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hanasnx · 2 years ago

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❝ just bad, bad decisions. ❞

── fratboy!anakin skywalker x padmé amidala

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: having officially broken it off because of anakin’s stupid mistake, anakin and padmé have not seen each other since. when they lock eyes during a football game they both attend, they find their way back to each other during the game. and set aside their differences to reconnect under the bleachers. NOTES: use caution when proceeding! you are at risk for spoilers for @justadmiringanakin‘s fall for me for chapter 12: fool me once under the cut in the summary and contents of this one shot. | directly following the events of chapter 12: fool me once of fall for me by the talented @justadmiringanakin; it contains spoilers for all chapters up to chapter 12 | ava did give me permission to post this, please do not report, and please read the original material. | i need to specify, this is fanfiction for ava’s fanfiction. and is not canon to her storyline whatsoever. it is a self indulgent piece inspired by her storyline and characters. WARNINGS: explicit sex | anakin being persistent & crude | very slight angst | no explicit ask for consent | using each other | vaginal fingering | slight voyeurism/exhibitionism | penetration | anakin being nice at first until he knows he’s got her and using degrading dirty talk | sadistic anakin | anakin in denial | taking the lords name in vain | size difference | break up fantasy | break up sex | little bit o hate sex | ass slap| anakin’s toxic.

“Padmé?” Far away, PADMÉ AMIDALA eyes linger where ANAKIN SKYWALKER's empty seat resides. “Padmé…?” A comforting hand on her shoulder snaps her out of her trance and she hums in acknowledgement at the source.

“I’m sorry. Were you trying to say something to me?” she asks, furrowing her brows from the nerves deeply rooted in her stomach, set at unease.

“I was just asking if you could grab us some snacks. Cordé wants a soft pretzel to share with Logan and I want the same.” Dormé requests, inclining to meet Padmé’s eyes as if she needs to demand her attention during such a distracting football game.

Distressfully, Padmé glances at the unoccupied seat, worried she’d somehow run into Anakin during her trip. She couldn’t handle a close range encounter with him right now. Especially not after how she’s been feeling with the sudden loss of someone to warm her bed late at night.

Dormé holds up a couple bucks. “Please? I don’t wanna miss any plays, and I know you don’t really care about this sort of thing.”

Padmé couldn't argue with that and blew air out of her mouth to redirect a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Yeah,” Mustering a brave smile, she nods, and takes Dormé’s cash. “No problem. Be right back.” It’s the least she could do after they convinced her to abandon the cowardise of her room.

No sooner had her feet hit the grass, did the pit in her stomach grow tenfold.

She rounds the bleacher, a hand bracing against one of the poles, and she treks to the concessions. Underneath the bleachers are eerie, and she makes out a familiar figure in the shade when the end of his cigarette lights up.

He notices her too. “Came lookin’ for me?” His tone is uncharacteristically empathetic and Padmé gulps, gathering strength to cool and harden like stone.

Anakin.

“No. Obviously not.” She sticks her nose in the air, and continues on her way.

“So- you still hate me?” he asks, dropping his roach to the ground to grind it into the dirt with his shoe.

Like a fool, she takes the bait.

She crosses her arms with finesse, facing him. “I can’t believe you’d ask that.” Her words are like ice, emphasized by the tilt of her head and snobby huff.

Once he starts to close in is when her facade is cracking, eyeing him cautiously. However, he stops a few feet from her, having expected her to run off by now, and he leans his back against one of the sustainers. “I know you don’t.”

Her gaze searches him for a moment, a sharp pain stabbing through her heart as she catches a whiff of his musk that once comforted her so. In hopes to derail him from this conversation, she changes the subject. “Where’s your vape? I thought you quit smoking.” the word is spat with her distaste for it. Unfortunately the smell of it coming off of him is not helping her situation. Who knew cloves could have this kind of effect on her?

No, hate him. Hate him.

Anakin regards her thoughtfully— or more, appropriately, looks her up and down. “Vape broke. This whole… ‘scene’ has been really getting to me.” So he bought a pack to light up as soon as she found out about his lie and called him out on it? So juvenile.

“Oh, you mean the scene you caused?” The passive aggressive comment punctuated with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

He idles. Nods. “That’s right.”

Padmé doesn’t know why she’s still here. Listening to this. She’s supposed to be strong, she told him she never wants to speak to him again. Yet here she is.

Her silence is taken as an invitation to continue.

“Padmé, I miss you.” The feeling that shoots through her from that statement is hot and she fights a wince. He steps closer and inversely she steps back.

That same finger reanimates to warn him to control himself. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t listen. “I’ve been losing my mind over this. Just ask my brothers— ask Rex—“

“I don’t want to ask anybody! You should be dealing with the consequences of your actions. I’m furious with you, don’t you know that?” her voice trembles, betraying her passion, and he advances on her, ready to catch her. All that halts him is her index finger jabbing into his chest. His toned, hard chest, rising and falling with breath.

“Let me make it up to you.” A plea. Once again, her reticence encourages him. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

“You can’t. That’s the thing.” Barely able to raise her voice above a whisper, throat tightening, and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she’s still here because she seeks closure. Or because she misses him so much it hurts.

His intense gaze bores into hers, unwavering, undivided. “If you’re so mad at me, you could take it out on me.”

Her brows furrow, snapping her out of her stupor. “What?” Her first thought is his comment about liking when girls slap him. Did he expect her to hit him to release her fury on him?

“It won’t be that easy. I told you I’ll never forgive you, and I meant that.”

“Then don’t forgive me.” Is it her imagination or does that sentence pain him to say it? Regardless, he recovers quicker than she can dwell on it. “You don’t have to like me to use me.”

“What?” She blinks, having to ask him to clarify a second time.

“C’mon, I know you’re horny. Let me at least help with that.” Another plea, leaning over her arm that keeps him back with that single, thin finger. Her willpower diminishing every second longer she spends with him.

“You’re a pig.” A correct pig. A hopelessly, and completely correct statement said by the one person she wished she could hate.

“You miss me.”

He’s right. She clenches her jaw.

“I love this little crop top you’re wearing.” His large hands entitle themselves as usual— just like she remembers— grabbing hold of her hips. Warm pads of his fingers brush her exposed hips and she sucks in a breath. She slacks, letting him tug her into his intoxicating atmosphere. His eyes, once hungrily devouring her outfit, lands on the top of her head, and an endeared smile stretches onto his lips. “Dumb little hat.” he muses as one of his knuckles flicks the rim of it, backing it off her head marginally.

Her delicate countenance twists into a defined frown, scrunching up her nose as her free hand claps and adjusts the bucket hat back onto the top of her crown. As if she finally remembered what he’s doing, how he’s drawing her in just like he always does, she arches away from him, which only makes him incline in her direction more.

“I’m mad at you.”

“We could fuck about it.” He tosses the words so carelessly. Like he didn’t just say what he said. She’d be appalled, if not for her mind running away with her.

Could this be a way to get back at him? To use him like he used her? Let him pleasure her to tears once more so that she could bang one out of her system, and feel like she’s finally on top of him?

Wait a second, she’s getting ahead of herself, shaking her head. “Do you have to be so crude? Where would that even take place?”

His expression lights up at the fact her question lacks a rejection, she’s open to his offer. “Right here, right now.”

Swiftly, as if no time had passed, his thick arms wrap around her, and out of instinct hers encircle his neck as his lips connect with hers. The first kiss she’s had in a while, her first kiss with Anakin since before… At the memory, she protests, pushing back but he’s undeterred, merely dipping his head down to latch onto her neck. Open mouthed, fervent, kisses down the column. Once he reaches her pulse point, he sucks hard, and laps at it. The motion causes a noise to emit from her, involuntarily, and he lures her further into the shades of the bleachers, practically picking her up as if she’s light as a feather to him. He bites down onto her skin and she resists the urge to moan like before.

To give himself more access, he palms the back of her head, cradling it to tilt as he pleases. She feels limp in his hands, putty just as she once was.

“Anakin…” she begins, hitching when he nips her again.

“I fucking missed my name on your lips, Padmé…” he murmurs against her skin, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. Gripping hard on her waist, he pulls her into him so she can feel how hard he’s gotten already. At this point, she had expected he’d direct her to palm his erection, but perhaps he meant what he said earlier… How it was all about her, and her pleasure, and to use him to do it.

He doesn’t give her time to think about it when his hand slips to slot itself in between her thighs. Suddenly, the realization hit her that he really meant here and now. The cheers of the crowd overhead sounding alarms in her head.

Oh, but his touch feels so fucking good…

“Anakin, wait, I’m supposed to be back with soft pretzels- they’re gonna wonder where I am—“

He growls, guiding her further into the depths of the underside of these bleachers. “I’ll be quick.”

His words jelly her, especially because of his splendid ministrations against her clit through her jeans. Knees weakening, she believes he’s the only thing keeping her upright. Until he props her up against one of the studs. “Fuck, I gotta feel that pussy on my fingers again, angel,” he speaks as he practically rips open her button and zipper, adjusting it harshly to make room for shoving his hand in. Just as his digits find their home, he captures her parted lips, inviting his tongue inside unceremoniously. Melding with hers, demanding to taste whatever’s available as she’s trying not to moan directly in his mouth from his fingers circling and pinching her clit. He sucks on her tongue and releases it with a toying nip to the end of it, “You’re so fucking wet, I can’t fucking wait to stick my dick inside you.”

As if this man couldn’t go five minutes without psychologically torturing her, choosing to phrase it that way because of their argument. Because of how she accused him of only seeing her as something to “stick his dick inside.”

“Less talking and more doing, I’m getting bored.” A lie, but she hoped to jab at him the way he just did to her.

So he does as she asked, gaze darkening as it pierces hers, his fingers plunging themselves into her with no further warning. Daring her to cry out, daring her to try him again. To silence herself, she covers her mouth, eyebrows upturning in a pleading countenance she shares with him. He’s indomitable, barreling through as he effortlessly finds that spot inside her that turns her into the little pliable slut he wants.

She looks up at the people she can see through the cracks of the bleachers. The clapping, the resting feet, the faces of Dormé, Cordé, and Logan watching the game. Her eyes widen.

Did Anakin know exactly where to situate them to teeter the edge of danger? How sadistic could he be?

Is this even for her? Is this all for him and his sick pleasure? He really is a creep.

Anakin takes it all in, her shifts, how her body racked in rapture bends to his will, shuddering helplessly as she nears her end. “Bet they wouldn’t hear even if you did scream for me.” So he does know who’s above them.

She frowns at him, and he yanks her hand off her mouth.

“Are you gonna cum in your panties, Padmé? Who’s doing that to you, huh? Who’s finger blasting you under the fucking football bleachers?”

“F- fuck you…” she responds best she can, weakly, and fighting through her pleasure. Barely able to keep her eyes open.

“We’ll get to that, baby, don’t worry.”

Is he so sure?

Sharply inhaling through her nose, countenance skewing into an almost sneeze-like stance, is her tell. She’s close, and Anakin doesn’t let up. Curling his thick digits inside of her, and probing that spot that controls her efficiently. “Can’t believe you’re getting off where anybody can just turn the corner and see. Better yet, if anyone looked down…”

Somehow that did it, and her cum floods his hand, seeping past and dripping into the crotch of her panties he’d moved aside.

“Oh, fuck yes, baby, just like that.” he breathes, watching in fascination in the dimness. She clenches around him involuntarily, fluttering around his fingers as he pulls them out, coated in her slick. “You came so much it’s like you haven’t fucked yourself. Being a good girl for me while we’re apart during this little spat of ours? You remembered I told you not to waste your cum.” By his tone, he sounds impressed, and she hates herself for her body responding well to his praise. His good girl. It makes her sick.

“G- God, Anakin, you’re so fu-cking annoying. Do you ever shut up?” Minimizing their very real fight, assuming she’d been saving any of this for him, it left a sour taste in her mouth. Unfortunately, she needs him now more than ever and remains complacent as he readies her to take him.

“I might. If your pussy is as good as I remember.” he degrades, spinning her and placing her hands for her to brace on the pole she once leant on.

Her jaw opens to say something, any sort of rebuttal that’s as clever as she wishes it could be but she’s unable; he tugs down her pants just enough and pulls his aching cock out of the confines, and it’s just as beautiful as she pictures it in her mind. Gawking at it from over her shoulder as he gives it a few yanks, resting his splayed hand over her exposed backside, finger absentmindedly stroking one of the dimples of her lower back.

“You have no idea how badly I need this…” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to give her ass a sharp pat, and then to her entrance, soothing her clit with gentle circles. She heard him shuffling behind her, and saw him rip a condom open with his teeth.

It didn’t occur to him that he had one.. why didn’t it occur to her? She’s been so wrapped up in the moment. Where did he get it? Did he just have it in his wallet? Was he expecting something like this to happen?

To keep her warmed up for him, the ends of his fingers dip experimentally into her, scissoring her open and curling to help loosen her up for him— while he rolls the rubber onto his length. Once fully protected, he collects some more of her finish from previous, smearing it onto his coated length to lubricate it. He starts kissing the tip of himself against her glistening folds repeatedly, as if to warn her cunt of what’s to come. His brutalizing length isn’t to be trifled with, especially because she’s tightened and sensitive from cumming earlier. Pushing himself inside, the pleasant sting makes her hiss, easing back from the pole as he thrusts a little more of himself inside each time.

“Did you just have that?” she managed to question.

“The condom? I always keep one on me.” So he learned his lesson from the truck. Padmé never quite forgot the exasperated look on Rex’s face.

“Were you expecting this?” she spoke through gritted teeth, as she continued to rock back further and further onto his dick.

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we?”

She can practically hear his crooked grin through his cocky words, and it exacerbated her already molten feelings towards him.

“Is your goal to piss me off?”

“You’re hot when you’re angry. Especially at me.”

Now fully seated inside of her, his thrusts are sharper, rolling his hips in such a way that fits so well against the end of her.

“Fuck, you really are as good as I remember.” he sighs, biting his lower lip to keep from whimpering over how perfectly she’s squeezing him. “Maybe even better…”

“You promised me you’d shut up.” she tells him, and he obliges— surprisingly.

His hand squeezes her hip, using it to anchor her weight into him and off, while his other snatches her hat off her head. So enraptured she doesn’t even notice. She doesn’t notice when he puts it on his head to keep it off the ground either. All that, just to safely tangle his fingers in her air, stinging her scalp.

Forcing her back to arch for him, forcing her to see her unsuspecting friends once again. The horror that would seize her if one of them were to— God forbid— witness this. But the din of the game and the crowd drowned out the noises of their lovemaking.

Anakin’s necessity to be as close as he possibly could be to her, causes him to abandon her hip, sliding his arm around her pelvis, nearly lifting her off the ground as he pistoned into her. Bent over her, his chest against her back, his chin over her shoulder, enveloping her with his sheer size, and spearing her on his cock. It’s all too much. He bites whatever he can get his teeth on: her neck, her shoulder, her cheek. When she turns her head, ready to kiss him, he bites her lips and her nose. Unable to think of anything to say while he’s balls deep inside of her, she wishes the weird things he did didn’t turn her on so badly.

She’s been so good at staying quiet, but as soon as that desperate hand of his releases her hair to seek out and stimulate her clit, she lets a moan leak from her. Instantly embarrassed, heat rises to her cheeks, and when she checks to see if her friends above her heard— she’s met with only Logan’s flushed and wide-eyed expression.

Quickly he looks ahead, and doesn’t meet her gaze again… but the damage has been done. Padmé feels like crawling into herself and dying. She hides her face in her arms against the pole.

Anakin’s breathless and cruel laugh sounds in her ear, “Do we have an audience?” The waves of his warm breath causes her to shiver, and the squelching sounds of their union intensifies as he fucks her harder— as if intent to get her to break and moan more.

Padmé’s thoughts are consumed by the fact she had just met her friend’s boyfriend, and now his first impression and opinion of her would be sullied forever. She whimpered, and Anakin licked the inside of her ear, probing it with his tongue and nipping the earlobe.

“The guys were right. You really are such a slut for me.” Anakin spits, “Can’t believe you’re letting me hit when you’re so mad at me. During the fight we’re in. It’s like you can’t stay away from me.”

Padmé couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, nearing her finish as tears pricked the corners of her eyes once more because of Anakin’s tyranny.

“What’s more? You’re gonna keep coming back. You’re gonna bat those big lashes at me, and show off those little tits in a crop top, and I’m gonna slut you out like I’m doing right now. Mé? You’re never getting rid of me.” That nickname. That stupid fucking nickname. The only person that calls her that, that thought to call her that, claiming it to be his favorite month of the year in some sort of endearing anecdote— Mé— is Anakin.

His barbaric pace is finally paying off, choking back sobs as her orgasm rushes through her, shuddering her entire body, clenching down onto him so he can fuck an even tighter hole.

“God— Mé,” his voice quivers, whining as he fucks her through her orgasm and holds onto her body so she can’t escape him and fall to the ground like her body wants to do. Fall limp. Strong arm pinning her in place as he uses her like a fucktoy to get himself off. She feels the familiar warmth as it spreads, his hips stuttering as he cums into his condom.

They breathe together, her leaning onto the pole as he leans onto her with his hand over hers, remaining comfortably sheathed.

His sweaty forehead rests against her shoulder, and speaks before she has time to process what just happened.

“Want me to buy you a soft pretzel?”

“Give me back my hat, Anakin.”

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clouds-rambles · 4 years ago

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Hi, idk if this makes since but can i request a oneshot of diluc x reader where he finds out his s/o used to be an assassin from like inazuma in the past (like when they were young) like a dangerous one from an old acquaintance s/o bumped into? Sorry if this doesnt make sense or it lacks detail </3 hope you have a good day though ❤️

Cloud immediately goes back to angst after fluff headcanons lmao. Iconic of me.

Also once I’ve emptied the ask box I’m planning on doing a nth-hundred special cause I think they’re cool so hopefully my box will be open soon again :)

Pairings; Diluc x reader

Warning(s); death mentions, angst, comfort

Keep reading under the cut!

You had only wanted to spend your paid leave in Mondstat for the month. But here you are five years later, ‘retired’ from your position as one of two-dozen of Baals personal assassins.

Sure, you’d never be able to return home to your lack of family and lack of friends. But, you’ve made a life here in Mondstat and you’re more then content on never going back to the old life back in Inazuma.

You had left before Inazuma had made its borders difficult to cross, hence why you took your vacation in the city of freedom. In the decade of being an assassin you had slowly lost your need for blood, especially those of abroad diplomats and even politicians that Baal no longer wanted in power but didn’t want to make a diplomatic matter out of. Your vision helped make the deaths look more natural than they were.

Your partner of four years, Diluc, knows that you’re from Inazuma. He had originally met you when you were on holiday. But the fact of your assassin work stayed unspoken of. You had never expected your past to catch up with you. Especially considering your home countries current isolationism.

“[name]?” you hear your name spoken from across the street in Mondstat, you look to the source of the call to notice a woman who looked after you while you were in Inazuma

“No way” you say to yourself, a confused Diluc stood beside you. You embrace the woman with a smile “It’s been too long” you tell her

“You should have sent a letter to be” the woman says sternly after backing out the hug “When I received news that you were never coming back I had presumed that a contract when wrong” she confesses her features lightening

“I was given the taste of freedom and I took it” you grin at the woman

“Is the taste of freedom red, dark and handsome?” the woman jests turning to Diluc who outstretches a hand, the woman shakes it “And who is the name of the man who took an assassins heart?” she asks. You shoot the woman a glare at the lack of her secrecy. Diluc too stiffens at the name of your previous occupation

“Diluc” you answer for him “And all that nonsense is far behind me” you tell the woman sternly who puts her hands up in defence

“I’m not sure, your colleagues tell me Baal is rather angry at your resignation to this day” the woman tells you cocking an eyebrow

“Assassin?” Diluc questions looking at you, you don’t answer him but choose to continue to glare at the woman

“Hm, that’s why you’re here? To kill me or to take me back?” you question stepping forwards towards the woman you would have once considered a sister. She sighs

“I couldn’t kill you swee-” you interrupt her

“Tell Baal to use the other 23 to do her dirty work” you pause and go to turn around but stop “You go back right now and tell her that. And if I see another one of you or the assassins in Mondstat again I wont hesitate to put to use the skills Baal groomed me for” you add pushing a finger in her face before walking away, a confused Diluc trailing behind you.

The two of you don’t talk about the events until after dinner, mainly because it takes you that long to calm down from the events that transpired. You look to Diluc, ready to take anything and everything that comes your way. You did hide a crucial detail from him, especially when he was so open about his past.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, I’ll answer them all” you tell Diluc sitting opposite him. Diluc processes your statement.

“An assassin?” you nod “From Inazuma?” you nod again “Would you care to tell me why you never told me?” he asks staring you down

“Well when I first got here I had to keep my identity a secret, especially to keep my holiday as peaceful as possible, but after I left I just wanted to bury it” you explain “I had been contemplating leaving and starting life anew for a few years and this was the first place that I could pursue the dream of being free” you add “I didn’t want to be defined by what I was”

Diluc nods, you’re not sure how to read him, he’s put on a façade that you had grown familiar with when you first met him. You’re not sure if this is temporary or he’s going to kick you out the manor the second he stops questioning you.

“I was also scared of losing you” you confess with a chuckle “I know your feelings about threats to Mondstat, and I didn’t want to be read as one, I was scared” you add turning your attention away from Diluc, you miss his eyes softening for a moment. “There were so many times I was going to tell you, but every time I tried I had the picture of you just leaving me there, or worse you decide to eliminate a potential threat” you sigh wiping your eyes. Diluc hums at your words letting you know he’s listening

“I would have like to have learnt from you though” he confesses shifting forwards to touch your shoulder, you lean into the touch

“I’m sorry” you apologise and look up to him “I understand if you want me to leave” you tell him. Diluc shakes his head and pats his lap for you to sit on. You oblige

“I trust you enough” he confesses “Which might be a little stupid but I love you too much to just throw you out” he adds wiping a stray tear, you hug him tight

“I love you too” you tell him from the bottom of your heart

This is going to hurt a whole lot more when this charade is over

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin diluc #diluc

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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

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illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?”

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before? It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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little-mad · 4 years ago

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The First Hunt: Chapter Two

A/N By popular demand, here's a sequel to The First Hunt! The original was meant to be a oneshot, but since people seemed to like it, and since I had more to say about the story, I figured a part two was in order. This one is a lot longer and more detailed than the first part cuz I wanted it to be more of a short story than a drabble. Hopefully you guys enjoy!

The warm glow of orange evening sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead. Thomas picked his way through the untamed forest, still wondering what exactly he was doing. The First Hunt had ended a couple hours ago, and Thomas’s peers were all back in town, enjoying the festivities that came with celebrating their passage into adulthood.

Thomas didn’t know exactly what had caused him to slip out of town and make his way back to the spot where he had last seen the human girl. The town elders would probably say hunting instinct. Thomas would be lying if he said he hadn’t been...intrigued by the human’s scent. He may have even followed through and eaten the tiny thing like he was supposed to, that is, if she hadn’t been squirming desperately in his fingers and begging for her life. As good as the little human had smelled, he knew he could never bring himself to eat something he could hold a conversation with.

So if it wasn’t hunger driving Thomas, then what was it? Perhaps just simple curiosity. He mostly doubted the human would have stuck around in the same place for so long, especially after having nearly been eaten, but he found himself itching to know whether she might still be there for some reason. After all, what were the chances he’d ever meet another human again? It was just so rare for them to stray out of the safety of their lands these days. If there was a possibility she might still be there, didn’t he have to be sure?

When he caught sight of a small, shaggy shrub, Thomas knew he had managed to navigate back to the spot where he’d first discovered the human. He heard a scampering nearby and had a brief flash of hope before he saw the sound had been made by a little orange fox that was now retreating further into the woods. Thomas continued to make his way closer to the bush. He could swear he could still detect traces of her sweet scent...unless…

As he walked forward, the distinct scent only got stronger. Thomas walked past the shrub and towards a thick but gnarled tree. At first he noticed nothing, and wondered if perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but then as he glanced down at the base of the tree, he caught sight of a small crevice.

Thomas dropped down to his knees and bent to peer inside the little nook. His eyes went wide when he saw what was inside. Pressed back as far as she could manage in the tight space, was a human, the very same human he had encountered a few hours ago.

Her wavy dark brown hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders was a frazzled mess, bits of bark catching at some of the strands. Barely perceptible beads of sweat were forming on her light brown skin, creating a slight shine to her face. Chestnut colored eyes stared back at Thomas with fear and panic.

---

Tara had made sure to wait a long while after the group of giants had left before even considering leaving her hiding place. She wasn’t willing to risk the chance that they would double back, plus she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had just survived a hands on encounter with a giant.

After about fifteen minutes, Tara had finally deemed it safe enough to exit cover. She’d been just about to do so when she heard an unusual sound. The sound had unfortunately turned out to be that of a giant sized animal sniffing around. Could it have merely been a harmless squirrel? Sure. But given Tara’s luck, she had to assume it was some kind of predator that would gladly snatch up a human for a snack. And for that reason, she had remained concealed in her hidey hole, waiting for the creature to wander off someplace else.

Of course, the animal, whatever it was, had decided it was quite content to remain where it was. Tara had heard it finally give up on its sniffing after awhile and lay down on the opposite side of the tree. Hours passed, and in addition to a growing feeling of hunger in her belly, there was also a new ache developing in her body from being stuffed in such a cramped space for so long. She had just been considering making a mad dash for it and taking the chance that the animal was predatory, when she began to feel a sickeningly familiar rumbling shake the earth.

Tara’s blood went cold. Her window of escape had disappeared. The creature on the other side of the tree was now the least of her concerns. A much bigger predator was coming. If Tara’s last experience with a giant had been any indication, the giant would have no problem sniffing her out. It almost seemed like they had a nose made specifically for detecting humans.

The tremors in the ground increased in intensity as the giant came into view. Tara’s eyebrows shot up as she realized she recognized the massive being. It was the very same one who had captured her just hours earlier. Tara’s heart began to beat erratically in her chest. He had let her go...he’d told her he wouldn’t eat her. She swallowed hard. He must have changed his mind.

Tara could only watch as the young man advanced closer and closer towards her hiding spot. Then there was a rustling sound, from the animal that had been keeping her stuck. The giant’s gaze instantly snapped towards the source of the noise. Tara couldn’t see what he was looking at from where she was, but based on the disappointed look on the man’s face, she had to assume he hadn’t been impressed by whatever it was. This led Tara to a horrifying conclusion. The giant had reacted so quickly to the sound the animal had made, meaning he was looking for something, and Tara had a feeling she knew exactly what that something was.

The giant sniffed the air, an intrigued look forming on his face as he did. Tara had to bite her lip to prevent herself from releasing a whimper. He had caught her scent, it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the towering being was directly in front of Tara’s now useless hiding place. His forest green eyes stared at her in surprise. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting to find her. Which was sensible. Tara should have been long gone by now. She had to mentally scoff at herself. She’d been given a miraculous second chance at life and she had somehow managed to screw it up and end up right back in the jaws of death.

It wasn’t long before the look of surprise on the giant’s face shifted into an excited smile that caused a tight feeling to form in Tara’s chest. She tried desperately to shove herself further back into the small crevice in the tree trunk, as if she’d end up magically getting absorbed into the bark.

Then, suddenly something huge came shooting towards her. Tara yelped as, for the second time that day, devastatingly massive fingers wrapped around her body. Her stomach churned as she was effortlessly pulled out of the nook and up into open air. The movement didn’t stop until she was being held directly in front of the giant’s still smiling face.

Tara wanted to yell, curse, and struggle, but she found herself momentarily frozen in place. She could see her own reflection in the shine of the giant eyes. God, did she look pathetic. The upper half of her body stuck out from the giant's fist, her arms hanging limply over the sides of his fingers. She could only imagine how pitiful she would appear to the immense creature.

After eying her for a couple agonizing moments, the giant made a sound of happy disbelief in the back of his throat before shifting his entire massive form. When the moving was finished, the young man was sitting with his back pressed against the tree and his knees bent. He held Tara slightly below eye level and a few inches away from his face.

“God, I still can’t get over how crazy small you are.” The giant spoke for the first time after finding Tara once again. His expression was filled with awe, not unlike a child that had just been presented a fascinating toy. Tara cringed at the sight of it.

“L-let me go!” She finally managed to spit out. She was still lacking the ferocity she’d possessed when she’d snapped at the giant during their last encounter, but she was hoping she would be able to build back up to it.

---

Thomas couldn’t believe his luck. He’d managed to get a hold of a human not once, but twice in the same day! He only wished he could brag about it to his friends. Of course, then he’d be forced to lie about not eating her. He supposed he could tell them the truth, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t be very receptive.

