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ren-c-leyn · 4 years ago

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FNF Story: Betrayer

Another tale for @promptsforthestrugglingauthor‘s Friday Night Fights event. This week’s prompt is here, additionally, I used these 1,2,3 other prompts from their collection, this prompt by @thependragonwritersguild, this prompt by @clean-prompts, and this prompt by @corvidprompts.

Warnings: This piece is a heavy angst piece that mentions death in passing, some alcohol use, a curse, fighting, some blood, but nothing graphic or in any particularly descriptive detail.

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” I stumbled forward, the world wobbling around me. My companion lay on the ground, breathing in shaking, labored heaves and surrounded by so, so much red. “You have to be fine, you have to!”

But he wasn’t fine. the crimson pool grew and grew as the breathing slowed. No matter how much pressure I put on the wound, it wouldn’t stop bleeding. All the while, I heard a chorus of whispers surrounding us.

‘Why?’

‘Why did you betray us?’

‘What have you done?’

‘Why did you do it, why?!’

‘We thought you were our friend.’

I blinked back tears, trying not to listen, trying to stop myself from shaking as I focused on him, focused on trying to save him. Both those pale green eyes were going glassy.

“Please don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!” I begged, but they closed anyways.

The whispers burst into hideous laughter and then it all went dark.

I jerked out of bed, drenched in enough sweat that I may as well have just been caught in the rain. I clutched my own arms, breath ragged, trying to expel what I’d just seen. His hands fell on my shoulders, touch gentle and light, reminding me I was not alone.

“You’re gonna be okay. It was just a dream. I’m here,” he said.

And I froze. My mind reeled, trying to figure out exactly when this... this creature got in here. It was hard to think with the pounding headache and blurry tears, so I just shoved him away and stumbled out of bed and downstairs.

Bits of memory faded in and out as I wobbled closer and closer to the bottom of the staircase. Right. I was drunk. He helped me home. I was sobbing, something about the curse.... The curse.

I stopped on the last stair before sinking down onto it. There was the obnoxious pounding of footsteps as he came down after me. He sighed.

“You’re not ready to be up, yet,” he said gently before carefully grabbing my arm.

“Get your hands off me!”

“You’re sick, I’m not gonna just leave–”

“I would sooner crawl back up these stairs on my hands and knees than lower my pride enough to ask you for help–so, again–hands. Off.”

He let go and held his hands up.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just let me help this once.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Good. I don’t trust me, either.”

I groaned at the sarcasm.

“Infuriating as ever.”

“Guilty as charged.”

A tense silence passed between us as he stepped passed me and sat down on the rug in front of the stairs.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he ventured after a few minutes went by. “And alcohol isn’t going to help.”

“Don’t lecture me, I know. And...” flashes of the dream danced through my head, “I know what I need to do to fix it.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“To undo what has been done, I have to undo my betrayal. And I don’t need you getting in my way.”

His expression soured.

“Your death won’t undo it if that’s your plan.”

“I’m not planning my own death.”

He sat there blanked faced as I stood and slipped around him, heading to the kitchen. It must have clicked somewhere between my first glass of water and the second because I heard him screech in a way only he could.

“You can’t do this!”

“You can’t stop me.”

“It’s stupid! You’ll die before you kill him! And another one will just take his place, that’s how power vacuums work!”

I listened to him rant and rave for a few moments. Ironic that the traitor who helped the Empire take over was being advised by a traitor to said Empire now. We were always enemies, always on opposite sides, no matter who we decided to serve we were always against one another. Even now, even after he decided to pity me, we were still on the opposite side.

Around the third glass of water, I felt alive enough to pass by him again to collect my weapons and armor. He grabbed my wrist and I ripped my arm away.

“Touch me again and see what happens,” I growled.

He threw his clawed hands up in the air.

“Fine. But please take a moment to stop and think about this, think about it seriously. He’s guarded, he’s living in what is essentially a fortress, there’s magic on his side, and he’s only half mortal. Half mortal. Killing him is damn near impossible for warriors who have kept up their training and aren’t being slowly consumed by a curse.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve been using my downtime to think of smarter solutions than a duel, then, huh?”

He shook his head, white hair fluttering about.

“You’ve always been impossible.”

“As have you, my old enemy,” I mumbled as I resumed walking to my little armory. ‘As have you.”

He stopped protesting after that, just sat sulking on the bottom step of the staircase. Instead, he merely watched through silted eyes and a stony mask. Gargoyles, didn’t they have anything better to do than sit and judge?

It took me the better part of the day to finish preparations, but I had ample time before the main event. I paused by the stairs, meeting his solemn gaze.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“You rarely do. Act impulsively, yes, but change your mind after deciding to do something?” he snorted before his shoulders sagged. ‘I wished you would, though. There might still be other ways. Ways that you might, I don’t know, survive?”

I shook my head.

“Tried already. No. They won’t forgive me, not while my betrayal still stands.”

“And so you rush to your death. Go then, my old enemy. I will bury you when it is over.”

I couldn’t find any words. Not a snarky reply or even a simple thank you. Instead, I gave him a nod and started walking to the door.

It was my last chance to make things right, my last chance to be honest. Better late than never, I supposed, but given how slow traffic was, it was looking like it might be never. I had hopped onto the farmer’s cart, thinking it’d be a faster trip. Turns out, it wasn’t. Horses and wagons filled the road to the city gates for as far as the eye could see and showed no signs of moving forward.

A sigh escaped me as I felt another throb in my bones, another pulse of a headache. I know, Renard, give me a little more time. I’ll avenge you. What I helped them do to you. It didn’t change anything, but I felt better for the thought.

Slowly, I forced myself out of the back of the wagon and began making my way forward, cutting passed farmers and merchants and travelers of all kinds until I was up at the front. Looked like the guards and some foreign nobles we arguing. I didn’t have time for it. Any of it.

So, with a light push, I started a distraction. A brawl between the noble’s guards and the city guards would get ugly, no doubt, but who would notice me slipping by? No one. That’s who noticed me slipping by.

The palace, or perhaps fortress was a better description of it, was also fairly simple. I just stood slightly behind and to the side of the first official looking person heading inside, and pretended to be their guard as we walked in together. Then, I promptly slipped away from him before he could notice we were being followed.

The palace was at half staff, thanks to battles up north, so now was the best time to catch him. Risky and probably going to get me killed, yes, but the best time all the same.

Finding the evil son of a lake serpent that killed Renard, that caused me to be cursed, proved to be the actual challenge. I listened around the servants, eavesdropped on the throne room, and just wandered around, searching for him. Eventually, I came across the war room and heard the unmistakable, booming voice of the Emperor. Wonderful.

Terrible, I corrected myself as I realized that this was where most of the palace guard had been hiding. And they had spotted me.

“Who goes there?” the woman demanded, scowling at me from beneath her spiraling horns.

I blurted out my name. My full name. And she stood there, staring blankly at me. I smiled.

“I come bearing critical information.”

She opened her mouth, but the booming voice echoed out of the war room.

“Let the spy in.”

She looked back at the door and then back at me before making a sweeping gesture towards it. Not questioning my good fortune, I made my way inside.

He stood tall, a hulking figure over the rest of the forms in the room. All were armed, but all made a conscious effort to keep their hands above the table. It would be a bad idea to get into a fight here, I assumed.

How unfortunate.

I placed myself right at his side, craning my neck upwards to look at him. He was as captivating as he had been back then. Quietly fierce and striking. His armor shined in the light of the crystals above his head, and his green eyes glowed ominously as he stared down at me.

“It has been a long time.”

“Indeed. Seven years to be exact.’

“They have not done you well,” he noted.

“But they have served me well,” I replied with a dip of my head, “and you as well.’

“The information?”

I grinned with a nod.

“Yes, allow me to get the point, then. You’re true enemy is not in the north.”

There was a collective of whispers and snorts from around the table, but I kept my eyes on him.

“Interesting accusations. Show me your proof.”

I gestured to the table and watched him lean over it again.

“Look at the table, My Emperor, and see for yourself. Notice something odd about the attack patterns? How they all seem to conveniently benefit one person?”

I didn’t know what the sea I was talking about, but it certainly seemed to get his attention as he leaned further down, inspected the placements of their colored flags with more scrutiny. I could almost reach it, now, that fabled soft spot.

I slid a little closer to his side, making a show of gesturing to the flags.

“If you look at where the boards of these territories, and the placement of the blockades, you’ll see that it seems to greatly benefit you’re general over there, as anyone moving through his land has to pay the fee....”

“How dare...”

“Silence.’

The general shrunk down as the Emperor leaned a little closer to my direction, paying closer attention to the general’s boarders. Slowly, I raised myself onto my toes and reached for the dagger in my sleeve. He turned his head to look to me, to ask a question, and that’s when I struck.

My dagger found that soft spot, but his hand also found my arm. I had just barely, barely broken the skin. I shook. So close. I had been so damn close....

There was silence in the room. A thick, suffocating one as all stared at me in shock. As I stood in front of him, barely able to conceal the tremble of my legs, I wondered what made me think I was strong enough to challenge him in the first place. I guess the gargoyle had been right. I had sentenced myself to death, not freedom.

His eyes burrowed into me, staring with that same intense glow and power that had convinced me to switch to his cause to begin with.

“I always wondered when you’d do it,” the emperor said at last. “I always wondered when you’d turn on me, betrayer.” He twisted the dagger out of my hand and it clattered lifelessly to the floor. “It’s all you are in the end, all you’ll ever be, a betrayer. No loyalties, not even to yourself. The first opportunity to drive the knife in, you’ll probably take it.”

“I should have taken yours sooner,” I tried to snarl, but it just sounded hollow.

“So you could avoid your curse?” He clicked his tongue. “Wouldn’t have worked. It wasn’t Renard who cursed you. Wasn’t any of your old allies. No. You are you’re own curse. You always have been, always will be. No one hurts you more than yourself, but you only care now because there’s a physical manifestation of your corruption inconveniencing you.”

“Killing me,” I corrected.

“Betrayer, you’ve sentenced yourself to death, not the curse.” He swung me around by my wrist, handing me over to the guards. “Take the betrayer to the dungeons.”

I didn’t fight them, didn’t have the strength too. And as the iron door swung closed, the words echoed around the inside of my skull.

It’s all you are in the end, all you’ll ever be, betrayer.

Story taglist (ask to be added or removed.):

@nemowritesstuff , @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @hannahs-creations, @writer-candy, @kaylewiswrites, @tenacious-scripturient, @ofinkblotsandscript, @mischiefiswritten, @kespada, @silvertalonwriteblr, @inspiring-prompts, @greenwood-writes, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity, @wordshavings

#friday night fights #short story #fiction #fantasy #original story #my writing #a story by ren #angst

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dontshootmespence · 5 years ago

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Through It All

Part 14

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,966

Warnings: Lactation kink, fingering, nipping.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fulfills my lactation kink square.

In the warm sunlight streaming through your window, you can feel Spencer’s arm fitting snugly around your waist, holding you close. As you begin to stir, you realize he’s already awake too. Since it’s a weekend day, you have no plans, aside from taking care of the adorable time-vampire that is Charlotte Magnolia Reid. “So what are we doing today, handsome?” You mumble, the words barely decipherable to your own ears.

Spencer kisses the back of your hair before nuzzling his nose into the side of your neck. It tickles and sends you into a fit of laughter that ends up with you laying on top of him. “We aren’t doing anything,” he says with a glint in his eyes. “But you are.”

“What?”

Is it mom brain fog? Have you forgotten something you had planned?

When Spencer clocks your quizzical look, he laughs. “I have a surprise for you. You have to be ready by 11 AM.”

Spencer playfully smacks your ass when you get up before following you to the bathroom, where you get in one of your rare shower quickies. And Charlotte hasn’t woken up yet! Rejoice! She’s not sleeping through the night just yet, but she’s down to only waking up once or occasionally twice.

While you dry your hair, Spencer gets Charlotte, who finally begins to stir. They pass the bathroom and you sneak a kiss to your baby’s cheek. “I’ll be right there for feeding!” You cry out from the tiled walls.

“There’s a bottle left in the refrigerator, I got it!”

Since you have no idea where you’ll be going, you put on minimal makeup and then walk outside to where Spencer’s feeding Charlotte on the couch, talking to her about the people passing by on the street below - making up stories about them. “Babe, I don’t know where I’m going so what do I wear?”

“Wear one of my graphic tees and your most comfortable pair of leggings.”

With your instructions, you slip into your bedroom and get dressed. Spencer’s shirt is a tad too tight considering the girls are still big, but it’s good enough and the next few hours pass without any major incidents aside from a bit of spit up on Spencer’s pajama shirt.

As you’re rocking Charlotte to a mid-morning nap, there’s a knock at the door. “I’ve got it,” Spencer replies when he sees you go to get up.

Emily, Tara, Penelope and JJ are plowing inside in a matter of seconds, cooing over ‘little baby genius Reid.’ “Good god,” Tara says softly. “She’s so beautiful. How do you two not stare at her every second of every day?”

Sometimes it’s difficult, with her soft brown hair like her father’s and big beautiful eyes the same color as yours. “Well, some days, we do exactly that, and other days she doesn’t want to sleep or she’s sick and driving me crazy, so then I normally see the inside of the pillow into which I’m screaming,” you say quickly, flashing them a cheesy grin.

JJ snorts. It’s been a while, but she remembers the feeling well. “Did Spence tell you what we’re doing today?”

Shaking your head, you glance toward where Spencer’s standing in the kitchen, gathering ingredients together that seem to be for tonight’s dinner. “Paint and wine class,” he says proudly. “After I saw you painting Charlotte’s nursery, I knew it had to be done eventually.”

“Aww, you’re so romantic, I love you.” You swoon and run to kiss him, blushing as the girls ooh and ahh over Spencer’s sweet gesture. He’s your everything in every way. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Spencer takes her from your arms and looks down to talk to her, shaking her little hand with his fingers. “We’ll be okay, right? You won’t kill me?”

Laughing, you grab your purse off the counter and give him another kiss before leaving with the girls. It’s been ages.

Thankfully, Dr. Obel cleared you a while ago for the occasional cup of coffee or glass of wine, despite still breastfeeding, so you nurse the hell out of a glass of red at the painting party. Besides you, Emily, Tara, JJ and Penelope, there are four other women there that know each other and are much less animated. In other circumstances, you might feel bad about being so loud and laughing like a maniac, but you haven’t had a girls’ day out in months, so fuck it.

At these classes, they always have someone teaching and a specific painting is chosen ahead of time. After a while of listening to the instructor, you paint what she’s painting, but at your speed and adding little flourishes here and there. While most of the ladies have basic paintings (because admittedly they’d rather be drinking than painting), you end up with something you’re really happy with.

Shadowed pine trees sit on a moonlit lake, stars, trees and the moon alike mirrored in the lake’s surface in a myriad of colors. Bob Ross is one of your biggest influences when it comes to painting, and by the end, it feels like you’ve done him proud. “Damn, Y/N!” Emily says, taking the last sip of her third (and last) glass of wine. “Spencer said you could paint, but that’s fucking spectacular!”

All the ladies, and even the instructor, praise your work. At first, you deny it and tell them it’s not all that, but eventually you allow yourself the praise. Something you’re working on. “Ladies, this was amazing. Can we make this like an every other month thing? Every third month?”

“Hell, yea,” Penelope says, quickly picking up one of the hors d'oeuvres and shoving it into her mouth. “Man, thith iz gud.”

“Sewiously, I ‘eed the recipe,” Tara replies with her mouth equally full.

The subway ride back to your apartment is filled with random girl talk and lots of baby talk. Everyone wants to know Charlotte’s milestones and to see every single picture you’ve ever taken, which is already a lot given she’s less than a year.

