million people use traditional cookstoves, which emit harmful chemicals and lack safeguards. Mukuru Clean Stoves are different.

Roam (Kenya) - The electric vehicle revolution is coming to East Africa. Roam is bringing affordable, electric transport to one of the world’s fastest growing regions.

BUILD A WASTE-FREE WORLD:

City of Amsterdam, Circular Economy (The Netherlands) - In 2020, The City of Amsterdam committed to becoming a circular economy. By 2050, it aims to waste nothing and recycle everything.

Fleather (India) - Flowers cast into the Ganges river contain highly toxic pesticides. Phool used this floral waste to make a sustainable alternative to leather.

Notpla (United Kingdom) - 6.3bn tonnes of untreated plastic waste currently litter our streets and fill our seas. Notpla shows us that the future is not plastic, it’s seaweed.

PROTECT & RESTORE NATURE:

Desert Agricultural Transformation (China) - The climate crisis means more of the Earth will become inhospitable desert. But now, thanks to Desert Agricultural Transformation, barren landscapes are turning into lush, green oases.

Hutan (Malaysia) - In Malaysian Borneo, research organisation Hutan is working with the local community to develop a more harmonious coexistence between its wildlife and people.

Kheyti (India) - Eight in ten of the world's farmers are smallholders. Beset by climate-affected harvests, Kheyti's Greenhouse-in-a-Box is helping them reduce climate risk and increase yields.

REVIVE OUR OCEANS:

Indigenous Women of the Great Barrier Reef (Australia) - The Great Barrier Reef is under constant environmental threat. Now, the Indigenous Women of the Great Barrier Reef are empowering each other to protect critical ecosystems.

SeaForester (Portugal) - Human activities and the climate crisis are decimating underwater seaweed forests. Pål Bakken and the SeaForester team are on a mission to restore them.

The Great Bubble Barrier (The Netherlands) - Every year, more than 8 million tonnes of plastic ends up in the world’s oceans. The Great Bubble Barrier's solution intercepts plastic waste before it reaches the sea.

#earthshot

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wanaery · 6 days

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Socionics Type: LSI

Examples & Description ⚔️🛡️🏰

Logical Sensing Introvert, LSI, ISTj, Maxim Gorky, Beta Quadra

For LSI, life must correspond to a specific system both in the material world and that of human relations, and one should exert efforts to ensure its betterment, maintenance, and restoration if it has been disrupted. LSI attempts to find such logical system, to become incorporated into it, to follow it and to perfect it. He analyzes and thinks over everything that surrounds him. From this information, he creates classifications and designations, creates hierarchies, derives maxims. All of this must be clearly stated and presented in various directions and instructions that aid in understanding and organizing life.

It is clear to him that whoever does not waver and follows such prescriptions will attain more in life, if he ceaselessly works hard and achieves commendable results then such person will be able to attain a worthy place in society. He is proud of having such ability, and it is exactly in this that he realizes himself. His pride suffers if another person is capable of doing the same job better than him. In such situations, LSI is capable of assuming work with thrice the force in order to not fall behind, for he finds it absolutely unacceptable to fall to a lower position in the conceptualized hierarchy he is aware of in his mind.

Such a person can be very productive. LSI is usually very conscientious: he considers it paramount that he works qualitatively, sequentially and systematically with this he builds himself a foundation and asserts himself.

LSI is inclined towards realism hes interested primarily in concrete and actual problems, rather than hypothetical issues. LSI thinks deeply about any problem, tries to understand its essence and roots. When he doesn’t understand something, he refers to established databases of information to check that everything corresponds to what is already known. In such situations, his mind starts to resemble a computer with a built in program, which he will follow without skipping a line. Carefully plans events, thoroughly examines and works out all the specifics. Puts work matters above sentiments. Takes all regulations into account. Keeps his personal things in order. He can always be relied on. Stoically endures life’s hardships.

A representative of Stoic philosophy, goals and principles are known and adhered to despite unfavorable societal conditions. Reserved by nature, introversion is not always apparent. LSI is a person of strong will, diligent and enduring. He/she is insistent and demanding in execution and verification of tasks. Takes care of those who are confused and uncertain, explains to them how they can do their work. In his assessments - a sober realist, who does not tolerate infertile, unrealistic fantasies. Proves his point and supports his case citing numerous facts that he has collected.

In communication with friends and colleagues, he is polite and courteous.