As he stared at her, wrapped up in his fist, he came to a new realization. Now that he had made himself stop viewing the human as food, he had to say, the little creature was honestly kind of adorable. She looked totally frazzled, but that almost added to the cuteness factor.

The feeling of tiny fingers lightly brushing against his skin sent shivers throughout Thomas’s body. It was insane, a creature that looked so similar to giants but was so damn tiny. “God, I still can’t get over how crazy small you are.” He remarked breathlessly, a grin on his face.

The little human, unfortunately, did not seem to share in his enthusiasm. “L-let me go!” She stuttered. A frown instantly took form on Thomas’s face. He supposed he should have expected this. He had almost eaten her the last time he held her. But he had told her he wasn’t going to do it and he’d released her afterwards. Shouldn’t she know he wasn’t going to hurt her?

“Wait...just wait, this could be a once in a lifetime chance for us to talk.” Thomas insisted. He knew so little about human culture, current human culture in particular. It was hard to learn about the species when his people ate them up if they ever ran into one. There were a few old textbooks back home, but the information was likely horribly outdated by now, not to mention potentially inaccurate considering they had been written by giants and not humans themselves. Thomas was itching to know what life was really like for the tiny creatures.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to go home.” The minuscule girl retorted, fidgeting uncomfortably in between his fingers. Taking note of this, Thomas repositioned the human so that, rather than being held in his fist, she stood in the center of his palm. His fingers were curled up behind her, creating a sort of barrier.

The feeling of the human’s tiny feet moving around on his hand was unbelievable! Thomas had known humans existed his entire life, but now that he was actually holding one, he found it mind boggling that such a petite species could even survive in the world. He knew things were more proportional for the humans on their side of the border, but still, that didn’t change the fact that they were so low on the food chain compared to so many other creatures. Even the prey animals in giant territory outclassed humans.

“Are you...not a little curious about giants?” Thomas questioned the girl, using his free hand to rub at the side of his neck.

The human gave an immediate scoff, complete with an eye roll. “What’s there to be curious about? You treat us like food, that’s all I need to know.” It seemed the spunk she’d possessed during their last meeting had returned. It was kind of impressive how someone in such a vulnerable position could respond with such moxie.

“H-hey, I didn’t eat you, did I?” Thomas shot back defensively. However, as his mind wandered back to the moment he’d held her dangling above his mouth, he couldn’t help but recall the tempting scent that had wafted off of the human. “Although...you--well you do smell pretty good…” The words leaked out almost involuntarily as he was lost in the memory.

Thomas was pulled out of his reverie by a furious gasp and the feeling of tentative steps retreating backwards on his palm. When his gaze refocused he could see the human wearing an expression of disgust mixed with fear, her little arms wrapped around her middle defensively. “Not that I’m going to eat you!” Thomas blurted out, realizing how thoughtless his words had been. “I can’t imagine eating something I can hold a conversation with.”

---

The moment the giant had mentioned how good she apparently smelled, Tara was struck with a renewed sense of fear. She hated it, being viewed as some sort of tasty meal. She couldn’t comprehend the concept. Humans ate the meat of animals, sure, but they couldn’t sniff out a cow, nor did they consider it to smell good prior to being cooked. Giants were different, more barbaric, more animalistic. And yet, they seemed as intelligent as humans. It didn’t make sense.

“Not that I’m going to eat you!” The giant insisted. She stared back at him with suspicion in her eyes. Had he really come all this way to just talk to her? “I can’t imagine eating something I can hold a conversation with.” He added. It almost gave Tara whiplash, the way the giant could go from commenting on how delicious she smelled, to noticeably cringing at the idea of eating a being with which he could verbally communicate with.

“I’m not a something, I’m a someone.” Tara corrected, folding her arms firmly over her chest.

“Right, sorry.” The giant replied sheepishly. Tara could swear she could actually see his face reddening slightly. “I guess I’m not used to this whole talking to a human thing.”

Tara gave a snort. “Understatement.” If she had to write a rulebook for giants on what not to say to humans, rule number one would be: ‘don’t talk about how delicious they may smell!’ But, if she was being honest with herself, this guy was a far cry better than what she had expected. She supposed she should count her lucky stars that she had been found by what was likely the only giant that showed any qualms about eating humans. Considering the fact that the First Hunt indeed was real, Tara could only assume the rest of the giants were totally on board with gobbling humans up.

“Ok, I deserve that.” The young giant admitted, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was quiet for a moment as he looked over Tara, his lips pressed together thoughtfully. And then, “I didn’t expect humans to have such sharp tongues.”

It was true that Tara’s courage, and accompanying attitude, had come back full force after her initial terror at re-encountering the giant had ebbed slightly. Of course, the fear was still present, her instincts would never allow that to go away entirely. However, she was able to keep it as background noise. That being said, she didn’t very much like the giant’s insinuation. It almost seemed as though he had expected humans to be these tiny quivering wrecks.

“I doubt you giants know much of anything about what humans are like.” Tara snipped. She had a feeling most giants didn’t bother to ask for a human’s life story before devouring them.

“Well then why not educate me?” Came the giant’s quick response. God, he seemed eager. His eyes were almost sparkling with enthusiasm. Tara couldn’t understand why he was so interested in humans. It was his own damn species’ fault that the two peoples couldn’t get along.

“What if you could bridge the gap?” A small part of her mind argued. Tara was quick to shake that thought away. There was no way having a heart to heart with one single giant was going to stop all of giantkind from being obsessed with eating humans. Besides, she needed to convince this guy to let her go. The longer she was around a giant, the higher the chances of her getting hurt became.

“Because--because every second I’m around you, my life is in danger!” Tara exclaimed. She forced herself to walk towards the front of the giant’s hand, ignoring how utterly bizarre it felt to be standing on someone’s actual palm.

A frown appeared on the young man’s face. “Come on, I already said I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He said it almost in a whine. Tara was beginning to wonder if this guy was really like a gigantic puppy. Of course, even a puppy was dangerous if it was bigger than a house.

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?” Tara asked with a quirked brow. “Besides, you could hurt me without evening meaning to.” What may seem like a small, inconsequential movement for the giant could be potentially catastrophic for someone Tara’s size. Too much pressure from his fingers, a misstep, a sudden jolt; they could all spell disaster for her. The giant clearly didn’t understand that. For him, there was no danger in a simple conversation. Of course there wasn’t, not for him, the one with all the control.

The man remained silent for a moment, apparently digesting Tara’s words. It was a positive sign that he was actually taking her words into consideration. “I’ll...I’ll be careful, I promise.” He vowed, earning a frustrated groan from Tara.

Ever since she was little, Tara had been a headstrong child. Her mother had even taken to referring to her as a ‘stubborn little mule’ whenever she was especially pig headed about something. But now, it seemed the mule had met her match. This giant was relentless in his pursuit to satisfy his own curiosity.

A soft breath from the giant’s mouth ruffled Tara’s hair as it blew past her. He wore a difficult to read expression on his face. It almost seemed like he was conflicted. He kept his silence for a few moments, looking off into the distance and for once freeing Tara from his persistent staring. Before she could properly relish in the feeling of not being the center of a massive being’s attention, his deep green eyes were locked back on her. “Would you at least tell me your name? Mine is Thomas.”

Tara’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She hadn’t even considered that this giant had a name. Giants had always seemed like abstract otherworldly concepts to her. Therefore, the fact that this one had a name, not to mention a seemingly mundane name like Thomas, was a little bit unexpected. “Uh, I’m Tara…” She replied, feeling rather strange doing introductions with a giant.

A bright grin broke out on Thomas’s face. He was way too excited about this. “Pleasure to meet you, Tara.”

---

Thomas found himself unable to keep his hands to himself after he and the human named Tara exchanged introductions. Her awkward body language somehow made her look even cuter! With the tip of a single finger he reached out and ruffled Tara’s already unruly head of hair. He marveled at how soft the locks felt despite how untamed they currently appeared.

The indignant squeak the little human made in response to Thomas’s touch was way too endearing for him to bear, and he was about to go back in to tap Tara lightly on the head when a sudden look of sharp fear came across her face. “Someone’s coming.” She hissed urgently, brown eyes blown wide as she stared up at Thomas.

His eyebrows furrowed and he remained silent while he tried to hear what the human had apparently picked up on. At first he heard nothing. He was just beginning to think Tara had been yanking his chain when he finally caught the sound of approaching footsteps.

Panic was quick to take a grip on Thomas as he shot up to his feet. While he had vowed not to eat Tara, he doubted whoever was coming would share the same sentiment. If another giant knew of her existence, she would be placed in extreme danger. Not to mention the fact that Thomas would have to try to explain why he, a giant, had been holding a casual conversation with a human rather than consuming them.

The footsteps were quickly growing nearer, the new giant would soon be within eyesight. Thomas looked down at Tara to see a look of terror frozen on her face. She looked up at him with desperation in her eyes, as if begging him to do something. He swallowed thickly and gave the human a small nod.

Then, using the hand Tara wasn’t currently standing on, Thomas once again grabbed the human. Swiftly he moved the hand holding Tara around to his back and shifted so he stood as close to the tree trunk as possible without squishing the delicate human he had in his grasp. It was a pretty poor hiding place, that much he knew, but without any kind of pocket or bag to drop her into, Thomas’s options had been severely limited. Although, Thomas wondered if there was even a point in attempting to hide her, any giant with a functioning nose would be able to smell her from several yards away.

A moment later the oncoming giant finally came into view. Thomas’s eyes widened as he realized who it was. The young man’s skin was slightly more tanned than Thomas’s, and his complexion paired well with his medium blond hair. He had angular facial features and a set of icy blue eyes behind a pair of round glasses. He was only a couple months older than Thomas, something he knew because the approaching giant was none other than his best friend.

“Ah ha, I thought I might find you out here.” Lane called, a grin on his lips as he made his way closer to Thomas. “Hoping you’d get a second chance at catching a human, huh?”

Lane and Thomas had been friends ever since they were little kids. It had been their interest in learning that had ultimately solidified their friendship. Thomas was constantly itching for novel, unheard of information. He wanted to discover new and exciting things before anyone else. Lane, on the other hand, was more interested in culture and tradition. He was fascinated by giant history and wanted to analyze it to no end. Within the past few years, Lane had become especially interested in studying giantkind’s history with eating humans.

It was for this reason that Thomas considered Lane to be just about the worst person to come around while he was currently trying to conceal a human. The guy was obsessed with the idea of getting to eat a human. He considered it to be a tradition that connected giants with their ancestors. After the First Hunt had ended, Thomas had been subjected to extensive complaining about the fact that no humans had been found.

Abruptly halting his progress towards Thomas, a perplexed look formed on Lane’s face. He lifted his nose into the air and gave several small sniffs. “Do you smell that?” He asked, continuing to sniff at the air.

Perhaps a bit too quickly, Thomas shook his head. “N-no, I don’t smell anything.” He claimed.

Lane shot Thomas an unconvinced look. “Oh come on, it smells amazing! I haven’t ever smelled anything like it.” He proceeded making his way over to his friend, but didn’t stop sniffing all the way there.

Thomas could feel Tara squirming uncomfortably in his hand. He didn’t know whether it was because of the way he was holding or because of Lane. To be on the safe side, he loosened his grip on her ever so slightly.

“Hey, what do you have there?” Lane questioned, finally taking his focus off of the smell to eye Thomas’s unnaturally positioned arm.

“Is it really that obvious??” Thomas thought to himself miserably. “Nothing.” He told Lane, trying to school his expression into one of casual indifference. “This is just how I’m standing.” Thomas felt a tiny smack on his knuckle. If he had to guess, Tara wasn’t very impressed with his attempt at lying.

Lane quirked an eyebrow. “Alright, then show me your hand.” He prompted.

“I don’t see why--” Before Thomas could even finish his sentence, Lane had grabbed hold of his upper arm and yanked until the hand holding Tara popped out of cover.

For a moment, Lane just stared with eyes as wide as saucers. Then, after he seemed to process what he was looking at, a sly grin slowly spread across his face. Thomas didn’t like that look one bit, especially not when it was aimed at Tara. “You actually caught one!” The blond exclaimed.

Thomas released a low sigh as he moved his arm so that Tara was once again held in front of his body. Rather than return her to her previous position of standing freely on his palm, Thomas kept her gripped in a fist. With Lane now present, it just felt safer.

Although a couple inches shorter than Thomas, Lane still had to bend to get himself at level to where Tara was being held at chest height. He moved his face in close to the human, wearing an expression of exhilarated amazement. “The stories are right, they really are bite sized.” He commented. Thomas could see Tara cringe back at the words. The poor girl’s heartbeat was going crazy, he could feel it pounding against his fingers.

Both Thomas and Tara appeared relieved when Lane straightened and backed up slightly. “Hey, why were you hiding it?” Lane’s gaze flicked from Tara up to Thomas’s face. “What, were you afraid I was going to try and steal your catch?”

“No, I just--”

“It may have ended, but it’s still technically the day of the First Hunt.” Lane stated, apparently too excited about the fact that one of them had found a human to care too much about Thomas’s potential distrust in him.

“Lane, that--”

“You should eat it right here and now, as tradition dictates.” This time, Lane’s interruption sent a wave of alarm throughout Thomas’s body. This was all so overwhelming. He’d just wanted to have a civil discussion with Tara, and now Lane was here trying to get him to eat her!

“What?! No, I’m not doing that!” Thomas cried, loathing the images that were forcibly appearing in his mind of himself dropping Tara into his mouth. What he hated more, was that there was a part of him that actually almost wanted to do so.

Thomas had always found the way giants felt so compelled to devour humans to be strange. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that giants enjoyed eating the tiny creatures, but that they enjoyed eating them whole and raw. With every other kind of meat, giants cooked and seasoned it prior to indulging. It was the civilized thing to do. But with humans it was different. Eating them alive was basically the only way that was considered proper. It was a barbaric practice. Thomas just didn’t understand what it was about humans that turned otherwise civilized giants into hunger driven savages. He didn’t want to be like that, no matter how much his instincts may be urging him to.

“But if you wait till we get home, you can bet someone will try to take it from you.” Lane insisted, clearly misinterpreting Thomas’s opposition to immediately eating the human.

“Lane--” Thomas started, though he didn’t really know where he was going.

“I think Daren wants to eat a human just as much as me, but he’s not your friend so he won’t hesitate to steal your catch.” Lane commented casually. Yesterday this kind of conversation wouldn’t have bothered Thomas in the slightest. Discussing eating humans was fairly commonplace among giants, and he’d never been upset when Lane had brought up the topic in the past. But now, after meeting Tara, Thomas found himself disgusted with how easily his friend spoke about ending another living being’s life.

“I am not eating her, period!” The exclamation had come out louder and stronger than Thomas had perhaps intended, but the way he had felt Tara practically shaking in his hand had elicited an unexpected response.

A look of confusion instantly took shape on Lane’s face, staring at Thomas like he had three heads. “What are you talking about?”

Thomas took in a deep breath. He really hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with any of his friends, least of all Lane. The guy was so lost in giant tradition that he couldn’t seem to consider the possibility that maybe their ancestors hadn’t been such great and admirable people afterall. Thomas didn’t even know how to begin explaining to Lane how he felt, but he had no choice but to figure it out as he spoke. “Lane, humans...eating humans isn’t--it isn’t something I can do.” He started lamely.

Lane narrowed his eyes. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I can’t bring myself to eat something as sentient as you or I.” Thomas responded simply. He could feel Tara’s little eyes on him, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with the other giant.

“Oh please, you sound like those human sympathizer nut jobs.” Lane scoffed.

Thomas remained silent, unsure of how to respond. He had been raised to view the small number of human sympathizing giants as loons. These days, there were only two left in their small town, and they were both treated as total outcasts. Thomas realized he suddenly had more in common with them than the rest of the townspeople. Now that Lane knew how he felt, would it only be a matter of time before he too was socially shunned?

A noise of incredulity came from Lane as he shook his head in disbelief. “Thomas, we are predators and they are our prey. Eating humans is in our DNA.” He was spouting the same rhetoric as the town elders, and pretty much every adult in town to be honest. Thomas could recall a time when he was eleven, after studying human-giant relations in school for the first time, he’d come home and asked his father why giants loved eating humans so much. His father’s response had been that giants were naturally made to want to hunt humans, that it was an intrinsic part of giant nature. At the time, Thomas had accepted it as fact and moved on. But now, he was beginning to question everything he’d been taught.

“We’re not mindless animals, we don’t have to succumb to base urges.” He argued, almost pleadingly. He wanted his friend to understand, wanted him to see things the way he had started to.

Lane responded with an exaggerated eye roll, clearly not convinced by Thomas’s words. “Ok, you know what? If you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

Realizing what Lane was doing just in time, Thomas dodged to the side just as the shorter man made a lunge for Tara. Thomas’s fingers automatically tightened around the human girl’s body, evoking a sharp gasp from her. He felt bad for causing such a reaction, but he knew it was better for her to be uncomfortable in his hands than ending up in Lane’s at all. Thomas brought the hand holding Tara in close to his body, practically squishing her against his chest. “You need to back off.” He warned Lane as he himself slowly stepped further away.

---

Tara was quite sure that this day would forever rank number one on her list of worst days of all time, that is, if she even lived to see another day. Not only had she been captured and nearly eaten by a giant and later recaptured by said giant, but now there was a whole other giant involved, and one who seemed a lot more interested in eating a human than Thomas had.

This new giant, apparently named Lane, was somehow even more terrifying than Thomas, despite the fact that he looked to be slightly shorter in height. Thomas had never really looked at Tara with outright hunger in his eyes, at least not that she had detected. The same could not be said for Lane. Every time his eyes landed on her, she felt as though she were a piece of meat hanging in the window of a butcher’s shop. She absolutely hated it.

If Lane having just tried to grab her hadn’t been bad enough, Tara was currently in the highly unpleasant position of being tightly clutched in Thomas’s hand. While the grip around her body wasn’t painful, it was certainly far from comfortable. Not to mention the fact that she was being pressed into the giant’s chest, her face barely an inch away from the soft material of the sweater he wore. In order to even see anything except the expanse that was Thomas’s torso, she had to crane her neck around to look over her shoulder.

“If you don’t want to eat humans, then fine, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.” Lane growled.

Tara was very quickly getting fed up with all this talk of eating her, and what was more, she was fed up with just sitting idly by while two giants bickered about her fate. Using her arms to leverage herself, Tara managed to twist herself around within Thomas’s fist. Now facing out towards Lane, she leveled a wrathful glare at the giant. “No one is fucking eating me!”

Terror quickly began to eat away at Tara’s fierce facade when Lane’s cold blue eyes zeroed in on her. For a moment, he looked slightly surprised to hear her speak. She supposed it was likely the first time he’d ever heard a human’s voice before. However, the surprise quickly wore off and was replaced with a look of haughty disdain. “Listen here, morsel.” The blond giant sneered, the words causing Tara to physically flinch. “You broke the treaty by coming onto our land.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“The reason doesn’t matter. So long as you’re in our territory, you’re fair game.” Lane stated simply.

Technically, legally, Lane was right. For all intents and purposes, Tara had broken the treaty and was subject to whatever laws governed giants. But she didn’t care, she didn’t care what the laws were or what the treaty said. “Crossing a border doesn’t make me deserving of being killed.” Tara spat back with a scowl. “You giants are so twisted in the head if you think that’s right.”

Tara could feel Thomas’s fingers twitch around her. She wondered what kind of expression he was wearing at the moment, but she didn’t want to disqualify herself from the glaring contest that was currently taking place between her and Lane. “It’s the way nature works.” He said with an unconcerned shrug. “The predator hunts the prey. Don’t be upset because you got stuck as the prey.”

“Lane, knock it off!” Tara’s heart skipped a beat at Thomas’s sudden roar. His voice vibrated throughout her body and caused a slight ache in her ears. Still, the outburst couldn’t distract her from dwelling on Lane’s words. Was that really how giants saw it? They thought it was natural for them to devour humans, and so never stopped to ponder the moral implications?

“What is wrong with you?” Lane demanded, removing his gaze from Tara to shoot an incredulous look up at Thomas. “You can’t tell me you’re not dying to get a taste, the smell alone--”

“I already told you, I’m not eating her, and neither are you.” Thomas interrupted sharply. Tara was glad he’d stopped Lane when he had, the words the giant had been saying had already begun to make her feel sick to her stomach. Hearing how apparently delicious she smelled was horrific, and even worse was the hungry look of longing that had been on his face.

Lost in her own dark thoughts, Tara didn’t even notice the giant hand coming at her until it was too late. A scream got caught in her throat as her shoulders were shoved into the crease between the assaulting hand’s thumb and index finger. There was a burst of pain as she was forcibly wrenched out of Thomas’s hand. Then there came a disorienting blur as Tara felt her body being carried through the air at nauseating speeds.

When she finally managed to somewhat gather her senses, she found she was horizontal to the ground, her legs dangling while her upper half was forcibly held straight by massive fingers. It was then that she lifted her gaze from the distant earth. The sight in front of her caused a horrified shriek to tear through her throat.

There Tara was, being held directly in front of a wide open giant mouth, and she was rapidly being moved towards it.

---

Lane’s grab for Tara had been so sudden that Thomas hadn’t had the chance to evade it. Before he knew it, Lane had snatched the human right out of his hand, and it seemed his friend wasn’t about to waste any time in eating her.

Thomas could feel his pulse pounding in his neck as he watched almost as if in slow motion as Lane lifted the defenseless Tara to his gaping mouth. “No, this isn’t happening, I won’t let it!” Thomas’s thoughts screamed at him. Just as Tara’s head was about to enter the abyss that was Lane’s mouth, Thomas dove forward and managed to snag hold of the other giant’s forearm. A loud smack echoed through the woods from the impact of his palm on Lane’s bare arm.

Now forcibly holding Lane’s arm back from continuing its mission to deposit Tara into his mouth, Thomas threw a dark glare at his friend. “Give her to me now.” He demanded.

Lane looked back with a disbelieving look in his eyes. “Thomas, you need help. You’ve completely lost touch with your own instincts.” Here Lane was, about to end someone’s life without a second thought, and he had the gall to tell Thomas he needed help. It truly was twisted how giant society viewed things. Yet, was Thomas really one to talk? He’d played along with it all just yesterday. It had taken meeting a human, holding her in his hand, for Thomas to begin to truly question the ideas that had been drilled into his head for so long.

“My instincts don’t define me, I’m not a slave to primal urges.” The words were stated calmly and simply. Lane considered himself a scholar, and so Thomas would try to persuade him as such.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Lane exclaimed. Thomas could see his words were failing to give Lane pause, and instead were just offending the guy and pissing him off more. He was beginning to wonder if this was going to develop into a fight. Thomas may be tall and fairly fit, but he had no experience with physical altercations. But, neither did Lane. If both of them were equally inexperienced, Thomas hoped his greater size would put him at an advantage if it came down to it.

It was then that Thomas glanced down at Tara. Her body was being held in a precarious grip with four of Lane’s fingers on her back while the thumb was the only thing between her and the distant ground. This perhaps explained why she wasn’t struggling at all, she knew if she broke free, she’d be plummeting to what would likely be her own death.

Horrible waves of guilt rose up within Thomas. Tara was in this position because of him. She had wanted to leave the second he had found her, but he hadn’t let her. Now she was trapped in a life threatening scenario, and if a fight did break out between the two giants, the frail human could easily be damaged in the crossfire. Thomas would have to avoid that if at all possible.

“Lane, if you’re my friend, please just let her go.” He urged, allowing some vulnerability into his voice. Despite how it likely appeared to Tara, Thomas’s friend wasn’t heartless. The guy had been there for him at times when no one else had. He had to believe Lane was a good person at his core, that he had just been brainwashed to view humans as objects rather than people. Surely he could be reasoned with.

Lane opened his mouth as if to immediately refuse, but halted when he locked eyes with Thomas. After several moments of silence, he could see the resistance draining from his friend. With his free hand, Thomas positioned his palm just below Tara. Lane hesitated for a second before pulling his thumb out from under the human’s body, causing her to immediately drop down into the waiting hand.

As soon as Tara was safely back in his hands, Thomas brought her back against his chest. He was practically cradling the human, and chances were, Tara wasn’t exactly happy about it. However, he wasn’t about to stop, not when she’d be so nearly killed. And though he doubted Lane would make another grab for the human, Thomas didn’t plan on putting his guard down.

“This could be our only chance to eat a human, you know?” Lane said quietly. He stood back, arms folded over his chest. There was a somber look on his face.

Thomas gave his friend a sad smile. “I think we’re better off never doing it.”

Lane shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”

A glance down at Tara’s tiny form cupped in his hand was all the assurance Thomas needed to know that he was doing the right thing. Lane may not be able to see it yet, but maybe he could someday. He had put his friendship with Thomas over his desire to eat a human. That itself was a positive sign.

“I’m going to take her back to the border, we can talk after I get back to town.” Thomas stated, and with that he turned and left, Lane thankfully not attempting to pursue.

---

Tara was seated in the center of Thomas’s left palm, the giant’s other hand cupped in front of her to create a kind of barrier. As they had increased their distance from Lane, Thomas had transitioned from practically caging her in between his two hands, to at least now allowing her a little bit of breathing room.

So far, the journey to the border had been completely silent. Tara had no idea what to even say after everything that had happened, and Thomas apparently didn’t either. The silence hanging between them was beginning to become uncomfortable, and Tara was about to relent and just blurt out the first thing that came to mind, when Thomas finally spoke up. “Tara, I’m sorry.” The statement was simple, and yet caused her eyebrows to shoot up.

Turning around to face the giant, Tara tilted her head back to look at Thomas, only to be met with the underside of his jaw. He kept his eyes forward, but she could still make out a regretful frown on his face. His words had been genuine.

“My actions put you in danger.” The giant affirmed.

Tara gave a snort. “Yeah, they sure did.” She could see Thomas’s frown deepen as he gave a slight nod of understanding. “But,” Tara continued, “you did stand up to your friend for me, so I guess I can’t hate you completely.”

She was sure that if she ever recounted this story to any other humans, they’d never understand how she could not despise the giant that had caused her so many problems. And of course, Tara wasn’t about to join the Thomas fan club anytime soon. Yet, she couldn’t ignore the courage and kindness he had displayed when he protected her from Lane. Yesterday, she never would’ve imagined in a million years that a giant would not only refrain from eating her, but also willingly oppose their own friend for her sake.

These recent events were going to force Tara to reevaluate her views on giants. Thomas certainly seemed like an outlier, but surely he couldn’t be the only one. Lane had mentioned something about “human sympathizer nut jobs”, which seemed to suggest there were other giants who defied the norms. Perhaps giants were more human than she had thought?

The frown had faded slightly from Thomas’s face, though he still wore a serious expression. “Listen, I know that was a pretty bad first impression, but Lane really isn’t an evil person.” He insisted.

Tara held back a dry laugh. Lane was probably on the top of her list of least favorite people. Almost eating her proved worse than the former top spot holder’s offense of calling Tara a “vulgar swine.” Despite her clear dislike for the guy, she didn’t want to denigrate him directly to Thomas’s face. He clearly saw something redeemable in his friend, and while Tara couldn’t see it, she really did hope he was right. She knew that if it were her best friend, she would be giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” was all she said.

A few moments later, Tara began to notice the trees beginning to loom over her less and less. Soon, Thomas was wading through trees that reached his stomach. The sight of normal sized trees was like a breath of fresh air. She was eager to stop feeling so miniscule.

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to the border.” Thomas muttered.

From the tales she’d heard from her town’s scouts, there were times when giants would stand at the very edge of the border. These giants would apparently stare into human territory, and if they caught sight of one of the scouts, they would attempt to lure them over the border. Tara was glad to hear Thomas had never been among them.

A chuckle escaped her at the nervous look on the giant’s face. “Don’t worry, you’re not about to start getting shot with arrows.” She assured him. So long as Thomas never stepped a toe over the border, no human could cause him any harm.

Thomas’s gaze flicked down to Tara, a slightly abashed smile on his face. She smirked. It was almost endearing, the way something so massive could manage to appear so awkward and innocent.

It wasn’t long after that that the pair finally reached the border which separated giant and human territory. The boundary was distinctly marked by an extensive creek. It was shallow enough to easily wade through if need be, but thankfully they had arrived at a section with a few well placed stones that could be used to hop across.

“So that’s human territory, huh?” Thomas remarked, staring out at the land across the creek.

Tara gave a shrug, it wasn’t anything special, especially not this part, which was just a stretch of woods. Really, it wasn’t much different from the giants’ forest. Size was really the only major disparity.