Upstairs, you all walk in just as Charlotte needs a diaper change. When Emily and Tara offer to take dirty diaper detail, you just smile and sink into the couch. You’re not about to argue with just a little extra time off mom duty.

“Well, this was amazing,” JJ says, running her finger down Charlotte’s cheek. “You guys need anything? All set on food and stuff?”

“Yea, JJ,” Spencer replies. “We’re all good. For now.”

Once the ladies leave, you gather Charlotte close to your chest and lift your shirt. The time away refueled your batteries and you sigh happily when she begins to eat.

“Have a good time?” Spencer asks. You point back to the painting which is propped against the wall near the door. “That’s beautiful!”

“Thanks, babe. And thanks for the surprise. It was really nice to have a girls’ day.”

Spencer’s hand sits around your shoulder, his fingers slipping delicately into your hair. “I’m glad you had a good time. I have my girls right here.”

“Did you two fare okay?”

He nods and you both sit in silence for a moment. You lean into him, content and relaxed. The peaceful atmosphere allows your mind to wander and when you mind wanders, it tends to walk into dirty territory; today is no different. “Hey, Spence, I have what might seem like a weird question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever thought about you know, maybe doing that wonderful thing you do with your hands while getting a firsthand taste of breast milk?”

Immediately, his pants tighten. “I hate the fact that it has been a consistent thought since your boobs grew, yea. Definitely thought about it. Like I don’t wanna sit here and have you feed me or anything, but like...a little taste? Yea.”

“Wanna maybe give it a go later?”

A smile is all the answer you need.

---

Later that night, once Charlotte is finally asleep, you and Spencer practically trip into your bedroom, peeling off clothing like you’re in a nudist colony.

Spencer groans appreciatively when you jump into his arms and peel off your shirt and bra. He carries you toward the bed and plops you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, laughing as he wriggles you out of your leggings.

When he descends upon you, eyes hungry and hands frenzied, your smile fades into a lust-filled gaze that has Spencer nipping at your neck and chin and lips. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles against you, honeyed voice running deliciously up your spine. For a moment you get in your head; you don’t feel gorgeous as of late, still a ways away from your pre-baby body, but Spencer snuffs that thought out of your head. “Stop thinking and feel.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slithers his way down your body and licks a stripe up your slit with a flattened tongue, moaning at your taste before slipping two fingers into your sodden pussy. “So wet for me already?”

“Always for you, Sir.”

Spreading your legs with his hands, he crawls back up, nipping and biting and sucking at any and every patch of skin that pleases him. And all you have to do is lay back and enjoy it and he calls you his good girl.

When he latches onto your nipple, the tug on your breast is similar but the feeling is altogether different. The way he rolls his tongue over your nipple causes you to arch into him, gathering his hair in your hand and pushing him closer. Every time he nips at your nipples, bringing them to taut peaks, it shoots straight to your core and you buck into his hand. “So wet, Sir.”

“Does this get you off, love?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Excuse you,” he says, immediately stilling his fingers.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels wrong. Taboo.”

“And that gets you off?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“My dirty girl.”

Switching from nipple to nipple, never leaving one untouched for too long, his fingers stroke at that sensitive spot inside you. You buck down into his hand and reach between you, slipping your hands into his pants to stroke softly at his hardening cock. “Come for me, Y/N,” he breathes, his palm sitting heavily on your clit. “I want you to come for me.”

His words ignite a fire inside you, white hot light bursting before your eyes as he latches onto your nipple one last time. “Fuck, Sir,” you laugh shakily, stroking his cock harder and faster. “Now, come for me. I need to see you.”

Spencer bites down on your lower lip and pulls away, hissing through clenched teeth as his orgasm starts to roll over him. “That’s it, baby. Harder. Keep going.”

All you can hear over the sound of your movements, wet and slick and rough, is the rolling growl that leaves Spencer’s mouth when he comes in your hand and over both your stomachs. “Shit.”

“Have fun?”

“Yes,” he laughs, exhaustedly collapsing at your side. “You feeling okay? You were getting in your head for a second. I could feel it.”

“Yea, still having body issues. But I’m working on it.”

“I have an exercise for you to do. Not physical,” he says quickly. “A self love one. Every morning when we get up, I want you to look in the mirror and say one thing you like about yourself. You can start with things that aren’t physical and then work up to physical.”

A sleepy, content smile spreads across your face. This is the dynamic you always wanted - someone you could rely on in every single way. Even at your lowest, your craziest, your most overwhelmed, Spencer is there for you, telling you how beautiful you are as you drift off in his arms.

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#through it all #the most natural thing in the world #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #dontshootmespence

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, halehathnofury!

For @halehathnofury. You said you like fluff, high school au's, and magical Stiles so I incorporated some of that in here. Hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays! 💖

Read On AO3

*****

All Stiles can think as he looks out at the snow covered ground as it blurs past is that this is going to be the worst winter break ever. Even worse than the one he spent sick at home. Because at least then he'd been home and able to see his friends once he'd been well enough.

Now, he's going to be stuck in some cabin in the middle of nowhere because his parents thought it would be good for them to all get away and take a vacation together.

He loves his parents, he does, but he'd had plans for winter break. And those plans hadn't involved being thousands of miles away from his friends and close to freezing to death.

“This is the worst,” Stiles mutters as he follows his parents out of the jeep.

His dad sighs from the back and tosses his bag at him. “You’re being just a bit dramatic, son.”

“Yeah well you’re not the one who had all your plans uprooted at the last minute,” Stiles tells him.

His dad raises an eyebrow, “You didn’t even have any plans. You just said you were going to lay around and play video games with Scott.”

“Those are plans!”

His dad closes the trunk and steps up to him. He looks around and lowers his voice. “Son, this means a lot to your mom, alright? She’s been sad about you going off to college next year and has it in her head you’re never going to come back. I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas, but can you just suck it up for her? Please?”

Stiles is hit with a wave of guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in how much it sucked for him, he hadn’t thought about what it meant to his mom. He bites his lip and nods. “Yeah, okay.”

His dad claps a hand on his shoulder and turns him towards the cabin. “This is going to be fun. You’ll see.”

“If you say…” Stiles’ words die in his throat when the door to the cabin opens to reveal none other than Derek Hale smiling out at them. Derek, who has no right to look as attractive as he does in his stupid beanie and leather jacket, with a sweater with dancing snowmen on underneath. And god are those thumb holes? Stiles should just turn around and go faceplant in the snow and let nature take its course because there is no way he’s surviving this trip. Not with Derek looking this adorable. This is all really unfair, and the universe must have it out for him or something if it expects him to endure all this.

“You made it,” Derek says. He actually looks pleased about that too. As if there’s nothing in the world that makes him happier than seeing the Stilinski’s standing at the door to his family cabin.

“Yeah we got a little turned around for a moment thanks to all that snow, but we got here,” his dad says. He urges Stiles forward so he can step in behind him. “Didn’t Claudia come inside?”

“I don’t know, I just got down here,” Derek admits. He tilts his head. “It sounds like she’s in the kitchen with my parents and Laura.”

The sheriff nods, “Well then, just show us to our rooms and I’ll get these put away.”

“Nonsense,” Derek says. “Stiles and I can handle the bags. You go relax.”

Stiles watches as his dad hesitates, looking between Stiles and Derek. “You’re sure?”

Stiles sure as hell isn’t sure. He doesn’t exactly want to get stuck alone with Derek, but he told his dad he would suck it up, so he just purses his lips as Derek smiles and places a hand on his dad’s back, urging him towards the kitchen. “We’ve got it.”

“Well thank you,” his dad says. “I really could use some hot chocolate.”

“Not too much!” Stiles calls after him.

His dad ignores him and Stiles sighs. He kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his coat, before grabbing some of the bags. “Alright, lead the way.”

“Hello to you too Stiles,” Derek says.

“Yes, hi,” Stiles says. “The rooms?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and Stiles doesn’t blame him. He is being a little short, and no doubt rude. But it’s for his own good. Derek doesn’t comment on it though. Just grabs the remaining bags and starts down to the hall, leaving Stiles to follow. “This way. Your room is going to be downstairs, and your parents upstairs.”

“Why do I feel like a little kid getting stuck with a broom closet?”

Derek snorts, “It’s a nice room, trust me, and it has a hell of a view.”

“Uh huh.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Derek says over his shoulder. “Always so cynical.”

“I am not!”

“You are,” Derek says. He stops and pushes the door to one of the rooms open and then gestures for Stiles to step inside.

Stiles moves past him into the room, preparing to hate whatever he sees. Instead of seeing some tiny sparsely decorated room, he sees a room bigger than the one he has at home, fit with two beds on opposite walls. Stiles tilts his head, “Two beds?”

“Did I not mention we’d be rooming together?” Derek asks innocently.

Stiles turns to face him, his eyes wide. “What?”

“There’s only four rooms,” Derek says.

“And?”

“And my parents are taking one, then Laura, then your parents,” Derek says. “So unless you want to sleep on the couch…”

“I don’t.”

“Well neither do I,” Derek says. “So it looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah looks it,” Stiles mutters, looking around the room. He moves to the back, to where a door sits. It leads out to a small deck that looks out onto the lake. It is nice, Stiles admits. Although not out loud. He can’t have anyone thinking he actually likes it here.

“This is why this room is my favorite,” Derek says, stepping up next to him. “It has the best view in the whole cabin.”

Stiles shrugs, “It’s not bad.”

“Does anything make you happy?” Derek asks him.

Stiles frowns, “Of course.”

“I know this wasn’t ideal,” Derek says. “You had your plans. But…”

“What?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t know. I was pretty happy when my parents said you were coming.”

“You were?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it meant we could spend some time together,” Derek says. “Hang out.”

“You want to hang out with me?” Stiles asks. “But I thought you…”

“What?”

“I thought you hated me,” Stiles says.

“Why on earth would you think that?” Derek asks him.

“Because you never talk to me,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up.

“I do,” Derek says. “But you’re not always that… receptive. And…”

“What?”

Derek clears his throat, “Nothing. I’m just… I’m glad you’re here Stiles. And I hope you will be too.”

He takes the remaining bags and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Stiles is left standing next to the door, feeling more confused than ever. What the hell was that?

Stiles plans to put his stuff away and then go find his parents, his dad’s words echoing in his head about how important this trip is to his mom. But he makes the mistake of sitting on the bed while texting Scott, which leads to him laying down. And before he knows it, his eyes are drifting closed.

He wakes suddenly, to the feeling of a hand on his arm. He sits up, his eyes glowing and hands out as he prepares to fight off any threat. Then he sees Derek, standing next to the bed with his own hands raised, and sporting a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Mom just sent me to get you for dinner. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Stiles mutters.

“Uh huh. So you just go on the magic defense after every nap?”

Stiles can't fight back the urge to roll his eyes as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. "Only when I'm not in familiar territory. Which I'm not. Besides, I bet you wouldn't like someone shouting you awake either."

"I didn't shout," Derek argues.

“Oh yes you did!”

“No,” Derek says calmly. “I did not.”

“You did!”

“What’s with all the shouting?” Derek’s mother, Talia, asks. She’s standing at the door looking between the two of them.

Stiles shoots a triumphant smirk at Derek, “Told you.”

“Pretty sure she wasn’t talking about me, Stiles,” Derek says.

“I wasn’t,” Talia says. “Derek knows better than to raise his voice in a house full of wolves.”

“Any reason you were yelling at Derek?” Stiles’ dad asks.

“I wasn’t yelling at him,” Stiles says, making sure to keep his tone even. “We were just having a disagreement.”

“About?”

“About whether he was shouting when he woke me up,” Stiles says.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Talia says. “At least not until you started raising your voice.”

Derek’s the one to spot the triumphant grin now. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, smirk all you want. You still could have found a better way to wake me up.”

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Derek says. “That wasn’t my intention.”

Stiles has two options here. One, he can accept Derek’s apology and apologize himself. Or two, he can ignore him and walk out of here and look like an asshole. And well, he never claimed not to be an asshole.

He rolls his eyes and starts towards the door, “Yeah sure buddy.”

“Stiles,” his dad warns.

Stiles sighs and tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling, “I’m sorry.” It would be easy to walk out of here and leave it at that. But when does he ever make things easy. “I’m sorry you don’t know how to wake people up. So maybe you should work on that.”

He leaves the room and heads down the hall. He realizes halfway down the hall he doesn’t actually know where the kitchen is, but it’s not hard to find his way, simply following the smell of food drifting towards him.

“Hi sweetheart,” his mother says, smiling over at him when he walks into the room. “Settling in okay?”

Stiles puts a smile on his face as he accepts the hug she gives him, “Yeah mom.”

“Seems you and Derek are getting along swell,” Laura says. Of course she’d have heard what had happened.

“Oh yeah, perfectly splendid,” Stiles says.

“I was hoping you would,” Laura says. “He is quite fond of you.”

“Laura,” Derek says, a warning note to his voice.

“Derek doesn’t like me,” Stiles blurts out.

Laura’s eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

Stiles shakes his head as he takes his seat at the table, which his luck happens to be right across from Derek. “No.”

“Stiles I told you before that’s not true,” Derek says.

Stiles shrugs, “If you say so.”

Laura and Derek share a look, Laura looking like she has something she wants to say. She purses her lips and remains silent when Derek shakes his head.

“Something smells great,” Stiles says.

“Derek made spaghetti,” his mom says.

“You cook?” Stiles asks.

“He’s an excellent cook,” Laura says. “I keep telling him he should be a chef, but he insists on going into history.”

“That’s what I’m interested in,” Derek tells her. “It makes me happy.”

“So does cooking,” Laura points out.

“That doesn’t mean I want to do it for a living,” Derek says.

“Well you’d certainly be good at it,” Stiles says, the compliment slipping from his lips before he can stop himself. He finishes chewing his food and smiles. “Because this is delicious.”

Derek ducks his head but Stiles doesn’t miss the shy smile on his lips, or the slight pink tinge to his cheeks. It’s kind of cute actually. He really should not be thinking that right now. Luckily Derek speaks to save him from opening his mouth and saying something stupid. “Thank you.”

“Should have known the way to Stiles’ heart would be through his stomach,” Laura teases.

Stiles ignores her and focuses on the food in front of him. Because he knows there’s no way he can disagree with her. Any denial about having feelings for Derek would be automatically caught as a lie in the room of werewolves. It’s unfortunate. He’s done a damn good job of keeping himself in check. He’s not going to out himself now.

It’s halfway through the meal when he feels a foot pressing against his leg. He looks across the table at Derek, who’s talking to Laura. Derek’s eyes find his for a moment and he smiles, before turning away again. Huh. Interesting.

“Anyone for desert?” Talia asks. “I made pie.”

“Oh I love pie,” Stiles says.

“So I heard,” she laughs. “Derek was insistent we had all your favorites here.”

“He was?”

“Oh sure,” Derek’s father, Robert, says. “He wanted you to enjoy your time here. All of you, of course.”

“It’s been wonderful so far,” Stiles’ mother says. “We really appreciate you inviting us out here.”

Stiles smiles as Talia places a slice of apple pie in front of him. His favorite. It’s delicious, but it’s still tainted with the feeling of guilt rising in him. He certainly hasn’t been behaving like someone deserving of pie.

“This is great,” Stiles says. “Thank you. And thank you for having us.”

“You’re quite welcome, Stiles,” Talia says. “We do hope you’ll find a way to enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sure I will,” Stiles tells her. He owes it to his mother, and himself, to try. As well as all the Hale’s. They were nice enough to invite them out here, and Stiles has been a bit of an ungrateful shit. He can admit that. Still, there’s time to make up for that.