Can make an impression of an intelligent and well-mannered man. However, in closer, more familiar relations, he can be rather insensitive. Despite the fact that he is quite communicative in a small groups, periodically he needs to spend time alone. Has a tendency to be didactic, to deliver lengthy explanations on his understanding of a subject. May lecture on ethical topics.

What he deems himself capable of doing, he will also require from others. May become too deeply immersed in the details and the calculations, at which point he risks losing sight of the broader view. Uncompromising in his convictions. The fall of the ideals that he has previously followed treats as a personal tragedy. Distrustful of strangers and people about whom he knows too little. When he discovers some negative traits in another person, loses trust in him for a long period of time.

Examples:

Peter Steele

James Hetfield

Ghost Rider

Bruce Wayne

Din Djarin

Joel Miller

Rick Grimes

Natasha Romanoff

Gamora

Simon Riley

More Examples:

Dexter Morgan (Dexter)

Darth Vader (Starwars)

Magneto (X-Men)

Robin (Teen Titans 2003)

Nikto (COD)

König (COD)

Crosshair (Starwars)

Captain Rex (Starwars)

Jessica Jones (MCU)

Michonne Hawthorne (TWD)

Stannis Baratheon (GOT)

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sramfact · 2 years

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lyncotek · 29 days

Text

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notasapleasure · 8 months

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Also can I hear abt the Marthe/Kiaya band AU thing?

Well first, thank you for reminding me it was all in the file named 'bad very bad no good' and just comes after the already published horrible Jerott/GRM (cw rape, dddne!!!). Haha yes, Jerott's my favourite character, why do you ask? This is now uhhhh a 78 page document.

As for Marthe/Kiaya, there's nothing concrete written really, just allusions to it, and I think I was probably gonna follow canon in that way and not go into direct pov on them.

I've just pasted the couple of scenes with Kiaya below to go with my uhh minimal commentary/thoughts! They hopefully demonstrate my idea that she's quite happy to take any favours or gifts going, whether they're offered by Marthe or Lymond, but she keeps her cards close to her chest regarding what, if anything, she intends to offer in return. She sees an investment opportunity in the form of Lymond, as discussed with La Dame (named Thomasina Durand in the AU; also reminder that the Aga Morat is 'Baron Morgan'), but unfortunately Marthe is not viewed in the same way. We're too early for Tori Amoses and Fiona Apples - Marthe's too abrasive and too stubborn, too 'difficult' to market at the scale Kiaya deals in, too threatening to be a Kate Bush, too fierce to be a Toyah, too normal to be a Siouxie Sioux, etc. But Kiaya won't say no to a pretty woman offering to take her to bed *shrug emoji*

Marthe is mad that Francis is trying to muscle in on her tactics - she tries to persuade herself of the belief that anything he does to Kiaya she can do better, but she's been round long enough to know that men always get the contract deals first. It does mean that Kiaya can pick and choose just exactly what kind of nice time she gets to have. She is living her best life :)))

I don't know that Marthe falls *in love* with her, but she absolutely yearns for the power and influence Kiaya (appears) to have, and she imagines that the two of them would be unstoppable if Kiaya would just stop being some kind of gender traitor and back her and her music. She's grown up with her foster mother/grandmother telling her she'll never be enough, but never really understanding *why* (beyond 'misogyny') and never fully internalising the message, so she's always in a state of believeing/not believing it. Rationality about the sexist world she inhabits is constantly warring with ego - she's seen enough 'exceptions to the rule', women who are extraordinary enough to break through, but she's also seen the flip-side and knows no-one ever makes it on their own, they're always a product of a certain kind of marketing and industry support, and so there's a kind of love/hate relationship to the idea of Kiaya and what she can offer. She's always hopeful she can persuade her to take her side, and Kiaya will never be moved.

Kiaya has an open relationship with Dragut, though they'd never be such vulgar hippies as to describe it like that. They make their influence and power work for them wherever they are - fear, lust, money, whatever is most appropriate. She does have a genuine appreciation of music and what will go down well with the public, though she's probably personally rather condescending when it comes to what's popular - away from work Kiaya won't listen to anything younger than 200 years old, because that's the stuff that's truly impacted the world. Marthe playing an antique instrument to her in the privacy of her hotel room is an utter treat, a delight, a morsel of ambrosia - but it's not going to make her any money!