“Hey,” Tara could feel the giant’s eyes back on her, “you never said why you were past the border in the first place.”

A rush of heat instantly began to warm her cheeks. The tale of how she’d wound up lost in giant territory wasn’t exactly a flattering one. However, she had a feeling Thomas wouldn’t stand for no response. “Primrose only grows on the other side of the border.” She started. “I only planned on going a little ways, but then a giant wolf came after me and chased me further in.”

Rather than the amused expression she had been expecting, Thomas was looking down at her with wide eyes. “That sounds terrifying.” He breathed. “Wolves are scary enough at normal size.”

Tara chuckled. “Not as terrifying as a giant person.” She meant the words sincerely, but she said them in a joking tone.

Thomas gave a sideways nod. “Fair enough.” He said, a small smile on his lips. There was a brief pause, and then, “I supposed I should put you down now, huh?” His disappointment at this prospect was evident. For whatever reason, the guy really seemed to like holding Tara. She, on the other hand, would be lying if she said she wasn’t eager to get out of giant hands.

Tara gave Thomas a shrug that said ‘well yeah, duh.’ The giant’s response was an over dramatic sigh before he moved his hands back a few inches from his chest. He then abruptly dropped into a crouch at a jarring speed. Tara involuntarily took a hold of Thomas’s nearby thumb to prevent herself from toppling over. A perfect example of why she was more than ready to be back on solid ground.

When Thomas looked down to see Tara clutching his thumb, his face morphed into the embodiment of the word ‘awww.’ She scowled back up at him and was quick to release her hold on the huge appendage. Her mother still sometimes called her cute despite her being fully grown, something Tara greatly disliked, so she certainly wasn’t going to take it from this giant. Seeing Tara’s grumpy face, Thomas was quick to try and wipe the expression off his face, although the soft smile remained.

“Move a little more slowly, would you?” She griped, crossing her arms over her chest.

A low chuckle came from the giant, but he nodded in understanding anyways. “Sure thing.” He then began to carefully lower the hand holding Tara down to the grass below. When the back of his hand was flush with the ground, Tara got to her feet and quickly hopped off of the warm palm. She took in a deep breath and blew it out, relieved to be mobile of her own accord once again.

With a grin on her face, Tara turned around to face Thomas. “Sheesh, I forgot how much bigger he looks when I’m down here.” She thought to herself as she stared up at the giant’s enormous figure. Even when he was crouched down, he still absolutely towered over her.

“Hey.” Thomas started, preventing Tara from dwelling on her growing size related anxiety. “I--I was wondering if maybe you might want to see each other again sometime…I could even bring you some primrose.”

The immediate answer that sprung to Tara’s mind was a resounding “no.” But, before she voiced it aloud, she stopped herself. The day’s events had proven one thing very clearly to her: giants were incredibly dangerous. Though she’d managed to escape with her life, she hadn’t come out unscathed. Tara’s shoulders still ached from where Lane had grabbed her earlier. However, she couldn’t pretend Thomas’s unexpected behavior hadn’t intrigued her a little. Plus his offer of bringing primrose was tempting. And, she had just thought of a way the two could talk safely, without any risk on Tara’s end.

While on very rare occasions humans would cross over the border as Tara had done, giants never did the same. For whatever reason, even the most vile giants seemed to obey the treaty to a T. For that reason, Tara figured it was safe to assume that Thomas would do the same. Therefore, if each party remained on their respective side of the border, in theory they could still converse with one another. It was something Tara would need to spend some time considering.

“I’ll think about it.” She told Thomas. “Come back in a week and check under that rock,” she pointed to a large stone behind the giant, “I’ll leave a note there with my answer.”

Thomas beamed down at her, clearly pleased he hadn’t been outright shut down by the human. It was amazing really, he was giving her the power to decide whether or not their relationship continued. It was something someone as big and powerful as him didn’t need to do, but in doing so, he showed that he had at least some respect for Tara’s autonomy. Definitely a good sign.

Tara made her way over to the edge of the creek closest to the path of stones. Not in the mood to get soaked, she carefully picked her way across, trying to ignore the giant eyes on her back. The moment her feet touched down on the grass on the other side, Tara could feel the muscles in her body relaxing. No longer was she in giant territory. She was back, safe and sound on her own side of the border.

When she turned back around to face Thomas, she could see him looking back at her with a gentle smile on his lips. He brushed strands of light brown hair away from his face, and as Tara took in his appearance, she was reminded how scarily human-like giants were. It would be far easier for humans to dismiss them as monsters if they had huge horns, or razor-sharp fangs. Now that she had met Thomas, it was now even more difficult to do so.

Holding her arms in front of herself, Tara returned Thomas’s smile, though hers was much less easy going than his. “Well, thanks for not eating me, I guess.” She said with an awkward chuckle.

Thomas made an amused sound in his throat. “You’re welcome.”

Lifting her gaze up to the sky, Tara noticed the sun was nearly halfway hidden beyond the horizon. Night would fall soon and she still had the walk back to town ahead of her. Not to mention there were probably some people wondering why her herb gathering trip was taking so unusually long. She still wasn’t sure what exactly she was going to tell her friends and family about her experience. It was something she’d have to mull over on the way home.

“So long, Thomas.” Tara gave a short wave.

“See you soon.” Thomas replied, a playful edge to his tone.

With that, Tara turned around and began the trek back to town. She didn’t feel the vibrations of retreating giant footsteps until the border was completely out of sight.

A/N I don't necessarily plan on making another part to the First Hunt per say, but I am making Tara, Thomas, and Lane official OCs on the blog. I'm thinking of taking story requests and prompts in the future, so if anyone wanted more of the First Hunt universe, perhaps that could be arranged 😜

#also my asks are always open #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t story #my writing #oc: Tara #oc: Thomas #oc: Lane #g/t community #vore mention

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prongsies · 5 years ago

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Flirt • Remus Lupin

PAIRING: Remus Lupin x Reader

REQUEST: Could I request a Remus x Reader? Reader is a well know witch and member of the order, which is how they met. She’s very suave, casually flirty, basically a female Sirius LOL. She has her sights set on Remus and they have both fallen for eachother but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her or something to that effect, so he’s dodging all her advances. However, shes pretty bold and persistent. Feel free to take creative liberty!! Thank you!! xx

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, mild language

________________________________________________________________

Being personally invited by the infamous Albus Dumbledore to be a member of the newly reformed Order of the Phoenix was an honor that you wouldn’t wish to reject. Being a member of the original Order before it disbanded, you were quite familiar with the risks it puts you in, especially now that you’re a renowned Auror.

“Oh, wow” You breathed out as you entered the household addressed Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Your eyes catch the rows of house-elf heads on the staircase walls, and the thick layer of dust on the furniture and fixtures, “This is a grim old place”

"You have my mother to thank for that" a voice joined you. You looked towards the threshold to what appears to be the kitchen, where Kingsley disappeared into. There stood a man, hair curling around his face, face sculpted by his goatee and the scruff of the rest of his beard growing around it. He offered a hand, "Sirius Black"

"(Y/f/n) (y/l/n)" you introduced, shaking his hand gently.

He walked aside to allow the other members to enter the room, stepping into the space in front of you with a glint in his eyes, "I'm surprised you didn't run at the sight of a mass murderer"

“Falsely-accused” You corrected, catching the smile forming on his face, “Kingsley filled me in on the way here - I do hope the Ministry does something about your case”

“I hope so too” He replied before motioning you to the threshold, allowing you in first as you prepared for the introductions about to come your way.

Everyone was gathered at a long table, all ceasing their conversations to welcome her as she walked in. “Over there are Molly and Arthur Weasley” Sirius stepped beside you, fingers brushing the small of your back while his other hand gestured towards the group of red-heads sitting the farthest. “Those are their children Bill and Charlie - the others are upstairs”

“I believe you’ve met Tonks, Kingsley, and our dearest Snivellus - I mean, Severus” He snickered silently at the glare sent his way, before turning to the last person sitting nearest you - a mousy-haired man with scars littering his face, “and that’s Remus Lupin”

He smiled a tired smile towards you, a handsome look on him, before his eyes darted towards the door where Albus Dumbledore strode in, carrying stacks of parchment in one hand while his other shut the door.

He welcomed you back warmly into the Order, asked how you’ve been after all those years, then proceeded to thank you for even considering rejoining. He proceeded to the main task at hand, assigning the missions, as he distributed the parchments towards all of you.

After the meeting, you were pulled aside by him, wanting to speak to you about private matters concerning the task he gave you. By the time you returned to the dining area, the table was already full of laughter from red-haired children (whom you could only assumed to be the Weasleys) as they watched Tonks morph her face into different animals.

“So (y/n)” Remus started when you chose a seat between him and Sirius, watching you as you started filling your plate. You turn towards him with both eyebrows raised questioningly, “Dumbledore mentioned you were in the first Order - how come I’ve never seen you before?”

“Oh, I was in between Auror training and Order missions then” You explained, taking your time to drink for your goblet, “I only returned to the headquarters to report back to Dumbledore and receive my next task - although a handsome man like you isn’t necessarily hard to miss”

“You’re clearly mistaken-”

“Not a chance!” You exclaimed, suddenly gaining the confidence as you straightened in your seat, “I remember you at Hogwarts before - a year above me. Always tucked in the corner of the library, you were, writing like you’re running out of time”

“An admirer” Sirius piped in, grinning.

“Clearly”

“How about me, though, (y/n)?” Sirius asked, playfully nudging your shoulder, “Did you happen to keep my devilishly handsome face in mind?”

“Eh,” You shrugged, “You have a really common face”

This erupted laughter from Sirius and Remus, and apparently from Bill too who had been watching the exchange in amusement.

As dinner concluded, you stayed behind to help Molly with the dishes, engaging in a conversation about the original Order where you’ve worked with her late brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Growing fond of you immediately, she insisted you stay the night, not wanting you to leave the house alone especially with how dark it is outside.

Tired from your trip, you thanked her with a soft hug and a kind smile, before bidding the others good bye and retreating towards your temporary room for a good night’s rest.

___

Remus couldn’t explain the flutter in his stomach upon seeing you the next morning, hair unkept as you tightened the knots on your robe. It was far too early more, the sun barely up as you joined him in the kitchen, watching as he cooked breakfast for everyone.

“Smells amazing” You cooed as the scent of eggs and sausages filled your senses, “Merlin, what can’t you do, Remus Lupin?”

“Be a normal person, I suppose” He replied, giving you a half-hearted smile and a chuckle to indicate that he was joking.

You were aware of his lycanthropy - it seemed everyone in the Ministry of Magic knew about it, after a student’s parent in Hogwarts had let it slip (Of course Remus knew who it could be, but he didn’t wish to give a shit about it anymore).

Turning back towards you, confused of your silence when he noticed your face softening. He immediately regretted making such a joke that could ruin the mood, but he was pleasantly surprised when you grinned at him.

“Who wants to be normal anyway?” You asked, making a move to wrap an arm around his and bring him closer. Seeing you smiling up at him made it impossible for him to fight his own grin back, his cheeks almost hurting. “Normal is boring - and you, Remus Lupin, are far from boring”

With that, you released him from your grip, greeting Molly Weasley good morning as she shooed the two of you away from the kitchen, wanting to continue cooking on her own.

As everyone descended the stairs one by one, chatting happily among themselves as they ate their breakfasts, you found yourself caught in a conversation with Fred and George Weasley, who were more than happy to show you their inventions until Molly interrupted them by giving them the task of cleaning out one of the rooms.

You, however, have been convinced by Molly to stay at least until the childrens’ start of term, clearly loving having you around the house. Although hesitant, you agreed, roping Remus along to accompany you to Diagon Alley so you could purchase some extra supplies since you’ll be an extra head in the house.

He walked alongside you the whole time, keeping his distance yet allowing his fingers to brush your knuckles as your arms swayed. While he was busy, you couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty - eyes scanning over each scar that has silvered with age. They were a story of bravery, as you believed, how brave he is to conquer everyday despite his illness.

Catching you staring up at him, he couldn’t help but blush but he soon turned his face away from you, walking ahead and leaving you in the middle of the alley.

___

Eventually, your days in Grimmauld Place turned into weeks, and before you knew it, it was the night before you were to set out on your mission. To say you were nervous is an understatement, mainly because you’d be carrying out the most crucial of the missions Dumbledore had assigned - a mission that should lay out the foundations for the ones that should follow.

Being an Auror poses more risks as well, since there’s a high chance you’ve been the cause of many of the Death Eaters’ family’s imprisonment - and believe me when I say they can hold a deep grudge.

You found yourself unable to sleep, thoughts plaguing your mind about what may happen to you. You pushed your blanket away from you, putting on your slippers are you tried to go down the stairs as quietly as you can - until a floorboard creaked loudly underneath you.

“Well, that proved useless” You muttered under your breath before descending in a normal fashion. A chuckle sounded from behind you, startling you to the point where you’ve pulled out your wand from your pocket, aiming it towards the source.

It was Remus, watching you in amusement as you scoffed in his direction. Hiding your wand back into your robe, you continued your journey towards the kitchen, ignoring him as he mumbled an apology under his breath.

“I’m surprised you’re not flirting with me” He said, still watching you as you cast a silencing charm on the kettle so it wouldn’t make any noise and wake anyone.

Placing it over the heat, you turned towards Remus who was leaning against the table, eyes studying you as you placed two mugs beside him.

“I’m surprised you recognized flirting” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him as he stared back at you with a smirk, “from how the last weeks had gone, you’ve been nothing but avoidant”

“You know, you’re very straight-forward” He strayed away from the topic, moving closer towards you until you’re shoulder to shoulder.

“Life’s too short not to say what you want”

“You remind me of Sirius far too much”

“As Molly had also said”

“Why don’t you pursue him instead?”

“Because I like you” You turned to him, a smile on your face as you stared up at him, seeing doubt cloud his eyes, but you were quick to place a hand on him in reassurance, “I like you - not Sirius, not... anyone else. You. It’s not that hard to understand”

“You don’t even know me” He mumbled, looking away, “I’m a monster - I’m a monster and I-”

“You’re not a monster - hey, look at me” You stepped in front of him, taking ahold both his cheeks so he meets your eyes again, “You’re not a monster. You’ve never been one and you never will be one. You’re Remus Lupin - a kind, generous man who gives as much as he can give. You’re adorably grumpy in the mrnings but you try to smile nonetheless, you snore even when you nap”

He chuckled at that, hands now coming up to cup your forearm as he relaxed into you.

“You’ve got an immense love for everyone around you - and a special and more intense kind of love for chocolate. You’re a fierce and selfless friend, and it’s an absolute honor that I’m allowed to even look at you every single day”

Remus was almost teary as you concluded your statement, his hands falling onto your waist as he looked at you with so much trust it made your heard want to burst out of your chest. He started leaning in, eyes closed, lips brushing yours softly - just a little more.

Until he opened his eyes. He pulled away, a look flashing in his orbs as he blinked a few times before he pulled away, body rigid. He stepped away from you as if you had burnt him, distancing himself to the point where he’s practically standing across the room. And without another word, he left, leaving you in the silence of the kitchen.

___

The ticking of the clock has been bothering Remus for ages as he sat on an armchair near the entrance, foot tapping against the floor in anticipation for your arrival. It had been more than a month since you left for your mission - which lasted longer than it should’ve.

No one had updates from you in fear of being exposed, and well, in that time span, guilt had bubbled into Remus’ stomach. You didn’t really leave off in good terms, since Remus walked out on you that night.

The morning after, you ignored him as you bid everyone farewell, taking your time with the Weasley children who seemed to grow very close to you.

Shouts echoed through the entrance hallway as the door slammed open. It was Kingsley, holding you up as you coughed out blood. Sirius was the first down the stairs, followed by Arthur who immediately screamed out for Molly’s aid.

With Remus’ help you were placed gently onto the sofa, wincing as you applied pressure over the wound that had continued bleeding.

“What happened?” Remus asked, turning to Kingsley whose robes were damp with blood, “Does Dumbledore know? Does-”

“He knows” Kingsley said, managing to remain calm as everyone fussed around you - Sirius coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water while Arthur sends a message out to the rest of the Order members. “She-she managed to do it but there were a tad bit of complications”

“Tad bit?!” Remus exclaimed, “How is- how is this a tad bid?! She’s bleeding out for Merlin’s sake-”

“Remus” Your voice called out.

His features immediately soften as he turned to you, seeing you beckoning him over as Molly finished up tending to you. Everyone understood to leave you two alone, all of them disappearing into the dining area to talk as they wait for Dumbledore to arrive.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better” You chuckled, wincing when you tried to straighten up. “Might’ve ran into a few snatchers on the way back, it’s nothing serious really”

“I was so worried about you” He mumbled after a few beats of silence, kneeling down to be at eye level with you as he held both your hands. “We didn’t- we didn’t really left things at the right foot”

“Well, you did embarrass me by leaving me in the middle of the kitchen” You teased, smiling when you see the faint blush forming on his cheeks, “But now that I think about it I might have come off a bit strong. I apologize, it certainly won’t happen again”

“No! I mean- I mean, no please don’t stop” He turned even redder.

You stared at him, a smirk forming on your lips, “You like it when I flirt with you, don’t you?”

“Yes” He shamefully admitted, biting back the grin forming on his lips, “Yes, I do”

“Well, you could’ve said something earlier before I set out on a mission!” You laughed, wincing again at the pain in your stomach, “I thought we would end up avoiding each other awkwardly for eternity after this”

“well, we could if you want”

“Sod off, Remus”

“I know it’s the wrong time to ask you this, with you in that state and the war going on” He started, his grip on your hand tightening, “But I’d really love it if we could start over? Maybe go on a few dates?”

“And fuck?” You suggested playfully, earning a laugh from him.

“And fuck” He added, nodding.

“Well, then,” You leaned down to give him a gentle peck on his cheek, “I’d love that Remus Lupin”

#remus lupin #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #marauders #marauders imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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istgimamess · 4 years ago

Text

Reaction: [ S t r a y K i d s ] finding out their s/o is a [ S u p e r n a t u r a l C r e a t u r e ]

"...hi it's the anon from yesterday! so I'm not sure what way you do your reactions but something i haven't seen yet but would like to is a reaction to finding out that either their s/o or friend, whichever you'd prefer, is a supernatural creature (like werewolf, fae, witch, shape shifter, mermaid, demon, angel, anything really) for stray kids!

let me know if I didn't give you info that you need for a reaction or... if there are any problems with my request, I'm kind of shooting blindly since you don't have rules or anything right? so yea, i hope this is fine tho..."

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[ C h a n ] finds out you’re an [ A n g e l ]

His initial reaction: [ C o n c e r n e d ]

^ he’s logical, fair and patient—he’s known for having a logical minds and a fair judgment. He strives for fairness and justice constantly. This makes him a wonderful mediator. He’ll analyze every situation with his little legal eagle brain and logical mind; with the help of that he can organize all things well and eliminate the irrelevant. So when you finally admit to being an angel, show him your wings, he’ll most like keep quiet.

^ also, he’s a great listener—he’ll most definitely listen to your side of the story before making any irrational decisions about your relationship. This goes back to his logical, fair and patient way of thinking; he’ll most likely just sit there quietly and let you do the talking, the explaining. ^ he soaks up all the ideas and information around him like a big brainy sponge. He hates conflicts and confrontations and always watches his words while communicating, talking in a way as to not offend you. When he finally does say something, his words will be well thought out, calculated.

^ he always knows a lot more than he lets on, most likely he already knew you were abnormal—a bit different—from the very start of your relationship. And he was just waiting for you to get comfortable enough to admit it to him, to officially let him in on the secret.

^ he’s very understanding. He’s very thoughtful and interprets things that most people miss out on. This will be beneficial to you when you begin to try and explain to him why you kept this a huge secret for such a long time. He’ll see that it, your unwillingness to tell anybody your origin story, has nothing to do with him not being worthy of knowing. He won’t take it personally.

^ he’ll tell you like it is, straight up, because he’s an honest and upfront person. He’ll wait until you’ve finished explaining and when you question him on his thoughts and feelings in the moment, he won’t sugar coat it—which can be both good and bad.

^ but, also, he can smell bullshit from a mile away. If you omit any significant details, or lie in any way, he will catch on almost instantly. And he won’t be happy.

^ he’s loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of you; finding out you’re an angel won’t change that. If anything, he’ll feel even more protective of both you and your secret. ^ he’ll forgive but never forget. Even though he won’t show it on the surface, he’ll be extremely hurt that it took you so long to tell him. Logically he knows it has nothing to do with him, but emotionally it will feel like you just don’t trust him enough. He’ll forgive you for keeping such a monumental secret, but he’ll never forget that feeling. But once he listens to your story, does his own research, his concern for you will outweigh those hurt feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I did some research,” he trailed off, you jerked at the echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room.

“Research? On what?” you gaze over at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You. Well, angel’s in general, but mostly you.” his voice is much lower, the silence drags on for a moment too long. It’s suddenly stifling.

“And?” you breath out, still caught off guard.

“What does Éloa mean?” he questions, taking a step around the bed to face you, get a better look. You narrowed your gaze, heart suddenly in your throat. How did he find that name? Did he know? Was he just testing you? You take a deep breath, eyes dropping down to the carpet beneath his bare feet. You decide to just answer him, literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” He tilts his head, contemplatively. And there is something dangerous in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” you pull the blanket closer to you, resisting the sudden urge to spread your wings, stretch them wide and flee. “Was he a fallen angel?” his eyes are darker now, assessing, he definitely knows. You know he knows. So why wasn’t he saying? “She was, yes.” you hesitate, not wanting to give too much of your past away, but unable to stop yourself. “Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven.” “Tricked her how?” he was still standing above you, he wouldn’t approach you, hasn’t since the night he caught you in full form. You meet his gaze. “She fell in love with him.” His eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a grimace. How disgusting must it feel to find out your girlfriend is not only a fallen angel, but also a fallen angel who was once in love with Lucifer. You shrink, your wings drawing in closer to your body. “Did he love her?” Like an addict loves his addiction, you think, bitterly.. “The only way he knew how.” He must have been able to see the pain in your eyes because, for a moment, pure concern crossed his features. He shook his head, schooling his expression once again. “How could he trick her?” “He never told her his name.” you whisper, your voice breaking. And suddenly he wasn’t across the room, standing above you at a distance—he was right in front of you, knee on the bed, arms around your shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” He reached forward to cup your cheek, the touch surprising you. "Please understand that no matter what you are or what has happened in your past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life."

You exhaled after holding your breath for what felt like forever, tears spilling over in excess. "That's pretty heavy, Chan." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of your neck, thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ C h a n g b i n ] finds out you’re a [ W e r e w o l f ]

His initial reaction: [ C u r i o u s ] ^ he’s kind and protective. He feels responsible and is always willing to help you out when you’re in need. He will go to great lengths to make sure that you feel loved and you’re happy. He will always stand up for the underdog, (no werewolf pun intended.) This is beneficial to you because his compassionate heart will win out over his logical mindset.

^ he’s extremely loyal. If there’s one trait imbedded in him, it is his loyalty. He physically won’t be able to turn his back on you—werewolf or not.

^ he’s also very honest. He tends to be extremely direct and straightforward with you. He gives honest feedback to you when you ask for it. He would never speak a white lie just to avoid conflict, or be deemed reasonable, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him bottling up his true thoughts, opinions and emotions on the subject.

^ that being said, his honesty often comes off as excessive bluntness. Therefore, at first, you might catch some heat in that department.

^ he, at times, can be very inflexible. When he has committed to something, in this case a way of thinking, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stick to that way of thinking. Regardless of how much proof he has in front of him, it will be difficult to convince him otherwise—especially when he grew up believing that werewolves were myth, not real.

^ once he has a significant amount of proof, though, he’ll be insanely curious on the matter and his crazy sense of humor will resurface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, are you an alpha? An omega? Do you turn when you feel threatened?” his wide eyes, his random questioning—it all catches you off guard.

“I’m considered a dominant amongst my pack. And, yes, I guess I would if I felt threatened.” you nod slowly, holding his gaze. You’re the werewolf here, the freak of nature, but this boy—this human—is the weird one.

“What’s a dominant? Are they more important than a submissive?” he crawls closer to you, his jeans catching on the carpet beneath you.

“Not necessarily. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting themselves: they can fight, they can kill as readily as any other. They are a treasure in a pack, just as important. A source of purpose and of balance.” you catch yourself quoting your great grandmother, the very first female dominant in your pack, a rare, smart, capable wolf.

“Then why does the dominant wolf exist? If a submissive wolf is just as capable, just as important, why make the distinction?” he interjects, your baffled at his level of curiosity.

“Because even through submissives are just as capable and important, they’re very different. It’s a dominants job to protect those beneath them.” you pause momentarily, watch a multitude of expressions cross his face. “Protecting a submissive is far more rewarding because a submissive will never wait until you are wounded or your back is turned to see if you are truly dominant to them. Submissive wolves can be trusted. And they unite the pack with the goal of keeping them safe and cared for.”

There is a long moment where you just stare at each other, his eyes glazed over, a childlike expression on his face. “So you’re a werewolf trapped in a human body?”

You stifle a laugh, unable to control your facial expression. "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition."

"No, really. You’re trapped?” his eyes widen slightly, he leans forward, anticipating your answer.

"Oh? Are you trying to ask me the last time I shifted?" you voice, confusion written all over your face.

“Yes.” he nods enthusiastically. You briefly debate telling him about the traffic incident, but ultimately decide against lying.

“On your birthday.” you admit, sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic and I was running late.” you trail off, suddenly awkward. But then he laughs, big and loud, throwing his head back.

“That’s so cool! I want to be a werewolf. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" he smiles wide. And you roll your eyes, shake your head in pseudo disappointment. “Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?”

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[ H y u n j i n ] finds out you’re a [ M e r m a i d ]

His initial reaction: [ P r a c t i c e d ]

^ he’s very empathetic with a lively imagination and a friendly disposition. He has a boundless capacity for empathy even with those who he barely sees eye to eye with. This is great for you because, even if he is initially angry that you kept such a secret from him, he’ll still empathize with your situation, your story.

^ he’s more emotional than your average guy. He is intune and prone to the infectious emotion of those around him. If he see tears, he will likely cry. If he can sense hurt in your voice, it will sadden him also.

^ he will love you unconditionally no matter what or who you are. ^ he’s selfless and generous. No matter how big the secret, how hurt he is from your omission, he will always be there when you need someone. Because he is so practiced in the idea that he can’t live without you, he will always show up when you need him.

^ that being said, because of his idealistic nature, you can often find him walking alone. He can be overly trusting and it often leaves him feeling betrayed, hurt and vulnerable. He might view your lack of openness, truthfulness, as a betrayal within your relationship. And that might make conversation with him, for a while, very stilted. He’ll seem impassive at first, but he will eventually warm back up to you.

^ he’s not one to give up easily. He puts in the work to get what he wants in life and he won’t let it slide away without a fight. He won’t let you go over something like this, not after he’s just got you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There, with bare feet and drenched hair, you were crouched like a child. Upon hearing him approach, you looked up, peered into his dark, hesitant eyes. You wore only an enormous men’s sweater, his sweater—with no extravagant pattern or color, the sweater was a dull beige. Your knees were pulled up inside of it, thin pale ankles peeking out from underneath. The wool sweater alone was dry, as the rest of your head, hands, and feet were as wet as if you’d just been pulled from drowning. Tiny rivers flowed off your hair and pooled on the wool sweater, leaving it dark in splotches. Water droplets glistened on your skin, not running off, as though they couldn’t quite bear to leave you. His eyes held yours in a way his hands did not. His empathetic gaze schooled, his expression practiced, controlled.

“So...a mermaid?” you twist your head the other direction, his voice breaking your concentration momentarily. At this he took a sudden step forward, as if compelled. He had caught a glimpse of pink gills under your chin, his busy eyes dancing along your neck with a new found curiosity. You became overwhelmingly self conscious, tucking your chin, keeping your neck hidden from his view. It had always taken your gills longer to disappear than your tail.

“My mother told me stories of mermaids. She said they sometimes sing to humans to lure them underwater.” his voice trailed off, momentarily. “But you have a horrible voice.” your gaze snaps up, catching the mischievous look in his eye, his grin.

His teasing catches you off guard, you fumble with your words, “Yeah, well...I've been practicing. Want to hear?” you glare at him, halfheartedly.

He lets out a soft laugh, “I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid too...or at least, I was a mermaid in a past life.” he crouches down, he’s much closer to you now.

“Are you in pain?” you choke out, the idea of him hurting, in any way, unbearable to you. You don’t know why you asked that, he’s obviously just joking—keeping a steady conversation with you, trying to keep you calm.