After dinner, the adults head into the living room to set up for game night, and Stiles offers to wash the dishes. It’s the least he can do. Derek, of course, stays back with him.

“You know, since you cooked I’m pretty sure it’s not your job to wash the dishes,” Stiles tells him.

Derek shrugs, “I don’t mind helping.”

They work in silence for a while, Stiles washing the dishes while Derek rinses and dries. It’s not uncomfortable. Stiles doesn’t feel the nagging in his brain to fill the silence with nervous chatter. But there is something he knows he has to say since they’re alone.

“I am sorry for how I’ve been acting,” Stiles says. “I guess I was a little hangry.”

“A little?” Derek teases.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Okay, maybe a lot.”

“It’s not just that though, is it?” Derek guesses.

“I was just looking forward to having this break with Scott, you know?” Stiles says. “It’s the last Christmas break we’ll have before college. So I wanted to make the most of it. So I was a little upset when I got here. But it wasn’t fair to take that out on you.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t,” Derek says, and Stiles sighs. “But I get it.”

“You do?”

“I’ve been coming out here every Christmas since I was a kid,” Derek says. “I love it out here, a lot, but sometimes I wish I could have stayed with my friends.”

“Not this year?”

Derek shrugs, “It seemed important to be here this year. Like you said, it’s our last Christmas before college. I feel like I owe it to my parents to be here, you know?”

Stiles nods, “Yeah I know. My dad kept saying it means a lot to my mom that we’re all together like this. So at first I was going to make the most of it for her.”

“At first?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles smiles over at him. “I’m starting to think it might not be horrible.”

Derek gasps, “Did you just admit to enjoying something?”

“I know, it surprised me too,” Stiles says. “But don’t tell anyone.”

“It’ll be our secret,” Derek tells him.

“I’m trusting you with this, Derek Hale,” Stiles says. “Don’t let me down.”

Derek laughs and takes the plate Stiles hands him, “Your secret is safe with me, Stiles.”

They lapse into silence again as they finish up the dishes. Stiles feels lighter now somehow than he has since he first stepped foot in the house. Hell, probably since they packed up and left early this morning. They finish up, and Stiles goes to leave the kitchen to join their parents and Laura in the living room. Derek stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I am glad you’re here, Stiles.”

Before Stiles has a chance to reply, he’s dropping Stiles’ arm and walking away. Stiles is left standing there, watching him leave. His heart is thudding in his chest, and he swears he can still feel the warmth of Derek’s hand on his skin.

Shit.

This won’t do. Whatever he’s feeling, he needs to get it under control. The last thing he needs is to walk out there with his feelings written all over his face in a house fool of werewolves. All he has to do is survive an hour of games and then he’ll be in the clear.

It’s not hard, thankfully. Everyone is so wrapped up in the games that they hardly pay him any mind. Which is more than fine with him. He gets paired up with Derek for charades and it’s actually pretty fun. They work well together. So well that they wind up winning more than half the rounds they play, until Laura groans and says they’re cheating somehow.

“You’re not even playing,” Derek tells her.

“Maybe not, but I still feel bad for our poor parents,” Laura says. “You two are winning so much there has to be something else going on.” She looks between the two with a smirk. “Something cosmic, maybe.”

“It’s just charades, Laura,” Derek laughs.

“Is it though?” Laura ponders. “What do you think, mom?”

“I think you’ve been at the eggnog too long,” Talia says.

“You know I’m right,” Laura says. “You’ll all see. Just you wait.”

The Hale parents share a look, but neither comment further. Derek rolls his eyes as he takes his place next to Stiles on the couch.

“What was that about?” Stiles asks.

“Just Laura being Laura,” Derek says.

It’s going on 9 when Stiles feigns being tired and bids everyone goodnight. He’s just slipped into his pajamas, a matching pants and bottoms set with reindeers that his mom had bought him, when a knock sounds on the door and Derek’s voice drifts through. “Stiles? Are you decent?”

“Yeah I’m good,” Stiles quietly calls back. He learned his lesson earlier to keep his voice down.

The door opens and Derek slips in, closing it behind him. He looks Stiles up and down and smiles. Stiles points a finger at him. “Don’t say anything.”

“They’re cute. In fact,” Derek walks over to his suitcase and ruffles around for a moment before holding something up. The same pajamas Stiles has. Both in a matching shade of bright red. Of course. His mom had seemed a little too happy when she gave him the pajamas earlier this week.

Stiles laughs, “Let me guess, your mom got them for you?”

“She did,” Derek says. “She got me a pair for every night here.”

“Mine too,” Stiles says.

“What do you think the chances are they’re all going to match?” Derek asks him.

“I’d say pretty good,” Stiles says. “Knowing them they went shopping together and thought it would be cute to make us match.”

“No doubt.” He looks from Stiles to the pajamas and clears his throat. “Could you…?”

“What? Oh! Right. Umm…” Stiles turns away, his eyes landing on the door leading out to the porch. “I’ll just go out here while you change.”

He slips out before Derek can say anything, and immediately regrets it when the cold winter air hits him. “Shit,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around himself. He moves to the couch swing and sits down, tucking his legs under him in hopes to get a little warmer.

The door opens a few minutes and Derek walks outside. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and two mugs in his hands. “Mom made us hot chocolate,” Derek says, handing one of the mugs over to Stiles as he takes a seat next to him.

Stiles takes it, grateful for the heat coming from the cup. He sips it greedily. The warmth from the hot chocolate spread through him, chasing the cold away, at least temporarily. Stiles has never been one to savor things, unfortunately, and he finishes his drink quickly. He thinks about going back inside. It would be the smart thing to do. It is warmer. But instead, he sets the mug on the table next to him, and looks out at the snow covered lake.

The swing sways slightly as Derek rocks it with his foot. It’s nice, calming even. The swaying paired with the hot chocolate have done a good job of relaxing him. But still, it’s cold. And the snow doesn’t help.

"You know, I could just magic all this snow away," Stiles offers.

"Don't you dare."

Stiles raises an eyebrow, "Don't tell me you like this."

Derek shrugs, the gesture barely noticeable under the thick blanket covering him. At least he was smart enough to bring one out with him. He blows into his hot chocolate before taking a sip. "It's nice. Peaceful. Sure, sometimes I miss my friends back home over break. But I've always loved coming up here because it provides a little break from the chaos, which we all need, and lets us just exist."

Stiles looks out at the snow covered lake and tries to see what Derek is seeing. This whole time he's been looking at it through the lens of not wanting to be here and what he was missing out on. What would he see if he focused on what he had here instead? If he did just exist in this moment?

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He does feel more in tune to his magic here. As if even it feels drawn to this place. And maybe…

He glances over at Derek to see him looking out at the lake as he sips his drink. He's different than Stiles is used to. He’s certainly more relaxed. He looks… happy. Stiles finds he likes the look.

“You really like it here,” Stiles whispers. It’s not a question, more a realization as things start to settle into place.

Derek turns his head and smiles. There’s small flakes of snow sticking to his cheeks and eyelashes, and Stiles gasps. “I do,” Derek says.

Stiles finds himself smiling in return. “Maybe I could too.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles shrugs, “Yeah. You know, it is pretty here, and the view isn’t so bad.” He hasn’t looked away from Derek as he says the words. And why would he? The snow covered lake has nothing on Derek’s smile. And god, when did he start thinking like that? A long time ago if he’s being honest with himself, but he never really let himself linger on it. But now, something about this moment, makes him want to take a chance. To hope for something more. “The company isn’t so bad either,” Stiles adds, hoping to get his point across.

Derek sets his mug of cocoa down and leans across the swing, causing it to rock beneath them, until he’s hovering over Stiles. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, your mom is great,” Stiles jokes.

Derek huffs out a laugh and digs his fingers into Stiles’ sides, “Seriously?”

Stiles laughs and flails, trying to bat Derek’s hands away, before they wind up settling on his shoulders. “No. God.”

“My name’s Derek, but it’s nice to know you think so highly of me,” Derek teases.

His fingers are no longer attacking him, but they haven’t left his body. They’re warm somehow, probably from the cocoa or just Derek’s stupid werewolf body heat. The contrast to their warmth against his exposed skin, to the cold winter air, makes him shiver.

“Stiles?”

Stiles blinks, coming back to himself. “Hmm?”

“Are you cold?” Derek asks, his brow pinching adorably as he frowns.

Stiles laughs and raises his hand to brush over the crease in Derek’s forehead. “Of course I am. We’re outside in the middle of winter. And not all of us have supernatural body heat.”

Derek’s eyes widen and he starts to move back, “We should go inside.”

Stiles keeps his grip on one of Derek’s shoulders, “No. Stay.”

“But you’re cold,” Derek says.

“And you’re not.”

“Well no…”

“Because you have supernatural body heat,” Stiles says. He squirms enough to slip his hands under Derek’s blanket and grins up at him. “And this nice, warm, comfy blanket. That looks like it could be big enough for two.”

He raises an eyebrow, hoping Derek gets his point. Derek stares at him a moment, his mouth open, but no words coming out. Then he blinks. Once. Twice. A grin works its way onto his lips. “Oh? And who else should I invite inside this warm, comfy, blanket?”

“Hmm I can think of someone,” Stiles says. “Someone who has maybe been a little slow and never caught on to what was right in front of him.”

“And has he now?”

“Yeah, I’d definitely say so.” He rubs a hand down Derek’s back and smiles when Derek inhales sharply and his eyes flutter closed. He leans in closer, stopping a few inches from Derek’s face. “What do you say, Der? Want to let me in?”

Derek opens his eyes and their gazes lock. They don’t look away, even as Derek lets the blanket fall open, and Stiles moves in closer until he’s pressed flush against Derek. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling the blanket securely around them both. Derek lays him back against the swing, his body a warm, solid weight above him. The swing is still swaying beneath them but neither notice nor care. The only thing they can focus on is each other.

Stiles’ hand is gripping Derek’s sweater under the blanket, and he can still feel himself shaking. He’s not even sure anymore if it’s from nerves or the cold. They’re still not talking. Just looking. God one of them should say something, right?

“Hi.”

Not the most eloquent thing to say, but it’s a start. And it gets Derek to smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hi.”

“I uhh…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone speechless,” Derek teases.

Stiles laughs, “Maybe a bit.”

Derek squeezes his hip and Stiles feels himself relax, “Are you warmer?”

He is. So much warmer. How could he not be wrapped up in the blanket and Derek? He’s afraid if he says yes that Derek will pull back, and he’s not ready to let him go just yet.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says. He licks his lips, and Derek's eyes drift down, tracking the movement. Oh. How the hell had he missed this? Doesn’t matter. He’s on the right page now, and he’s not about to waste this opportunity. “My lips are still a little cold.”

“Yeah?” Derek whispers. “Well we can’t have that.”

“Nope.”

Derek meets his gaze and smiles, “I guess we’ll just have to warm them up then, huh?”

“Just c’mere.”

Stiles uses his grip on Derek’s sweater to pull him closer as he tilts his head up, and then they’re kissing. It’s not the most eloquent of kisses. Stiles’ lips still feel half frozen. But Stiles never wants it to stop. He wants them to stay like this until every frozen part of him thaws, from his lips to his heart. Derek’s doing a pretty damn good job at working on both.

“We should go in,” Derek murmurs against his lips.

Stiles whines and tightens his grip on Derek’s sweater, “No.”

A hard gust of wind blows around them, rocking the swing harder and Derek chuckles, “The swing isn’t the best place to be right now. Besides, it’s warmer in there, Stiles.”

“You’re warm.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, “Fine. On one condition.”

“What’s what?”

He kisses Derek quickly, “I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

Derek coughs, “What?”

“I just… I meant in the same bed,” Stiles says quickly. “You know, cuddling and shit. I wouldn’t… not with our parents and your sister here. Not that that’s what you want anyway. Oh god. Please just shut me up.”

“Never,” Derek says. “I like when you talk.”

Stiles snorts, “Yeah well, you’re the only one.”

“You look adorable when you’re excited about something,” Derek tells him.

Stiles groans, “Adorable? Really?”

“What? What’s wrong with adorable?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says. “It’s just, you know, used for things like bunnies and puppies and…”

“Stiles.”

“Yes, I know you’re including me in that.”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

Derek smiles and kisses him, something soft and sweet. “I adore you.”

Stiles blinks at him, sure that this has to be some sort of dream and Derek is just going to disappear. But he doesn’t. He remains there, smiling down at him. “I adore you too.”

Derek’s smile grows and then they’re kissing again. The snow continues to fall, covering the frozen ground and lake. Neither pay it any mind.

Stiles yelps when he finds himself being lifted up off the swing and into Derek’s arms as he walks them towards the door. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you inside before you catch a cold,” Derek tells him.

Stiles can’t say he minds being in Derek’s arms like this. In fact, he likes it quite a lot. He likes it even better when Derek lowers him down onto the bed and then crawls in after them, wrapping them both up in his thick blanket. Stiles snuggles in closer, his face tucked into Derek’s neck as Derek’s hands move up and down his arm and back. He falls asleep like that, feeling safe and warm in Derek’s arms.

When he wakes up the next morning, still snuggled up to Derek’s chest, with the morning sun casting a warm glow across Derek’s sleeping face, he thinks that being here might not be so bad after all. It’s actually pretty great.

#halehathnofury #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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ikemensweetheart · 4 years ago

Text

Spider Lilies Chapter 1

Yokai? Yoshimoto x reader.

-----

An unexpected turn of events leads you into the Spirit World. A land of mythical and terrifying creatures called Yokai.

Pursued by a powerful Yokai called Nobunaga, you find refuge with Yoshimoto. A 'collector of beautiful things' as he calls himself.

Trapped in a strange world with no one else to turn to.

Will you become Nobunaga's bride or will another win your heart?

A/n: I've been wanting to explore the idea of the Ikesen suitors as Yokai since the release of Mitsuhide's route. The idea seemed perfect for October. So, here it is!

I also wanted to give Yoshimoto some much needed love.

Reader is female

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were singing and the flowers were blooming. It was a perfect day to go out for a walk. "I'll be back soon!" You called out as you stepped out the backdoor for your parents' house.

"Be careful!" Your mother called back from the kitchen window. "I will!"

You smiled as you set off into the woods that was on your parents' property. You had loved to take hikes in it ever since you were little. It was nice to get some fresh air while surrounded by nature. There was nothing more invigorating.

So, you were off with your sketchbook in hand and a pep in your step.

You walked down the worn deer paths you knew by heart. You followed the paths with no particular destination in mind. Your mind wandered from subject to subject as you walked. You were a college student on break and staying with your family for the summer and you were finally able to properly relax after a long semester at school.

As you walked, the trees around you opened up into a small clearing. You stopped when you saw something in the middle of it: a torii gate.

"Where did this come from?" You wondered out loud. You had never seen one in these woods before. It looked old, its red paint was chipped and dull. You were surprised to see it was still standing. There were red spider lilies growing all around it.

Curious, you approach the gate.

Nothing looked out of place other than the gate itself as you stood in front of it.

You moved closer to get a better look at it when something caught your foot. You yell as you stumble forward, falling through the gate and towards the ground.

You were surprised when a strong pair of arms caught you. "Well, what have we here?" A voice rumbled.

Your head snapped up. You find yourself staring up at a pale face, with horns protruding from his ebony black hair. "A human?" Blood red eyes flashed with surprise at the sight of you. They then narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

You glance around. You were no longer in the familiar, sunny woods near your home. All around you was a dark, foreboding forest. Tall trees looming over you as mist lay thick around the trunks. There were more spider lilies growing around you, but these ones had an ominous glow to them.