Eventually, I think Oonagh is a helpful person to give Marthe some perspective on band AU Kiaya. Oonagh has met women like this, power-brokers like this, people who take and take and take but simply never give anything of themselves back. Oonagh understands Kiaya with one glance at their first meeting, and when Marthe overhears her assessment of her something probably clicks and she's able to restore perspective on the 'relationship' that never was. She has a new strong force of a woman to learn from and admire :))

Intro to Kiaya in the bandverse (as it currently stands, but of course she meets Philippa in New York before then).

The following day, with Jerott pacified by the diazepam Onophrion had brought and administered - after assuring Francis that one calming dose would not render him addicted to a new drug - Francis managed to sleep through the hot afternoon. He almost felt refreshed, almost felt hungry enough for one of Morgan's enormous steaks, when he made his way to the bar that evening.

He found, however, that Morgan already had company, and stopped in the middle of the room when he recognised the woman sitting next to him.

Her back ramrod straight, her suit and make-up immaculate, talent scout and agent extraordinaire, Kiaya Çalışkan smiled at Francis and there was mischief in her eyes.

He'd never met her, but everyone in the industry knew her. Though she moved in different circles to Margaret Douglas, her reputation for unearthing talent was no less remarkable, and her track record for securing deals with the big labels was formidable. If Margaret was a king-maker in the British post-punk scene, Kiaya Çalışkan was handmaiden to the globe-straddling empires of artists whose work transcended local or national scenes and matched the invisible, unpredictable zeitgeist of the youth from Tokyo to New York to Berlin. She was even rumoured to have contacts working behind the Iron Curtain, subtly chipping away at the soundtrack of Communist repression on behalf of global capitalism's need to discover new markets.

In short - she was not the sort of person Francis expected to encounter in a barn lying well off the beaten track, in a state not known for its wild creative scene.

Morgan beckoned him over. "Frankie, come and join us!"

He moved stiffly, all the while trying to read what was in Kiaya's expression, as Morgan changed nothing about his own habits, pawing at Francis' leg beneath the table when he sat down.

"It seems I've done you a disservice, boy," Morgan beamed at him. "You are a real rock star..."

Francis didn't take his eyes from Kiaya, whose smile broadened, her white teeth echoing Morgan's.

"Mr Crawford," she said warmly. "It's so good to meet you."

"Did your car break down on the I-70 too, Kiaya Hanım?"

Kiaya turned her smile to Morgan - all condescending business politeness. Her dangling, jewel-speckled earring glittered against her thick mahogany hair when she spoke; the angle she displayed for Francis showed off the profile of her handsome, curved nose. "You tell him, Baron," she purred.

Morgan wore a smug expression. He swilled the bourbon round in his glass, and Francis wondered what time their business meeting in the bar had begun. He was drinking like this wasn't his first of the night.

"Miss Caliskan is a regular at my establishment, Frankie. She knows where to find talent. She's even signed up some of the bands she saw here - big fat contracts and advances to match." He raised his brows significantly.

Kiaya Çalışkan offered to get Francis a glass and share the bottle of wine before her, but he shook his head.

"Coke is fine, thank you."

"I keep tellin' him it'll rot his teeth..." Morgan cajoled.

"You know my partner Dragut, don't you?" Kiaya watched his response carefully. "I believe the two of you worked together in New York, earlier in the decade?"

Francis managed to keep his expression mild. He did indeed know Dragut, or he had known him - as to whether they could have been considered colleagues was another matter, however. As Francis recalled it, he had been considered a possession of the mob, while Dragut had been in their employment as a bouncer at the club Francis was compelled to play at.

He inclined his head. "Indeed? Yes I do know him. It appears we live in a small world, Kiaya Hanım."

Her eyes widened, glittering with ambition as she gave him a feral smile. "Growing smaller by the day, Mr Crawford. As our empire grows - Dragut runs his business out west now. He heads security for a casino in Vegas. It's a wonderful place for acts to get their big break. But he likes to know I'm staying somewhere safe when I travel across country alone."

Morgan beamed with pride. "She doesn't fly, because she might miss the next big thing out here at the Oasis..."

"And I thought it was because she was afraid of heights," Francis accepted the glass of soda he was handed and prepared to hear Morgan make his usual order on his behalf. But tonight, Morgan gestured, palm up, and invited Francis to choose.