“Pain? Why would I be in—” he trails off, eyes snapping in your direction. “Wait, are you in pain?” the absolute, genuine concern in his voice has you pulling up short. Your breathing shallow.

“Mermaids hurt when we’re in human form.” you admit, quietly, eyes glued to the rocks on the horizon.

“But...but you never look like you’re in pain, you’re always smiling, always so...graceful—” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowed. It’s as if he’s angry at himself for not catching on to your discomfort much sooner. “What does it feel like?”

“When your tail divides and shrinks until it becomes legs, it’s very painful. It feels as if a sharp sword is slashing through you. Everyone who sees a mermaid on legs will say that they are the most graceful human being they’ve ever laid eyes on—” you remember, vividly, all the times you were complemented for your gliding movement; not even a seasoned dancer is able to tread as lightly as you. “But every step you take feels as if you are treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow.”

There is silence, the ocean waves brushing against the sand, caressing the shore—it’s the only noise you hear for a moment.

“Then shall I take you home and put you in the bathtub?” his unsystematic question is enough to pull you out of your thoughts completely, his brand of humor easily calming you in your panicked state. You’re suddenly very thankful.

“How do you always know just what to say?" you ask, a smile on your lips. His laugh rumbles through you as he puts his arm around your damp shoulders. "Practice, I guess."

You pull back and give him a quizzical look.

"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging you closer. “I should hope I know what to say now that I've finally got you.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J i s u n g ] finds out you’re a [ D e m o n ]

His initial reaction: [ B e w i l d e r e d ]

^ he’s very intelligent and he’s always ready to expand his knowledge reserves. He usually has a systematic approach to life, he always ensures that he doesn’t miss any loophole behind. So when he finds out about you being a demon, he’s both bewildered and inquisitive.

^ he’s usually very calm and collected on the surface. But underneath he has a great intensity that demands he bring order to his world. He struggles with the need to rearrange his frantic interior beneath the calm exterior until everything is perfect. This might make him seem more freaked out, frightened, than he actually is.

^ he is highly patient with you and always tries to find the good in everything around him. So in reality, even though he initially seems frazzled at your confession, he will actually give you enough time to fix up your act—explain yourself—when need be.

^ he can, at times, be very judgmental. He tends to appraise and judge people based on one particular viewpoint in that person’s life—especially if he doesn’t know that person well enough. That being said, your relationship is solid enough to outlast his initial judgment.

^ he can also be very fussy, as sometimes he gets lost in the details. His strong likes and dislikes make him quite finicky at first. And he’ll definitely feel some type of way that you kept him in the dark for so long. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ All the demons of Hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. As each subsequent civilization became a dominant power, among its first acts was to depose and demonize whoever the previous culture had worshipped. The Jews attacked Belial, the god of the Babylonians. The Christians banished Pan and Loki, the respective deities of the ancient Greeks and Celts. The Anglican British banned belief in the Australian aboriginal spirits known as the Mimi. Satan is depicted with cloven hooves because Pan had them, and he carries a pitchfork based on the trident carried by Neptune. As each deity was deposed, it was relegated to Hell. For gods so long accustomed to receiving tribute and loving attention, of course this status shift put them into a foul mood.

And when Hell, itself, was in a foul mood, demons—specifically the ones planted here on earth—got the brunt of it. So to say you were in a bad mood would be an understatement. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision on your part to agree to speak with Jisung about your origins in that moment.

“It’s not fair.” his voice wavers, the emotional confrontation taking a toll on him.

“What, that I’m a demon or that you managed to date me?” you bit out, tersely. “Don’t.” his voice was abruptly dark.

“No, you’re right, it’s not fair—but what makes earth feel like Hell is your expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. Good is rarely good and bad is always bad. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset.” you snap back at him, voice just as dark.

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me now?” his eyes narrow.

“How miserably hypocritical,” you respond with a growl. “You think it’s such a burden for you to be tricked into dating the devils servant? What about the burden of me being me?” your voice is much lower now, your practically spitting venom in his direction. “No sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay.”

“I didn’t want this.” his dark eyes, his bewildered gaze reflecting a huge amount of regret.

“Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his—or her—coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. That’s what I did, I pursued you, I desired you. Anything beyond that is your fault.” you turn, ready to flee out the door, the overwhelming urge to hurt something, someone, frightening you.

“My fault!? Is it my fault that I want you? That I want that feeling of standing with you against all odds and succeeding? That I want it so bad, I’d risk destroying everything I’ve worked for?” he spits at your back, crossing the room in a long stride to block your path to the door. “Is that my fault? I should walk away. But all I want to do is follow you, out that door, down the street, all the way back to hell.” his fists are clenched, his face red, you’ve never seen him so frustrated—with you or himself. “What the hell am I doing, falling in love with a demon?” His sudden confession almost knocks you from your feet. Anger and confusion painting his face.

“You love me?” you whisper in a fit of shock.

“Yes.” he whispers right back, voice matching yours, as if his own confession shocked him as well.

“Enough to follow me all the way to hell?” you’re baffled.

“Well, according to Google, 98.3 percent of lawyers end up in Hell. That's in contrast to the 23 percent of farmers who are eternally damned. Some 45 percent of retail business owners are Hellbound, and 85 percent of computer software writers.” he hums to himself, pausing in thought. “Perhaps a trace number of musicians ascend to Heaven, but statistically speaking, 100 percent of them are cast into the fiery pit. As are essentially 100 percent of journalists and redheads.” he finishes with a satisfied nod. “Readheads?” you cock your eyebrow, completely thrown by the turn of conversation.

“What? I told you! I googled it.” he smiles, oddly proud of himself.

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[ F e l i x ] finds out you’re a [ V a m p i r e ]

His initial reaction: [ P l a y f u l ]

^ like Jisung, he’s appears very calm and collected on the surface; he will struggle with his external facade and his internal need demanding order. This might make him seem very impassive in the moment, as he tends to shut down when confronted with mixed and conflicting emotions.

^ he has an analytical mind that can see things in black and white. He is capable of finding solutions to tough problems, always. He has a keen attention to detail, and likes to absorb everything before making a decision. So he will probably, like Chan, be very quiet and expressionless during your confession.

^ he has a very clever mind. And he will go through all possible elements of thinking before making any decision—so you won’t have to worry about fear, disgust or uncertainty driving him to make an impulsive decision about your relationship.

^ he’s very honest with you, he will always tell you exactly how he feel about you—to your face. He doesn’t like to sugar coat his words. For him, honesty is the best policy, even if the truth hurts. So when he does settle his mind, his inner conflict, enough to respond to you articulately—you might experience some unintentional savagery, but it most definitely will not last for long.

^ he’s pretty old school, a bit conservative and old fashioned. He’s not really into modern changes and prefers things in their old traditional ways. This is beneficial to you, in the given situation, because you are much much older than you seem. Your aura brings that old fashioned feel, and he will still appreciate that—even after realizing why.

^ once he wraps his head around the concept, around the idea of you being a vampire and living off of blood, he’ll be extremely playful. He’ll love to tease you, and honestly, he’s the type to be into a little blood play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah, I get it, you're a vampire," he said. "Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit."

"You don't mean that." you gape in his direction. "Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma." You blink once, twice, and it’s as if you’ve never seen him before. “You what?"

"Like. You." Felix enunciated slowly, as if you might not know the words. "Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? We’re literally dating." he sounded cool and grown-up about it, but you saw the hectic color in his cheeks, under the moonlight.

"How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs?" he sniffs, eyes darting around him, never really settling on you.

"I guess I...I just thought.... I don’t know. I just didn't think...You're kind of intimidating, you know." you finally admit. "I'm intimidating? Me? You’re the vampire here!” he spluttered out. "You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that power, and you look... Well, you know how you look."

"How do I look?" you were fascinated now, you moved a little closer to him on the couch. He laughed nervously. "Oh come on. You're a total model-babe."

"You're kidding." you deadpan, completely caught off guard.

"You don't think you are?" he shot back at you, side eyeing your expression. You shook you head."Then you're kind of an idiot. Smart, but an idiot." he crossed his arms, momentarily lost in though. “So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?” he questioned after a moment of silence.

“I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting?” your the one tripping over your words now. If you were capable of blushing, you’d be beet red. “I think you’re kind of beautiful...for a human. And really, really strange.” You look away, keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

“Beautiful? But I’m a boy.” he whines.

“Boys can be beautiful too, it’s not subjective to one gender. Besides, beauty is a state of being—it’s inside—not just physical attractiveness.” you reprimand him for his narrow mindedness.

He smiled and looked down, the color in his face deepened. “Thanks for that,” he murmured, “I thought you only considered me to be bratty.”

“Well, to be fair, you are bratty.” you smile, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey!” he gasps, affronted.

“What? You can be bratty and beautiful,” you shot back, repeating yourself once more. “I think it’s interesting.” There was a beat of silence, “So, your not scared of me? You don’t hate me?” you whispered into the dark room. Before he could even open his mouth to reply, you continue, “I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those would hold a candle to the pain I’d feel if you hated me, if you were scared.”

His dark eyes find you in the light of the moon, his hand reaching out to intertwine with your. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it once more—as if trying to articulate his feelings properly, as if trying to find the words. “That's pretty hot," his deep voice carries in the otherwise quiet room.

"What? Me being staked?" you admonished, unprepared for the turn of conversation.

"Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." he wiggled his eyebrows in your direction, his voice playful, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you squeezed his hand, “I'm sure you are.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J e o n g i n ] finds out you’re a [ N y m p h ]

His initial reaction: [ D e l i g h t e d ]

^ he’s incredibly open-minded and tends to think and do things differently than others. He thinks for himself and likes to keep an open mind about all things. He’s not the type to judge a book by its cover. So you won’t need to worry about any judgment being thrown your way.

^ he’s a true free spirit, meaning any attempts to keep him from being who he really is will make him turn away. This is great, because he has learned to treat others as he wishes to be treated; he won’t ask you to suppress who you are, or change in any way, for the fear that you might do the same to him.

^ he’ll most likely need some space and freedom to work through his thoughts on your unusual upbringing. However, he will be very vocal about exactly why he needs space, as to avoid any miscommunication. He would never up and leave you for being open and honest with him and he wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

^ like Jisung, he is also quite the intellectual. He can amaze anyone with his original ideas; this is great because, right off the bat, he will be so overwhelmed with curiosity, overflowing with questions, he won’t have the time to be upset with you.

^ sure, he’s a bit of an intellectual rebel and he will loudly defend his opinions, but he’s also willing and open to learning. Ultimately, telling him you’re a forest nymph will be like telling him you had grapefruit for breakfast. He has a great power to form and understand abstract concepts and conform and adapt to new information like he’s known it his whole life—like it’s no big deal.

^ he’ll be delighted with your honesty, insanely curious and extremely playful.

^ he’s also very stubborn at times. It is often hard to change his mind about something once it is set for. But you’re close enough to actually succeed in this area, an area which others have failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up sudden—a chill crawling down your spine—in a puddle of cool sunlight. Your hands asleep beside you, your hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth. Frost grows on the window glass, forming whirlpool patterns of lovely translucent geometry, and you stare up, momentarily forgetting where you are. Sitting up slowly, you lean forward and breath on the glass, giving the frost more ammunition. Now the winter nymphs can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see them moving in, ready to do their seasonal damage to your lovely forest, to your home. That’s when you hear it, a shift in the cool grass. And suddenly he’s right there, crouched down beside you. He rocks forward, and hisses in an attempt to scare you out of your thoughts. But you knew he was there the entire time, you could sense his presence. He could never truly sneak up on you in the forest, not with the many trees and plants and animals—the many eyes and ears.

You turn to him, with a bored expression, “Really? That’s all you got?”

You stretch your wings, hear their crackle, as a show of complete content.

“Not fair! How did you know? I was really quiet this time!” he pouts, whining about how unfair it is. “Also, why are you out here? It’s kind of cold.” he finally sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

You shrug your shoulders, resisting the urge to smile. There’s a pause, a beat of silence, where you both gaze up at the outer side of the house; the windows covered in frost catching your attention, yet again. And then you feel his gaze on you.

“It’s nice.” he whispers and you turn your head to face him, confused.

“That you exist.” he smiles at you and you feel your heart drop.

“I think humans don’t want merely to see beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words—” he cuts himself off, momentarily, watching your face carefully. “We want to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to become part of it. I think that’s why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” he trails off again, and you’re left speechless. His dark eyes catching on the curves and lines of your face. And then the moment is broken, he looks away, back up at the frost bitten windowsill. But your heart still thumps in your throat. “And this is nice," he begins with a sigh. "Like...one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is drawing the gods and goddesses." your eyes follow his gaze back up to the windowsill, you see that he’s referring to the intricate designs hidden within the frost. Winter nymphs have a tendency to hide such patterns, such art, in their work.

You hum in agreement. “And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated human," you said teasingly.

"I am a student," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.”

"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he adds, in after thought.

You laugh. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left yours. And you found you couldn’t look back, and not blush. He reached over, delicately pulling you into his side—it was only then that you realized how closely he held you, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought you almost eye to eye with him.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries." he chortled, delighted.

You tucked your chin into the wool of his coat. "It's cold," you said, defensively. He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”

“I find that really offensive.” you grumble in response, the forest nymph and fairy blood in you disliking the comparison all together. He laughs, warmly, and pulls you even closer. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ S e u n g m i n ] finds out you’re a [ W i t c h ]

His initial reaction: [ R e l u c t a n t ]

^ he’s highly reliable, it’s in his blood to keep up with commitments. People often completely rely on him to complete complicated tasks with efficiency and perfection as he is naturally very rational. It’s that rational side of his mind that will force him to listen to your explanation to the end.

^ he would never, consciously, let you down; he consistently gives his best to meet your expectations. He’s the first to answer your call and the last to leave a situation when you’re in need. This will be beneficial to you as he will be compelled to stop, listen and hear you out.

^ like Felix, he is extremely analytical. He will think everything through—weighing the options, good and bad—before making a decision about your relationship.

^ at first he’ll be quite reluctant, hesitant and unwilling to budge in his prejudice. It’s something he can’t help, growing up believing witches are evil, dark, dangerous and manipulative. But deep down he knows you, and this will be all he needs to encourage understanding and acceptance.

^ he’s a problem solver. He likes to tackle problems of close ones and the people around him. At first it might seem like he’s trying to control the situation, but you will soon realize that he is only analyzing your situation to find ways of helping you improve your life.

^ he can be critical at times, overly demanding. It’s because he already has a clear picture in his mind about how things should be done. But he’s also open to change, and once he comes to terms with your witchy ways, he will become the most supportive boyfriend you could ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “So tell me about it,” he interjected, pulling you away from your inner dialogue.

“What?” you look up from your study table, eyes meeting his across the room.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Do you practice Black Magic? Have you ever put me under a spell?” his face is blank, expressionless, but his voice gives away his anger and confusion.

“There is no such thing as White Magic or Black Magic.” you turn you head away from him, unable to accept him being so cold and cruel to you. “If you are participating in magic, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. And just like life, it’s not black and white, all good or all bad.” you trail off, your stomach in knots. It’s best to be truthful, you know this, but it hurts you to think that something like this could damage you relationship. Or worse, end it. You feel the telltale signs of tears forming in your eyes, the heat almost unbearable.

“And no, I’ve never—I would never use it on you.” there is a brief silence and despite him approaching you, stepping much closer, you resolutely keep your eyes lowered.

“Can you tell me about them?” his voice was much softer now, much too close. You look up into his eyes and realize he’s referring to the plants on your bed side table. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, slowly stand up from the chair and turn towards your bed.

“These are tropical palms. They bring strong solar energy into your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities.” you trail off, carefully watching his expression. “This right here is African violet, and it’s associated with love and magic. But I use it because it’s vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Lunar energy is most important to those in my coven.” you whisper, the vivid memory of your grandmother and aunt surrounding themselves, filling their homes, with African violets almost brings tears to your eyes. “Aloe is associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves. They’re cooling and healing.” you continue on, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing.

Finally you turn to the last plant, your moms personal favorite. “The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house. It also bestows blessings on anyone who smells it.” You wait for him to say something, still avoiding his unnerving stare, unsure you want to even see his reaction.

“This stuff? These plants? They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?” his voice is barely there, a whisper, but his words still have the same affect. You blink, once, twice, and the tears you were so set on holding back, fall.

Suddenly he’s there, pulling you closer to him, guiding your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. His warm embrace is enough to comfort you by itself but he still whispers to you, “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m not mad. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.” And, for once, you truly believe it.

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[ M i n h o ] finds out you’re a [ S h a p e s h i f t e r ]

His initial reaction: [ E n t h r a l l e d ]

^ he’s focused and competitive. When he wants something he just goes for it. Also, when he sets his sight on something (you) he allows very few things to get in his way and does anything to achieve his goal (to be with you.) This focus, this competitive nature, will keep him present and attentive during your confession.

^ he’s also extremely brave and daring. He isn’t afraid of challenges in life, so what appears to be a crazy risk to more conservative people is just a normal day for the brave-hearted Minho. Because of this, he won’t be afraid. When you tell him, show him, what you really are—he’ll be more enthralled than fearful or confused.

^ one of the great things about Minho is his loyalty to you. He values trust and honesty making him a fiercely loyal boyfriend, and he expects you to be the same way. That being said, he most likely will be upset that you felt the need to keep such a secret. But he will quickly get over it, dismiss those feelings, once he realizes just how honest you’re being with him in the present. ^ he respects you and treats you with amazing loyalty, generosity and kindness. Him finding out you’re a shapeshifter definitely will not change that.

^ however, it most likely will take him a hot second to be content within your relationship dynamic again, as a part of him perceived your lack of truthfulness as disloyalty. There's a pretty good chance that your actions will cause some big-time resentment to him, at least for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s okay, I mean if you want to, if you need to—” he trails off, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m okay with it.”

You look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of your soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciated and transformed. So you let yourself go.

You groan as your limbs lessen into shorter proportions and your neck stretches. Auburn-coloured fur emerged upon your fevered skin, and the sounds of your bones cracking, shifting in an echo around the cold mountain side. Your snout elongates and your teeth sharpen.

You were panting and, with one last shudder, your body slides from human to fox in a crack. Minho stood there, face drawn up in a twisted expression full of empathetic pain, watching the frost dissipate on your hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. In this form, the world was sharp and clear, he was sharp and clear. You never realized how many different colors of shadow there were, how the angles of his face cast such an array of shade. It made you savor the dark beauty of the cold evening even more.

Minutes passed by—him staring at you, and you staring at him—both of you almost caught in a trance. When a little blue butterfly fluttered up to you, and landed on your snout. You blinked at it and it fluttered to your ear; it was winter, cold and lifeless on the mountain side, why were there suddenly butterflies? A big yellow butterfly gently floats over and lands on your paw, and as if reading your mind, Minho cocks his head to the right, “Well, that’s different.”

Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down around you, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened once before, in your backyard, when you shifted on a late afternoon.

Your magic must be strong enough, in that moment, to attract them—despite the weather and location. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason you made them feel safe and they gravitated to you like iron shavings to a magnet. Minho let out a quiet giggle as a bigger butterfly landed on your forehead and you shook it off, affronted. Resisting the urge to fight the assault, you took a step back. They ruined your ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

Now if a baby deer frolicked out from between the mountains and tried to cuddle up, you would yip. You wouldn’t bite it, but you would most definitely yip, maybe even growl. You had your limits. Minho slowly approached you and reached out, his fingers hesitant. You tilted your head down, letting him touch your ears. His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the fluffy protrusion. You knew they were warmer than he thought they’d be, a living extension of the human inside. He petted your pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of your muscles bunching and moving underneath. Finishing off with your tale, he ran his fingers through it, slowly, thoroughly.

Sitting back, he winked down at you. "You probably get this a lot, but…I like your backside.” he laughed at your annoyed yip. “What? It’s so fluffy.” You stretch back into human form, the change much easier in reverse, and look up at him from the ground. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?” you roll your eyes, with a smile.

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To the beautiful anon who requested a supernatural s/o reaction [Stray Kids,] I hope you like it!!! 😅😅 It was superrrr fun to do, so thank you for the request, loveee! 🥰

78 notes · View notes

stariwrites · 4 years ago

Note

Chasing It Down by Mother Mother always puts me in the mood to write! Especially for Dabi-

maybe that song can give you some ideas too :)

Thank you so much love this helped a lot!!

Character study of Dabi and Shoto

Bnha spoilers, canon divergence

Word count about 2k

content/trigger warnings:mentions of abuse, origin story of Dabi so if you haven't seen it or don't know it this contains spoilers, suicide ideation just to be safe, little bit of angst

Summary: He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to abandon the only person who ever cared about him, but he couldn't do it anymore.

How many times would he have to endure the screams of his brother or his mother's cries? /how long could he stand burning himself alive only for his hero to turn a blind eye.

He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to abandon the only person who ever cared about him, but he couldn't do it anymore.

Maybe that's why he went to that mountain. Maybe that's what possessed him to try Prominence Burn for the first time. He doesn't know if it was to show Endeavor he could be a hero without the man or if it was a way for him to take everything he was feeling out in an explosion.

However, it didn't work. The blue of his flames turned back on him. The forest turned into an explosion of blue. He could only scream with blue eyes filled with fear before tumbling off the cliff towards the water below.

It was cold. That's all he could remember from the plunge. That was the last feeling he ever felt.

Looking in the mirror he could barely see the little boy he used to be, instead all he saw was scars. He let out a sigh before putting on his cloak and walking out of the hideout. He needed to clear his head. After nightmares like that he always needed to be alone.

Well, as alone as he could be, the crushing loneliness had a hold on him. It sunk it's claws into his chest and resided around his heart like a curse. Dabi was sure it would stay with him until he died.

He continued to walk, the black shades obscuring his vision slightly. Around him people were all chatting happily. He tuned them out until he heard a familiar voice. Dabi's posture went rigid as his head snapped towards the sound.

It was his father's precious champion with the man he used to admire. He must've said something to the man because his flames rose in power while his mouth formed into a frown. The doll walked faster than the hero causing a vicious smirk to crawl onto Dabi's face.

He could take advantage of this.

Following Shoto Todoroki proved to be easier than he thought. Especially conisidering what happened to his classmate. The loud kid with explosions, Bakugou was it?

Not that it mattered now because he could finally do what he was craving to do ever since he was younger. He could end Enji's reign of terror once and for all and little Shoto was going to pay for it.

He felt the familiar heat of the blue flames licking at his wrists all he had to do was aim at the hero in training and that would be it. He'd meet his end in the abandoned alleyway and all of it would stop.

Just as he was about to, the teen began to clap his hands. Dabi raised an eyebrow keeping himself hidden. Just what was he doing?

"pspspsp Cat." The boy called out while he crouched to the ground.

A small meow rang out in the empty alley before a relatively large cat crawled out of the darkness. It was a black cat with electric blue eyes. Tentatively, Shoto reached his hand out for the cat to sniff.

Dabi hoped the cat would bite him, but instead it only nudged Shoto's hand. Getting the hint, Shoto began to pet the top of the cat's head.

"I'm sorry it's not much," he said taking off his backpack and zipping it open to reveal two bowls. One for cat food and the other for water Dabi assumed.

He could kill him, he could put a stop to Enji Todoroki's plan right now, but he couldn't. All he could do was observe the movements of Shoto Todoroki as he poured water and cat-food into their respective bowls.

The cat or Cat, as the doll called him began to devour the food like a man starved--which Dabi supposed wasn't too far off considering the fact that the cat was most likely a stray.

"You can pet him you know," Shoto said turning to face Dabi with his usual unreadable expression. "He doesn't bite."

Dabi gritted his teeth. This goddamn idiot, he knew he had been following him the whole time and just let it happen?!

"If you wanted to attack me you would've done it already."

Apparently Dabi said that out loud. Instead of saying something else he held his tongue and took a seat six feet away from the trophy Endeavor had been so obsessed with. He sounded like a worried older brother just then and he hated it.

He was not his brother, he was going to kill Shoto Todoroki no matter what. He shouldn't be here, fraternizing with the enemy in front of a cat the teen named after him. He cringed at that thought alone.

"So," he decided to speak up after a while. "Why Cat?"

Shoto shrugged. "That's what he is."

Dabi wanted to smack him. If this was how Shoto normally was he felt for his classmates. Not that he could talk considering he rarely ever spoke to the other league members with the exception of Twice.

"I never really named anything before," Shoto's voice was so quiet Dabi almost missed it. He turned to the teen only to notice his eyes were trained solely on the cat in front of him.

"So you decided to call him Cat?"

"He responded to it."

Dabi rolled his eyes. This kid.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity but was only a couple of minutes. The only sound between them was the cat chewing on the food Shoto bought.

Dabi was about to get up and leave whatever the hell this was when he noticed a bandage on Shoto's right arm. He gestured to it.

"What happened there?"

At the question Shoto was confused before he brought the arm closer to his chest, out of Dabi's view. "I fell," was the only explanation he gave.

Dabi wanted to scream, instead he put his hand in front of the cat's face after he was done eating. Cat purred happily when Dabi began to pet him and crawled into the man's lap.

"He likes you, he's never done that to me before."

"Well maybe if you didn't give him such a stupid name he'd like you more."

Dabi frowned slightly at that. The one thing he had against Shoto and it was a goddamn cat.

"I-" Shoto began before faltering. Taking Dabi's silence for a means to continue he took a deep breath. "I don't want to go back home."

"So don't."

Judging by the way the teen spluttered with wide eyes it was clear he wasn't expecting Dabi to say that. The man couldn't help it, he tossed his head back and cackled except it didn't lack emotion, oh no, it was filled with it. He wiped the blood from his eyes before Shoto noticed.

"You looked like you almost shit yourself. What? Were you expecting some speech about how you shouldn't be selfish and leave your family behind? How it's noble to stay even if you don't want to?"

Shoto's face turned bright pink as he looked away from Dabi. "Something like that," he muttered but Dabi still heard it. He snorted with a shake of his head.

Cat, meanwhile, was still curled in Dabi's lap completely unaffected by how loud his laughter was.

"Kid, I'm gonna be honest with you some families suck total ass. You need to do what you have to do, even if it makes you look like the bad guy."

What was wrong with him?! He shouldn't be giving advice to the person he's going to kill in the end. Hell he shouldn't even be here. If only Shoto knew who he was, if that was the case there would be no way he'd still be sitting here.

Before he could do anything Shoto only mulled his words over.

"Makes you look like the bad guy, huh?" He mused with a hand holding his chin. Dabi rolled his eyes, but it was lighter than the first time. It was almost fond.

He closed that thought as soon as it opened. Nope, there was no way in hell he would be attached to this idiot he unfortunately shared DNA with.

Shoto looked like he was about to ask another question until there was a booming voice that disturbed the quiet.

"SHOOOOTTTTTTTOOOOOOOO!"

Both of them cringed at the voice. Dabi knew he could be loud but this was pushing it.

"Jesus, does he always do that?"

Shoto let out a sigh as he stood up. "Unfortunately." He was about to discard the water from the bowl before Dabi stopped him.

"It's okay," he blurted. "I can clean up," he gestured towards the source of the noise with his head, making sure he didn't jostle Cat too much. "Go before he causes a public disturbance."

He could've swore he heard a small laugh from Shoto as he set the bowl back down onto the floor.

"Thank you." He rushed out zipping his bag up once more. "For the talk, it helped."

Dabi let a real smile slide onto his face. "Sure."

He could hear Shoto's footsteps rush out of the alley before meeting his father with a crisp 'What' that almost made the villain laugh again.

Instead he only shook his head before staring down at Cat. What a stupid name.

"How about Shou?"

The cat only blinked up at Dabi.

"What? I never said I was good with names either."

#starianswers #rae's-ramblings #what emoji would you like?#stariwrites #todoroki touya #dabi #shoto torodoki #bnha dabi and shoto #mha dabi #mha shoto #bnha headcanons #bnha spoilers #tw mentions of abuse #mha spoilers #tw suicide ideation #just to be safe

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years ago

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For we rise and we fall, and we crash on the coastlines (Only our love will last 'til the end); Chapter 1

thank you to @drowninginstarlights for editing! Heads up for Travis’ and Gable’s terrible dad’s and mom death!

the journey of a selkie, a cursed fisher, a lighthousekeeper, her aprentice and a very confused mortal as their lives intertwine and the magic around them grows.

or a selkie au with general folklore themes!

In the end, Uriel doesn’t even remember what happened. All they have are pieces of their memories, flashes of knowledge. They remember being afraid of the sea, ever since they were young. They grew up in a big coastal city, where the sea was as much your enemy as your only source of income. They remember their father, a deeply unpleasant man. They remember anger. They remember a fire, and a boat sinking, and they don’t think they’ll ever be sure what actually caused it, but that doesn’t matter. There was no doubt in their father’s mind that it was caused by them.