A sick feeling started to form in the pit of your stomach. A question came out of your mouth that you were dreading the answer to. "Where am I?"

"You are in the Spirit World." The strange man said.

Spirit World? Like in the old stories where Yokai live? The pit in your stomach grew.

"What do you have there, My lord?" You jumped at the sound of a voice. You looked up to see another man perched in a nearby tree. He has silvery white hair, fox-like ears on top of his head and seven tails swishing behind him. His ears twitch with interest.

"Ah, there you are, Mitsuhide." The other man said. "It would appear a human has fallen into my realm."

The fox man, Mitsuhide, studied you. His golden eyes gleaming. "Quite a fetching human." He commented.

"Indeed. She will make for an excellent bride."

You stiffen. "Wait, what?!" The man still holding you looks at you. A self satisfied smirk on his face. "You heard me correctly, human. You are to my bride."

You stare up at him with shock and horror. "You can't be serious!"

"Very serious." Mitsuhide said from up in the tree. "Lord Nobunaga would not bestow such an honor lightly."

"No way! I don't even know you."

Nobunaga's eyes narrow dangerously. "You would refuse me?"

Your body grows cold. A lot of Yokai were known for eating humans, you could very well be this guy's next meal if you didn't go along with what he said.

But, maybe there was another option...

This Nobunaga guy's arms were still loosely around you. This could be your only chance.

Deciding to take that chance, you push away from Nobunaga. Caught off guard, he lets go of you and you take off running. Ignoring the shouts behind you.

Nobunaga's eyes glare after your fleeing form. "Would you like me to retrieve her, my lord?" Mitsuhide asks. "Yes." Nobunaga answers. "And see to it that my bride is unharmed."

You didn't know where you were going, you just knew you had to get away from those two guys. You ran as fast as your feet would carry you. Weaving around the trees and dashing through the mist.

Suddenly, a figure appears from among the trees. You come skidding to a halt before Mitsuhide. "Where do you think you're going?" He asks leisurely. A wicked looking grin on his face.

You back away from him and start running in a different direction. "Looking to make a game of this, are we?" His voice echoed through the trees.

This was a nightmare.

"Very well, I always did enjoy a good game of cat and mouse!" He jumped out from behind a tree.

You scream and backpedal.

Suddenly, the ground under your feet gave way. Sending tumbling down a steep slope. As you wheeled down the sloop, you saw a figure standing at the edge of a lake.

There's a yelp as you collide into that body and you both fall into the lake. You hit the water with a splash!

You gasp from the shock. The water was ice cold.

You quickly tried to get up, but you slipped and fell back down. "Oof." Your head snapped to find yourself face to face with another man. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" You say, struggling to get up off of him. He steadied you with his hands. "It's alright." He assured you. "Though, I didn't expect to be such a lovely lady's pillow when I got up this morning." His tawny eyes twinkled with amusement underneath his dripping wet blue hair as he gave you a gentle smile.

Strangely, his reassurances put you at ease.

He helped you get to your feet.

"I would ask you to return that human to me, Yoshimoto." You froze at the sound of Mitsuhide's voice. You looked up to see him appear at the edge of the lake.

The blue haired man, Yoshimoto's, eyes narrowed. "What makes you think you have a claim to her?" He asked. "Not me," Mitsuhide replied. "But my lord has chosen this her as his bride."

You shrink away from Mitsuhide. Yoshimoto put a protective hand on your shoulder. "I see no union mark, therefore, Nobunaga has no real claim to her unless she is found in his territory." Mitsuhide took a step forward and Yoshimoto pulled you a little closer to him. Raising his free hand toward Mitsuhide. "Need I remind you, fox, that you're in my territory?"

Mitsuhide scowled. "I concede this time, Jorogumo, but my Lord will have the human as his bride." With that, he disappeared, leaving his ominous warning and a chill in your heart.

Yoshimoto sighed and let go of your shoulder. "Are you alright?" He asked. "Yeah. I'm fine." You said as you started to back away from him slowly.

Which he seemed to notice. He gave you another smile. "If you're worried about me eating you, don't be. I've never had an affinity for humans."

"But, you're a-"

"It's Jorogumo females you should be worried about. They are much more predatory than males. That's why they show up in more human stories." He explained. He then studied you for a moment. His elegant brow furrowed. "Are you cold?" He then asked.

"A little bit." There had been a slight chill in the forest when you had first entered it, but now it was freezing.

"My home isn't far from here. Come, I have a spare change of clothes you can use until those are dry."

Yoshimoto stepped onto the shore, but you remained rooted where you were. An awful thought had occurred to you.

"Wait, you're not going to try to marry me, are you?" You really didn't want this to turn into a creepy Yandere situation.

Yoshimoto looked at you, a deadly serious expression on his face. "I don't condone forcing someone to marry another against their will."

"Oh." You sighed in relief. "That's... good to know."

"Now, let's get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold."

"Okay." You stepped out of the lake and followed Yoshimoto around it until you reached a traditional Japanese house standing at the edge of the lake.

"Welcome to my humble abode." He said. "It's beautiful." You told him. "Thank you."

He led you to the bath. "Take all the time you need to wash. I'll leave a fresh set of clothes for you." He said. "Thank you." He gave you yet another smile before he left you alone.

You washed as quickly as you could. Feeling self-conscious of bathing in a stranger's home.

As soon as you're finished, you found a gorgeous silk kimono set outside the door for you. You stared at it in wonder. It had to cost more than your family made in a year.

There was a problem though: you didn't know how to put on a kimono. You had worn one a time or two when you were younger, but not enough to be able to put one on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to put on the kimono the best you can. Relaying on your memory.

When you were finished, you knew that it wasn't the best, but it works.

You then stepped out of the bath and into the rest of the house.

As you made your way to the main room you saw all sorts of hanging scrolls, statues and pottery all over the place. It was like an entire art museum was stuffed into this house.

You found Yoshimoto in the main room. Sitting at the table with tea set out on it. "Ah, there you are." He greeted you with his alluring smile. "Are you warmer now?"

"Yes, thank you." You replied as you adjusted your kimono's collar.

Yoshimoto cocked an elegant eyebrow at you. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's just been ages since I've worn a kimono." Your face grew warm with embarrassment.

Yoshimoto rose to his feet. "Here. Allow me." He came up behind and undid your miserable attempt. Wrapping it around you properly and skillfully ties the obi in place. He then came around to face you. "There." He said. "You look lovely."

"Um, thanks." Your cheeks were ablaze now.

"I have some tea ready." He went to sit back down like nothing happened.

You stood there for a second as your brain kicked back on. Once it did, you hurried over and sat back down. Hoping you didn't seem too rude.

"Thank you." You say as he offered you a cup of tea. "This is quite a place you've got here." You commented as you took a sip of the tea. The main room is filled with as much art as the rest of the house. "Are you an art collector or something?"

"I'm an admirer of all things beautiful and as such, I like to fill my home with it." Yoshimoto explained. "Although, I don't believe I gave you a proper introduction and for that I apologize. I am Yoshimoto and may I ask your name?"

"I'm (MC)."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (MC)." He says with a smile. "But, if I may ask, what are you doing in the Spirit realm?"

"Well…" You explain to Yoshimoto about the torii gate, going through it, stumbling into that Nobunaga guy and Mitsuhide chasing you.

After you finished your story, you said. "Thank you for your help, and the tea, but I should really be getting home now."

You moved to stand up. "I'm afraid that may not be possible." Yoshimoto said softly. You stopped. "What? Why?"

"There were red spider lilies around the gate, correct?"

You nodded. Yoshimoto let out a sad sigh. "The spider lilies mark the path between the human world and the Underworld. On the rare occasion, that path goes through the Spirit realm. However the path is always changing and never stays in the same place for long." That pit that was in your stomach earlier came back with a vengeance. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the only way back to the human world is along that path." Yoshimoto's expression was a solemn one. "I've no doubt that since Nobunaga intends to make you his wife, he will have had the flowers destroyed by now and There is no other way for you to return home than the way you came."

You dropped back down to the floor. It felt like the wind had just been knocked out of your lungs. "You… you mean I can't go home?"

You had to go home. You had promised your mom you'd be home in time for dinner. She was making your favorite. You… you couldn't break your promise.

"I truly am sorry." Yoshimoto murmured. There was a sad look in his eyes that told you he meant it, but it still didn’t make you feel any better.

Hot tears start streaming down your cheeks. This can’t be happening. All you had done was go out for a walk. You hadn’t expected to never be able to return home. You had told your mother ‘see you later.’ Not ‘goodbye.’

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your shoulder. Your head snapped up. You found Yoshimoto looking at you with a gentle look in his eyes. “Since you have nowhere else to go, you’re welcome to stay here.” He said softly. “I can’t.” You objected. “I can’t pay you or anything like that.”

“There’s no need for payment.” He replied. He gave you a reassuring smile. It was strange how easy it was for this guy made you feel at ease. “You don’t have to have an answer right away.” Yoshimoto added. “You can sleep on it. I have an extra room and a futon you can use for now.”

“Thank you.” You murmured.

“This way.” Yoshimoto helped you to your feet and led you to another room. There, he pulled out a very cozy looking futon and rolled it out on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” He said.

“Thank you again.” You mumbled.

He gave you one last, worried look before leaving you alone in the room.

You collapse on the futon. More tears running down your cheeks as choked sobs started to escape from inside of you.

Meanwhile, Yoshimoto stood outside your door. Listening to the heartbreaking sound of you crying. He remained there, making sure you were alright until finally sleep had overcome you. It was only then that he left.

To be continued…

-----

Thanks for reading. I hoped you all enjoyed.

Stay Safe.

#ikemen series #ikemen writing #ikemen fanfiction #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku yoshimoto #yoshimoto x reader #ikemen yoshimoto #ikemen nobunaga #ikemen mitsuhide #yokai au

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yxlenas · 4 years ago

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Isaac, new betas, growing pains, and a supernatural hit list complete with professional killers Clearly canon divergent s4 AU. Allisaac, because duh. I am convinced that Liam and Isaac would not like each other, at least at face value. for Alyssa, like always @electricbluebutterflies

“I don’t like him,” Isaac grumbles into her bare chest, head pushed up between her boobs. Allison cards her fingers through his hair and works through another math problem, trying not to laugh.

“I know,” she says, and Isaac makes an angry cat noise.

“I’m serious,” he whines, “he was already too good at lacrosse and now he’s a werewolf. We didn’t need another beta.”

“Was Scott supposed to let him fall off the roof, then?” Allison asks him, erasing a step and reworking it with the right method. Her phone buzzes with a text from Lydia, saying she’s coming over. Allison sends her a picture of Isaac’s curly head nestled between the soft cups of her bra and a grumpy faced emoji. Lydia texts back that she’ll bring snacks. Isaac makes another subvocal sound of displeasure.

“Yes,” he says, no real heat in his voice. He doesn’t mean it, he’s not that heartless, he’s just feeling territorial. Scott is his alpha and his brother, and Isaac was used to being the only wolf beta. He and Malia get along like a house on fire (which gives Allison a migraine, sometimes) and she knows he’s secretly anxious that a new pack member is going to upset the balance.

“Lydia is coming over,” Allison tells him, pushing at the side of his head until he lifts it, “which means I have to put on a shirt, and you should probably at least have on a pair of boxers.”

“Mmm,” Isaac grunts, biting at her belly and grinning when her muscles contract, “are you sure?”

“You’re fucking incorrigible,” Allison tells him, flicking the tip of his nose gently, “now get dressed.”

Liam is very aware Isaac doesn’t like him, because Isaac isn’t exactly a master of subtlety. Allison thinks Liam is more than a little scared of him too, because Isaac is definitely more lupine than Scott and less clueless than Malia. It does have some benefits from what Allison can tell from up in the bleachers at the scrimmage, though, when Isaac grabs him by the collar of his jersey and tosses him into the dirt before he can rip one of Devenford Prep’s midfielders a new asshole. She watches as he struggles against Isaac’s grip, looking for all the world like a very angry puppy, but Isaac is taller and stronger and much, much better at being a werewolf than Liam is.

Allison gathers her purse and picks her way down the bleachers, Lydia and Malia on her heels. They shove their way into a spot closer to the actual field, and Isaac lopes over to her, pulls his helmet off, and kisses her hard. Allison giggles, then pushes at his chest.

“Try not to kill the kid or break his spine, please,” she tells him, cupping his cheek. Isaac nods once and presses their lips together again. Stiles wolf whistles and Isaac flips him off.

“You two are disgusting,” Malia says. Allison can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but she bumps her with a shoulder gently. On the bench, Liam glowers at Isaac, and Isaac grins nastily back.

When they both go missing a few days after the discovery of the Deadpool and the terrifying realization that everyone she loves is on a hit list, there’s a part of Allison that hopes Isaac finally got sick of Liam and threw him in a lake or something.

The alternative is much, much more terrifying.

Isaac wakes up on his back at the bottom of a ravine in agonizing pain, a 15 year old kid hovering over him and looking terrified. Isaac does not feel terrified. Isaac feels annoyed, and achy, and like he might throw up.

Liam is babbling, and whatever head injury Isaac definitely sustained? Liam’s babbling is making it much, much worse.

“Shut. Up.” he groans.

“Oh, oh god you’re awake-”

“Liam,” Isaac grunts, “Liam, shut up, please. If you don’t shut up I will puke on you.”

“Sorry,” the kid gasps, “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“Liam,” Isaac says, feeling much more strained this time around, “Please.”

Liam shuts up. Isaac realizes that Liam is pressing two shaky hands to Isaac’s chest, and that those hands are covered in blood and black goo. Oh, yay. Great. Today is going very badly. Isaac tries to sit up, but can’t. He tries to move a leg, but can’t.

“You’re uh, kind of paralyzed,” Liam says, “I think. I think I saw your spine through your skin.”

“Where the fuck are we,” Isaac snarls, and Liam goes white.

“Um. I don’t know? In the woods. You broke my fall. With-with your body,”

“Call Allison, then call Derek and Scott” Isaac grunts.

“Both phones are...broken?” Liam says. He looks about five seconds away from passing out even though Isaac is the one probably dying.

“So call Scott,” Isaac rasps. His head is starting to spin, and his spine definitely isn’t healing. He isn’t going to heal, not as long as the bullets are in his chest.

“Just so you know,” Isaac slurs out, feeling dazed and sick, “I’m never taking bullets for you again.”

“What do you mean call Scott,” Liam says, “I told you the phones were broken.”

“I mean roar,” Isaac says. His stomach finally gives up completely and he turns his head to the side and throws up greyish black bile. Liam gags himself, and Isaac rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know how,” Liam hisses, looking completely frantic, “You and Scott haven’t taught me.”

“So figure it out,” Isaac says, coughing up a mouthful of sludge, “because I am not dying in this place with only you for company.”

Liam looks guilty. Good. If he wasn’t such an idiot and hadn’t gone careening into the woods after lacrosse practice because he was pissed off they wouldn’t be in this mess. Isaac coughs up another mouthful of black gunk.

“Allison will kill you,” Isaac tells him, “If I die here, by the way. She’s kind of attached to me, if you haven’t noticed.”

Liam just stares at him. Isaac would absolutely strangle the little shit if he was strong enough to move.

“Okay,” he slurs, “Alright, fine. I will do it. I will immediately pass out, and then you’re on your own.”

Isaac tilts his head back and howls miserably, as loud as he can, even as his vision greys out and his stomach rolls. He keeps howling until he passes out.

Scott finds them first. Liam has never been happier to see Scott in his life, especially since he’s being trailed by Derek and Stiles and Allison. Isaac is still very unconscious, and looking worse by the second. Every time he breathes more black stuff foams out of his mouth, and Liam is very concerned that Allison is going to kill him. Isaac likes to make empty threats to scare him, because Isaac is terrifying, but Liam isn’t sure that one is so empty.