Supposing this was some kind of acknowledgement of Francis as a 'real' musician, he picked a burger and then froze in surprise as the chair next to him was pulled out.

Marthe looked down at him with a cool smile. She'd applied the red lipstick of the Doña María costume and her black lace turtleneck and miniskirt had been cleaned of dust. Her hair fell in a blonde cascade over one shoulder and she extended a hand to Kiaya Çalışkan.

"We met in New York briefly, I believe you're a good friend of my foster-mother's."

Kiaya took Marthe's hand and raised her brows, a polite smirk on her lips. "Yes. Marthe, isn't it?"

Francis saw Marthe's neck flush pink as she sat down, hastily calling the barman back to place her own order.

"And I'll have...what wine is good here?" she looked at Kiaya Çalışkan.

"Oh! You're drinking wine? Just bring a second glass for her, please. She can share mine," Kiaya waved a hand to dismiss the man.

Baron Morgan chuckled and his fingers massaged Francis' knee beneath the table. "Well well. The little lady has decided to join us. I hope all this raw masculinity hasn't been puttin' you off, darlin'?" He was definitely tipsy, Francis decided.

Marthe gazed at him without expression. "Not at all. But if there are business deals being made, I shouldn't like Francis to have the only say."

Morgan laughed again. "Oh darlin'. You have no idea," he moved his hand higher up Francis' leg, his arm visibly stretching, and Francis jerked his thigh to shake him off. Morgan's laughter repeated itself, his gaze on Francis unperturbed as he took another drink.

Marthe's blue eyes absorbed it all, and she smirked at Francis. "No, indeed. It's far too subtle for me."

Kiaya Çalışkan had been generous with her information. Baron Morgan now assumed he knew all of Francis' troubles and desires, and quizzed him in ever more prurient detail about his life. Meanwhile, Marthe seemed to be doing her best to get a contract signed then and there, though Kiaya Çalışkan appeared unmoved by all her achievements and ambitions. Francis grew ever more frustrated as the other three drank and boasted and plotted and he realised he wasn't going to get to talk directly to Kiaya that night.

He believed that she did pass through Morgan's Oasis regularly, but the coincidence of meeting the mistress of his old acquaintance, Dragut, here still made him suspicious. Yet she acted like she really was just stopping in for a night, and was delighted to find a diversion as amusing as Marthe along the way.

After eating, when Francis was starting to feel tired and heavy, the other three were boisterous with drink. He didn't remember which one of them had suggested it first, but Marthe was looking at him fiercely.

"We should play."

"Yes! Play!" Morgan clapped his hands and then clapped Francis' shoulder.

Kiaya Çalışkan inclined her head and raised her glass. "It would be a pleasure, Lymond, if you chose to play for us."

So he blinked and drew a breath and summoned the energy to stand. He and Marthe helped themselves to instruments displayed on the wall near the stage, but brought their guitars back to perch on the table nearest to Baron and Kiaya.

Tuning up, Francis fought the heaviness in his eyelids, yawned, and listened to Marthe's murmured suggestions.

The first song, she insisted, should be one made famous by Francis Rankin Crawford.

"Really? They won't know that here," Francis grumbled, bending an ear to his instrument as he twisted the tuning pins.

"They will. They do. I used to play it with my band all the time. People loved it."

"In New York."

"It's not another planet. Kiaya will know it. Morgan, if he's half the judge of talent he claims, will know it."

Francis said nothing. He struck a chord and looked at her, and Marthe nodded and double-checked her own tuning.

Together, they played the song that Francis' grandfather had popularised - a French ballad reworked for the English-speaking masses. Together, their riffs wove in and out of each other, their voices were uncannily matched. To their audience they looked angelic: two fine-boned blonds leaning their heads away from one another, their legs crossed in opposite directions, their talent exquisite and their unison innate.

They played a few more songs: the Wayfaring Stranger, a folk ballad familiar to Marthe for its American roots, and a cover of Heaven by Talking Heads. A hint of competitiveness crept in and they ended with another folk song, The Old Man Came Courting: they embellished it with call and response, duelling guitar and voice, the tempo building to a breath-taking gallop.

It was more than enough to woo their audience.

"My, my..." Baron Morgan said as he applauded. "To think I came across real, genuine treasure at the roadside."

"They are golden, aren't they?" Kiaya agreed, her appraising smirk roving over both of them.

Marthe smiled back and Francis rubbed his forehead - he just wanted to go and sleep.