They remember, before that, being in school and being taught not to curse people, not even as a joke, and certainly not on the sea. Magic is finicky business. It doesn’t take much for things to get out of hand.

So here’s the thing. They remember their father spitting his last words at them, but they can never remember the exact phrasing. Must have been something like “may you dwell upon the sea forever,” or “may you never stray far from the sea.” It must have been, because they remember thinking Odd words for a dying man .

There is power in the last words of a dying man, they did not think.

After that, they couldn’t drown. They remember not being able to drown. They don’t remember the months after, the ones they must have spent on some shore somewhere, slowly realising something in their father’s wording must have made it so they couldn’t die. So they couldn’t ever leave.

They stared out to the vast expanse of the ocean, now both their prison and only companion.

William’s father hated magic. He was a wealthy man whose money made money, and he’d never seen any point in such frilly business as magic.

William’s mother, however, had loved magic. Not only that, she’d respected it, and believed that it was important to teach it, as much as any of the other fundamental truths about the universe. There were even whispers that her own mother had come from the sea itself.

Like anything his father hated and his mother loved, William adored magic. He’d stand and stare with great intent whenever his mother had shown him even the most basic of protection charms. But then she’d fallen ill, and then suddenly she was gone. Really gone, gone as in there was no trace of her left in the house, not even her body. It hadn’t taken long for Father to get rid of all her possessions too.

“She’s gone back to the sea,” William would tell people. They’d look at him uncomfortably, clearly thinking this was just a child struggling to process grief, but he always knew better. The only thing he always wondered is why she hadn’t taken him with her.

Years later, his father was on a trip and William was alone. He had grown up attempting to forget about his mother, about everything, but he couldn’t. He’d grown up to enjoy being left alone in his vast house where he never felt at home, spending the downtime between his father’s presence nursing his wounds.

He stared out of the window of the penthouse, dreading his father’s return, hoping with every inch of him that his father’s ship wouldn’t make it to port.

Eventually, he couldn’t stand there any longer, so he turned inwards. There wasn’t much left of his mother’s teachings in the house, his own memories turned fuzzy with time, but he had managed to snatch a single grimoire from the library. Bargains were easy, he imagined, and especially so for him. He too, in some way, belonged to the sea.

So in the middle of a dark, cold night, while the full moon hung heavy in the sky, he went to plead to the waters.

“I am not, I must admit, entirely sure what this whole deal is,” he said, the moonlight shining off the sand around him, “But you took my mother from me.”

He looked at the lapping edges of the water. The sea remained just the sea. The waves came and went.

“I get that you won’t just drown my father for me, and I don’t particularly have much to offer but-” he shuddered a bit, knowing what he was about to do was cruel and very dangerous, “You can take me, William.”

As he spoke his name, the wind picked up suddenly. It smelt of salt and distant rainfall.

“You can take me like you took my mother,” he continued, “And in exchange, I want you to make sure his ship doesn’t get here.”

The sea seemed to agitate, the waves picking up, dark even in the moonlight.

“Did you hear me?” he yelled, raising his voice over the rushing wind, “You just need to drown-”

As he spoke his father’s true name, the world went black.

He hadn’t expected to wake up, after that. It seemed fair enough, a life for a life. Maybe he would get to be a cool water spirit, scaring tourists. Or maybe a fish, with no memories at all. He did not expect to wake up and find himself a seal.

He knew about selkies, sure, but waking up and being a seal was still a shock. He stared at this new body, his new completely different body, attempting to rationalize what he knew was true - that it was him.

The other thing he did not expect was to wake up looking onto the ocean, and seeing a storm raging. There was a ship, tossing up and down with the waves, a very familiar ship. It was so close to port, but he knew that it couldn’t make it. It was sinking. His father’s ship was sinking.

He knew it was the sea showing him their deal was signed. He hadn’t known, not truly, the enormity of his choice until he stared at it, burning in front of him. He didn’t know how to feel as he stared into the sinking ship.

How many people had he just killed? What was he supposed to do?

He stayed there for a long time, looking on until the ship fully disappeared under the waves. Eventually, when there was nothing but dark wreckage on the surface, he dove down into the water. Time to learn how to be a seal.

At least now he didn’t have to be human anymore. At least then he could swim far away, see where the ocean currents take him.

It’s not like there was anyone at home missing him anyway.

Eventually, Uriel got their hands on two things: a small living, and a fishing boat. The boat was just a little too small for them, but it was cozy. She was old enough that her boards creaked in the wind, ropes faded and fraying, and the paint was so worn that her original name was entirely illegible.

Uriel couldn’t die, and they couldn’t leave the waters for too long,or they got antsy. They’d never gone away for long enough to test the ocean's patience, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the consequences. So living on the water was their only option, and as they still enjoyed food and food cost money, fishing it was.

It was a lonely existence, but they discover you can get used to even the loneliest things. They had eternity in front of them to learn how to do their job, and do it well.

They settled in a small town by the name of Safe Harbour. Uriel knew painfully little of magic to understand the how or why, but the town was protected somehow and the magic was strong. Everyone was perfectly content to buy Uriel’s fish, and never talk to them unless they spoke first.

Routine took over and life was almost pleasant. Uriel wasn’t exactly happy, but they imagined this is as happy as people like them got to be, so they pressed on. There was always more fish to be caught.

William met Uriel the only good way of meeting people, which is while robbing them. By now, he was perfectly capable of hunting for his own food, but it was such a chore, and a boring one at that. Other seals could tell he was different, that the sea owned him in a different way, and anway, he couldn’t actually talk to them. He didn’t have to be a seal, all the time. But it wasn’t like he could really talk to the humans either, and the vulnerability of being human once again always set him on edge. So he stayed a seal, and passed back and forth through towns, being a general nuisance.

The only consistent thing about his life these days was stealing, and that was practically second nature. So he didn’t think anything of it when he swam up to a small fishing vessel to get his lunch for the day.

He managed to climb up on the deck, and was about to flop back into the sea, triumphant with a fish in his mouth, when he heard a loud voice.

“Hey!” they shouted.

He froze, turning to look at the irate fisher. He wasn’t the type to be afraid, not anymore, but this person was incredibly tall with long, flowing hair that was almost stark white tied haphazardly back. They had the look of someone who had been on sea for years, but they also didn’t look older than maybe their late twenties. They were also holding a harpoon, pointed menacingly at him.

He wasn’t the type to be afraid, but he was, perhaps, a little nervous.

“I swear those damn seals get smarter every time,” they muttered.

He dropped the fish out of his mouth and sighed. “I have always been this smart, I'll have you know.”

This made them pause, looking at him baffled for a second before they let out a cry and charged at him with the harpoon.

“Whoa, okay no need to be rude,” he said, attempting to quickly move out of the way. But he was, in fact, a seal, and seals aren’t made for quick motions on land, to his dismay.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. He transformed into a man.

The stranger stopped again, the harpoon dangerously close to his body.

“Who are you? And what are you doing on my boat?” they say.

Travis couldn’t help but grin as he held up his hand, with his fish clutched in it. “I feel like it’s rather obvious.”

Uriel didn’t know how to feel. There was a man on their boat. That’s an undeniable fact. First there had been a seal, and now there was a very annoying silver haired stranger, wearing a ridiculous coat and actively stealing their fish with his bare hands.

They could deal with seals. They could deal with other sea creatures. They weren’t in any way prepared to deal with this.

“Asking for names, just like that?” he said, “How rude of you.”

They could feel more annoyance bubbling up inside them. “I wasn't asking for your name!”

The stranger smirked at them again, clearly enjoying getting them riled up. They should have harpooned him to death then and there. They’ll never know why they didn’t.

“Well, you may call me Travis Matagot anyway,” he said magnanimously, dropping the fish and extending a hand.

They stared at it incredulously, before deciding that their life was already so weird, this might as well happen. They shook it.

“You can call me, uh…” they said. It had been so long since they had to give out names like this. “Gable,” they settled on eventually.

“Like the roof thing,” he said, deadpan.

Gable felt their cheeks heating up. “Shut up!” they said, still holding a lowered harpoon in their other hand, “You were stealing from me, what makes you think-”

“I was hungry,” he said, shrugging. He seemed harmless, if very annoying, so they cautiously put the harpoon down.

“Can’t you fish? You are a seal part of the time, apparently.”

Travis visibly relaxed a little once they’re no longer armed. “Now, why would I, when I can have others do it for me?”

“You could have just asked me,” they said.

Now it was Travis’ turn to be taken aback. He stared at them. “What?” he said.

“I have a lot of fish soup,” Gable said, knowing what they were saying is surreal but being certain that by now they were far too late to stop this trainwreck of a conversation.

“Like in general?” he seemed almost amused.

“I always make too much,” they admit.

That's how Travis ended up in their painfully crowded combined kitchen and living room, his coat draped over the back of the chair he was sitting on, staring at a hot bowl of fish soup.

He almost wondered if he ought to accept food at all, but although he didn’t know what to make of Gable yet, they certainly didn’t seem the type to trap him eternally by feeding him.

Gable stared at him, almost self consciously. He almost wanted to pretend he didn’t like it, just to see how they’d react, but regrettably he was hungrier than he thought, and the soup was surprisingly good.

“You liked it,” they said, grinning.

“It was fine,” he said, stopping himself just short of asking for seconds.

“I have spent a lot of time perfecting that soup, Travis.”

He laughed. Time had been something of a laughable concept for a while now. “Well, can’t have been that long. How old are you, twenty five?”

That made his companion pause. They looked down and, honest to god, started counting on their fingers. “Probably forty by now,” they said, looking at him sheepishly. “No clue what that is in seal-man years, or whatever.”

He stared at them, somewhat intrigued at last. But not enough to pry, certainly. “First of all, you must have heard of selkies before,” he said. They gave him a blank stare that meant they honestly probably hadn’t. “And I don’t know either, we don’t age, exactly.”

Gable shrugged. “Sure, did you want more soup?”

“Well if you insist,” he said, passing his bowl to them.

They fell into this new routine together easily. Travis would come and try and steal things or otherwise be an annoyance. Gable would threaten him with increasingly odd weapons or just bodily throw him off the side.

And sometimes Travis stayed, and ate Gable’s repertoire of fish based dishes, or mucked about in the small space of the boat. They both occasionally went to town, although mostly separately, as Gable had the reputation of a gentle constant and Travis was rather more of a trickster cryptid.

They never talked about the pasts that plagued them or the curses on their heads, and they were both entirely too stubborn to admit this is the happiest they had been in a very, very long time.

There wasn’t a single moment that they realised they had become friends, and certainly not one they acknowledged. There was only a night, and a tipsy Travis falling asleep on the couch, his silver gray coat left behind, still slung over the chair he usually ate at. There was only a morning Gable spent staring at it wistfully, telling themselves they shouldn’t read into it.

There was him waking up, not for a second doubting his coat would still be there, safe and untouched.

And so in the fragile silence of their friendship, time pressed on.

#skyjacks #campaign podcast #campaign skyjacks #travis matagot #gable skyjacks #trable #selkie au

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faelune-home · 4 years ago

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(fanfic) “how the guiding light wavers”

(A/N: I’ve had this in the works for a few weeks now. I first brought it up in this long post I wrote to establish character stuff, but this is the work that will finally make me feel a bit more secure in writing for my miqo’te girl. I’m aware it all sounds convoluted and bizarre to fixate on a name like this, but it was something that bothered me, and I’m the one actually doing the writing for my own character, so I do hope that this fic finally makes writing easier.

But alongside the name stuff, it’s also a larger look at where Fhara is emotionally throughout Shadowbringers I suppose. A little bit of where she’s come from and where she’s been so far and where she stands before entering Endwalker, so there’s at least a little bit more to this fic than just name shenanigans. XD

Name shenanigans and heroic title woes and legacy musings. All wrapped up in a complicated bow. Aha. I’ll probably do more Scion interaction focused additions on Fhara’s woes and worries later, especially since I had some in the original fic only to remove them as it was getting way too wordy, but this is the main meat of those feelings here and now.

Strong spoilers for the ending Stormblood patches and Shadowbringers, more so 5.0 and then just fleeting mentions of patch stuff. Set after 5.3.

Word count: 4760

Ao3 link)

When she set out from her home for Eorzea’s shores, she had a goal; to become a hero, and make her name known across the world. To be known as someone great and powerful, with monsters big and small bested at her hand, yet also someone kind and helpful, saving people and making their life a little bit easier. A lofty goal, but one she figured could be done, one small step at a time. After all, every adventurer started small.

Little did she know that her forays in Eorzea would grant her her desires, at a much faster rate than she anticipated; she joined the Scions, with their close ties to the city leaders and their own aims to protect the realm, and in gaining a reputation as a primal slayer, became known as a fabled Warrior of Light. A type of hero normally assigned to legend. It was everything she could have wanted and maybe even more than she could handle. It was a heavy title, but one she wore proudly, all while continuing as she had originally planned.

Yet as time passed, the weight grew heavier. There was still pride and joy in doing the right thing for the sake of others, protecting the innocent from those that would do them harm, but at some point, in the midst of the fighting, torn between Ascians and the Empire, despite doing the same thing she always did, her thoughts would wander to her original purpose in undertaking this grand adventure.

To become a figure of whom stories would be told, for those stories to return to her home and inspire the younger children, much like the old tales had inspired herself. To teach them to do good, to do better, to help others, to be brave, to be kind. An idealistic idea but one she held fast to. And by all accounts, fighting under the Warrior of Light title aided her even further in another aspect of her plans; to allow her to step back from the world once all is done and know peace when she hung up her bow and settled down.

When she set out from her home, she was ‘Fufu’; an old childhood nickname she’d long outgrown in her village, with the exception of her aunt, repurposed for her heroic exploits until the Warrior of Light title seemed to do the job better. Then in Eorzea, in the comfort of those she came to call a second family, she could be Fhara again. And it was nice, comforting even. To know that others knew her as more than just her heroic title, and that the Rising Stones could feel like a home so far away from home.

A home that was always filled with the sound of laughter or chatter, always someone socialising with a friend or partner, or busy working, the Rising Stones had all the energy and joy within its walls that she knew from her home, even with all the group had been through. To find that joy stripped out, the halls empty of people as her dearest friends collapsed into lifelessness and everyone else was left to fill in for their missing teammates…

For Fhara, it left her with no-one. But the Warrior of Light still had work to do.

The Warrior of Light had faced down conquerors, defeated dragons, set free thousands from the shackles of tyranny. But Fhara had never been alone in her feats, always with her companions at her side, or standing strong behind her, keeping the way clear for her, ready to back her up.

The Warrior of Light would go on to face Zenos that day in Ghimlyt Dark, the whispered tales from young inexperienced soldiers speaking how she almost pushed him back single handedly, with the famed Azure Dragoon jumping into the fray to assist her. In truth, Fhara stood alone on that battle field, facing a barely weakened, Ascian possessed corpse, the collapsed figures of her resistance comrades strewn behind her, she kept going until she herself blacked out under mysterious circumstances, only surviving by Estinien’s timely arrival.

Her recovery in Ishgard started her thinking, mixed in with the anxious waves of the mysterious caller’s words. The Warrior of Light would ever be revered for their acts, but as a single entity. Whereas Fhara, while capable on her own, worked best with a team, with her friends by her side. Working out a plan of attack together, or simply knowing they were there with her gave her strength. Yet standing on the field that day, the only thing giving her the strength to fight on was the desire to protect others, for if the Ascian controlling the fallen crown prince made it past her, Eorzea would no doubt suffer.

Then a stray thought...what gave her the strength to start doing all of this in the first place? What was her drive to begin with? It seemed so long ago…

‘Fufu’ had come all the many malms from a small village on the outskirts of Thavnair to become a hero, one that would have bard songs made about her for the sake of children’s tales. But the Warrior of Light had ultimately taken on that role. So what was the point of continuing to call herself ‘Fufu’ to the public? Was it just a habit by that point? A desire to hide herself behind an identity that both was and wasn’t her? After all, it was a nickname that had long been associated with her, and in the absence of any other ideas for an alias to call herself - oft teased as she was for her poor imagination for naming things - she had fallen to the easiest idea of her old childhood moniker.

Maybe it was time to move on from such childish notions? Her thoughts were neither bitter nor certain. The questions merely buzzed in her head as she left them unanswered.

She left the city with her golden hair cropped, a request asked of Jandelaine, met in passing before she left Ishgard behind her.

“It is a shame,” he’d said at the sight of her shorn twintail, the other loose from the hair tie, matted with blood and dirt, “But I can tidy it up and it’s like it never happened. A return to beauty and grace, just say the word.”

She could’ve kept it the same, and continued on as normal. But instead it was all gone. Because maybe a fresh start was what she needed?

~*~*~

The First was not a fresh start. At least not one Fhara was expecting. A land on the cusp of destruction, perpetually bathed in an unnatural eerie light, the people hunted by Sin Eaters, suffering either death or a torturous transformation in turn. She very quickly learned how terrifying, how desolate some corners of the land of Norvrandt could be, and she could well understand why, if people were living in such conditions.

Her first port of call in the strange new land was the oddly familiar gleaming tower, a recognisable pillar even against the hazy glowing sky. And within was the enigmatic Crystal Exarch, ready to greet her with open arms.

She had mixed feelings about the Exarch, on many points; having Called her friends and left their lifeless bodies back on the Source in an uncertain state, or even that Calling them was an accident in itself, since she herself was meant to be the target gave her no end of frustration toward the man. Even then with the knowledge that he hadn’t intended to summon the other Scions, the idea that he had wanted her to act alone in saving the First was one Fhara couldn’t help but balk at.

Of course she was willing to help, she couldn’t stand seeing people suffer while she knew she could do something. But to think she would be able to handle the work singlehandedly was pure folly. In that way, perhaps it was a small relief then that she had the Scions to help her, unintentional was their presence on the First. Even with the uncertainty surrounding their summoning and the state of their separated selves, she at least had her friends and teammates with her.

However it was his first impression beyond his summoning mishaps that stuck with Fhara and kept her uneasy around the man; no sooner had she arrived at the gate, he had welcomed her past his wary gate guard, quick to introduce her and settle her into the Crystarium. A warm welcome for sure, and not one she was ungrateful for, however the mix of familiar and unfamiliar in the man’s demeanor made her cautious.

That he knew her so well, so casually referred to her as ‘Fufu’ before she had even introduced herself, how comfortable he seemed while using it - hand waved away as him learning it from old records stored within the Tower, a name used in tandem with the Warrior of Light title, although it reignited her recent troubled thoughts on her public identity - while she knew nothing about him, that not even his own people could say much of him did nothing to ease her. Every factor together had her wanting to keep the Exarch at arms length. She would do as he asked - save the First, bring back the Light, prevent another Calamity from decimating the Source - and in return, he would return her friends’ home. That was all that was needed.

Of course, things would never be that simple.

In a land ravaged by Light for 100 years, a Warrior of Light was considered a heathen, a villain that had doomed them all. Instead, the people hoped and prayed for a Warrior of Darkness to be their hero. And so Fhara, with the starlit sky returning in the wake of her arrival, would become that hero.

Fhara didn’t want to say she hated it, however the dizzying speed with which the title and the stories spread was a shock to the system, moving even quicker than her reputation as the Warrior of Light had grown on the Source. She couldn’t blame the people for their enthusiasm, especially when the hero of legend’s arrival coincided with the return of the night after a century without.

She didn’t hate it. But she found herself seeking the comfort of her closest friends more often than she used to before. She knew they weren’t looking at a grand hero, but just Fhara, who stood up to answer the call. And they stood with her. As the days would pass on the First, rarely was she without a Scion by her side, only truly left alone in the comfort of her inn room, and even then, the wayward spirit of Ardbert was a presence she didn’t resent.

The days would pass, and the night returned across the land, and beyond the walls of the Crystarium, away from the crowds of people that would revere a hero, through pixie flower beds and dense forests ever shaded from the skies, and into desert ruins of a civilisation long lost-

“Welcome aboard, Ryne.”

Fhara had seen the young Oracle struggle under the weight of her legacy, the expectations of her duty to protect and act as a beacon of hope for the people of Norvrandt, while also living in Minfilia’s shadow by virtue of her name and powers. Fhara could empathise with the young girl, having long known the feeling of so many people relying on her and her own more recent doubts that she could live up to those hopes. She kept trying all the same, as she knew the Oracle would as well, for it wasn’t in Fhara’s nature to give up if she could do something.

But now, seeing the newly christened Ryne standing with a fresh air of confidence about her, her only nerves being about doing a good job for the sake of the team and helping relinquish Amh Araeng from the grip of the Light, Fhara was proud of the girl for her new lease on life.

Yet also a tiny bit jealous, that all it took was a name and a declaration to do better by herself for the girl to suddenly be brimming with courage, whereas Fhara fretted and frayed and languished under a gifted moniker, calling herself by her childhood name and then acting as though it were her only option, that she had no other choice...but was it always that simple? To just announce to the world you could be born anew yet still the same person?

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the solution Fhara was looking for, but it was an idea towards a resolution for her woes. After all, she wasn’t trying to begin fresh like Ryne, Fhara just wanted to be Fhara, as she always had been. It was just trying to express that to the world at large.

It was only when the Light she had been capturing within herself finally overpowered her and left her weakened and stumbling, sitting at death’s door, did it finally seem to become clear to her. So rarely before had she gotten so close to death that she had never thought so closely about what she would leave behind, or who would remember her and how. The people of Norvrandt knew the Warrior of Darkness, Eorzea knew the Warrior of Light and the Scions knew Fhara. And if she died that day that would be the memory she would leave behind.

Yet she realised, lying in her inn room, she didn’t want to just be remembered as a hero under a title, or by a name that most of her nearest and dearest scarcely used. She wanted to be remembered as Fhara, at least if it were possible.

She’d certainly made the attempt to introduce herself as such during their travels across the realm, but with how quickly people came to know her as the Warrior of Darkness, she feared that her attempts were being drowned out. However before their ascent of Mt Gulg, as the crowds gathered from across the land to assist them, she found that they knew her as Fhara, and they would talk to her, and they wished all the Scions the best of luck. And among a small few, the Warrior of Darkness was not a title solely attributed to her, but to all of her friends.

It was nice. A reassuring gesture that her efforts were noticed. Even as she stumbled her way to the deepest depths of the seas in pursuit of Emet-Selch - keenly aware that if she failed, she would be dooming the First and her fellow Scions along with her - she held onto that knowledge. After all her worries, it was an odd source of courage for her, bolstered by her desire to survive, and the understanding that she wasn’t alone in her duty.

Altogether her feelings gathered, and in the face of death and her desperate wish to live, and her wish to be known for more than her heroic tales, she made her decision. She’d never been afraid to make the first step before, not even into the unknown. She’d come all the way to Eorzea on a whim and a want, and faced almighty foes more powerful than herself with nothing more than the determination to protect those that could not fight back.

If she lived through this fight, she would cast aside her anxieties, and take that first step again.

~*~*~

Fhara wasn’t the type to call meetings, she was the type to attend someone else’s meeting. And yet the majority Scions were gathered in the Rising Stones, with the miqo’te standing at the head of the pack, nervously shuffling her feet. What few Scions that weren’t accounted for were assured to be updated afterward.

She ran her fingers through her hair, no doubt to calm some nerves, although the action drew the attentions of the group members that had only seen her sparingly during her otherworldly adventures; since last they had seen her, she’d left for the Crystal Tower with a short crop, still wearing her tattered and torn bard coat, an uneasy smile on her face as though more to reassure those around her than because she genuinely felt like her hopeful self. Yet each time she returned to report to Tataru with updates, she was a brighter figure, with a spring in her step as she relayed the progress on the First, and her hair would grow out slowly to the feathered bob she now wore. It wasn’t quite the cute twintails they’d known her for when they joined, but she looked all the more confident nowadays with it.

She finally started, with a loud voice, albeit one that cracked as though there was still some anxiety holding her back, “I have something I want to say. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long while now and that I want to be clear on moving forward.”

Any mumbling between parties silenced immediately. Fhara’s tail flicked at the now heavy hush, however some encouraging gestures from the figures at the front most row - some few nods and a thumbs up here and there - allowed her to continue, “Thank you for being here. Truthfully, some people here already know what I’m gonna talk about. But I’d rather make it clear to everyone now. This whole thing might sound rather silly to some people, that I’m worrying over nothing. Some of you might even say that if it means so much to me, then it’s not such a trivial thing. And I appreciate that, I do.”

She hesitated, ears suddenly flattening. “To cut out a long story, when I came to Eorzea, and when I joined the Scions and became known as the Warrior of Light, I told everyone here they could call me Fhara. It’s who I am after all. But outside where people would know the Warrior of Light better, then they should call me ‘Fufu’. That’s still technically me, it's an old name I was called as a child. And it’s the name I chose for travelling because...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that I wanted to separate my private life, if I ever chose to return home, from my adventure life. But lately with everything that happened and with a lot of the dangers getting so much bigger than even the Warrior of Light I just started to worry about who I really was and what I was doing.”

“Like how? You seem the same to me?” Aenor spoke up, ignoring the disapproving nudge from her frowning sister.

“I mean, I hope I do,” Fhara smiled, although it was more wistful looking than pleasant, “I never tried to pretend to be someone I’m not, no matter where I was or who I was with, or what name people called me. But I started thinking I was getting lost with myself, like people were seeing two different people with me.” Her tail flicked again. “I should say now, I don’t hate being the Warrior of Light. A lot of people try to project that I’m frustrated with it or that I could be doing better with a title like that, but none of that is true. I don’t hate it. But it’s hard. People have big hopes and expectations for me when they treat me like that, and I’ll always try to reach them, but it’s not always easy to do alone. So truly, I’m forever grateful to have you all with me at my side.”

Casting a glance over the Archons and the twins, Fhara continued, her voice somehow smaller, “But when the Callings happened, and then everyone else here was stretched to take over the work, and this place was left empty so much, I...well, as senseless as it might sound, I felt alone. But I still had a job to do, but doing it alone was hard. Because everyone else knew this brave warrior that could handle anything, and I didn’t feel like that at all.” The quiet admission brought about guilty whispering rippling through the group, until a sharp cough from F’lhaminn hushed them again.

“T’was never our intent to make you feel as though you had no-one to lean on,” the older woman said, “Especially during such a time when our own were falling out of commission. But then it was precisely such a time that we all struggled to balance the work that needed to be done, and to fill the gaps left behind. If that struggle left you without support, then that would be our failing, and for that we would owe you our sincerest apologies.” The mumblings rose once more, letting out a small chorus of “sorry”s and “‘pologies”.

Fhara gave the woman a grateful nod then added, “I understand, I do. And I didn’t say that to call out anyone here, but I won’t deny that a lot of people across the realm talk about me in such grand ways because of the work and feats I’ve done, and it’s hard to feel like I’ve lived up to their stories. In that sense, being on the First kind of helped; it was a fresh start where I could try again to do the hero thing, but in a lot of ways, it wasn’t, because the same thing that happened here on the Source happened there. People needed a hero, someone to help them, and I just became the Warrior of Darkness to answer that need, and that’s what most people knew me as. But it still gave me a chance to try and start afresh with myself, and now I feel better about where I stand. And I want to bring that feeling and those certainties back here.”

She didn’t mention Azem. Though the suggestion that Fhara may be related in some way to that Ancient had brought her more hazy feelings, she had insisted that none of that mattered. The final insistence had brought her here now, to her certain decision. She was herself, and she didn’t have to worry about being anything more.

She let in a deep breath, steeling herself as she said, “The Warrior of Light is here to stay and she’s the one that will go down in history, and I can’t change that. Not everyone in the world will know the real me beyond the heroes tales, and I can accept that. But at least on some level, I can try to let them understand me. And that can start with a name. A name can be lost to time, so I get that people in the future will never know Fhara. But the people here and now can, and that’s all I want.”

With a final, certain nod, she declared, “So from now on, I’m Fhara. Not just inside these walls, but outside them as well. It took a lot more words to say that than it probably should have, but I hope you all understand it now.” Uncertain of how to finish her speech, she took the skirt of her purple dress, already wrung tight by her nervous hands, and gave a bow. There wasn’t an immediate response. It took another glance at the twins next to her, giving her comforting looks to ease the tension in her shoulders, until another voice spoke out from behind the group.