Isaac may be terrifying, but Allison is 10 times worse.

“Liam?”

“Down here!” he yells, voice shaking. Isaac makes an awful gasping sound when Scott lands in the dirt next to them, grabbing Isaac’s face.

“Isaac,” Scott says, “Isaac. Wake up. Derek! Get down here.”

“Is he okay? Are they both okay?”

That’s Allison’s voice, sounding high and strained. He can smell her fear which is a new and terrifying ability.

Derek lands hard next to Liam and Liam lets out a very undignified yelp of fear. Isaac groans, eyes opening.

“Derek,” he slurs, and with Scott’s help Derek hefts Isaac into his arms. Isaac screams. Scott gags a little suddenly, and Liam sees why. Isaac’s back is definitely broken, compound fracture, and he can see bloody vertebrae.

Yep. Allison is definitely going to kill him.

“He needs a hospital,” Allison says, curled over Isaac protectively where he lays on his side, “Deaton can’t fix his back when it’s like that, can he? There’s no way.”

Scott is pacing, looking from Liam to Isaac to Derek to Stiles. Derek is taking Isaac’s pain, and Liam is bouncing from foot to foot. Someone tried to kill him. Someone tried to kill him, and he’s only been a werewolf for like a month and a half, and now Allison is going to kill him because someone trying to kill him almost got her scary werewolf boyfriend killed-

Stilles grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a little shake. Liam takes a deep breath.

“Take him to Deaton,” Derek says, “And if Deaton can’t fix him we take him to the hospital.”

Isaac bites Derek in the shoulder when he moves him. Derek snarls at him. Isaac snarls back weakly, eyes flashing golden. Allison approaches him and Liam flinches away, but then she takes his hand and squeezes. Isaac’s blood is still wet on both their palms.

“Are you okay,” she asks him, and Liam does a double take.

“Isaac-”

“I know how Isaac is,” Allison soothes, “But Derek and Scott have him, and he can heal.”

“I’m so sorry-” and then he’s babbling again, and Allison reaches for him and Liam flinches away from her but she’s not stabbing him, she’s hugging him.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Isaac said you were gonna kill me,” Liam stutters. Allison rolls her eyes.

“You really have to stop listening to him.” Allison says, “90% of the time he’s just fucking with you, because he’s an asshole.”

“I heard that,” Isaac slurs weakly from Derek’s arms.

Deaton it turns out can patch up Isaac, and Liam gets bullied into helping hold him down. Lydia, Kira, and Malia meet them at the vet clinic, and Liam watches in a nauseating combination of awe, fear, and confusion as Lydia starts stroking through Isaac’s hair even as he snaps at her fingers.

“Yes, yes. You’re very scary. Calm down, I just got my nails done and if you keep trying to take my hands off I’ll make you pay for my ruined manicure.

Deaton resets Isaac’s spine. Allison is helping, deftly avoiding claws and teeth while she pulls shotgun pellets out of her boyfriend’s chest.

“Why are you all so calm?” Liam bursts out suddenly where he’s holding Isaac’s legs on the metal table.

“This happens more than you might think,” Allison says drily, dropping another shotgun pellet into a bowl.

Liam barely makes it to a chair before he has a stress inducing fainting episode.

Isaac wakes up in Allison’s bed with Derek sitting next to him, feeling like he got run over by a bus, then a train, then another bus. He groans, taking a deep shuddery breath and catching Derek’s earth-cedar-leather scent and Allison’s when he turns his head into the pillow, mostly the lavender of her soap. Chris is there too, and Melissa, and Lydia.

“Hey,” Derek says, and the hand not in his brushes across Isaac’s forehead, “You okay?”

“Feel like shit,” he moans, “Liam?”

“Uh, terrified,” Derek says, “and very stressed, because he watched Allison pull shotgun pellets out of your chest, but in one piece.”

“Little shit,” Isaac mumbles, “Told him not to go running off without warning.”

“I told you not to do stuff fairly often that you did anyway,” Derek says, and Isaac groans, rolling his eyes. It makes his brain throb, which makes his neck hurt, then the rest of his spine. He bites down on his lip, hard. Derek grips his wrist tightly, black veins running up his arm, and after a few seconds Isaac can breathe again.

“Can I get up,” he asks after a few seconds. Derek shakes his head.

“Your spine is still healing. So is the rest of you. Stay down. I can go get everyone, or whoever you want, yeah?”

“Allison,” Isaac says, “And Lydia?”

“Melissa is probably going to come too, you know,” Derek says. Reluctantly Isaac lets go of his hand.

Allison comes in with Lydia hot on her heels, Allison sitting on the bed next to him and kissing his face. Melissa and Chris are hanging back in the doorway

“Please don’t ever do that to me again.” She says, trying for stern. Isaac grins at her weakly, trying to ignore the fact that without Derek’s hand in his, his pain is ramping up. Lydia sits neatly in Derek’s recently vacant chair and squeezes his hand.

“You,” she says, twining his fingers with hers, “Almost bit my fingers off.”

“Sorry,” he rasps. He can feel sweat standing out on his forehead, and he digs the back of his head into the pillows.

“Here, honey,” Melissa says gently, and then she’s placing a pill on his tongue and a cup to his mouth. Painkillers. Hopefully, at least, painkillers. He swallows, and a hand curls around the one Lydia isn’t holding, a big rough one that Isaac knows is Derek’s. The pain lessens. Isaac sags against the pillows of the bed.

“I knew you liked him,” Allison murmurs, “You’re just full of shit.”

“Just because I didn’t let some weird professional assassins kill him doesn’t mean I like him,” Isaac slurs. It’s just them now, curled together on the mattress. Whatever Melissa had given him had kicked in, and he feels floaty and a little sick. Lydia is playing on her phone, still holding Isaac’s hand. When he squeezes it she squeezes back indulgently.

“You like him,” Allison says, kissing his temple.

“If I agree with you will you shut up about it?” he grumbles. Allison snickers, and he kisses her on the mouth,

“Yep.”

“Fine,” he says tiredly, half slurred, half floating on the pain and the medication, “I like him.”

#Allisaac #Derek Hale #lydia martin #Allison Argent #Isaac Lahey #Scott McCall #Liam Dunbar #McCall Pack #Cecilia Writes #electricbluebutterflies #teen wolf

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nightashes · 5 years ago

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We’re Monsters. Isn’t it Fun? - Chapter 3

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Summary: The light sides are now able to speak directly to Thomas. What does this mean for the dark sides?

Warnings: Spiders, Slight blood mentions

Ao3 version

***

The brush moves across his skin. Along his arms, past his shoulders and across his chest. Remus leans over him his tongue sticking out as he works on painting his masterpiece. Virgil lays there on the ground of their living room. A tarp beneath him, he had insisted on it, his chest barely moving. His breaths coming light and slow as he struggles not to move an inch.

“Does it tickle?”

“Nope.” Virgil answers shortly.

“Because I feel like it would tickle. You know, a paintbrush moving lightly across your skin. “

“Shut. Up. Remus.”

Remus smirks down at his brother. Bopping Virgil’s nose with his paintbrush. Virgil wiggles his nose at the bristles.

“Remus.” He warns. “You’re a jerk.”

“Oh, I know. Thanks again for helping me, bro. This is going to be awful!“

“Whatever. Just hurry up.”

Virgil can hear the back door opening, he hears what must be Deceit’s footsteps entering in on the strange scene that Virgil just so happens to find himself a major player in. Virgil knows Deceit wouldn’t object to their little project. But he can’t help but internally cringe at the idea of what he must look like. Remus won’t even let him move his head to see his work. He has no idea what state the painting is currently in or if Remus is truly painting what he said he would.

The footsteps are confirmed to be Deceit’s when he hears that familiar drawl of a tired snake parent. “Do I even want to know what you two are doing?”

“I’m painting my masterpiece! A visual display of the inner blood and guts of a human on a living subject.”

“I was bored and Remus wouldn’t stop asking.”

“Yes, well, it doesn’t look disgusting at all.” Virgil swears he can hear a smile in Deceit’s words. And he can feel one grow on his own face. At least, Remus had been honest about his project. Virgil doesn’t know what he would have done if it had been a ploy to paint something ridiculous or embarrassing like rainbows and hearts on his body. And he wasn’t going to lie, if Deceit’s comment was anything to go by this was going to be pretty cool.

“Thanks, Dad.” Remus grins.

“Oh, this is going to look sick.” Virgil interjects. And from his position he can see Remus beam down at him. Perhaps he had needed more than just their father’s reassurance that his project was indeed 'creative.'

“Right, well you two bet-“

Bbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkktttschhkkkkkkkkk

A sound ripples through them. Virgil lying on the floor can feel it vibrate through his body. His bones rattling at this deep guttural wave of sound that was somehow felt more than heard passes through. The sound petering off, leaving the dark sides staring in silence.

Virgil jolts up, staring at his family. Remus’s paintbrush lies forgotten on the floor.

“What was that?”

“The mindscape. It appears to have shifted.”

“Maybe this is Thomas finally getting rid of us. He’s gonna push our entire side off a cliff and we’ll all fall and die. “ Remus declares maniacally.

“No. This isn’t about us. It’s the light sides.” Deceit stands there. His hat pushed off-center as he cocks his head to listen to the mindscape.

“What do you mean?” Virgil questions.

“Haven’t I taught you boys anything? Listen to Thomas.”

“He’s scared.” Virgil can feel it. His norepinephrine levels are rising and his heart rate is increasing

“He’s talking?” Remus speaks. His eyes closed in concentration.

“To the light sides.” Deceit nods. His voice holding a sense of finality.

“How is this possible? What’s going on?” Virgil can feel his own panic rise in response to Thomas’s.

“It appears the lights sides are now a part of Thomas’s conscious mind. While we have remained in the subconscious. “

“Ooooo. This sounds fun. I feel like we can cause chaos with this. Can we cause chaos with this?” Remus chatters excitedly while Virgil simultaneously struggles to comprehend exactly how bad this is.

“This feels bad. Is this bad? What does this mean? Oh god, what does this mean?”

“It’s fine. We’ll be fine.” Deceit speaks through gritted teeth. “It does present a problem though. We’ll have to increase our efforts to sway Thomas.”

“What. Why?” “Ooh. Why?” The brothers speak simultaneously.

“It’s quite simple. The light sides are now able to speak directly to Thomas. They will have a much stronger pull over him. If we want to be relevant we must fight to remain so.”

“Are we going to become conscious? Oh, I have so many ideas!” Remus practically wiggles in excitement.

“No!” Deceit’s voice is hard and cold.

“Well, why not? The light sides get to do it.” The putrid side whines.

“We will not because Thomas sees us as bad.” Deceit holds a hand to silence any protests. “I know we are not bad. But he won’t see it that way. If he is aware of us he will try to get rid of us. He will try to repress us. If we wish to stay relevant and present we must work from the shadows. We must allow Thomas to believe we do not exist. For him to deny that we exist.”

“How are we gonna do that?” Remus raises his hand as if he were in class.

“What if they tell Thomas about us?”

“They won’t. I won’t let them. We will continue to whisper in Thomas’s ears as we have always done. We will increase the effects of our influence. Increase the amount of whispers. We will demand to be heard. And I will disguise the source of these whispers. I will keep us hidden. That is how we will fight back.”

“That’ll work?”

“It will have to. Our job is to keep Thomas safe. Whether he wants our help or not. And Remus you allow him to express all parts of himself. Even the parts he would rather repress. Our job may not be sunshine and rainbows.” ‘thank goodness’ Remus whispers. “But it doesn’t matter. Thomas needs us.”

Virgil looks down at the painting on his torso and arms. He could tell that it had been great. But it was now ruined. Smeared in several places from his frantic and worried movements.

“I’m sorry, Remus.”

“It’s okay. We’ll fix it.” Remus smiles. Perhaps, they could fix it.

***

Virgil has to admit, Deceit was right. Trying to persuade Thomas to do as they thought was becoming harder and harder each and every day. The light sides would sweep in at the last second and convince him to ignore them. Convince him those thoughts of his, the thoughts they provided, were wrong and bad. Deceit kept insisting that they just had to step up their efforts. They just had to keep pushing. Thomas seemed to be growing more and more exhausted. Virgil was becoming scared. It felt like it wasn’t working. Everything just kept getting worse. He often found Remus throwing all his creations at the wall, screaming in frustration. Deceit spent his days hidden away in his room, fighting desperately to keep their actions hidden. Virgil knew that if they were to increase their whispers anymore they would run Deceit ragged. He could feel his and Thomas’s anxiety increasing. There was just no outlet. Doing the “right” thing constantly was getting exhausting. But no one would listen. Virgil just couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like he was going to go insane. Like he was screaming at a brick wall to move and the wall just sat there completely unaware at the panic and frustration that racked his body. Virgil just needed to get out for a second. He needed a break. Thomas needed a break.

Virgil finds himself standing outside of Remus’s room. The door is open and the interior is a wreck. Everything inside is just rubble. All of it has been torn to shreds and scattered across the floor. Remus’s bed has been reduced to a mattress tossed aside in the corner, his “artwork” is torn down from the walls, his clothes ripped and stained are tossed dejectedly across the floor, and his dresser had been smashed to pieces. Remus himself is nowhere to be found. Not that the anxious side had come there for his brother. They rarely talked these days. Everyone was just too busy. No, he wasn’t there for Remus. It was the door, the entrance to the imagination that called to him. He wishes to find himself there. In their dark forest, among his spidey brethren. He just wants a moment to himself.

Stepping through the door, he can feel it immediately. The imagination has changed. It feels smaller. The shift has changed even this. Was nothing sacred? Virgil grinds his teeth as he walks through the woods. Mentally checking on all their favorite haunts, looking for the source of this feeling. Despite his apprehension, everything seemed relatively normal, if not slightly abandoned. The lake was still murky, the cave still gave off menacing echoes, and the creek still ran red. Virgil finds himself reaching the end of their territory. The memory of their last meeting with the light sides fighting to the forefront of his mind. Did the light sides know what they were doing to them? Did they know how hard Virgil and his family were fighting? Did they know the pain they were causing? Virgil was itching to take a peek at the meadow. He knew that the light sides were unlikely to be there. But he had to check. Just to see if they were even marginally impacted by the war the dark sides were uselessly waging.

Approaching the last of the trees, he could feel a resistance building up, warning him to not come closer. There was something here. A fuzzy wall, a barrier, separating the forest from the meadow. The dark side from the light side. The subconscious from the conscious. Virgil raises his hand, pressing his palm against the barrier. Pushing his hand through the invisible film that is there. It wraps around his arm as he reaches further forward. The resistance is light. He takes a step and another. Feeling the film pass across his body as he finds himself on the other side.

Virgil can hear Thomas. He always could. But now it is so much stronger. Before Thomas was like a whisper in the back of his mind. He could focus on it as he needed. But now it was like Thomas was standing right beside him, speaking directly into his ear. Thomas was talking to him. Maybe he could talk back. Virgil could use the conscious mind to fight back. He could… Deceit wouldn’t like it. Deceit thought that Thomas would destroy them or repress them if they were conscious. But wasn’t he already repressing them? Wasn’t it time to make themselves known? Thomas needed them. And they needed Thomas. Virgil reaches out. This time with his mind. The way Deceit had taught him to influence Thomas. Except this time he pulls. Pulling on their connection he feels himself sink out of the mindscape. And with a snap he appears to Thomas.