It wasn't permissible though, not yet. Morgan stood and drained his glass. "Great chat, as always, Kiaya," he slurred the name down to two syllables, so it sounded like Kee-ya, but she didn't seem to mind. "You really are a fount of wisdom."

Kiaya poured more wine out for her - and for Marthe. "I wouldn't want you to miss out due to a lack of information, Baron. Information is money," she gazed steadily at Francis, though it was Marthe who approached her.

"As is time," Morgan said profoundly. He took the neck of Francis' guitar and lay the instrument down on the table. "The staff will put it back," he said, looking heavily down at Francis' face.

It was a summons, much as Francis had suspected was coming. He levered himself off the table and lingered a moment, feeling Marthe's scornful stare as he and Kiaya locked gazes. "Are you staying long?"

Kiaya Çalışkan shrugged. "Perhaps I'll stay to see you perform. Perhaps not." She glanced at Marthe. "There isn't usually much to do out here, comfortable as it is."

Morgan chuckled and turned Francis by the arm, indicating he should walk ahead. "Enjoy the amenities, ladies," he put his hat on, touched a finger to the brim in a salute, and then prodded the small of Francis' back.

And the other Kiaya section that's written:

Outside the shower, he put the past - near and far - away, and bent to the rucksack Morgan had salvaged from their broken down car. In it, precious little of Francis' belongings remained - all that they could pawn they had got rid of, and he was left with one spare set of threadbare clothes and a fat, broken-spined paperback collection of contemporary poetry.

He pulled on the other clothes, the shirt of pale-checked cotton, ran his hands hastily through his wet hair, and left again in search of Kiaya Çalışkan.

If Morgan was going to cover the county with posters announcing their performance as 'Lymond and band' there would be no chance at all of arriving stealthily at Graham Reid Malett's ashram one state over - even if the Rajneeshees were sheltered from the outside world, Swami Geetesh would not allow himself to be ignorant of events so close by. It had set Francis' mind: they needed to get away sooner rather than later. He was relying on being able to strike a deal with Kiaya Çalışkan that would get them out of the Oasis and back on the road.

Standing outside his room, peering at the vehicles on the other side of the car park - Morgan's truck, a van used by the ranch staff, a collection of motorbikes glittering with chrome, and a two-seater red soft-top that had to be hers - he was debating where to start his search when a door to his left, over by the pool, opened and he heard Marthe's laughter.

She loitered on the lintel, her Doña María outfit rumpled, her lipstick long gone, and her boots in her hand. She leaned forwards and murmured something that didn't carry, and Kiaya Çalışkan's ringing, plummy laugh answered it.

Francis stepped back into the doorway of his and Jerott's room, but saw that Marthe was already aware of him. She stalked along the decking that fronted the row of rooms like it was a catwalk, her eyes fixed on him and a challenge in her smile.

"Don't tell me you didn't get breakfast in bed, Frankie?"

"No, some of us have actual business meetings to conduct..." Francis circled around her and saw Marthe's eyes spark with annoyance as she realised that he was heading in the direction she'd come from.

Her lip curled as she turned to face him. "And does your roomie know where you've been spending your nights?"

Cold, commanding, Francis took a step back towards her. "I believe he's had his own share of troubles to concern himself with," he said in a tone of warning.

There was that uncanny, funfair mirror feeling again: her eyes, that were so like his, narrowed with an echo of his own dislike; her long mouth curved without mirth, and she raised her chin haughtily. "He doesn't know the half of it, though, does he?

"He doesn't need to," Francis said firmly.

"Oh come on," Marthe said scornfully. "He's more repressed than a citizen of Cuba - it might do him some good to get the five star guest treatment…"

He felt himself turn chill as the blood drained from his face, and Marthe took in his white fury and moved away uneasily. Francis remembered, viscerally, the sensation of being pinned up against Morgan's kitchen counter - he'd braced himself against the marble slab as Morgan stood between his legs, his hips flush with Francis', while Francis tried to keep up with his sloppy, impatient kisses. He remembered each time that week when Morgan had forced himself beyond Francis' generous boundaries, had slapped aside what was offered and grasped for more instead. He remembered cleaning handprints off the piano in the studio at St Mary's and he remembered the blood on Jerott's face, the small, hunched, astonished look about him as he had struggled to come to terms with what Graham Reid Malett had done to him there.