“‘At was a lot of words to get the message out, but it looks here that it meant a lot to ye to make it sure as sure fer us lot,” the crowd parted, and Riol nodded, looking satisfied, “I think I’ll speak fer us all when I say message received loud and clear.” Fhara’s eyes started to water as she looked around to assurances and smiles, and possibly unnecessary cheers from what sounded like one of the Boulder brothers, but it was acceptance nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she sniffed, trying not to actually cry, rubbing at her face, “I mean it. This all probably sounds really ridiculous and I’m overthinking everything but-”

“There shall be none of that,” Y’shtola interrupted, “None of that self-doubt at least. We’re here for you no matter what decision you wish to make for yourself. You of all people deserve the support, and we are all the more glad to provide it.”

Fhara’s ‘Thank you’ caught in her throat, all she could do was nod. The larger group dispersed, individuals coming up to give her more reassurances and words of comfort as they passed before continuing on to their work. Urianger took G’raha aside for a word, both men departing to Dawn’s Respite, leaving the rest of the archons and the twins by Tataru’s desk with Fhara.

“So that’ll be a weight off your shoulders then?” Alisaie asked. Fhara nodded, letting out a heavy breath and slumping forward with the effort.

“I was more nervous for that than I thought, and it was just in front of the other Scions. But I’m glad. I feel like that is a step towards feeling more like myself, even if I never really strayed from that in the first place...I think.”

Thancred let out a thoughtful hum, looking over her suddenly tired frame. “I’ll say you never changed much, but I can see the ease it’s brought you now. Although if this is you after telling people that knew your little secret, how will you be with others, I wonder?” He ignored the peeved expression from Alisaie next to him as he brought it up, especially when Fhara’s face became a picture of concern.

“Oh, we’ll probably have to tell the Alliance leaders. Or do we? Is this an official thing I have to report on? Is there a process for this?” Fhara asked, eyebrows furrowing. Was there more work needed in this decision that she hadn’t thought of? Was there paperwork?

“Not to worry, I can get some official missives written up and shipped out in a jiffy,” Tataru stated, giving Fhara a bright smile and a thumbs up. Fhara returned it with a relieved look of her own, and the receptionist hopped onto her chair and set to work.

“Honestly, knowing diplomatic types, we could just use your name normally as though it's always been used, and rather than risk a faux pas, the Alliance leaders would just go along with it anyways,” Alisaie suggested with a wry smile.

Alphinaud shook his head at the suggestion. “While I don’t doubt that that is possible, sister, I would prefer if we erred on the safe side and actually updated the Alliance. We don’t have to make a large fuss over the matter for Fhara’s sake, but at least informing them of the change would be better for the Scions’ standing with them in terms of open communication.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Of course, brother.”

“At the very least, Lyse is already familiar with you personally,” Y’shtola said, addressing Fhara once more, “Even should the rest of the Alliance falter or take time to adjust, she would be able to take charge on the matter and make the adjustment easier for all. You needn’t worry about being left alone to handle this.”

“Yes, that’ll help,” Fhara smiled, however her eyes then dropped to the floor, a worrisome look on her face once more.

“Thinking now about how many people I’d need to update or inform, it feels daunting already. I’m questioning now why I thought the whole alias thing would be a good idea.”

“Really now, it’s beginning to sound like you’re thinking of telling the whole realm. You’re going to worry yourself like that,” Alisaie huffed. However she then added with a softer tone, “You said it yourself that you won’t be able to change everyone’s perception of you. Many will know the Warrior of Light, and some few will know Fufu. The odds of you coming across every familiar face you’ve ever known after this will be slim. But if it does happen, you don’t have to explain yourself in any great detail. All anyone needs to know now is that you’re just Fhara.”

The words, simple as they were, brought a warmth to her chest. And surrounded by her closest friends, those that had been with her for most of her journey and through thick and thin, the idea of continuing on into the unknown ahead of them didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Just Fhara...I like that.”

And that was all she needed.

#My writing #ffxiv fanfic #fufu faelune #fhara laali #my wol #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #stormblood #Shadowbringers #fanfiction #ffxiv writing #how do titles work #fic titles i mean #i mused real hard for this one ahaha

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

aka ‘The Tournament’

so it turns out medieval tax law is insanely complicated and even a small amount of side reading on it takes forever. if someone else is for some weird reason interested in knights' fees and some of the problems they caused my source material is this chapter in a very lectury 1895 book which goes into detail about English feudal government income in general. this is probably not the most recent scholarship on the subject and i would not try to use it as a source in a paper but I did not feel like battling with JSTOR's shitty search engine just to research a short color plot in my goofy thronebreaker fanfic. anyway welcome to part 2 of our non-adventure, enjoy (or don't, i am not a beggar.)

---

A week later, Meve had nearly forgotten about the looming duel. She alighted from her horse in the castle courtyard and was instantly handed a report: in Dravograd there was a disagreement between the human and dwarf smithing guilds, which might soon lead to violence. The Queen turned out her favorite knight to solve the distant problem and settled into days of debate over an ongoing issue at home. The trouble, she learned, was that some of her barons had too many knights, overfilling the quota on which the crown drew an annual tax, and paid more than they preferred or could afford. Meanwhile, others had too few, with the result that the realm burdened them less. The latter outnumbered the former by a mathematically considerable amount, so that the crown’s entitlement had fallen short of the expected amount for the year; a new law was required, and had been drafted. However, the batch of them were incapable of finalizing the text of the proposed rule, especially where it concerned the amounts to be payable, and had come to a hopeless standstill in her absence. In the resulting confusion of numbers and obstruction, she only had reason to recall the tournament and its aftermath because a servant brought an unexpected letter to her office.

She eyed the scrawled writing on the front, was informed that it had been delivered to the kitchen by a sullen-looking speechless brigand, shrugged, and left it, unopened, for Reynard. He found it some days later, when he returned from his mission.

“Gascon doesn’t ever write,” he remarked, frowning suspiciously at the Duke’s name on the envelope, and cut it open it cautiously. He tipped it out over Meve’s desk, but it contained nothing dangerous, only a short note on dirty old paper, written in what appeared to be charcoal.

“I presumed it was about your duel,” Meve explained, “Is it?”

“Not - not as such,” he replied, after reading it over a second time; a baffled frown was on his face. “Says he’s departed on a quest, of all things, not to worry about him, will return when he’s finished, or else when Sir Holt gets around to fighting, whichever happens first.”

Meve took the note out of his hand and stared at the offending word in disbelief.

“A quest? Has he lost his mind? This isn’t a bard’s tale; he has a fief to manage, and -”

“It’s getting on to winter, luckily,” Reynard interrupted in his most reasonable tone, “So, there’s not much managing for him to do, just now.”

“Unless there’s a fire, or a war, or bandits,” Meve snapped, gripping the flimsy paper hard.

“Well, you’ve made two of those possibilities rather unlikely, at the moment,” the Count said; he took the letter away and added as Meve instantly crossed her arms, “I agree; this is a ridiculous notion. However, he does appear to have had the foresight to choose a sensible time of year to have it, which is more responsible than usual. For him, I mean.”

“He might’ve said something, instead of simply vanishing,” she complained, feeling that she was losing ground in the argument by remaining silent.

“-and,” Reynard continued, as if she hadn’t, “He can’t have gone very far, else he’d have no way of knowing when this duel is to take place. If, indeed, it ever will.”

Meve brightened slightly and said, “In that case, you should find it simple enough to hunt him down again.”

“I’ll do it if you wish, of course, but will you hear my advice, first?”

“I usually do, I suppose.”

“I think you should just leave it be, for the time being; he’ll return in due time and patience will answer far better than action, to speed the process.”

“Were he anyone else, I’d have him arrested,” Meve said, the glare staying put on her face but her shoulders relaxing slightly in defeat.

“I know that, but in truth, I believe we’ll have our stray dog back soon enough,” Reynard said gently, “All we have to do is wait.”

Patience, instead of action, was not how Meve preferred to operate, but she did her best to do as Reynard suggested, aided considerably by the ongoing distraction of the tax problem. Intelligence crossed her desk, in relation to the knights’ fees and otherwise; no report contained information on the missing Duke, but one included a rumor that briefly distracted even her from her main priority: an informant ended his confidential message on the exact details of her northern vassals’ taxable estates on a strange note.

“Says here an unknown knight’s rumored to be in th’ area of Hawkesburn,” she said to Reynard, after a glance around to ensure they were alone in the room. “Apparently he wears black armor and jousted with all comers who crossed his path, for two days, defeated three knights, and then, on losing to a fourth, vanished again and hasn’t been seen since.”

“How tiresome,” Reynard replied; she laughed at his stuffily disapproving tone and, as it was difficult to collect fees on the armored head of an unverified rumor, forgot about it. She was, after all, quite busy, cooking up a scheme to end the fee stalemate before it brought the court to a complete halt or, worse, came to blows. She set her accountants and clerks to work and soon delivered a new proposal to the court, a plan that settled the matter in a way that heavily profited the crown at the barons’ considerable expense; the document was of course rejected out of hand. She then threatened a royal command, and was pleased to find that all but the most belligerent of her vassals suddenly favored the original, far more equitable proposal that had been drawn up in the first place.

Meanwhile, the end of autumn passed by; the last of the dull brown leaves on the trees blew away in a windstorm and the branches stood bare against the sky. Reliable reports of a werewolf near the northern border were followed, as Reynard was preparing a force to investigate, by further news that the beast had been dealt with by a black knight. The last holdout against the final version of the new tax law suddenly became perfectly amenable to the proposal, after a personal visit from Count Odo, armed with a sword and a bluntly phrased reminder of the baron’s failure to support the Queen during the war. A somewhat embarrassed young knight of Meve’s court turned up, with a believable, unembellished tale in which a stranger in black armor jousted against him on a bridge and knocked him off into the icy creek below. That same day, the new tax law was finally signed by unanimous consent of the court. The weather settled into its usual, predictable early winter pattern - two days of rain, two of sun, one of icy grayness, followed again by rain.

Then, during the afternoon on one of the rainy days, a traveler arrived in court - a familiar man, dressed in mismatched chainmail and leather armor, and bearing a message from Sir Holt of the Fen. Meve happened to be in the armory, considering a new crossbow that could fire two bolts on a single load; he was shown in, followed immediately by Reynard. The sergeant broke off his explanation of the crossbow’s double trigger system, raised an alarmed eyebrow at the Count’s dark expression, and promptly invited himself out; the messenger seemed to feel similarly about the situation and wasted no time making his speech:

“My master asks for your assistance, Your Grace; he was - “ the messenger paused, frowning uncertainly, produced a paper with writing on both sides, and read from it, squinting nearsightedly, “ - he was, I quote, assailed at night at an isolated crossroads, by a knight errant well armed in black armor who spake not; there they did fight a mighty battle for hours -”

“Skip to th’ end, sir,” the Queen said, casually picking a sword from a rack; the messenger glanced at it, quickly flipped the paper over, and summarized the rest:

“ - anyway, he was struck down by the stranger, following which the black knight disappeared into the darkness, as if by an enchantment, and - well, in short, he requests that you send an appropriate force to apprehend the villain. Also, he wishes to inform my lord the Count that he is prepared to do battle with the same, at the Count’s convenience.”

“About damn time,” the Count growled under his breath.

“To clarify,” the Queen said, a slightly malicious gleam in her eye, “Sir Holt, after challenging the best out of all my knights to a personal combat, wants me to send him along to fight off a brigand that he is unable to defeat, himself.”

“That’s about the size of it, my lady,” the messenger said, absently folding his paper into a square and looking carefully blank. She eyed him thoughtfully, wondering what role, exactly, he filled in Sir Holt’s retinue; the question was irrelevant, and so she set it aside for later consideration.

“I see. Well, Count Odo, what say you?”

“I am at your command, as always, Your Grace,” he said stiffly.

“Very well; we’ll depart for Sir Holt’s lands tomorrow morning,” she decided, idly studying the sword she held. “I believe I’d like to meet this mysterious knight for myself; my court sorceress will solve any enchantments, and there will be nowhere for him to hide.”

The messenger bowed his way out; Meve waited a good half minute for him to be well out of earshot and then stepped across to a large map tacked to the armory wall. She considered the north of the country and noted, casually, “Gascon’s estates and Sir Holt’s aren’t so far apart; they’re neighbors, in fact.”

“Oh?”

“Well,” she said, turning back with the sword pointed toward Reynard, “I know of only one anonymous knight errant in black armor in my kingdom, and I certainly have not been riding about the country in the middle of the night, fighting with passing strangers and killing occasional monsters. At least, not recently.”

“No, I daresay I would have noticed, if you were,” Reynard allowed with a fond smile. “So, then, who do you suspect?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Meve said, looking down the length of the blade at him. “It just seems odd that the place where I fought incognito is so near to where a similarly attired knight is now causing trouble. I take issue, sir, with some stranger stealing my disguise and ruining the reputation I forged in it.”

“Or,” he suggested, eyes narrowing, “Perhaps what’s happened is that Sir Holt, not making any connection between the black knight of the tournament and the similar knight at Hawkesburn, heard the same story we did about the latter and invented this tale of his defeat, to draw me out to the countryside and thereby avoid fighting me on home ground.”

“Ah,” she said, lowering the sword. “Yes, I suppose that’s a plausible theory. I can send someone else out, if you’d prefer.”

Her heart lurched suddenly as a slight, dangerous smile crossed his face. She set the sword down absently, said, “No, I didn’t think you would,” and abandoned consideration of far-away knights, black or red, in favor of the much more interesting example she had immediately to hand.

The next morning dawned clear and the weather remained dry; Reynard’s picked company needed little encouragement to take full advantage. The General was in an uncommon hurry, it was plain to see, and so they traveled until late each night with only short breaks. During their third, bitterly cold, evening, a scout came down the column toward his commander and reported, “Seen an armed horseman not far up the way.”

“A highwayman,” the Count suggested; the Queen, overhearing them, said, “Or the black knight.”

The scout shook his head.

“Not likely a knight, my lady, nor no bandit neither, sir, I figure, but I’ll wager he waits for passerby, whatever.”

“It’s just th’ one man,” the Count said, shrugging; nevertheless the column continued somewhat more slowly, with eyes kept to the dark trees around and arrows on their bowstrings. They reached the turn in the road that the scout indicated and paused; the stranger was still there, sitting his horse in the moonlight under a dark hood, apparently waiting. The Queen and Count both leaned forward to squint suspiciously at the oddly familiar figure, and several of the warband as well; the Count then pulled an exasperated frown and sat up suddenly in his saddle.

“Oh, for the love of -”

“Stand down,” Meve ordered, cutting Reynard off, “We know this fellow.”

The stranger laughed, pulled his hood down, and bowed grandly toward his audience. Meve kicked her horse into motion as Reynard said, irritably, “Nice of you to rejoin society, Brossard.”

“Couldn’t miss your duel, could I?” the Duke replied, brightly; the knight had no time to reply as Meve approached, turned her horse, grabbed the Duke’s stirrup, and yanked upwards, tipping him off the opposite side of his alarmed mount. He hit the road with a grunt and immediately sprang upright, surprised and angry, caught sight of the grim expression on the Queen’s face, and mastered himself with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. She said nothing and rode away; the column followed, leaving Reynard behind.

“Well,” the Duke said, after the last of the warband passed on, “I suppose my unhorsing was long overdue.”

The Count shook his head disapprovingly, recaptured Gascon’s mare, and waited for the other man to clamber, wincing, back into the saddle.

“Nice to see you, too,” Gascon added, settling himself and picking dead leaves off his jacket. “Ouch.”

“Hmm,” Reynard replied doubtfully, releasing the horse.

“Yes, quite, and no more need be said on the subject. Anyway, I rode out t’ invite you and your company to stay at my place. My other place, I mean; the lodge, not the fort, which is inconveniently located for our, um, purposes. It’s about an hour’s ride from here,” he added, in response to the knight’s unspoken question. “I stationed a man partway, to direct you; I myself ought t’ ride on ahead and ensure all’s prepared. Under the circumstances, if you’d kindly relay th’ invitation to your lady love for me, I’d be much obliged.”

“Yes,” Reynard agreed, “That’s probably th’ only good idea you’ve had all month.”

“Well, you know what they say about clocks,” Gascon said, cheerfully enough. “Or is it th’ one about blind squirrels? Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

He galloped off; Reynard sighed and hurried to catch up with the column.

Half an hour later, at a fork in the road, they found Ethan waiting; the squire awkwardly led the warband through the dark woods, attempting to look anywhere except at its silent leader. They arrived just before midnight at a building which resembled a typical hunting lodge in the same way that Rivia Castle resembled the Brossard fort. Meve displayed no particular interest in the vast exterior, built out of the crumbling remains of an elven fortress, or the several hundred hunting trophies mixed with long since out of fashion furnishings that filled the drafty rooms within it. As they entered, Reynard said quietly to her, “Reminds me of my grandfather, this place,” which dragged a slight smile through her tense displeasure; nevertheless she stayed stubbornly silent until they were out of sight and hearing of anyone else but the uncharacteristically courteous Gascon.

“This house is like that menagerie Foltest keeps in Vizima,” she finally remarked, studying a white bearskin rug with the snarling head still attached, “Except that th’ animals are mostly still alive there, of course.”

“I haven’t had the time to redecorate,” Gascon ventured with the air of a man testing the waters. “In truth, this is only the second time I’ve ever been here, myself. My mother never wanted t’ come here when I was young; said it was creepy.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” Meve said, glancing around at the strange shadows the animal heads threw on the walls in the firelight. Reynard shrugged unconcernedly and put an arm around her. A slightly awkward silence fell.

“Would you like to see a camelopard’s head?” Gascon asked, breaking it; Meve looked interested, instead of icily distant, and he pointed the rare trophy out, just over the fireplace in company with a few other preserved monsters. They sat and regarded it for a moment.

“That,” Reynard stated flatly, “Is a horse’s head with spots painted on it.”

“It was quite a fine horse, however,” Meve said with an amused smile, her bad mood forgotten.

“And they’re well-painted spots,” Gascon replied, grinning.

By morning, the incident on the road the night before had been forgotten, by unspoken mutual consent. Meve and Reynard passed an hour of the morning in an argument over their next move; Gascon, meanwhile, conveniently vanished to negotiate with the enemy camp. Eventually the disagreement was resolved by some cunning diplomacy on Meve’s part; she and Isbel then departed to investigate the mystery of the black knight, leaving Reynard behind to await his second’s return.

Rain had set in; they rode through cold drizzle, accompanied by a miserable escort. Isbel considered the dripping soldiers and the sparse, leafless scrub trees that dominated the roadside and finally said, “If the black knight, so-called, can vanish, perhaps by enchantment, as you suggested when you dragged me along on this excursion, it isn’t by light of day, and certainly not into these woods.”

“I know that,” Meve said.

“Then what, may I ask, is the point of this?”

“Why, the fresh air and exercise,” she replied. Silence returned after, for a time, and then the sorceress, in a tone of deep disgust, said, “You’re hoping to find this person before Sir Reynard does, aren’t you?”

“Well - all right; we’ve something of a wager going, on that ring I won in the tourney, and the next of us to win a fight will also win the prize. He, of course, is expecting this duel any day now, so the sooner I find the black knight, the better, as there’s not much chance he’ll lose it.”

The sorceress sighed, cast a despairing look skyward, and noted, “The black knight perhaps does not exist, or may not be found in these parts.”

“Yes, that’s Reynard’s theory,” Meve said, casually, “But I disagree.”

They returned that evening empty-handed and damp, to find Reynard in a state of abject boredom. His gloom was only slightly lessened by Meve’s return and her lack of success; noticing the depressed atmosphere, she attempted to engage him in a chat about the weather, and then, when the conversation failed, talked aimlessly at him about the latest advancements in crossbow design. Gascon returned as night was falling, long after she’d stopped trying to shift his mood and had resigned herself to examining the hunting trophies in the melancholy silence.

“We’ve chosen the field,” he said, “I just went to have a look, as it’s not all that far away. It looks decent; not too many holes in it, and I don’t think it’ll be flooded from all this rain.”

“When?” Reynard asked, testily.

“Tomorrow evening,” said Gascon, “And I should warn you that th’ opposition’s clearly intending to use the sunset to his advantage, should the weather clear, but then, perhaps it won’t.”

Meve glanced out the nearest window; the rain had turned spotty after dark, and she could see stars through patches in the clouds at the western horizon. She frowned and left the men to an involved discussion of the field’s layout; neither of them appeared to notice her departure. She found Isbel studying the camelopard head with a dubious frown. The sorceress kept up the expression as she explained the latest development and only said, wearily, “These men,” in response.

“I thought,” Meve said, idly, “That, perhaps, you’re right about the black knight.”

“Oh?”

“Yes; he certainly shouldn’t vanish very well, by day, at least; we really ought to be hunting for him at night, instead.”

“In this weather?”

“Well, it’s inconvenient, to be sure, and would make fighting him much more difficult, and I suppose that any advantage is worth th’ effort,” Meve said significantly, eying the older woman. Isbel considered the statement a moment.

“Is Sir Reynard in any significant danger?” she asked, pointedly.

“Doubtful,” Meve replied, waving the idea off as it if was impossible; hadn’t even crossed her mind; “This isn’t that serious of a matter. He may be injured, I suppose, but not killed - not on purpose, at least, and he’s been a knight too long for an accident to be likely.”

“Well then, perhaps I might leave early,” Isbel suggested, looking unconvinced.

“The fight’s tomorrow evening,” Meve noted, apparently ignoring the request, “Do you think that the weather will hold, or clear?”

“I don’t know,” Isbel answered, reluctantly. “It’s hard to tell, so far in advance, at this time of year; I suppose it may not.”

“As you say,” Meve said, flashed her victorious smile, and added, “Travel safely; we’ll see you at home.”

#thronebreaker #witcher #action #romance #sports

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mokkoriness · 5 years ago

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ROCK AND READ vol. 086 - Show Interview

Their own "alicenine."

At their 15th anniversary tour final that was held at Hibiya Open Air Concert Hall on August 10, their band name changed back to the original "alicenine." from the "A9" that we have gotten familiar with over the last 5 years. Although we heard the reason behind this in the previous issue from the band's frontman, Show, in this issue, we ask each of the members to talk about their feelings towards "alicenine.". With what kind of feelings did they have when facing this band name and the "blend of Japanese and Western styles" concept 15 years ago? Everyone has their own image of "alicenine.", so that means we should be able to see many aspects of the band that is alicenine.

alicenine.'s vocalist Show, who is making his second consecutive appearance in this magazine. In the previous issue, we had Show talk about the reason behind changing the band name back from "A9" to "alicenine.", about alicenine. and the current state of the music scene, from the point of a view of a businessman who is responsible for the band's strategy. This time, as the person who named this band, including with what feelings he had when he named the band, we closed in on Show's point of origin = "darkness". Only because there is poison, there is beauty.

Changing your band name back from "A9" to "alicenine.", you have made a new start. News that you had changed your band name generated a huge response to the point that it was even trending on Twitter worldwide.

Show: That's right. First of all, by changing our name to "A9", from an outsider's perspective, isn't there also the point of view that there could be "people who think that it's not interesting" that the five of us are doing activities? There was this feeling. No matter how much we say that we are doing things properly, there will be a small percentage of doubts. I think that that also goes for the people who really support us. There was this strange feeling of having to correct yourself from saying "alicenine", which we had gotten used to, to "A9". We were painfully aware that everyone felt that way, so in order to overcome that strange feeling, we thought that one of our missions was to change our band name back.

Is that so? And so you changed the band stylisation back to the katakana and kanji mix, reclaiming your band name.

Show: As we were doing our band activities, the music scene in Asia was really livening up, and on a global level, the position of music from Asia was elevated, so as a form on content from Japan, we had to also do our best. So as a "weapon" for that, and furthermore, to show our intention as a band that "returned to their origin", we changed our stylisation to the original "alicenine.".

So does that mean in other words, the choice of this stylisation also has the intention of being on the offensive?

Show: If we were to never change our band name in the future again, I thought that changing it to the English stylisation of "Alice Nine" would be the safest move. I am responsible for design, so from that point of view, it's really difficult to handle; the peculiarity of アリス九號. is too strong. But the overall consensus from the members was a choice that wasn't a safe bet, so in that respect, it really is an attack.

Were there any moments where you felt that the band name had really changed back?

Show: I guess that would be at Tora's birthday live, where I was boldly able to say "We're alicenine.". I thought that it was different from before. Because in the 5 years until then, we did not say it at all.

It was "We're A9".

Show: Right. When the words "alicenine." were born, we had nothing. But the phrase just stirs up the edgy side inside of us, or rather, the poison. It made me think, "So the name "alicenine." has that kind of ring to it and that kind of power to it".

Does that mean the name "A9" stirred up something different inside you?

Show: That might be the case. The source of my creativity are aggressive things, like hatred and grudges, so now that you mention it, there are just some feelings that "A9" doesn't stir up. Even when A9 was caught up in the affairs of the adults without knowing what was what, maybe it's because that we had grown mentally too, but none of that intense, deep black hatred was stirred up. But in the initial period of alicenine., I had done things with a thirst for blood, so this name does stir up those feelings.

No one could get that feeling of bloodlust from looking at the "A9" logo.

Show: Because it's only made up of symbols. When I gave the band the name “alicenine.", for me, there was an actual reason for choosing the word "alice". From when I was a young child to when I was in my teens, I had always thought that perhaps one day when you woke up, you would be a different person. Just like "Alice in Wonderland", perhaps you could fall down a hole and end up in a different world. I was the kind of person who lived having those kinds of fantasies.

What was is that pushed you that far?

Show: It was the expectations of my parents. But I was unable to meet their expectations. There was nothing that made me feel proud of myself. Ever since I was old enough to understand the world around me until elementary school exams, I had received special education. During this special education, I would always run away during class, and my parents and the teachers would find me and bring me back to class. So as a result of me turning and running away from my studies, there was nothing left for me, and there was nothing that could validate my self worth. So I had no choice but to escape from reality. The desire for that kind of person to want to escape from reality is embedded in the name "アリス ( "alice")". The "九號 ("nine")." part is from "(N)INE" of "NUMBER (N)INE (an apparel brand)", which I turned into "九 ("nine")" later, and when I combined it with "アリス", the first thing I thought was that it seemed like a strong name. When I looked up the meaning of "九" on Wikipedia, it said that "In Japanese cosmology, it means the greatest and the strongest", so I chose "九". The basis for me choosing this band name is my low self-esteem, which gave me no choice but to escape from reality, and the feeling of wanting to become stronger in spite of this.

Now that we know about your mentality, we can see your gloomy character and introspective world, especially in the songs during the initial period of the band.

Show: That's right. Precisely because of my view on life and death and because I was in a hopeless hole in the ground where there was only self-denial, there was the light that looked sparkling and beautiful. That is the root of my expression.

It was all you could aspire to; a world that was shining brightly with light. Even though you look like a prince (laughs).

Show: I think that if I really were a prince that was shining brightly, the stars would not shine. Because the prince himself is the one that is shining. For some reason, lately, many people have been saying to me "Show, let's do what is that the root of your expression".

Saga talked passionately about that in this issue.

Show: In terms of how my resources are used, I have the temperament of a creator, so I'm a moody, unpleasant, desperate, and clumsy person. But Saga tells me things, Ken (L'Arc～en～Ciel) tells me things, and Kei (BAROQUE) tells me things. So as someone on the receiving end of being told things, I had somehow managed to do things in a good way. Things were different at the very beginning. I took the lead and actively decided on everything.

When alicenine. first formed?

Show: Yes. For songs, I would be giving instructions to everyone, like "Let's do this kind of song next", and we would jam in the studio and make songs that way. From the setlist to the homepage to the flyers; I did everything. So when the band's level began to gradually increase, all of a sudden, it had hit me. That I sucked at singing (awkward smile).

It's not as though you were aiming to become a vocalist. And yet this band had required a vocalist that could sing well.

Show: I had painfully realised that I was awful at singing, and so once again, I lost my confidence. That's when Saga had started to work really hard for us.

In other words, that is where the baton for the musical leader had changed.

Show: That's right.

But after becoming A9 and managing the band yourselves, you have suddenly changed into a frontman with unshakeable confidence. You have the determination to pull in the audience with your emotional talking, such as saying "As long as you are happy, I don't care if people are laughing behind our backs. I will do anything for you", and since becoming a confident frontman, there has been no wavering in your singing. I think that your awareness as a frontman had completely changed once you became A9. What are your thoughts on this?

Show: All of one's life and humanity shows in singing. Although I was really bad at singing when alicenine. first formed, I was overflowing with the energy like that of a stray dog saying, "Just watch me, I'm going to rise to the top". What left an impression on me was a blog post from someone who had watched us at an event at the time, saying "What the hell is with these guys? They can't do a single thing right, but they have this overwhelming aura of winners. You can't help but feel overwhelmed by them".