***

It had gone horribly. Virgil reappears in the meadow. He begins pacing back and forth, his frustration boiling over as he runs his hands through his hair. He was so close. Thomas was planning to go to a party tonight. Virgil had finally convinced him to stay home and relax. And then Roman, the insufferable Roman had risen up and ruined everything. It just wasn’t fair. Virgil had entered the conscious mind. He had used their own tactics. He was suppose to win. And yet, Thomas still refused to listen to him. Thomas wasn’t ready to go to a party tonight. Why didn’t they get that?

“Aaaaahhhhh!” Virgil screams into the air. He was so sick of this. Stomping towards the woods he ran through possibilities in his mind. He would talk to Deceit and Remus. Together they could come up with a new solution. Enough playing nice. They were going to be heard even if it killed him.

BANG.

Virgil falls to the ground. Clutching his nose as swears pour out of his mouth. What was that? The barrier was the only thing here. But it wasn’t solid. What had happened? Virgil tentatively reaches out, feeling for the barrier. It is still there. Exactly where he thought it would be. But it is solid. Impassable. Virgil tries as hard as he can to push his hand through. He screams and shouts. Banging against the wall. Crying out for Deceit or Remus or Anyone. Slamming his fists against the wall, calling for help. He was stuck. Anxiety was stuck on the light side.

***

Hours later, Virgil sits there, leaning his forehead against the barrier. Watching the forest through the waxy wall. The spiders of the woods were scurrying around on the other side. They appeared to be panicking. Running around the edge, looking for a way to reach him. Virgil wonders what Arabella was doing. Would she be okay without him? Did Deceit and Remus know he was missing? Would they be able to find him? Could Deceit get him out?

The spiders around the barrier turn away, scuttling back into the forest. Virgil follows them with his eyes. Watching his brethren scurrying away into the shadows. He can feel his shoulders sag. It feels hopeless. He sees them acting frantically. They are rushing to meet a new group of spiders. Spiders that are leading two figures through the forest. Deceit and Remus are there. Looking down at the ground, following his spiders. They had led his family to Virgil. He could almost cry. The spiders were trying to save him. He stands up again, banging on the barrier.

“Deceit! Remus! I’m here!”

Remus is the first to look up and spot him. A grin breaks out on his brother’s face. He shouts out. His mouth forming Virgil’s name. But Virgil can not hear it. He doesn’t care. He shouts back.

“Remus! Help me. I’m stuck!”

Deceit sees him next. He does not smile. Instead it is like his face is drained of all warmth. His arm reaching out to hold Remus back. Remus who is trying to run up to his brother, looks at Deceit in confusion. They begin talking. They begin arguing. Virgil can not hear a thing. He only can wave through the barrier.

“Guys, what’s happening? I can’t hear you. Please, I’m stuck.”

Deceit begins pulling Remus back. Leading him away from the barrier and away from Virgil. The spiders are scurrying around their feet frantic. Virgil screams at them.

“Guys, where are you going?”

Bang. bang.

“Dad!”

bang.

“Please, don’t leave me here!”

Bang. bang. bang.

“Remus…”

knock.

“Dad.”

sniff.

They leave him. Virgil finds himself sliding down onto the ground, screaming at no one and crying for his family. The family that saw him. The family that left him. They were right there. And they had left. Virgil cries and he cries. The spiders brush their legs against the barrier, trying to comfort him. But they can not reach him. He is alone. All alone.

***

Virgil awakes that night. He is lying on the grass, his back pressed against the barrier. His throat is raw and he can feel the dried tears on his face. It’s not a comfortable position. Slowly stretching, he stands, looking back at the forest, at his home. And then he looks across the meadow. There should be a door somewhere over there. A door to Roman’s room and to the light sides’ common. Did they know that he was here? Would they let him enter? He doesn't want to stay out here anymore. He wants to go home. But he can't. Could he go to the light sides? Maybe Patton could help him. Maybe.

Roman’s door is white, bright white. It feels so foreign to Virgil. The room beyond is empty and Virgil can’t help but be thankful. He does not want to run into Roman right now. He can see himself in Roman’s full length mirror. His eyeshadow is completely smeared beneath his eyes. He lightly brushes his fingers across the smeared makeup. I guess this is who I am now. He thinks to himself.

Peeking into the hallway, he can hear whispers coming from the living room. The layout appears to be an exact match to his home. Everything is just brighter and cleaner. Creeping closer to the stairwell, he sees Roman ranting to the others. The creative side is speaking about him. Virgil shrinks back. They would hate him. He was in their home. Invading their space. He should just leave. He can go and live in the imagination. At least then he wouldn’t be in their home.

“Anxiety?” Virgil is jolted out of his thoughts to see Logan staring up at him.

“Virgil! What are you doing here?” Patton chirps up.

His hands are shaking. Hastily, he shoves them into his pockets. Rolling his shoulders back and placing on his signature smirk, he looks down at the light sides. He wouldn’t show them any weakness. “Hey, dorks. I’m a part of Thomas’s conscious mind now. Guess that means I live here.”

“You what?!” Roman exclaims.

“I’m your new roomie.” He purrs. “Don’t mind me, keep talking or whatever you nerds are doing. I’m just gonna go and manifest my new room.” He salutes the flabbergasted sides. Ignoring their dropped-jaws, he struts back the way he came. Wishing that he could tell Remus all about the shocked expressions of the light sides. He would have found it hilarious. But Remus had left him. Deceit had left him. Virgil walks down the hallway, mentally lengthening the hall enough to summon a new door, opening to a new room. Empty for now. But soon he would make it his own. If he was stuck here he would make the most of it. Light sides be damned. Dark sides be damned. He was going to make Thomas listen. It was his job after all.

awesome people to tag: @stop-it-anxiety @rainboots-are-for-snobs @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree

#spiders tw #blood mention #blood tw #sanders sides #dark sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil centric #ts fanfic #my writing #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil fanfic

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jason-the-mommas-boy · 5 years ago

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jason reacting to an s/o who loves nature and animals? they point out every squirrel they see and they especially love looking for frogs near the lake, they're not afraid to get dirty and crawl into some bushes just to collect a cool looking leaf

Aa, this was such a soft idea,,hope its okay that I bunched these two together and that this was a little short. I just really didn’t have much inspo..

Jason Voorhees and a Nature-Loving S/O

Jason respects your love of nature.

No, really, he does. It’s a huge refresher to see someone so enthusiastic about it. Someone who wasn’t afraid to get in the dirt just because a flower or leaf caught their eye wasn’t something he saw everyday. Hell, seeing someone be so respectful towards something else rather than themselves was a new sight to him.

In fact, that’s how you two met! He had come across you near one of his triplock wires, digging into some bush for whatever reason. And when you turned around, you hadn’t even seemed scared! Actually, you had asked him for assistance in helping a rabbit be set free from a trap you had found. You were easily deemed a friend, if you cared for the animals on his land, surely you couldn’t have been all bad.

It really made him feel like a kid again when you would drag him on your adventures of exploring the forest. He basically had a map of the land on the back of his hand, so sometimes he’d surprise you and bring you to a place you haven’t seen yet. They were like little dates! You and him would go around and watch the wildlife and collect some oddities you wanted to take back, walk back to the cabin for a snack, check the garden, and it would be time for a nap.

He really only had two issues with it; at any point you could get yourself hurt, whether it’s because you walk into a trap because you weren’t paying attention or you trip and fall, and the campers. He’s been spending a good chunk of his time with you lately and there’s no telling if they were any trespassers setting foot on forbidden territory if he wasn’t back at his cabin, listening for the ring of the bells. He didn’t want you hurt and he definitely didn’t want ungrateful strangers around who cared none to barge into his home.

But, he guesses, as long as he stays around with you, you should be fine. Especially if he makes the decision to carry you if you were to stray into a trap-infested area. It wasn’t summer either, something you had to constantly remind him of. Only tourists were dumb enough to not listen to the warnings of the supposed killer of camp blood, and they were only in real abundance during the summer. No one from the town would dare step foot here without real reason anyways.

It’s another day, and another date apparently.

He was laying around in his bedroom, sitting on his way-too-small bed, and soaking in the gentle rain that fell from the hole in his ceiling. That’s when he heard your ever so gentle knock at his front door. He already knew you were on your way, he simply just couldn’t will himself to sit up before.

But with you now standing outside in the cold rain, that’s enough motivation to get him off his bed. Not without giving his old teddy bear friend a pat on the head, of course.

Opening the door, Jason feels like he’s going to have a heart attack. You didn’t bring an umbrella on your way here??? Where’s your jacket?? Were you trying to get sick? Oh, if only he could voice his disapproval. He was going to give you a cold stern look instead but you interrupt him with a hug! Which he happily melts in.

“Hi, Jason!” You greet, voice muffled against his chest. “I’ve missed youuu..”

He pats your back, he’s missed you too! If he wasn’t preoccupied with anything, he’d spend his free time yearning for you. Your company was always welcome no matter what in his opinion. He was like a little puppy waiting for their owner to come back home.

“Sooo, it’s raining..” You urge, pointing out the obvious while you pull away from the hug, gently tugging at his hand. He nods, yes it’s raining. “I thought maybe we could go looking for frogs near the lake?”

He takes a small step outside the cabin door frame, freezing up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the lake, it was a very pretty thing nature itself made. In fact, he’s spent a lot of his time in that lake. It’s the dock he’s not a big fan of.

Noticing his anxiety, you smile and squeeze his hand. “We won’t be near the dock, I promise. We could look for snails too!”

Jason nods, but before he does anything else, he strips himself of his jacket and offers it to you to take. You were not going back into the rain without a jacket, you could catch a cold!

And much to his pleasure, you take it and put it on, trying your best to not eye your boyfriend straight up and down. He never usually took his jacket off so it was definitely a sight to see and to memorize. You mumble a small “thank you” and turn around, walking down the steps.

With that, Jason is satisfied. He walks on to his porch and closes the door behind him, immediately bringing your hand into his as you urge him to hurry up. The rain wasn’t going to last all day, after all.

#jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #jason voorhees imagines #slashers #slasher x reader #slashers fandom #requests #drabble #500+#asks #anon #queue #narrator's writing

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calitraditionalism · 5 years ago

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Arc One: Chapter One

Purple and crimson lit the sky from the south, stars vanishing to make way for the sun. The dawn’s silence was broken by a finch singing from a nearby cluster of trees. As if that was a signal, the valley came alive with chirps and cries of birds calling for mates or challenging each other for food. A doe lifted her head, ears rotating back and forth, and started off for the river.

A long-haired, pale blue-grey cat watched her go from his seat on his favorite stone. The surface was flat, but it tilted up just enough to let him lay across it and still have his head high enough to see most of the valley. The dew was catching the slowly emerging sunlight and shining brightly enough that he had to squint a little to see a far-off moving shape that he could guess was a group of cats heading for the hills to the west. They were too distant for him to be able to count how many were in the troupe, but he thought that, from the size and the way they were going, they were patrollers heading for the border to keep an eye on outsiders coming in from the Hillock area.

A rustle distracted him and he twitched one ear. A series of unsteady footsteps, and he knew who it was.

“Mama still asleep?” he said, and shuffled to the side to make room for his brother.

“Mhm.” A grey tabby hopped up beside him and sat down. His lighter neck fur was sticking out in every direction and there was grass caught in it. “She looked peaceful, so I left her alone. She’s close enough that we’ll hear her if she wakes up.”

“Good.” The blue-grey tom turned and nodded at his brother’s coat. “You look a right mess, Greyleaf.”

“Oh-“ Greyleaf looked down with a paw lifted. He made a noise of frustration and started clawing at the grass. He succeeded in making his fur knotted. “I didn’t-“ He sighed and looked pleadingly at his brother. “Mistface?”

Mistface made a point not to do anything more than smile and get up. “Sit still.”

Greyleaf went motionless, hardly even blinking as Mistface went over his neck and then the rest of his pelt, which didn’t look much better.

“Sorry,” Mistface said, delicately pulling out a blade of grass. “If I’d known you were havin’ another nightmare, I would’ve woken you up.”

“Oh, no, this one wasn’t as bad.” Greyleaf hastened to look back at his brother. “I was doing a lot of running from…from something or other. I don’t remember.”

Mistface smiled to himself with a bit more cheek than before. “Was it the fear of gettin’ your accent back?”

“I’m not-“ Greyleaf started, and then spluttered. “I didn’t do that on purpose!”

“Teasin’, only teasin’.” Mistface lifted a paw soothingly. “But you did lose it soon as you went to the leaders.”

“Well…” Greyleaf gave him a scowl that was more morose than annoyed. “The northern cats really scare it out of you.”

“They will do that,” Mistface agreed, and removed the last bit of plant matter out of the neck fur. “You best get to groomin’, and well as you can, if you really gotta go today.”

“I don’t want to any more than you or Mama want me to,” Greyleaf said with a distracted lick at his chest. “It just takes two full days of walking to get there, is all. I wish I could bring you two with me, but...”

Mistface nodded with a reserved grimace. Their mother, Nettlecloud, had been steadily losing the energy to make far walks or hunt for herself over the past year. She had wanted to move in near the leader’s dens when Greyleaf was hired for the position of official healer for the heads of the Clan, but her sons had agreed that she should keep to where it was warm and relatively empty of other cats, in case the fatigue was part of something more serious that would cause trouble if she pushed her luck.

Greyleaf continued grooming, only pausing to add, “The instant anything happens, you send a messenger, alright?”

“You think I’d just leave you hangin’ if Mama got worse?” Mistface gave him a jokingly incredulous look.

Greyleaf shook his head, but just licked at the knots on his shoulder.

A trilling purr that stretched into a yawn made both brothers jump up and turn around. An aging blue-grey molly with long, drooping fur was slowly making her way towards them, one paw carefully and gracefully placed before the other.

“You boys needn’t fuss over me,” she said. Her voice was soft and slightly croaky. “Focus on gettin’ that fur back in order, love.”

Greyleaf blinked and looked over his shoulder to his back fur. “Oh- I’m nearly done, Mama.”

“And you’ll be leavin’ after that?” Mistface asked.

“Might as well.” Greyleaf turned to greet his mother. “Not that I want to, but, you know. Thornstar’s been sick lately. I’m surprised they even let me leave for a few days.”

“And without a guard to get past the Clast area,” Mistface remarked.

“You make a wide berth ‘round that place.” Nettlecloud walked closer and placed her two front paws on the edge of the stone, stretching up to rasp her tongue over Greyleaf’s tufted ear. “I’ve heard they’re bein’ particularly wild about now.”

Greyleaf smiled weakly. “I know, Mama. I’ll be okay. They wouldn’t touch a healer.”

Despite his assurance, Mistface knew that all three of them were sharing the same concerns about the Clast. They were one of the six families that populated the Territory, a vast valley surrounded by mountains and hills, touching a lake and the far-off oceanic coast on its southern and northern borders. The Clast were the most aggressive of the families, and their camp of cobblestone and strange structures called “houses” was occupied by cats that had wandered in from all over, even outside of the Clan’s land, to get into fights with strangers. There had been attempts to settle them down in the past, but even their deputies, the heads of the families, could not force peace for more than a few days.

Their politics did not concern Mistface. He, his mother and his brother were Scattered cats – those that did not belong to any group. They had lived their lives in peaceful seclusion, taking care of themselves and each other. Clast business was not their business. What concerned Mistface was his brother getting caught up in a rolling pair of fighters and being injured because of a pair of idiots not watching where they were going.

Greyleaf must have known what he was thinking, because he added, “And they’re not really as bad as you’d think. They rarely give each other lethal wounds. Mostly scratches that leave a scar at the deepest.”

“That ain’t too comfortin’, I’ll admit,” Mistface said dryly.