His hands were balled fists, trembling with fury. "And while we're at it, shall we all request some electro-shock therapy to fix our own damaged minds?" he hissed.

Marthe blinked and grimaced. "Excuse me?"

"It's no different, is it?" he raised his brows. "You can't change someone by holding them down and telling them they're wrong."

Still a little ruffled, made standoffish by Francis' tone, Marthe looked him up and down. "Does Morgan play rougher than you like, then?"

"He's a perfect gentleman," Francis backed towards Kiaya's room. "I merely prefer not to share..."

She shook her head, her mouth curled in disgust as he turned to try his own hand at seducing Kiaya Çalışkan and her contracts.

"Fuck you, Francis," she spat and stalked away.

Francis stood outside the end room, straightened his back and stretched his shoulders and neck. He let out a sharp breath - and with it any extraneous, irrelevant feelings about what he was doing.

This was necessary, he told himself. It wouldn't always be necessary - he had to make himself believe that - but it was now, in order to allow him to protect the people he cared about, the people he'd put in danger. And he was wiser than he had been, he knew what he was dealing with. He knew now how to make sure that no one got all of him, the way it had been with Margaret Douglas. How to draw up the terms that would allow him to endure the signing away of autonomy, that would guarantee he wasn't going to let anyone down again, because he still retained just enough of himself - just enough - to arrange their freedom and safety.

Kiaya opened the door at his knock. She was wearing a fine robe of white cotton that, held loosely together by a knotted cord, revealed her black, lace-embellished slip beneath. She tossed her glossy hair back over her shoulder and smiled at her guest. "Good morning, Mr Crawford."

She was professional enough not to act coy or naïve: she stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. "I had some breakfast sent over from the kitchen and there is still coffee in the pot."

Her room was larger than the twin he shared with Jerott, and had a small counter with a kettle on it and shelves above for crockery. There was a tray with fruit salad and a half-empty plate of pastries on it, and Kiaya poured him a coffee and handed it to him enriched with cream and sugar.

"I would ask how you knew, but your acquaintance with Thomasina Durand explains it." Francis leaned his hip against the counter and smiled coolly over his mug.

Kiaya's brows raised in polite acknowledgement. It might have been said that she was impressed at his observation from the previous night regarding her contacts - but he didn't expect her to know everything about his history with Marthe's foster-mother, writer of the industry-leading column 'Doubting Tom'.

"Perhaps I simply saw a tired man who has not yet had breakfast, and made a good guess?" Kiaya suggested, raising her own drink, black as her hair, to her lips.

Francis met her playful gaze and his eyes narrowed. "It's said by many an average agent that this industry runs on hunches and gut feelings alone - but you and I know better. It's about who you know, and what they've decided the future will be."

"Intuition and observation still play a part," Kiaya replied robustly. "Why would I waste a meeting with Ms Durand discussing your rider, Mr Crawford?"

He laughed and allowed her the point, pausing to drink the sweet drink in his cup and experience the sensation of being revitalised. He accepted a seat in one of the two small armchairs that her room was provided with, and managed a grateful nod when she placed the fruit and pastries on the coffee table between them.

Unselfconscious about her scant outfit, Kiaya crossed one long, olive-brown leg over the other and combed her hair idly with manicured nails. She watched Francis and smiled. "Of course, during our meeting, Madame Durand and I did talk about you. She truly has high hopes for your career."

Francis put down the fork he had held poised above the fruit bowl. He laced his fingers in his lap. "Indeed? I thought I must have disappointed her by now? If not, it wasn't for lack of trying."

"Madame Durand has faith in you, Mr Crawford. Faith can't be shaken by a few petty squabbles in the press, nor, you should know, by any level of proximity to another's...tragic misadventure." She raised a brow and took an engraved silver cigarette case from the pocket of her robe.

Francis sat stock still, determined that she would not see him react to the implication in her words.

"Indeed, she was quite impressed at what you achieved on behalf of that Libyan boy. A shame that he seems to have had to resort to farm labour after the success of his album. It can be hard to find an audience for world music."

Still Francis didn't move. His mind was whirring into frantic action though, trying to determine what she might do with the information that Salah was on site, and whether she also knew about Archie and Onophrion; whether she had learned about them from Morgan, or whether she planned to tell Morgan.

Finally, he shook his head when she offered him one of the long, slim cigarettes as she lit one for herself.