Even though you were bad, the aura that you were winners was on full display.

Show: At first, that was good in its own way. But before we knew it, we made our major debut after 1 year. That meant that from there on, our craft was commercialised. To become commercialised means that what determines what the correct answer is is not the creator, but the customer. It's a matter of whether the customer wants it or not. When we reframed our activities in that manner, at the time, I did not have the tolerance, the skills, or the personality to take on the burden of expression as a commercial business. On top of that, including the staff, no one had said anything to me about my singing.

Like "You're off pitch"?

Show: Yeah. I want to tell my past self to say "Someone teach me how to sing" (laughs).

In a previous issue of "ROCK AND READ", you also said that none of the members had ever pointed out problems with your singing.

Show: Like "This is what sucks about him but this is what he's good at". The same applies to all the members. Even if we are severely lacking in something, we all have our own unique capabilities. We're a band that combines such unique capabilities.

What was the reason behind the dramatic change to your singing, which was something you were lacking in, in A9?

Show: I said that singing shows one's life and humanity, but until the change to A9, I had not understood what it meant for the people who came to hear the music live, and the true essence of that. Music is very black. Even though they don't know what it will be like live, the audience pays really far ahead in advance, and they are even required to make an additional payment for handling fees. Even if they were to buy tickets many months in advance, the tickets are done by lottery, and even if you were to score a ticket, the ticket has a certain entry number. Despite such unreasonable conditions, they come to see us live and headbang. Considering that this is a service industry, compared to other services, isn't it a very failed service? But of all the options available to them, they purposely choose music and come to see us live. It was around the 9th year that I was able to intrinsically understand the significance of that. Since then, I've been doing music not as my job, but with the feelings of living out each and every day to the maximum. It was from around the "Alice Nine 9th Anniversary #1 "World's End Daybreak"" tour where the audience gradually understood that we were being serious about it.

From then on, music was not work, but had become your life.

Show: Yes. That way, I understood what the audience was doing for us, and when I treated the audience with the determination that was aware of that, I began to see something different. I look at each and every person and wonder what I can do for them. If the capacity of the venue is 350 people, it is not just 350 people. For example, although to the person who is at the very back of Takadanobaba AREA against the wall and probably can only see a small part of me, all I can do for them is to reach my hand out to them and sing in this 8-bar rhythm, and have them feel that. That is what I am doing with each and every person now. By doing so, I can finally face each and every person that comes to see us live, and for the first time, I can exist as a frontman. I think that was probably communicated to you. So it's not a simple matter of me being able to be on pitch now.

In the past, with what kind of feelings did you have while standing on stage?

Show: I was scared when the audience was pushing towards the front, and I didn't know what to do. So I did my best to put on a brave face. Now I am standing on the stage making it a point to consider each and every person in the room. If we are playing a solo show, it's for two and a half hours. It's about just how much we can make it a valuable memory in the lives of the people who come to see us. I don't think of it as us offering time, but I constantly think about shining as something important to them and as sharing something with each other. That is why everyday, as if it was an ordinary thing to do, I stretch while listening to the music of the world. Even when I go to restaurants and such, I think about whether or not I can utilise this hospitality with the band. It's not as though I am working hard on each and every thing separately; it's connected like a neural network. I think that this becomes my humanity and my singing, and is being communicated to everyone. Since I only think about what I can do for each and every person that comes to see us play live and how I should face them, I don't mind dancing or acting. To us, there is a single connection between each and every thing and there are no lies there, so I think we are able to do that kind of thing without any hesitation.

That means that there is a single connection in terms of how you live your life.

Show: Right. I am not telling any lies when I am on stage. The way I live my life shows on stage. If I think that at least on the outside, I have to be everyone's prince, then it will just be a live show where some guy putting on airs is trying to do Visual-kei music. So rather, it's my attitude. It really is about how I live my life. The way I'm talking makes me sound like I'm in a punk rock band though (laughs).

alicenine. is a band where it is difficult to see the essence of that. When you first formed, people called you a band that only had good looks or an idol band, but since becoming A9, you all set down your instruments and actually danced like idols, so some people wondered what it was that you wanted to do. When you said earlier that there was a single connection, I feel like that is hard to communicate to other people apart from fans.

Show: I suppose so. alicenine. fans really are strong, to love this kind of rubbish prince.

I'm sure that fans were also asked things like "Who is A9?" and "Why are they dancing, even though they're a band?".

Show: And yet they don't get startled. I think the essence is communicated to the audience who come to watch us live now.

The bond between you and your fans has gotten stronger.

Show: Yes, I feel that way.

Even though you're a rubbish prince.

Show: It makes me want to apologise to them (laughs). Even so, we bare our hearts and face each and every person without lying to them, so that their lives can shine even brighter. That is all that I can say as alicenine.'s Show.

And so, "Let's become stars".

Show: Oh. I don't have any memories from lives around that time (laughs). That's why I have no idea why I blurted that out. I think what I meant was that we should head towards what is shining together and become happy.

So let's change the subject and talk about alicenine.'s single "Kakumei Kaika - Revolutionary Blooming-". Together with changing your band name back to the starting point, apparently there was a request from Saga to also write the lyrics in the same way you did when the band first started. What was it like to write lyrics in the same manner you did when the band first started?

Show: I had to write the lyrics while facing my past traumas, so it was difficult. These kinds of lyrics are about facing oneself. While mumbling all the time, I faced myself to write down the words, and since the writing style is about facing myself, it was really difficult. Since being able to work with major producers, they would always have requests like "Make this one a love song" or "Make this a song for the Winter", so the way I wrote lyrics too had also become mechanical. Writing lyrics in that way is easy. But what Saga requested this time was lyrics born from me facing myself, like the trauma I experienced as a child, so it was really difficult writing these lyrics. Even now I feel like throwing up when I see paperback books. I'm fine with Kindle, but I feel sick when I see paperback books.

Why is that?

Show: I think it's because when I was a kid, my parents told me to read books, so I was forced to read books to death. I still have memories of the Japanese literature that I read back then, so these things come out.

Literary words.

Show: Yes. People tell me "That's like an expression so and so would use", and I would go back and read it on my Kindle. Those words just pop out when I am writing lyrics while facing myself. Lately, I've been going to watch kabuki. Kabuki talks about life and death and the nobility of things that are not eternal, so it fit right in with my lyrics. I thought that my lyrics were similar to kabuki. With my lyrics, in general, someone has died. The same goes for kabuki.

Like double suicide.

Show: Yeah. That's when I thought that it's not wrong to say that we have a "blend of Japanese and Western styles" (laughs).

Where did the whole "blend of Japanese and Western styles" thing originally come from?

Show: At first, we were told by our company to decide on a concept, and while thinking "We don't have that kind of thing", I took lots of notes. As a result of all these notes, I forcibly said that a "blend of Japanese and Western styles" was our concept.

Forcibly?

Show: Yes, forcibly. I have this memory of getting angry at our manager at the time, saying that it was a blend of Japanese and Western styles, because we combined "アリス ("alice")" with "九號." and because the lyrics were in Japanese, even though it was rock music (laughs).

Were the lyrics for the coupling song "Sara Sousou" also written in the same manner?

Show: Yes. In terms of the sound, it is at the forefront of creativity, but to have these kinds of lyrics is awesome, right? "Kakumei Kaika -Revolutionary Blooming-" was written before watching kabuki, so after watching kabuki, I thought that my lyrics were really similar to kabuki. So these are lyrics I wrote without even thinking about it.

Even with the title "Sara Sousou", with that manner of writing, you easily wrote the lyrics.

Show: It just comes to me. As for the meaning, even I don't really know. There is a flower called shorea robusta (沙羅双樹 "Sara Soju" in Japanese) and the lyrics show the spiritual world of nirvana and paint out the process of one's soul being purified. The ending has the feeling of a ceremonial bonfire and becoming smoke to return to nature.

Going back to the way you used to write lyrics, the choice of words is really unique, and though beautiful, there is that view of life and death.

Show: Although as a businessman, I look at this and think "Is there demand for this?" (laughs). But there's no helping it, because this is what comes out when I face myself. I wonder if there is this much of a need for my individuality to this extent? When I was a child, I really did want to die and thought about that every day. Even though I told my juniors "Every time I look at my own face in the mirror, I want to die", they never believed me (laughs). But that my individuality and wickedness is brought out may just be the band's individuality. That's why I think that at least for the next release, I have to write in this manner and create something that will make people think that this band is amazing.

Now that you have returned to the name alicenine., what would you like to do going forward?

Show: It's a bit contradictory to my personality, which is a little businessman-like, but I would like to go all out with the creativity I have in this current mode and see where it takes us. I want to let everything out. Although this might lead to the creation of something grotesque.

#alicenine.#alice nine #alice nine translation #alicenine. translation #show #rock and read

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astrodances · 6 years ago

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Consider though: what if Scrooge is speaking from personal experience here, that he’s saying this in a “Trust me, I know. I’ve tried” type of way? (and would also apply it to Della’s “treasure-hunting” comment)

(this got really long, so there’s gonna be more after the cut)

Like just imagine, young Donald and Della end up under his care one day, and not having raised kids of his own before, Scrooge does the only thing he can think of to try to bond with them: takes them out on a daring adventure.

Only it doesn’t go so well. Sure, maybe they do get the treasure, maybe they don’t, but there’s monsters and traps and it’s just very rough. Everyone comes home scraped-up and rather miserable. Or perhaps Donald more so than the other two, and while Della was (and probably still is) enamored with the whole concept of the adventure, she helps her brother into the mansion while giving Scrooge a questioning innocent look of, “Why did you take us somewhere only for us to get hurt?”

And of course Scrooge didn’t want them to get hurt, but like Storkules says, “Getting hurt is part of the adventure.” And so he just watches them go further into the house, where Duckworth probably fixes them up as best he can physically before letting them rest. But Scrooge meanwhile probably goes upstairs to his room or office, feeling like a failure of a guardian already.

Why didn’t it work? he asks himself. It was just an adventure! What did I do wrong?

And so things are awkward around McDuck Manor for awhile. The kids are wary of their new home and child-endangering uncle, while Mr. “I am Scrooge McDuck!” is wrestling with something he doesn’t face very often: self-doubt.

But then one night, Donald and Della are doing their own thing, maybe stargazing outside (or whatever you want), and Scrooge catches sight of them through the window. He doesn’t think too much of what he’s doing, but he decides to go outside and casually ask what they’re doing (or why they’re not in bed yet), and then perhaps asks if he can join them. Or better yet, something like this goes down:

“What are you kids up to?”

“We’re trying to find the planets, Unca Scrooge!”

“Oh? Any luck so far?”

A look between twins, and then a shrug. “We’re not sure.”

“I wanna see Jupiter!”

“Jupiter, eh? Well, let’s see if we can’t find ‘im after another try.” And so Scrooge settles down in the grass behind the kids, sitting criss-crossed just like them and leaning in between them to get on their level and point up to the heavens. “He should be right about...there! See that really bright ‘star’ a bit to the left of the moon? That’s Jupiter!”

The kids ooh-and-ahh, and then he begins to explain how since the planet is so big, they can still see it even though the moon’s shining brilliantly tonight. And then perhaps he delves into an ancient myth about Jupiter, or, as they probably better know him as, Zeus. Because if there’s one thing Scrooge is good at, it’s telling stories.

And so the evening transforms into one of sharing stories (and maybe making up a few of their own), and finding different planets and stars, and looking at the pretty moon. And no one knows when it happens (they don’t even notice it really), but by the end of the night, the three of them are laying back in the grass, Scrooge with an arm wrapped around each twin, quick to point out a passing meteor and dissolving into a chuckle whenever they fight over whose turn it is to make a wish (they insist that only one wish per shooting star can be made, but when they truly can’t decide, they let Scrooge have it).

The next couple of weeks or however long turn out to be really fun. Donald and Della start warming up to Scrooge, and he in turn to them, through a bunch of normal activities (though game night proves to be an eye-opener; Scrooge quickly learns that no matter how competitive you are, you just can’t outmatch twins at charades).

And then one day, while he’s working in his office, Donald and Della burst in all excitedly, rambling on about how they found a treasure map in a book about pirates in the attic and do you think it’s still there and I wonder if it’s cursed and can we go find it, please?

And maybe Scrooge doesn’t consciously realize what his original mistake was until the moment he’s telling Della herself that she can’t use monster-fighting to form a relationship with her kids, but deep down, the moment touches him and spurs him on: it won’t be monsters or treasure that will bring them together; it’ll be the family itself.

Because after all, family truly is the greatest adventure of all.

...

Bonus angst (I’m so sorry):

So when I said right above at the end that “maybe Scrooge doesn’t consciously realize what his original mistake was” until he’s telling Della, it got me thinking about something: despite whatever family bonding he and the twins had pre-SoS, what if Scrooge just kinda strayed away from that deep internalization of the above lesson? Like, they started to bond as a family, but then started going on all these adventures over the years, and he started to see that as the main source of bonding? Which I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad thing on the surface (to each their own), but if you’ve read their past adventures in the new IDW DuckTales comics, you know that Donald was always getting the short end of the stick and was getting used instead of included usually.

Part of me really wants to say next that this is something that would’ve come back to bite Scrooge right after the Spear of Selene incident. That he would’ve realized then in a very heartbreaking moment that they got so on a roll with all the monster-fighting and treasure-hunting, it did become the glue of their relationship. But they pushed it too hard with the SoS, and that glue fell apart. Adventure couldn’t hold them together.

But the thing is, that likely didn’t happen. Rather, I think he was in such strong denial of it, because he just didn’t want it to be true (and it would make it his fault, and shake the very foundation of a lifetime of memories with the twins through adventure). Because fast-forward ten-plus years, and what is Scrooge still saying?

Granted, it could be that this is a viewpoint he’s built himself back up to having after the triplets came into his life and all that. Because especially in this scene, you can see it: after all that happened in the Shadow War, he’s kinda reached a newfound level of inner peace thanks to the youngest generation of his family.

But no. I think that denial lives on, right up until Della comes back home, and he sees her struggling to connect with her kids. I think that’s when the lesson finally sinks in for Scrooge himself, that family is more than just the adventures you go on.

Because he’s been down that road before, and he doesn’t want to see her make the same mistakes that he did.

#DuckTales #Scrooge McDuck #Della Duck #Donald Duck #my analysis #my gifs #my headcanons

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afinepricklypear · 5 years ago

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Compare and Contrast: K Project vs. Bungou Stray Dogs - Part 2

Read Part 1

Story

In general, K Project does a lot better job of maintaining a consistent and focused story, especially in Seasons 1 and 2 than BSD, with almost no filler content. There aren’t nearly as many open plot threads or divergences from the main story, and everyone introduced has a very cohesive purpose to the plot. This may largely be due to the fact that K was originally envisioned as a complete story, with the movie Return of Kings and season 2’s Missing Kings and other added materials being, somewhat, after thoughts consequently ordered due to the popularity of the show. Season 2 does offer a very decisive end to the tale, with the destruction of the Dresden Slate, mysterious source of all supernatural power. On the other hand, BSD is an ongoing serialized manga with no set beginning or ending that we, as the audience, are aware. BSD’s author, Asagiri Kafka, isn’t telling a self-contained story with a determined beginning, middle, and end, so often times characters and plot devices are introduced which may not have bearing on the current arc of the story, they hint at things to come. This might be frustrating for viewers that aren’t interested in long-term serialized works, which does have the tendency to fall victim to filler episodes in attempt to make a certain quota or make up for any lulls in the story.

That being said, BSD, thus far, does a lot better with world.

In K, the concepts of Clans and Kings, the Dresden Slate, and the Swords of Damocles are never fully fleshed out satisfactorily, to the point that aspects of it feel completely illogical, convoluted, and conveniently there merely to move the plot forward. Fantasy stories are generally under no obligation to provide explanations for where magic abilities come from, K makes an attempt with the Dresden Slate, but overreaches with an established protocol of Kings and Clans in regards to these powers with no explanation for where or why these rules manifested or why anyone feels obligated to follow them. For example, the Red King Mikoto is not shown to care too much for being a King, or even wanting obligations to his Clan, yet he maintains it and his Clansmen show loyalty to it, and there’s no explanation beyond “well that’s just the way the Dresden Slate works”. That would be fine, if this wasn’t established as the expectation of anyone who is “awoken” as a King. In that same vein, a lot isn’t really clarified in terms of what really happens to Clansmen when their King dies (Clansmen are shown to still maintain powers granted from their former King but that’s just speculation from viewers, and doesn’t make sense if there powers stem from their Kings) and what is meant to happen when a new King takes their place (though we do see Clansmen turn on the new Blue King, in regards to Munakata taking over Jin Hibari’s role, or choosing to continue following the new Red King, as we see in HOMRA with Anne taking Mikoto’s place). Worse, these rules are just universally known in a world that isn’t supposed to know about these Clans and Kings, leaving no one to explain these rules to newly awakened Kings although these rules are shown to be universally known and accepted by them. More questions than answers are raised.

In BSD, people being born with or manifesting abilities is shown to just be a facet of this world. It’s just one of the physical laws, much like how the sky is blue, grass is green, some people can conjure demons that kill you. This is just the world they live in, and in that sense, the people in this world are the ones that determine the rules that govern these abilities without expectation. This treats us to various different ideas and philosophies for how ability users should apply their abilities or how the users themselves should be managed. The government attempts to regulate ability users, through licensure for organizations that wish to operate as ability user specific. This provided a cool storyline where we see Port Mafia obtain its license to operate as an ability user organization during the Dark Era, through nefarious plotting on leader, Mori’s part, which also highlighted that the Port Mafia is a criminal organization because prior to obtaining this license they were operating without one. We also see the Armed Detective Agency undergo a plot to take their license away, and since they are the morally upright group, in their minds, losing their license means they will cease to exist. This places explanation firmly on the goals of their given society, something that is relatable and understandable for readers, and shifts it away from the realm of unexplainable and increasingly convoluted magic.

On the flipside of that, however, K does a much better job of balancing powers. Which brings me Nakahara Chuuya.

I’ll throw this disclaimer in here, Chuuya is my favorite character. I fell in love at first sight. Unfortunately, he gets little to no screen time, I could count on one hand his number of appearances throughout the first two seasons. He gets three episodes at the start of Season 3 that explores his history with Dazai, and I feel I’m in no way biased (**cough, cough** 100% biased) saying these are the best three episodes of the season. Then we see him maybe in two more episodes until he gets trapped in a book for the rest of the season, leaving me screaming furiously at the screen. Manga chapters that go beyond where the anime left off are not filling me with much hope for more Chuuya in Season 4. Seriously, I don’t recommend loving this character, you’ll only get your heart broken.

The problem with Chuuya that becomes rampant throughout BSD in other characters, is that he’s a side character for a rival organization and he is super OP. Since the creator seems adamantly against making him a more main character (either as antagonist or protagonist…hell, majority of his appearances have been to literally save the day for the heroes), not to mention the lack of anyone in our heroes’ corner that could reasonably take him on (even Dazai is outmatched despite his nullifying ability, because Chuuya also happens to be Port Mafia’s best martial artist) the only recourse is to leave him conveniently absent from majority of the story. Which, okay, this can mostly be explained away that he’s an Executive in Port Mafia and probably has a lot to deal with in terms of making sure their operations continue to move smoothly, but it leads to ludicrous scenarios such as the end of the Guild Arc when a whale sized airship is being dropped on Yokohama by the Guild. We’re told this ship will wipe out a large portion of the city. At this point, the Detective Agency and Port Mafia are on semi-good terms in order to stand against their common enemy, the Guild. You would think, large object being dropped on the city, Port Mafia has a powerful gravity manipulator on staff...one phone call to Dr. Mori, “Hey...do you mind sending Chuuya to take care of that whale bomb....or are you just cool with the city being flattened?” All Chuuya needs to do is parachute down, once he touches the ship, he could tear the whole thing apart and fling its pieces to every side of the ocean. They call it a day in thirty seconds, tops, back home for dinner. Yet, for some odd reason, the course of action that the Armed Detective Agency decides on is to send rookie agent tiger boy to infiltrate the ship and fight his way to a possible transponder they can use to reverse the ship’s course, despite having little experience, and no specialized abilities for the task, let’s not get started on the ridiculousness of that transponder anyways. This decision is based largely on the fact he once was held prisoner on the ship and so…should know his way around? I get that they supposedly don’t want to owe Port Mafia, but this kind of seemed like an odd time to play loose and fast with the city’s safety. The point is, Chuuya is powerful, which makes his lack of presence during crucial moments pretty heavy handed.

That being said, however, this OP situation, is a problem throughout with other characters as well. There’s no balance of powers, and characters are shown to do things that don’t fall within the realm of their abilities, may never have previously been display or given proper explanation prior to introduction, and sometimes comes across as just thrown in last minute as a plot device. A few examples, able to transform into a tiger also, somehow allows Atsushi to heal at a rapid level and regrow limbs. Forget about the implications that he’s got some “special” light attached to his ability, as well. In a recent chapter of the manga, we see a newly introduced character, one of the Hunting Dogs, slap a bullet out of the air and stop a large projectile with her bare hands. Her ability, however, is age manipulation so there’s no given reason why she should’ve been able to do those things. While it is mentioned that the Hunting Dogs are also genetically engineered, she did this to save another Hunting Dog who is duly is surprised by her actions and expresses that he could not have done the same. I’m baffled. This is to say nothing of the multiple time characters without regenerative or durable abilities are stabbed, blown up, and impaled, only to walk it off like it’s nothing. The Agency healer, Yosano, has an ability called Thou Shalt Not Die, she can heal someone but only when they’re on the brink of death, so her ability is essentially that trope in action films where the bomb is always disarmed with one second to spare. Let’s not even talk about the new revelation that Dazai can control his heart beats to the point he can use it for passing secret code. It becomes plot armor so thick that it entirely erases the stakes for our characters. They’re all treated as practically immortal, able to overcome anything thrown at them, I’m not even worried anymore when a character takes a lance through the heart, I know he’s walking it off in the next scene.

K is a lot more balanced with its abilities. None of the characters, outside of the Kings, feel so overpowered that they are impossible to stop and they’re not shown to be capable of things outside of their given abilities or established, and might I say reasonable, skillsets. Even the Kings have their peers in the other Kings. Sure, Clansmen can dodge bullets, but if they’re hit by one it hurts and, notably in the case of Totsuka, it can kill. No one is getting impaled multiple times then walking it off. Mikoto is run through with a blade once, and as it should be, he dies. Not only does this maintain the stakes for our characters – they are at the end of the day mortal, and they can get hurt, they can be beaten, they can die – it also gives us a more complicated, and darker story with characters that we can relate to on an emotional level.

Read Part 3

#bungo stray dogs #k #k project #spoilers #more to come #anime review #thoughts #drabble #long post

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inexchangeforyoursoul · 5 years ago

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Hello, hello, here’s my piece for the Halloween minibang organized in courtesy of the Chicken Tendies and Bacon Bits DabiHawks server~ and have the link to a more sensible reading experience (as t gets rid of formatting, too, and I’m lazy to put it all back in, at least for now): ao3

I was paired up with pineapple hair boy (dunno his url still rip) and our promt was haunted maze! \o/ I kinda included the other two we were gunning for, devil deal and ghost stories, so... multitasking, yo. Also put in my suggested fog, because as time passed, I realized how good it was even though I just put something into the box lmao

I’ll link pineapple’s accompanying piece as soon as they’re done with it, right here, in this line!! AND HERE IT IS!!! 👀

(Some of you may note... that I was supposed to be the artist. Well, it’s a long story, and likely on me tbh; I spent p much the entire week working on my piece, but I also started writing this one, and suggested doubling down on content, but unfortunately timetables are evil, and pineapple got mobbed enough as to likely run out of time if he also wanted to finish writing, so, um... yeah. This is not to say that we won’t do our original project, though, so stay tuned for the bonus round, hopefully soon! \[T]/)

(... also, I may or may not be considering to make this a full story, so there’s that)

Keigo trips for what feels like the millionth time on this way through the undergrowth- by day, the manor labyrinth is fairly easy to navigate, the kids frequenting it has kept it threadable. Nobody has legitimately tended to it for years, though. Or rather a decade, actually, it’s been a while he was here. Honestly, who cares, because--- oh, for fuck’s sake, more rose or blackberry or whatever vines to untangle his legs from. Great. Just… great.

He squints at his watch; still on time. Catching his breath after getting free surprisingly fast this time around, he takes a look at his surroundings. Not that he sees much, bear you. It’s near midnight and pitch dark. To top it off, the thick-ass fog often present, source: right damn here, has also crept into town. In fact, this is the worst it has gotten this year yet. There’s also barely anything he can hear from the dying-off autumn festival two streets and half an estate over.

It’s only him, his phone's flashlight, and the camera around his neck that also keeps getting caught in shit. That, and his own breathing that's getting his lungs numb from all the cool, wet air they are being exposed to.

Fooling around for so long has made him feel… antsy. Just a bit. The fact that his goal, that is to say the family crypt of the moneybags who used to live here is so close doesn’t help, either.

The entire plot is the stuff of local legends. The mansion is-was infamous for its… flammability, so to speak. Every few years, at least one room got totalled. Some believed that the last master had been a pyromaniac, up till the umpteenth house fire snuffed his line, and himself at the age of 60-something, out for good. But old folk said that the building had been ablaze just as frequently before his time- and truth to be told, there had been two more fires ever since, although those could have been the aforementioned kids or the occasional squatter. Two fires in about ten years is pretty normal in an abandoned place like this.

A few of those old people said the mansion had been built on hallowed grounds in their parents’ time, and the fires were punishment for disturbing the church ruins and the dead it used to house. Even fewer said the church must have been built on the very gates of hell and the ruins had kept the flames at bay.

And old geezer Giran in particular said that you could see the devil himself on the night when spirits roam free, around where the isolated belfry’s foundation stands still with walls crumbling- the place around which the crypts were erected on top of upturned graves. To be frank, the dude himself looked as if he escaped from hell, so what better myths to bust as an aspiring photographer? And even if the devil won't drag his ass outside, this will still make one hella Halloween photoshoot. He has loads of candles and some lampions in a backpack to get the mood right as well.

If anything remotely threatening pops up, though, like a mean stray dog… or a horde of drunk homeless, he's so ready to run for the hills, you have no idea.

He’s pricking his ears good as he closes in on the center of the once-upon large cemetery. One has to acknowledge the effort those rich bastards put into this dumb maze layout just to hide their own dead. It’s as if they feared a zombie apocalypse and concluded that they wouldn’t be able to get out if the hedges grow in a pattern, like, seriously. Then again, if the ‘horde of drunk homeless’ situation comes true, it will feel and work just the same, so who’s he to judge.

The scenery, too, is something to behold still. The entire area is surprisingly… not very foggy. One can see just as far as there is anything relevant to see, nothing more, nothing less. The waning moon even came out to play for a bit, shedding some decent light on his surroundings.

What catches his attention is not the excellent lighting to make photos, though, but rather someone sitting on the ruins of the old belfry, right under where the plump planet is working her magic.

He checks the display of his watch again- two past midnight. He’s late. Well, bummer… maybe next time.

That… guy, though? He doesn't look like any devil he knows of, but rather a human figure. One he also doesn't know of, actually. Which is remotely more interesting than Satan himself, because… that’s a goth silhouette if he’s ever seen one, and he’s seen all in town. All three of them.

They are a chill bunch, so he figures he might as well go up to this one. May be an acquaintance of Tokoyami and company’s who was also told about this spooky deal.

"Hey. Have you seen the midnight devil, or did he not get the memo this year?" He lifts a hand over his eyes to let him have a clearer look.

Just the way the other looks over to him, even while slouching quite a bit, is in a manner that’s nothing bar… uh… majestic, should be the word? Sublime? Yeah. That's peak cinematography. He’s… a bit at a loss of words here, because? People have waxed lyrical about the positively blessed relationship between him and sunlight, but this guy?? Has legitimately the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, period???

Before he could get too entranced by the sight of the sky blue pins of the overshadowed figure sitting between a moonlit sky and milky deep sea of mist, he notices that said eyes skim over him. Slowly, creeping down, and then up. Um…

Did… did he just check him out?

A hardly concealed grin can be heard out of his voice as he speaks up. “Hey there, angel."

… that's a yes.

This… coming from someone with eyes and a voice like… that, is actually… hm.

Like, look… he’s been looking forward college to maybe… find someone he genuinely clicks with. But he has been through this immediate infatuation thing a hundred times already… and knows from experience that falling for mere potential is a grave mistake. What even are the chances that he’ll be the one? Put the aesthetic boner away and think rationally, Keigo. You don’t even know his name.