“I trust you,” Nettlecloud offered, with a calm but stern look at Mistface. “But please humor us and make a wide berth around the settlement, dear.”

“I will.” Greyleaf gave one last lick over his shoulder, hopped down from the stone and leaned his head against Nettlecloud’s shoulder. “You stay safe too, alright? Sleep as much as you need, but get some exercise if you can. Keep your strength up, there are some herbs down the way you can…”

He continued on, listing everything Nettlecloud should do and be careful of. Mistface held in a laugh and let his brother prattle. Even in completely relaxed situations, Greyleaf had always been nervous, especially in regards to his mother, and wanted to prepare for every situation. Mistface noticed Nettlecloud taking the opportunity to get out the leftover knots and smooth down errant hairs on Greyleaf’s sides and he couldn’t resist a chuckle.

“Right, okay.” Greyleaf cleared his throat and stepped back, taking the chuckle as a cue. “I better go.”

“You’ll eat sometime this morning?” Nettlecloud asked.

“Of course,” Greyleaf said with a nod. “I have all the best spots memorized.”

“It’s been good to see you, brother,” Mistface said. “I’m glad youre doin’ well.”

“Same here.” Greyleaf exchanged a headbump with Mistface and added to Nettlecloud, “Please be careful.”

“We both will be,” Nettlecloud promised.

Greyleaf took a shaky breath and let it out as a much steadier exhale. He straightened up and started off at a trot.

“Keep your tail high!” Mistface called. “You’re the healer for the leaders! Act like it!”

Greyleaf ducked his head with a slightly amused coughed-out sigh, but lifted his tail and continued on. Mistface and Nettlecloud shouted goodbyes and watched him go for a moment, before Mistface turned to his mother and tapped her with his own absurdly fluffy tail.

“Let’s get you some food, Mama,” he said. “I got a good spot memorized myself.”

#warrior cats #steorra #arc one #chapter #story #dullard #chapter one #mistface #greyleaf #nettlecloud #together and apart

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years ago

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03/30/2021 DAB Transcript

Deuteronomy 13:1-15:23, Luke 8:40-9:6, Psalms 71:1-24, Proverbs 12:5-7

Today is the 30th day of March welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it's great to be here with you today on the eve of the last day of the quarter. Yeah…and that's where we’re at. And I would rather be here with you than anybody else. I'd rather be around this Global Campfire together and God's word than anywhere else. What a privilege that we can be here no matter where we are and allow the Scriptures to speak into our lives. And they are. We’ve taken the journey this first quarter. They are speaking. And, so, let's dive in. And we’re reading from the Contemporary English Version this week. Deuteronomy chapters 13, 14, and 15 today. And again, Deuteronomy is Moses last words. This is the important things that he has to say. And, so, we’ll pick up with the story in Deuteronomy chapter 13.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we are kind of in the thick of Jesus ministry now moving alongside of Him in the gospel of Luke and again we’re in the third of the Gospels. We've already gone through Matthew and Mark and Luke is the third of the synoptic Gospels. So, they all share some of the same source material. So, these are stories that, in one form or another, a lot of them we've encountered before. But this is such a riveting story here. So…so Jesus is back from across the lake, right, where the pigs and all that stuff we were talking about, everybody’s waiting for Him and so he begins to minister and then a synagogue leader comes and his name is Jairus and we know this from what we just read but he’s a leader of the Hebrew people and he's asking Jesus to come because his only daughter…and doesn’t that just pull…like his only child, she's 12 and just so sick she's on the verge of death and there’s not a lot of places to turn. Could Jesus come? Would He come? And He’s willing. And He does. He does head in that direction. And that's where this very famous story of the woman with the issue of blood and that’s how I grew up learning…learning this story - the woman with the issue of blood. This is where the story takes place. So, it's not like Jesus is teaching in the synagogue, the woman has…you know…she thinks if I could just get close enough to touch Him. There's a totally different story happening, and the woman inserts herself…self into the story. Jesus is on His way to Jairus house, time is of the essence because the little 12-year-old girl was on the verge of death, this woman is following along in the crowd and its really, really beautiful because we’ve been reading about clean and unclean and we've been moving through Mosaic law, and we have moved through bodily discharges, right? We moved through all of that territory and when these things are occurring or have occurred then there is uncleanness and separation for a period of time of purification and all of this. We are dealing with a woman who has been unclean, every moment of her life for a dozen years. She has been ceremonially unclean. And if we remember the things that we were reading as were moving through and into the Mosaic law we…we have to recall that if you are unclean and you touch somebody then they become unclean too. So, we have a crowd here, we have a rabbi. I mean, we know who Jesus is, but we have this rabbi who is healing people and revealing the kingdom and people are following along and…and she's in the crowd and she's unclean. And to make a rabbi unclean, this this could get you beaten up. Like this...this could get you punished in pretty significant ways if there was an issue made of it. And we’ve been dealing with…we've been dealing with other rabbis and Pharisees, right, and the Scribes. We sort of have the lay of the land of their kind of attitude, especially their attitudes toward Jesus. So, this woman's taken a pretty big risk. It's kind of a measured risk because it's like, you know, if I just brush Him who's gonna know and what's the worst that could happen? Like nothing. The worst that could happen is nothing happens. And, so, she reaches out in faith and she's healed, and Jesus stops and He's wondering touched Him. And this whole story is so beautiful because the woman, she's trying to cower back. Like, she's…this could get her in trouble because she just runs forward and confesses, “yeah, I’m perpetually unclean and now you're unclean because I touched you on purpose” and all of this. This could get her in trouble, but Jesus is like, “no…no…this isn’t…this isn’t just somebody rubbing up against me about or just the crowd. This is…somebody intentionally touched me, and I felt it and I am aware. The power left me.” And, so, the woman, she does confess and Jesus’ reaction to her is very different than the way that we see the other religious leaders of the time behaving because He's like, “go in peace daughter. Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” It's…it's beautiful. Isn't that what Jesus has done in all of our lives? Like were we not unclean and completely lost and did He not show mercy upon us? The problem in this story, though, is that that slowed things down. Jesus was on His way somewhere and time was of the essence and this slowed Him down. And in the midst of that the messages came to Jairus that, “your daughter’s dead, that she died. You…you don't need to bother the rabbi. You don't need to bother the master anymore.” Now put yourself in Jairus position in the story because you had come pleading and begging for mercy from Jesus and He agreed and He was on His way and there was hope, there was hope there for a second and then…and then this whole incident happened, and she died. So, what do you feel like if you're Jairus? It would be like hope was snatched from you and it was so close, so close. And Jesus speaks to Jairus, because we can put ourselves there in that story too. It doesn't have to be the child's about to die. It’s that moment where we have hope against hope and it looks like…and we’re right…and it could possibly…and then it's snatched away. And the bitterness and the disappointment in those moments. Jesus speaks to Jairus who’s a person in that moment. His words, “don't worry. Have faith.” And He continues to tell Jairus, “your daughter…your daughters gonna get well.” And they go to Jairus house and everybody's outside crying. And there are…there are ancient traditions here where…where mourning, it needed to be loud…like you couldn’t just like post on social media like, “yeah…we’ve had a death in our family” and then everybody can know it. The word would need to spend, and this is a synagogue leader. And, so, there would be people mourning to make noise, like professionally mourning, like to show the depth of sadness that has descended upon this household. And, so, there are people out there that are…that are mourning and actually grieving but there are also people there that are…that are making the noises of grieving, like that…that…that are letting the village, letting the people around know, “death is calling, this is a terrible day.” And, so, Jesus kind of enters into all of that throng and He’s only letting people…a few people in and He looks at the crowd and He tells them, “the child isn’t dead, she’s asleep.” And all of that noise of grief turns to noise of laughter. I quote from the gospel of Luke, “the people laughed at Him because they knew she was dead.” So, that kind of laughter is sarcastic laughter. Like when you think you know something and you're laughing at somebody because they’re telling you different, that's kind of a mockery. And that's what we see going on here. And Jesus goes in and…and the girl wakes up and she's given back to her parents. But again, here we are in the story. We’re the professional mourners. We've had our disadvantages in life. We've been knocked around. We think we know how life works now and we’ve had enough heartbreak that we have walls around certain areas of our hearts where nobody can get in so we can’t get hurt anymore, so a set of circumstances can't arise anymore that will bowl us over. We've…we’ve learned some hard lessons through hard knocks, and we know what's going on and…and we know that life has beaten certain aspects of who we were to death. And We…we know that there are places in us that we’re just trying to let them go, just let them lie, right? Just let them lie in their grave. To have even hoped in those directions was stupid in the first place. And then maybe the Holy Spirit comes along, and we hear the voice of Jesus, “it’s not dead. It's just asleep.” What happens in that moment? Does hope arise or do we laugh? Are we like Sarah back in Genesis, which seems like forever ago now? Are we in the tent? And she's hearing the voice of the Lord, “about this time next year you will have a son.” And she laughed. Like who are we in these stories? Because this reveals our hearts to ourselves. This makes us become self-aware, not self-absorbed, self-aware. We become aware of the things that are driving us and we just are continually reminded that it's…it's the utter surrender, it's the complete dependence upon God that gives us freedom. It's not what we think we know or what we've experienced or our knowledge or our wisdom or our accomplishments or our achievements or what we think is in our control. It's our complete dependence upon God that saves the day. And, so, may we see that in stories of Jesus ministry like we are now. But may we begin to connect those dots so that we can see that the story plays out the same in our own lives if we’re aware and looking for it.

Prayer:

Jesus we…we love You. Could we just start there and maybe just end there? We love You. Where else is there to go? What else matters if we’re not walking with You? But as we get to see Your personality, as we get to see Your character as You minister among the people that's coming off the pages of the gospel of Luke, we fall even more in love with You. To be like You, this is…this is what we desire. And yet, so often we want to be remade and transformed and be Christlike, but we think that that's just gonna make us have more power and make our life better but we’re looking at how You bring light into the darkness and how the darkness squirms. And we have to understand that that would be the same story. So, as we are being remade, we are also being strengthened in our faith, because to be remade into Your image is to bring light into the darkness and the darkness will squirm. And we need to know what that looks like and be discerning and aware. And, so, come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

[singing starts] I love you Lord and I lift my voice to worship you. O my soul rejoice. Take joy my King in what you hear. Let it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear. I love you Lord and I lift my voice to worship you. O my soul rejoice. Take joy my King in what you hear. Let it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ears. [singing stops]. Thank you, Jesus. Jesus be with us.

This is Kathy from Kentucky calling to ask for prayer for my neighbor Sharon who’s still grieving the loss of her daughter, my friend Sarah a retired missionary who had a stroke and pray for myself. God is revealing to me some deep issues if I overeat, and I ask for prayers so that I can stop overeating and lose weight. Thank you for praying for me over the years. I'm doing well and I had both my covid shots and I survived covid. And, so, I didn't get it. So, thank you Jesus for that. Thank you. Kathy from Kentucky.

Hi this is Sandra in Denver calling for Tammy in the Adirondacks. Tammy, I heard your message today that you left on March 9th and I wanted to let you know even though I'm behind in my reading for the year that this could have been a special appointment for the Lord just to pray for you. And I know the tears are coming as you're grieving so many changes with the ovarian cancer and a hysterectomy and caring for your husband and the kids not coming by as often, but I want to encourage you that the Lord is capturing your tears in His bottles and He loves you so much. And as the tears come, it's alright, they will. They won't always but in the meantime it's alright. Just snuggle in, press into Him, let them flow and He will rejoice over you with singing as you heal. Give yourself lots of time dear one.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is His Dearly beloved in Minnesota. I have called in several times within the last couple of months, had a hysterectomy and then they found cancer. And…and so, I just had 50 tumors removed from my liver and as well as 6 inches of my small intestine and I'm recovering but the last few days, you know, I’m about ready to go home and then it seems like my white count is coming up a little bit. And…and now I have to make a decision about whether to go home or stay or what to do. So, I would just really appreciate prayer, that the doctors who will be in here any minute can help me make a decision. And I just so appreciate all of the prayers. The Daily Audio Bible has totally taken me through this hospitalization. I've been here, I think this is 8 days now, and…and I just really thank you. And I'm praying for each of you and how what a…what a gift this podcast is. So, take care, love you. Bye-bye.

Hi this is Donna from California and I just listened to today's podcast for March 27th and there was a caller who called in, Mr. somebody concerning your cousin, your 15-year-old cousin who has fathered a baby on…on the way. And I just want to…I am praying for your family. I'm praying for this young couple and I'm praying for this baby. I wanted to offer my perspective on it from my experience if it...if it is at all helpful to you. On July 6th of 1976 when I was 15 years old, I was taken to Planned Parenthood and I had an abortion. And I would now have a child who is over 40. There's many things that I regret in my life but nothing…if I had to choose one thing that if I could go back and undo or redo it would be that. I pray for the life of this child. I…if you want to share this with the family, I pray that if they know Jesus that to remember that Jesus’ birth was certainly kind of a messy ordeal for the family at the time too. There is no such thing as an unwanted child. There might be an unplanned pregnancy, but every baby can be wanted and loved and there are many of us out there including myself who would take a baby and love that baby. I…I pray for…for you. Thank you for calling in. Sending my love.

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tisfan · 5 years ago

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Title: A Thousand Words Written by: @tisfan 3023 Square: S5 Tony Stark/T’challa Rating: teen and up Triggers/warnings: none Tags: were creatures, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Wakanda, Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 1897 Summary: Tony knows he’s not supposed to cross the border, but the call of a prize winning photograph is strong. When he finds his subject, things are more than they appear...

Fic for the Photographer / werecreature mood board

“And how am I supposed to know where the Wakanda border is,” Tony Stark, award winning photographer, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and self-proclaimed major annoyance, demanded.

The guide only gave him one of those insufferable looks. “You will know,” he said. “And you must not venture over the border. Those who go to Wakanda often get sick. The disease will take its toll on your mind and body. If you even come back at all.”

Tony had used his considerable money and influence getting this far. One of his colleagues -- and his most loathed rival, if you wanted to pick nits -- had spotted a rare black panther. Keeping in mind that panthers were not, in fact, a real species at all, and Justin Hammer had all the keen insights of a brick, Tony was doubtful.

But the pictures of the great cat fleeing into the jungle had garnered national attention.

And Tony could take better pictures than ones of a blurry black cat. It might not even have been black, just bad lighting.

Whatever.

The point was, a melanistic tiger was a worthy photo subject, especially given how endangered tigers were, and that Tony could shine a spotlight -- metaphorically speaking -- on the species through some really good photos.

The problem was the creature seemed to live around the northern end of Lake Turkana. Which bordered on Wakanda. And Wakandans were very unwelcoming to visitors. Given that most of the rest of the continent had been invaded by northern Europeans and stripped of their rights and resources, and Wakanda had been spared that fate, Tony didn’t really blame them.

But that did mean that they wouldn’t give him permission to enter their country on a wild cougar chase.

He didn’t even get a meeting with the Wakandan ambassador himself; his message went through intermediaries, and all he got back was a no. No explanation or apologies. Just. no.

Tony didn’t take no for an answer; he never had. It was both his best quality and his most annoying one.

He was going to get those pictures, with or without the Wakandans’ permission.

Of course, it would be easier if he could find the panther on the southern side of its territory. The Kenyan government had been all but falling over itself to accommodate him. Well, he’d have to hope.

Or sneak across.