"How did you know?" She had compelled him to ask it anyway, it seemed.

Genuine amusement cupped her eyes as she watched the ash fall from her cigarette into the ashtray. She considered how honest she was willing to be and then shrugged. "Dragut knows I'm safe when I stay here. He keeps his own contacts among Baron's staff to ensure it remains that way. All sorts need to visit an Oasis in the desert, after all - predators can get...mixed up with prey."

Francis felt his lips pull into a smirk. "And which are you, Kiaya Hanım?"

She eyed him from below heavy lashes and her mischievous expression echoed his. "I am merely here on safari."

Francis barked a laugh and picked up the fork again, spearing a grape and a cube of melon. "And as such, you must not interfere with the ecosystem? Or is it a hunting safari?"

"If you are asking whether your friends are in danger of exposure on my part - the answer is no. Their plans do not interest me," Kiaya smoked with the vigour and speed of a steam train, yet each clipped, decisive gesture remained elegant.

She added nothing more, and once again it was Francis who was forced to ask, "Then what does interest you?"

"Ah," she grinned. She seemed pleased that he had asked, that he was willing to play along with these little games. "What interests me is how a man with a golden path laid before him spends more of his time in the gutter than pursuing this path. How, with each new album, though the sales increase and the fans multiply, he ends up poorer and further from the act of creation than he has ever been. How a man whose music could change this messy world instead shuns the platforms from which he could use it to do so and pursues dead ends in the desert."

As he gazed into her knowing expression he felt his skin prickle with goosebumps. He moved his hands, gripping the arms of the chair to stop them quivering. "I have found that music is less effective as an instrument of change than I once hoped."

Kiaya's smile was unmoved. "That is because you are focussing on the little things. Take a broader view - imagine what your music sounds like to those who have never heard it before. Imagine hearing lyrics in your own language that arrange the world in a way you had never realised was possible."

He allowed his brows to rise at this and let out a snort. "The little things?"

"Your destiny is not with a bastard child born in the desert, Mr Crawford. It is not with the child's mother - she is a husk, she has no more to give to the public sphere, and her art could not stand alongside yours." Kiaya's lips still curved, but her eyes were cold and hard as brass.

Francis felt something hysterical flutter in his chest and he laughed at the ceiling. "No. Of course. Destiny is always impersonal. What are destiny's thoughts on theft, however? On music that might change the world, as you'd say, being repurposed to fund a cult?"

"I understand that cults can change the world, too," Kiaya replied. "Are you telling me you have unreleased material to recover?"

He smiled crookedly, knowingly at her, though the bile rose in his throat. "And if I did? What would it be worth to you?"

Kiaya carefully extinguished her cigarette and toyed with the lace trim of her slip. "If it is already out of your hands, there is nothing to prevent me from recovering it myself. Is that not so?" she raised a brow in challenge.

It felt like acid inside him, his hatred of this bargaining - it was even more loathsome, somehow, than simply bargaining with his body - and it seemed like the feeling might dissolve through the front of his chest and neck, exposing a gaping, red ruin: the need of the man behind the musician. "All I ask," he said as steadily as he could. "Is for a ride to Salina. From there, I can arrange finances, I can ensure my people are safe. I will go to Nevada and finish what I came to do, and then you will have what I can recover from the man who stole from me; you will have those master tapes and more. I will sign a deal with you, and - " the words stuck in his throat.

Kiaya watched him mildly, amusement in her expression. "And?"

"And the terms will be as you wish," he forced himself to say.

"Mm..." she looked down at the lace on her thigh, at her glossy nails plucking at it. "It is a nice offer, canım. But I can't let you leave here like that."

"Excuse me?"

"You've made a commitment to Baron Morgan. You want to make a deal with me, while you say this is how you will honour that commitment?"

Francis released a disbelieving breath of laughter. "I didn't think you would be subservient to him..."

Kiaya's smile was now a little patronising. "It is useful for me to stay here. Why would I jeapordise my relationship with him?"

"With my material to your name, you'd never need to stay here again," Francis cocked his own, challenging brow.

"Hm," Kiaya moved decisively to light up another cigarette. "That will be up to me, Mr Crawford. In the meantime, if I sign you, it will be after seeing you perform."

"You could be waiting a while," he said sourly. He felt doubt begin to nag at his assumptions regarding this conversation and what Kiaya Çalışkan truly wanted.