However, if, and IF he plays his cards well and this is not a total asshole… he could get both a photoshoot and a phone number out of this endeavor, which sounds like an excellent deal.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he acknowledges with a grin that's almost genuine. “Witching hour stuff aside, I don’t think I’ve seen you around…? A friend of Tokoyami’s?”

The other hops off the wall as he’s talking, stirring up some fog. Keigo could swear to hear absolutely nothing upon him hitting the ground. Must be the grass, but still, confirmed for cat. Not having to deal with the moon’s flare, he can now also tell that he’s about as old as expected.

The young man pauses to think for just a second before walking up to him. Nonchalance and weariness mingle in his steps.

“No, but I think I do know who you’re talking about. The kid with the raven.”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s him. Just visiting, then?” So he’s somewhat familiar with the area. Huh… how in hell did he never notice someone so obvious? Maybe he should come out here more often.

Also, is it just him, or did it get really cold all of a sudden?

“Him and his friends spend a lot of time here, I know enough. And yeah, something like that.”

As he stops in front of Keigo, an odd sensation trickles down his spinal cord, raising every hair on his nape. He’s had this once or twice when watching a legitimately good horror movie or catching a glimpse of an especially beautiful scene, or at least something very similar. It’s just the cold and being out in the middle of nowhere with a handsome stranger this time (which is kind of a combination of both), but still.

… this is not the time to be thinking ‘but what if he’s a serial killer and you are stuck out here with him alone’, brain. Thanks.

“Family business, gotcha.”

He’s onto something, because a certainly troubled look flashes over the hot--- the goth’s face as he reaches up to his own nape to rub away at it. “... yeah. That.”

The train of thought is seemingly swept out of the way after short consideration and his attention returns to Keigo. His neutral staring face is actually a little unnerving, no lie. “What about you, coming out here? Didn't quite catch what you first said.” He eyes him in a way similar to when he was sitting up on the wall, as if measuring him up.

“Oh, I wanted to take some photos,” Keigo starts, lifting the camera and the first candle he can grab from the bag, swinging it playfully around a few times with a smile to mask the nerve building up inside. “I figured it would be a nice opportunity even if the hearsay tale of the ~devil~ coming out at midnight was total humbug. This place is very atmospheric.”

What he says rouses a chuckle from the other. “Oh, so I wasn't imagining things. Been a while since I last heard that one.”

For someone deadpan he really has a cute smile. We are on a schedule here, but please never stop?

Keigo presses the tip of the candle into his cheek in contemplation, trying to steer his thoughts back on topic. “You mean, that local legend thing? I heard about it fairly recently… from the most suspect old dude." He rolls back and forth on his heels, watching out for reactions; "Giran, if the name is telling. But asking other old folks made them ring a bell, too, so I guess I was just ignorant.”

The other raises an eyebrow in amusement as the fading smile pulls into a smirk. "Maybe you are, a little bit."

Oh, come on. "Nobody is born cool, wise, or a folklore expert, okay…?" He pouts.

"I could already tell you were born without a trace of those things, alright."

"..."

He just said that. Looking him dead in the eyes.

Wow.

Dude's lucky his smile is cute, because that was so uncalled for and he's way too proud of himself. Sheesh. Anyway…

"Said the one who wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face…” He sighs. "Before we go down the name calling path, though… I’m Keigo." This was getting a little awkward without throwing it in, although he doubts the cocky asshole deserves it.

“Touya. My pleasure.”

Keigo hums as he moves to rummage through his stuff for the lighter he definitely threw in the bag before setting off. That’s not a very common name, but… “I think I’ve heard of you before…? Beats me where, though.” He’s pretty sure the conversation happened years ago by the crypt here, though.

Everything he says seems to amuse the other to no end. “It’s probably for the best. You seem like the type to run for the hills.”

Keigo gives him the side eye; being right aside, the hell is that supposed to mean…? And he’s so smug about it, too. About everything, really.

And no, it really wasn’t a line even remotely connected to serial killers, shut up, brain.

“Cryptic, are we?” he sighs, lighting the candle with a flickering click at last. The gentle flame sheds some dim, fog-broken light onto Touya’s face, and Keigo hates himself for being charmed by what he sees once more. That pale skin looks too perfect to be true… should feel like silk under one’s touch. If he ever gets a proper close-up look, he swears he’ll get a heart attack.

Touya blinks once, resetting his expression to nearly a default. “It's the two of us in a haunted, abandoned graveyard, inside a fog ridden maze, on the night after the 31st of October. You are basically begging to wind up dead. Coming off as cryptic and creepy as possible right now is elementary, angel.”

He… he legitimately can’t argue with that. The guy's almost as good at this as the bird kid is. “... touché.”

Stunned for words, he places his candle where planned instead. It's so stupid, but makes… so much sense. Is this why they all are like… that?

As he moves on like that without a word, Touya seems to get weirded out himself. "... You okay there?"

"I just had… an epiphany." He says, putting the first lampion with pinpoint precision. This guy just accidentally revealed some kind of arcane goth knowledge too advanced for him to begin to understand and doesn't even know it.

Touya heaves a deep sigh. "... you obviously got the wrong one out of that, but congratulations nonetheless."

“Maybe? I have not the foggiest what you were trying to imply.” He’s not that thick, but the dude’s being ~cryptic~ or whatever, and he’s not in the mood to write an essay on what edgy goths mean by what they say.

“Ah… figure that's why it's so clear out here this year… all the mist from the glade must have relocated to your head.” concluding that, Touya’s eyebrows pull closer upon seeing whatever else the blonde pulls out from his backpack while shooting a glare in his direction. “… what are those for?”

Keigo considers not answering at all, but decides against it. Being the bigger person by default is such a chore sometimes, but… “There’s some decent moonlight to work with, but these umbrellas help me get the little extra I need right where I want it. See?” With that, he turns the flashlight on and blinds the other with the sudden brightness.

“Ow, seriously?! I haven’t seen daylight in decades, turn that shit off…!”

… but, he can multitask and still be an asshole while answering the question. And laugh at the reaction, then laugh some more the decades comment as the other rubs his eyes, because he positively has the looks of a display-tanned indoor hermit. A hermit who is having a bad time.

“Wanna help, or would you rather brood somewhere the umbrellas won’t be able to reach you?”

A mechanical click can be heard in the distance; now that there’s no music playing in the streets, the bad (and always slightly ahead of time) clocktower bell can be heard signalling quarter past midnight. This seems to catch Touya’s attention and remind him of something as he stares into a nondescript spot for a while. At the very least, Keigo is certain he’s not thinking about the question that slipped out and which he will regret- if he says no, it’s gonna be the disappointment… if yes, then it’s because of all the things that will definitely go wrong.

“... well, it’s not as if I had no time to kill,” comes the apathetic answer a few seconds later, although the wrinkling eyebrows are telling of his misgivings regarding the idea.

“...”

Now, hold on… hold on, he may have an even worse idea that he’s definitely going to regret…

Keigo taps his pointing fingers against the camera anxiously. “Actually… say, what would it take for youuu… to be my model tonight?” He takes out his best puppy eyes as he looks over to him with the tiniest smile, blinking slowly.

It’s as if Touya had another light induced migraine immediately. He looks almost disgusted, which… is hilarious. “For that I'll take both your life savings and your soul.”

Keigo stifles both a giggle and a sigh at that, resulting in somewhat of a snort. He must be put off by those umbrellas quite a bit. "Really…? If that’s all, fine by me."

The answer brings back Touya to a much more reserved, if not vaguely sceptical stance. “You… sure are ready to jump the gun for that, huh.”

"Well I, too, am asking a bit much of you out of nowhere, aren’t I?” He asks, shrugging. “I figured it was worth asking, at the very least… you fit the mood a little too perfectly, one doesn’t get an opportunity like this every day. If all it takes is my birdie bank, that’s fine by me. … We can also talk about the soul part later if you want to.” It takes him every ounce of self restraint not to throw in a wink at the end.

“...” Touya stares in contemplation before taking a deep sigh and scratching his head. "Fine. I guess it’s going to be much less bothersome than posing for hours to have a portrait painted."

Keigo’s ears perk up at that. Like, a lot. "Y---you… there's a portrait?!"

Whaaa?!? A professional-ass painting, of him?? And, even more importantly, where?!?

"... I know what you're thinking of, and no, I have not the slightest idea. Who knows, maybe it even burned along with---" he cuts himself off right there. For the first time that night, he seems upset, or rather angry; whichever it may be is the strongest emotion the blonde has seen him display in these past minutes, affecting even him quite a bit. His hairs stand alert once more--- but the sentiment goes as it came, along with Touya’s stifled ire.

"... never mind. Let’s just… get on with this."

"..." He figures that being nosy would be straight-down rude, having just met and already asking for quite a bit… so he lets it slide as if nothing happened.

Keigo turns around to the lampion that he placed before the convo started.

Huh… that’s weird.

He doesn’t remember lighting it.

Overall, Touya seems to pay quite a bit of attention to what he's doing, visibly taking mental notes of the processes he goes through. First, it's a little embarrassing to be watched so closely, but eventually Keigo gets used to it and just does his thing. He soon finds himself in the zone, in fact. Hell knows how much time goes by as he keeps clicking away, barely even instructing, but rather just basking in whatever the other does, giving the okay to everything. He’s not even bothered by the bone cutting cold that’s now heightened by a breeze, because Touya seems to be a natural, and by god, does his presence do things to him. He’s had phases of architecture, mixed media with cutouts and shadow play, birds, and abandoned places, but this… this must be what finding a muse feels like.

When he's looking for the misplaced lighter for the hundredth time again, it's already shoved into his face.

"You should just keep this in your pocket, angel."

"Ah, thanks." He takes it, then turns to Touya sheepishly while pulling his jacket tighter as the light wind blows especially cold air down his collar. "I've been… stupidly quiet for a while. It must be really awkward, uh… am I really not bothering you?"

"It's fine. I like having the company."

Maybe his voice is softer than before… or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I, uh--- same.” Keigo feels blood creeping to his face, so he quickly moves on; “I have enough of these candles left for like about one more location. Any ideas?”

It takes Touya only a second of consideration before he nods towards the belfry ruins.

He flashes a smile; “Gotcha.”

In barely 10 more minutes, Keigo is speeding through the hundreds (whoops?) of photos he’s taken, walking circles around the ruin. His breath hitches over the one where Touya looked directly into the camera right by the wall. He’s gonna frameit and putitonhiswardrobedoor andmmmakeit his ppphone wallpaper---

He can hear a chuckle behind him, and remembers that whoopsie daisy, he’s not alone. “You're pleased as punch over a few pictures… It’s adorable.”

Keigo gets red to the eartips this time around, realizing that he’s got that goofy-ass smile Rumi keeps teasing him for. Unfortunately for him, once it gets pointed out… it always sticks. “I’tsjustthat---…!! I… didn’t think I’d get such nice photos at all? Moody scenery is nice and easier to sell, but I prefer lived-in spaces and models, anything that feels alive. Especially when they’re so pret...ty. Patient.”

Someone kill him.

“...”

The thin eyebrows twitch the smallest amount and for a torturous, silent pause Keigo wishes for some kind of deity to strike him down and grant a merciful, immediate death.

“I suppose I’ve had a few years to put some patience practice under the belt.”

He fights the urge to run away crying. There’s no way anybody exists who wouldn’t see right through that… at least he gets to see that cute smile once more.

He forces one on, too. “... I can tell.”

The wind starts picking up, distracting the other. Touya takes a look up to the moon, which has made quite some progress on its route since they’ve been there. Then there’s three clicks echoing through the night, signalling that it’s nearing 1 a.m. “Well… you were babbling about showing me, too, so you better hurry. I don’t have much time left.”

Keigo snaps out of the shameful frustration only to be legitimately ashamed. “Oh… sorry, I… hadn’t even considered that you had other business tonight.” Shit. He just assumed he had all night, but Touya was just humoring him until he had other business.

The other shakes his head. “It’s no issue, just get your fidgety ass over here already.”

As he makes his way over to him, Keigo feels something grab onto his leg and the familiar itch of thorns scratching up skin through his jeans.

Fucking vines again.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he. As he stumbles forward, he sighs in immediate acceptance.

He would have never expected being caught, though.

Nor Touya’s hands being as cold as a frozen piece of meat that can be felt even through his jumper and jacket. His touch sends shivers down his spine, freezing him in surprise first; if the strap didn’t get caught around his arm, the camera would hit the ground as his hand loses its hold on it.

What he’s definitely not ready for, however, is the arctic chill radiating from every inch of Touya’s, the same icy presence that he’s been feeling ever since… since he got close.

The thing that makes him break into cold sweat and brings even the blood in his veins to a halt, however, is the pair of forget-me-nots staring into his soul from mere inches.

Those beautiful, blue eyes, that… that are glassy and clouded and definitely not… human.

His lips part, but the scream dies off in his throat.

The realization flashing in his eyes draws a lenient, gentle smile onto the pale face. “You’re slow, angel.”

Keigo's paralyzed in what he can only guess is sheer terror, his body's last resort in hopes that the threat will just leave if it's not interesting enough to investigate. His mind, however, is racing and panicked as his inevitable end leans in for the kill.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's… dead.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead---

He’s dead.

At least, that’s what he remembers thinking before passing the fuck out… not knowing who exactly he was referring to anymore. Because he feels positively not alive when waking up on the belfry’s cold ground, on the patch of concrete that lay behind where the catafalque used to be, surrounded by what remained of the candles and lampions he had brought along, and some of the flowers that people decorate graves with.

The spot where everyone suspected a former hidden path… or another grave.

He turns around, because now he remembers where he last saw the name Touya- it’s barely legible, but there it is, crudely chiselled into the stone right above the grey ground.

At first he supposes that the cold, empty feeling that seeps through his entire being must be the nasty cold and pneumonia he gets after the deed. As the days go by, however… the shivers and cold sensation persist and his dreams are plagued by endless mazes, fires, and haunting, blue eyes all the time.

His second guess for the cause of it is lingering fear: on the camera, he finds creepy photos of himself lying in the grave once he gets better. When going through them all, he considers to delete the ones he took of the other or use them for digging, (there’s no fucking way he actually hung out with a ghost, is there?) but… they all pop up as vaguely distorted landscapes, with light spots where a pair of eyes may or may not be.

Having stared blankly for like an hour at the one he really liked back then, he throws the camera into the corner of his armchair and doesn’t touch it for weeks.

This carries on through winter, in spring, and he's convinced of how badly he fucked up when even in the suffocating summer heat he feels the veil of an icy embrace.

Once leaves start catching rust again, the chill makes his bones ache, much like they did after the encounter. And it only gets stronger by the day. He hasn't shown the pictures, developed or otherwise, to anyone. Somewhere down the line he figured… that he should just give him the photos and trade them back for his soul, because hell if that dementor did not help himself to it right along with the kiss he definitely got but doesn’t remember. Trauma alone cannot possibly cause this.

It's midnight again. This time, he's already there, waiting for the toll of the distant church bell they had fixed and reset sometime in spring. The autumn fog is as thick as ever.

His grip tightens on the envelope; deals like this are notoriously hard to break or undo. Hell, the guy agreed to have the photos taken, creating a nice little loophole. Whether he printed them, deleted them all or whatever might be a moot point.

… no. No, he can't start thinking about this right now, if he comes he'll get this thing annulled, get his damn soul back---

As the last gong dies off in the night, a pair of lean arms slink around his aching chest and pull him against a body so cold it's scalding his skin.

"Hello again, angel," greets the voice, sounding a hundred times sweeter than he remembers.

…

Or maybe… he'll just let him keep it forever.

#DabiHawks #dabi #Takami Keigo #ctabb halloween bang 2019 #toukei #hawks #bnha fic #Kate writes

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shadowynnn · 6 years ago

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la tua cantante |part one|

twilight saga

synopsis: You’re a half-vampire with a past you more than wish you could forget. Your life takes an unsuspecting turn when you travel to Volterra to save your adopted brother and discover you’re the mate of the Volterra leaders.

part one synopsis: You take a short trip back to Forks, Washington to meet up with your close friend, Jacob Black.

pairing: Aro, Caius, and Marcus x Reader

words: 2936

a/n : In this series, Aro and Marcu’s physical age will be the same as the books, mid 20′s, and 19-early 20′s respectively, while Caius’s age will be the same as portrayed in the movies, early 20′s.

The weather was like it had been every day during your short stay in Forks: wet and dreary. It was nearly midday, but the sun was still stuck behind one of the countless grey clouds and left the little town in Washington in its cold, wet embrace.

You watched from your seat in the back corner of the diner as the fat raindrops fell against the glass of the window next to you, enthralled by the streaks and patterns they fell. Your entire life had always revolved around the weather: the rain, the snow, the sun-it was a part of who you were, after all-yet it had never failed to amaze you.

A stray raindrop caught the corner of your eyes and a smile crossed your face as you lifted a finger to the window where it slowly fell along the glass. In a blink of an eye, you traced a new path for the droplet and it quickly obliged to your commands, defying gravity as it performed loops and twirls before breaking apart against the pavement below.

Your attention was quickly drawn from the window, however, as the diner’s door opened and you were overwhelmed with the smell of wet dog. Nose wrinkling in disgust, you quickly raised a hand to help stifle the smell as your eyes searched for the source of the stench. When you saw the man you had been waiting for standing at the diner’s entrance with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, your hand fell and your eyes widened in shock.

With a few long strides, Jacob Black sat down in the seat across from you and took off the coat he had been wearing. “Long time, no see, (N/N),” he said with that playful smile still plastered across his face before shaking his wet hair out in a similar fashion that a dog would.

“You’re a werewolf?” you loudly whispered, taking your best friend in with wide, shocked eyes.

“And you’re a vampire,” he chuckled back, leaning forward in his seat to better assess your current state. While his transformation had taken you by complete shock, it was easy to see Jacob was aware of your state of being before he stepped foot in the building.

“Technically half,” you were quick to point out, settling back in your seat as you seemed to finally get over your initial shock and take in this new Jacob. You hadn’t seen your best friend since you had left with the Cullens over four months ago, and boy, had Jacob changed drastically during that time. His long locks of hair and baby face were long gone and it looked as if he had aged years in the past few months. Especially with the amount of muscle he had put on in that short period of time. “I mean, come on, Black, I’m not that pale.”

“Really now?” Jacob laid his arm across the table to compare the dark color of his skin with your own.

“That’s not fair!” You giggled, pushing his arm away and noting the way your arm was blindingly white compared to his own.

“Can I get you two youngins something to eat?”

Your giggles faded away as an older woman, one that you only faintly recalled from your previous stay in Forks, came over to take your order. Upon seeing you, the older woman eyed you up and down with a look you couldn’t read. “Say, you look pretty familiar. You don’t happen to be one of Dr. Cullen’s kids, do you?”

You slowly nodded your head in reply, awkwardly fiddling with the end of your jacket sleeve as you did so. You hoped the news of your return to Forks wouldn’t travel too far as you had promised Carlisle you would have no involvement with Bella during your brief visit back to Forks.

“I thought so!” The waitress beamed at you, excited to place your face with a name. “You guys decide to move back? I sure do miss having your father down at the hospital.”

“No, ma’am. I just came back to visit some friends.” You tried your best to remain cordial, but you really wished she would just take your order and move on. “But I’ll be sure to tell him he’s duly missed here.”

She smiled at your reply, seemingly content with it before finally taking yours and Jacob’s order and moving on to put it in.

“Hungry?” You teased after hearing the long list of items Jacob had ordered. While you had settled on a chocolate shake and fries, Jacob seemed to have ordered the entire menu.

“When am I not?” Jacob leaned back in his seat. “Food seems to burn through me as soon as I put it in my mouth.”

“Perks of being a werewolf, I guess. You can eat as much as you want and never gain a single pound.” You took a sip of the water you had flagged down while you had waited for Jacob to reply. “So when did it happen? The big transformation, I mean.”

“Umm,” Jacob’s brow crinkled slightly as he stopped to think about it. I think about a month or so ago. It definitely took a while to adjust to the whole supernatural side of things, however.”

“I bet they told you all about how big and bad we, vamps, are then?” You eyed Jacob carefully. You had had your suspicions of the Quileute tribe down in La Push when you had first arrived in Forks, but you had never expected Jacob to end up becoming a werewolf, himself. You couldn’t find it in you to be upset by this change, but rather pleasantly happy. It felt like a burden had been removed from your shoulders at not having to keep your biggest secret from Jacob anymore.

“Oh, Dad had always told me to stay away from you and the Cullens, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for girls with (E/C) eyes.”

You looked away, a small blush dusting your cheeks at his words. You knew they were just playful fun, he had always been too enraptured with Bella to take a romantic interest in you, but his words still made you all flushed, nonetheless. It wasn’t just the words that got you all flustered though, but the hidden meaning behind them as well. Jacob may have learned that she was a part of the race that was enemies with his, but he didn’t care. He still wanted to be her friend.

You still remembered the night you first met the Quileute boy with his long, black hair. After discovering that you had never experienced prom before, your new adoptive siblings had managed to drag you to prom with them even though it had been the last thing you had wanted to do after everything that had happened shortly before. You had come up with every excuse not to go, but Alice and Rosalie had practically shoved you into a dress before curling your (H/C) hair and decorating your pale face in makeup. You had been miserable until Jacob had shown up in a worn-out suit. He had come to talk to Bella, but after being politely shut down by her, he had made his way to the door to leave. With a random burst of courage and thinking of nothing better to do, you had marched right up to the boy and asked if he had wanted to dance. To your surprise, he had agreed. After realizing they were both more than miserable at the cliche high school event, they had gone out to the very same diner they were at now and spent hours talking about anything and everything. After a rocky past, Jacob had been the light to pull her back up and on her feet.

“What are you thinking about?”

You were shaken from your thoughts when Jacob’s hands tentatively touched you wrist causing you to flinch. When your brain registered the question he had just asked, you turned to face the window and politely pulled your wrist away. “About the night we met.” You smiled softly at the memories. “Though, Black, the fact I had to ask you to dance still baffles me.”

He chucked at your words, but you could still make out the slight blush which covered his cheeks making you feel a small victory. It never took much to make you blush and Jacob often took full pleasure in this fact, just like your adoptive brother Emmett did, so you always felt victorious when you managed to make Jacob blush in turn.

“I still remember when I got back home that night and my father assumed that it had gone well between Bella and me since I was out for so long. When I told him that I had actually spent time with one of Dr. Cullen’s children at the diner, he nearly had a heart attack. I thought he had lost his mind when he was shocked to learn you had ate as well.”

“I can just imagine him going back to his room mumbling, ‘I bet she was faking it,’ under his breath.” You laughed. You could just picture Jacob’s father questioning your eating habits after learning they had spent hours at the diner together. But you couldn’t blame him for his disbelief, you didn’t know of any other vampire with quite the background or genes that you had.

You could also still remember the awkward conversation you had found yourself in one fateful day after you had been hanging out with Jacob for a few weeks. While he had originally asked for you to stay the hell away from his son, he had lightened up a bit upon learning you weren’t fully a vampire, but half human as well. Upon then learning you could almost fully sustain yourself on human food, he begrudgingly allowed for the two to continue hanging out. With a little coaxing on Jacob’s part, he eventually even allowed you to cross the treaty line and hang out at their house with Jacob and go to the beach. You doubted he would ever admit it, but you were pretty certain the older man had grown to like you.

“Here you guys go.”

Your thoughts on the past were once again interrupted when the waitress returned with your order and set the numerous plates down on the table. Jacob immediately dove into the food muttering brief comments on how hungry he was. You made idle conversation with him as you ate. Jacob stopped shoving his face occasionally to make brief comments and answers to questions. You managed to pull out how Bella was holding up and the full story of his transformation, laughing when he spoke of the awkward movie disaster Bella had pulled him and Mike into. In return, you spoke of all the places Carlisle and Esme had taken you since you had left Forks.

“You know, (N/N),” Jacob started as he finished his second cheeseburger. “You never really talk about your life before Forks.”

You froze at his words. You didn’t like to talk about your past. You would occasionally mention a few things, moments and memories from your first few years spent with your biological father, but you had often kept your mouth shut on the years between living with him and living with the Cullens. That particular part of your past was not nearly as pleasant as you liked for others to think and often wished to forget it entirely yourself.

“Well, it’s not the best of conversation makers,” You mumbled in response. You fingers idly rubbed the pale scar that covered the inside of your wrist as your mind descended into the memories of those awful years once more. The scar was just one of many you attempted to keep hidden away from others and yourself. They just served as constant reminders of things you only wished to forget.

You jumped as your wrist was quickly grabbed by Jacob with enough force to keep you from being able to pull it back. Jacob brought your arm close to his face and studied the faint, white scar. “What’s this?” he asked as he squinted his eyes in order to see the bite more clearly. “You were bit?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled out, yanking your arm back with enough force this time to escape Jacob’s grip. You couldn’t keep the blush from covering your cheeks as your face heated up in embarrassment. The last thing you ever wanted Jacob to know about were your scars.

You tugged at your sleeve, pulling it down to the palm of your hand to hide the scar from sight and hoped Jacob would drop the subject.

“It’s not nothing.”

You could feel Jacob’s eyes searching for yours, but you refused to meet them. Partly out of embarrassment, and partly out of the memories that came rushing up to meet you. Despite the fact you knew he was dead, the thought of him still sent shivers down your spine, still caused you to wake up screaming from nightmares that occasionally haunted you in your sleep. You had watched the Cullens rip his body apart and throw the pieces in the fire, but you still couldn’t seem to make peace with the past and move on.

“(F/N).”

At the sound of your name, you managed to shake yourself out of your thoughts and focus on the boy sitting across from you. You fidgeted in your seat, nervous for what he was about to say to you, but also agitated he wouldn’t take your hints and drop the subject. Jacob never used your full name unless he was serious.

“If some bloodsucker hurt you, I want to know so I can personally kill him.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, okay?” You snapped before you could stop yourself. Your eyes instantly softened when you realized what you had done. You hadn’t meant to snap, but it was such a sensitive subject and you truly hated to talk about it. “I’m sorry, Jacob, it’s just that...I’m trying to forget about that part of my past. Besides, he’s dead now. The Cullens beat you to it.” You attempted to toss a teasing smile in his direction but failed miserably.

“Well, if you ever need to talk, you know I’m always here for you.” Jacob reached across the table and took your hands in his own. “I’m always up for bashing some undead leeches.”

This time you were able to summon a genuine smile. You had never been so thankful in your life that you had had enough courage at prom to ask this boy to dance with you. Sure, you had once been upset that Jacob would never be able to return your romantic interest due to his infatuation with Bella, but you had been able to move past this and see the boy as your best friend. You didn’t know where you would be if it wasn’t for Jacob.

“Even though I’m part undead leech,” You gave Jacob a teasing glare at his choice of words. “I have to admit that you’re right about one thing, Jake.”

“Which is?” Jacob asked, a hesitant smile crossing his face as he saw your own genuine smile.

“Vampires suck.”

Jacob immediately burst out laughing at your statement to which you soon followed suit. “See, it’s not just a werewolf thing,” he replied between barks of laughter.

You stayed at the diner for several more hours talking with Jacob. He didn’t speak anymore of your scars but instead questioned you heavily on your half-human, half-vampire state. His interest was immediately piqued when he learned you could control the weather and laughed at the realization that it hadn’t just been luck that kept the clouds and rain away whenever the two went to the beach at La Push.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to miss your best friend until the time came for you to part ways for the day. Jacob had pack duties to attend to and you were starting to grow tired from all the traveling you had gone through to get back to Forks. As you got up to leave, and Jacob begrudgingly allowed you to pay for his meal, you made him promise you would hang out at some point tomorrow and the following day before you had to leave of Monday. Jacob was more than happy to oblige to your wishes and promised to go hiking with you tomorrow morning as long as the weather was nice. You teasingly replied that you thought their chances on nice weather was fairly high.

Jacob walked you to your car and you wasted no time in attacking him with a tight hug, relishing the way his unnaturally warm body felt against the biting chill. Trying your best to ignore his stench, you buried your face into his chest and mumbled a thank you for everything he had done for you in the past year. It drastically fell short on conveying how grateful and appreciative you really were of him, but he seemed to understand and gently kissed the top of your head and squeezed you ever so slightly more in reply.

You were sad when the tie came for you to let go, shivering at the temperature that seemed to drop ten degrees without Jacob’s touch. You exchanged goodbyes once more before he took off into the woods and you climbed inside your car. As you started the car, you could faintly see the outline of a shiny black wolf to which you smiled.

#twilight #new moon #breaking dawn #eclipse #reader #fanfiction #romance #volturi #aro #caius #marcus #twilight saga #soulmate #jacob #cullen

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