She shrugged. "Then perhaps in the meantime I will make a visit to Nevada. I know who it is you have business with there."

Francis' fingers curled tightly against the arms of the chair. "Graham Reid Malett is a dangerous man."

"My partner is a dangerous man, as you should well remember."

"Dragut is honourable - as you tell me you are. Honour won't stop Reid Malett."

Her eyes sparked with - excitement? Francis suppressed a shudder.

"I think, Mr Crawford, I am beginning to understand something of what Madame Durand sees in you. You are ruthless, and ambitious. I cannot wait to see you play."

"You don't need to. I'll play for you now." Francis twitched a shoulder, acting like the change of topic suited him, even as he reeled from the imagined damage Kiaya Çalışkan and Dragut Reis could do to his plans. Should they thunder into Graham Reid Malett's Nevada ashram without a care, the victims and hostages Geetesh had tucked and woven into the fabric of the place would be in direct, mortal peril - of that Francis was certain.

He made to stand - "I'll get the instrument I played last night from the bar. A private concert, Kiaya Hanım..."

"Sit," she cooed. "Eat your breakfast. There is no hurry, Mr Crawford."

He was already on his feet and she rose to join him, standing close so that he smelled her perfume beneath the cigarette smoke.

She shifted the balance of her weight so that her hips tilted towards him. "Sit," she repeated, her fingers pressing to his chest.

He stood there, looking into the canopy of her eyes and trying to see beyond the cool imperviousness. He allowed one hand to rise to her arm, smoothing over the thin, rumpled cotton of her gown from her elbow to her shoulder. She didn't move as he lowered his gaze from her eyes to her mouth.

"Of course," he looked at her again. "I could perform any other way you choose..." She was watching him with a closed, amused expression, her fingertips still on his chest. So he leaned forwards and murmured, "Sit? Or would you prefer me to kneel?"

The way her brows raised and her lips curved seemed to give him his answer, so Francis sank to the carpeted floor as gracefully as his tired body allowed. He touched his hands gently to her hips and then moved his fingers to the bare skin of her legs, softly running his touch up the outside of her thighs beneath the robe, working his way up to the lace hem of her shift.

Kiaya smiled down at him. She tucked her hair back behind her ears and then reached for him, raking her fingers through his curls, tilting his face up to her.

He tried not to flinch as he recalled Morgan's grip tugging on his scalp.

"How nice, canım," she purred. "But I've had my fill of such gifts this morning. You may return in the evening, and we can continue our...negotiations."

He let out a harsh laugh as she drew his head back, and leaned his jaw into her palm. Privately, he cursed Marthe and her own selfish agenda, her untrustworthy, libertarian approach to her career. "That won't be possible, my lady, not if I am also to keep my word to our good host."

"Not at all," Kiaya beamed, running one thumb over his lower lip. "Baron has some business to take care of - I believe he intends to source some of your records. He won't be back from Salt Lake City for a couple of days."

Francis did all he could not to let the hope these words sparked show. If Morgan was away it was the best chance he'd have of getting out of here - he could be in Salina that very day, get a car with Gaultier's money, and be back to pick up the others before Onophrion's kitchen shift was even halfway done. No more bargaining: he'd be able to leave Jerott and Marthe, Salah, Archie and Onophrion somewhere suitable and safe and make his own way to the ashram for the reckoning he was due.

"In that case," Francis said smoothly, "I shall be only too delighted to return later."

"I am pleased to hear it," Kiaya Çalışkan smiled and turned away. "I haven't enjoyed business quite this much in some time," she added over her shoulder when Francis had got to his feet.

He blinked back dizziness - he was still hungry, still tired - but caught her wrist before leaving, pulling her close again.

She was warm and soft against him, scented with jasmine and sandalwood, leaning her hips readily into him as she pulled back to smile at his expression.

"A down payment," Francis's lips curved in something like a smile, and he moved to kiss her, recalling the taste of Margaret Douglas' lipstick and her moans of pleasure at knowing the power she had over him.

Kiaya Çalışkan smiled before she opened her mouth and then returned the kiss, filling his senses with the buzz of caffeine and nicotine.

"How nice," she repeated in a murmur as he released her and turned to leave. "You'll go far, Mr Crawford. Just as Madame Durand predicted."

#the band au #wip ask meme #my fics #my wips #lymond chronicles #marthe/guzel

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