“Why isn’t there any coffee from Wakanda,” Tony wondered, changing the subject. The guide wasn’t going to be going with him. Wildlife photo shoots were almost as dangerous as wartime shoots, and no one who could avoid it wanted to be that close to animals that might look at you like you were a snack. (Wartime photography was more dangerous, Tony knew for a fact, after spending three months as a prisoner of Ten Rings. If nothing else, a large cat wasn’t cruel. Just hungry. It wasn’t worth the cat’s time to keep Tony alive. If he was going to be kitty kibble, it would be over quickly, and he wouldn’t wake up from nightmares for more than four years now.) Tony’s mouth kept going without conscious input from his brain, because that’s what it did. “Kenya AA is some of the best coffee in the world. Burundi is an excellent bean. Why-- is there single source Wakanda bean?”

The guide gave Tony a condescending look. “The Wakandans do not grow coffee,” he said.

“Waste,” Tony muttered. “Well, I’ll stay out of their territory. No coffee, now that’s a hardship.” He would know Wakanda borders by all the sleeping guards. Got it.

He recalled the conversation, looking down at the grass. He didn’t know much about grass, really, except that it was green (usually) and growing on the ground (primarily) and that sometimes people made a fuss about how long it was in the yard.

You will know the Wakanda border when you see it.

Yeah, okay, so why didn’t anyone bother to mention the grass was fucking purple? You’d think that would be a relatively easy thing to say. Purple grass means do not trespass here.

And it wasn’t just purple, Tony noted, kneeling. It was glowing. Very faintly, in the growing darkness, but it did make the small area very, very noticable.

Probably more so at night than during the day. Purple grass, it could be a thing, right?

Unfortunately for the purple grass, the damn panther had been seen-- well, just on the other side of that hill. Tony’d spotted it out in the plains, running along after some long-legged deer. Antelopes. Whatever. Probably not a gnu, except that Tony wouldn’t know what a gnu looked like if it bit him.

He’d gotten a few action shots, but even with the telephoto lense, he really hadn’t gotten any good, personal shots.

He was just going to have to ignore the guide and cross over the border. Right? Wouldn’t hurt anything. In, take some pictures, out. No one had to know.

Stepping into Wakanda territory shouldn’t have felt like taking a step on the moon, but somehow, it sort of did.

Everything seemed softer, more natural, better. Fresher. Tony was obviously being influenced by the mythos and mystery that surrounded the place. Stupid, primitive monkey brain. He ignored the sense of awe and foreboding and crept toward the jungle.

He’d seen the great cat enter the trees, dragging its kill-- surely it would be too occupied with its meal to notice him. Animals didn’t hunt for sport, and eating an already killed and tasty gazelle was a better use of calories than catching one scrawny human photographer whose muscle tissue was flavored by cheeseburgers and kale smoothies.

He tugged on the night vision goggles, which brightened the landscape up considerably, and it wasn’t long before he saw the cat, laying on the branch of a tree, overseeing a small clearing. Tony was just to the edge of the woods and found himself a blind spot to sit, upwind of the great cat, before he noticed--

There were already people in that clearing, sitting outside of a low tent. One was kneeling near the gazelle, the other was poking at a small box that looked very much like a microwave, but couldn’t be, because no one dragged a microwave out into the jungle, did they?

Tony turned his camera carefully; with people nearby he had to be even more careful about making noise. A cat might be evaded. People were predation hunters. If they thought he’d desecrated their country or something, they would track him down.

One woman, one girl. The cat was watching them, and they obviously knew it was there. They were speaking a language that Tony didn’t know, and had never heard. But they were addressing some of their remarks to the cat.

Maybe that was it, Tony decided. Some cultures raised hunting dogs, or falcons, and those animals, over time, had grown into different colors and sizes that arose in nature. Look at the black lab, to the pekinese, to the dachshund. No one would think they all originally came from wolves. The black panther could be nothing more than a specially trained domesticated cat.

Which would be fascinating, but he’d have to consider very, very carefully if he wanted to publish those pictures, since it would be immediately obvious that he’d trespassed to get them. Didn’t matter. He’d decide later. Pictures now. He would be no sort of photographer at all if he let the opportunity pass him by.

Tony took dozens of pictures; of the two women, one with black hair, the other with white, but both beautiful. Of the cat, lounging in the tree. Of the dead gazelle, neck neatly snapped but unmarred by the cat’s teeth otherwise.

Finally, whatever meal the one woman was cooking was done, and she said something to the other -- the smells were amazing. Tony’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a while, but he didn’t dare even try to get one of his granola bars out.

He focused on the meal. One, two… three. Three plates. The woman hesitated, sighed, and then made a fourth plate.

Tony blinked, then realized to his horror, that the cat was--

Coming right at him.

Tony took several pictures by reflex alone, which is the only reason why, later, he could convince himself that he hadn’t gone insane.

“You may as well come to dinner,” the cat-- the CAT? Said, walking toward him, body moving, and then shifting up onto two legs, and finally, a man stood there in front of him, noble and strong and pure and-- smiling?

“Tony Stark. I should have known you would not be so easily disuaded.”

Tony blinked and looked up at the man. There was something cat-like about him in his grace and figure. Very long, dexterous fingers reached down. “Come on up out of there. We’ve known you were there, the whole time. Do not think you can sneak up on the tribe of the Panther God. One of these days, it will get you into trouble.”

Tony reached for the man’s hand, not entirely sure if he was dreaming, or hallucinating in the last moments of his life.

“You know me?”

“I am T’challa,” the man said. “You requested an audience with me, to plead your case. Of course I know who petitions me.”

“Your majesty,” Tony said. And then, because his brain was still running full cycle, he blurted out-- “You’re like, a werecat?”

T’challa scoffed, and the girl behind him made an even ruder noise. “No. We are not cursed monsters, like in your horror movies,” T’challa said. “It is a gift from the gods.”

“I don’t believe in God,” Tony said automatically.

“That’s all right, Mr. Stark,” the girl said, bringing a mug of something fragrant to drink. “God doesn’t believe in you either.”

“What happens now?”

“Now? Now you drink, and you have dinner, and after dinner, we will return you across the border,” T’challa said. He pressed the cup into Tony’s hand, and there was something in his eyes that didn’t allow for refusal. “You will, unfortunately, contract one of the jungle fevers. You will wake up in a few days, and you will have forgotten all about this night. You have seen nothing. You will remember nothing.”

“What--”

“It’s that, or we could kill you,” the girl said.

“Shuri--”

“I’m just saying, there are options.”

“But I--” Tony protested.

“We are not stealing your memories,” T’challa said, and led him over to the fire. “We are only taking back that which you first stole from us. It is fair, and right, and you will never miss it.”

It was fair.

But-- the things he’d seen, that he’d photographed. They couldn’t be lost. And maybe they wouldn’t be. His camera uploaded automatically every ninety minutes. If he could just delay, the pictures would be on a Stark satellite and then downloaded to his home network.

“All right,” he said. “Dinner, and you can tell me about your gods.”

When Shuri rolled her eyes, Tony added, “Does it matter? I won’t remember it anyway. What possible harm can it do for me to know, just for tonight?”

T’challa laughed, warm and rich and appealing. “You are a stubborn man,” he said. “I like that. Sit, share a meal, and listen to our tales.”

Ninety minutes…

Surely, the stories would take ninety minutes.

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tony stark/T'challa #werecreatures #tony does what he wants #3023 square S5

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galadrieljones · 5 years ago

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that he may hold me by the hand: chapter 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 2: We don’t have to talk.

Arthur showed up to Strawberry a couple of days early. He played a bunch of blackjack in the speakeasy and won the pot so many times he began to piss people off. He knew how to cheat and calculate cards. He never made for sleight of hand anymore, though he used to. He chewed on coccaine gum at the speakeasy counter on the night before he was set to meet Albert and struck up conversation with a widow who boarded in an apartment in town. Her name was Wanda Eugene, and she had once been married to a rustler named Cody and claimed to have lived in Texas for most of her life.

“I ain’t met a lot of women married to rustlers no more,” said Arthur.

“Well, he’s dead,” said Wanda. “So.”

They were drinking whiskey. “You miss Texas?”

“Most days.”

“What’s keeping you from going back?”

She had wide, tired eyes, but she was mild-looking. Pretty in a plain sort of way. She was probably about Arthur’s age with a tight braid down her back and wearing blue jeans. She said that she could not go back to Texas. She said that every time she even thought about going back, she was met with nightmares of the way her late husband had died. “Shot by a Ranger,” she said. “Three times in the back. They thought he was somebody else. Fucking two-bit assholes.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Arthur.

“Jesus was not there that day, I can assure you. I hate lawmen. I wish they’d all die.”

She openly asked him to spend the night with her then. She said he seemed big and rough, and she missed that sort of man. She was sick of the soft-handed. Arthur found himself oddly flattered. “I ain’t much for temptation, Mrs. Eugene. If I was, you might just be it.”

“Is that a No then?”

“It is.”

She sighed. “Good grief. I’m just so goddam lonely. I’m starting to forget what it is to feel.” She finished her whiskey and ordered another from the bartender who was missing a front tooth. “One for my friend here, too,” she said.

Arthur knew the feeling of which she spoke. He missed the human body. He often wished he still got the inclination to sleep with strangers. And when it came to working girls, he had lost his interest. He felt beyond their wiles, as he could tell that they were all so deadened to touch, they hardly noticed their own needs, and this was not what he wanted. He just wanted something warm, something that would react to him. For a moment, he reconsidered her offer, but ultimately, he just smiled.

“You got a wife, I bet,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he lied. It was easier to lie.

The next day, Arthur woke up late with a headache. He had some oatmeal in the lounge. The proprietor of the hotel in Strawberry was annoying. He spoke regularly of the town as if it were the center of the universe. Arthur wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up and take a vacation. But he didn’t.

He waited and read the newspaper. The front page went on about Valentine and all that had gone down there. SHOOTOUT IN VALENTINE. A whole lot of shit. Arthur sighed, folded the paper in half and set it away. He wore his hat and sat in a chair by the window and smoked, thinking of anything else. People went in and out of the door. He didn’t see Wanda again.

Albert arrived about half-past noon, looking dead beat and like hadn’t slept in days.

“Mr. Mason,” said Arthur, rising to meet him.

Albert sneezed and refused a hand shake.

“What’s going on?” said Arthur. “You sick?”

“I am,” said Albert, blowing his nose into a handkerchief. “I caught a terrible cold a few days back. Truth be told, I thought it would have subsided by now.”

“That ain’t no good.”

“No sir. However, it is good to see you.” He straightened up and removed his hat. He smiled, his kind eyes. He didn’t look so bad upon further inspection. A little puffy maybe.

“It’s good to see you, too,” said Arthur. He took Albert’s bag, told him to take a seat. “You know, we can postpone our journey, if you wanna rest up a bit.”

“No, no,” said Albert. “I’d prefer not to. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“As have I, but I don’t want you to get any sicker.”

“You are a true gentleman, Arthur. But I assure you, I’ll be fine.”

They left about an hour later, packed up their horses and rode northwest. Albert sneezed most of the way but kept up. He was a better rider than Arthur had realized. It was easy to underestimate him. He made a mental note not to do that anymore.

They followed the river. When they got to the heart of Big Valley, Albert slowed his horse and shouted for Arthur to hold up a second. They were in the middle of a huge, purple field of lavender. The breeze was coming through, rustling the plants. There was a flock of sheep nearby, and a young man shepherd on horseback. Whitetail everywhere. “My lord,” said Albert. He got off of his horse, took a few steps and looked around. “Do you see all this?”

“Yes, sir,” said Arthur. He leaned forward to pat Amelia on the main. “It sure is majestic. I knew you’d like it.”

“Like it?” said Albert. “It’s magnificent.” He looked at Arthur, serious, no longer sneezing, just full of reverence. “Thank you for taking me here. I’ve already forgotten why we’ve come, but I am quite certain I never want to leave. It is truly Arcadia.”

Arthur smiled, very pleased. He dusted his hands together and hopped right off his horse. “To find the bear, we gotta go out to the edges of the valley,” he said. “It’s a little more dangerous out there. Kind of barbed territory. There’s cougar and boar. It ain’t friendly. But here, here I reckon we’re pretty safe.”

“If you say so,” said Albert. “I’d like to get a few shots of all this, if you don’t mind. The fields. They smell so darn good. I wish I could capture that in a photo.”

“Only way to do that is in writing, I expect.”

“Absolutely,” said Albert. Then, “Do you write, Arthur?”

The question took Arthur by surprise. He glanced up to the sky. A couple of sparrows took off, whipping up out of the foliage. “Sometimes,” he said. He hooked his hands over his belt in a casual fashion. “I have been known to write a little.”

Albert smiled. “I should like to read it someday, your writing.”

“Oh, no,” said Arthur. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a journal,” said Arthur. “It’s just ramblings. Sketches here and there. It ain’t really intended for an audience.”

“You’re an artist?”

He blushed. “Well, I—”

“Say no more,” said Albert, still effusive but seeming to catch his drift. “I’ll quit prying.”

“That’s okay.”

Albert assembled his camera, his tripod. He took many pictures of the fields. He took pictures of the sheep and the shepherd, the little dog with two different colored eyes that herded the sheep. Arthur watched. He ate a can of strawberries with a little tin spoon, smoked four cigarettes. He and Albert talked of stuff he would later forget about, idle things. Arthur managed to get a few sketches in—one of the dog, one of Albert photographing the dog. They fed the horses and before long, the sun was losing steam and the light growing long and lost across the valley. The bubbling streams filled with herbivores, coming to drink. Albert put away his camera with the loss of the light, and with this, it was too late to go looking for bear. They decided to make camp.

They washed their faces in the creek, set up a couple tents. Arthur caught a fish for their dinner while Albert sat by the fire, rolling cigarettes. He had a particular talent for this. His tobacco product was very neat and looked expensive.

Arthur cleaned and cooked the fish. After dinner, he poured some whiskey into a flask, and night fell. They sat, warming themselves by the fire. Albert gave him one of the cigarettes, struck a match, lit it, and then lit his own. Albert’s cold seemed to be clearing with the fresh air, but now it was getting chilly, and he had grown tired. Arthur rolled some more cigarettes. His were looser than Albert’s, not quite as meticulously sealed.

They sat and smoked for a while, existing. Arthur had a flask of whiskey, which they began to pass. At some point, Albert cleared his throat and sat up to speak. “So, Arthur.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How has everything been going, since I saw you last?”

Arthur glanced at him. He plucked a big old piece of grass from the earth, the cigarette hitched to the corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “Just fine.”

“Are you still living in the Heartlands?”

“No,” he said, shredding that piece of grass between his fingers.

“Oh?” said Albert. “Where have you moved?”

“Further south,” said Arthur, laying the pieces of grass side by side. “Near a big old lake.”

“Flat Iron Lake?”

“That might be the one.”

“Good fishing, or so I hear.”

“That, it is.”

The fire crackled and sparked. It was like molten lava. Albert smoked and blew the smoke and flicked the ashes to the earth. He could tell that Arthur didn’t really want to talk about it. His head was a little stuffy. He blinked, took a drag.

“How you feeling?” said Arthur. “Your cold.”

“Better,” said Albert. “A little tired, but no worse for the wear.”

Arthur picked up a pebble then, tossed it into the fire. Albert took a drink from the flask and watched as Arthur picked up another pebble, held it in his palm, and then he absentmindedly closed it in his fist. He turned his fist over, sort of shook it, and when he opened his hand again, the pebble was gone. It was a marvelous surprise.

Albert laughed and set the flask down between them. “You know magic?”

Arthur seemed to have surprised himself. “A little,” he said, smiling. “I learned sleight of hand when I was kid, for cheating cards. My dad taught me, before he died. And I know a magician, too. He’s taught me a couple of things here and there. We’ve traded tricks over the years.”

“Your father, what did he do?”

“Rob banks mostly.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” said Arthur.

“I must say,” said Albert. “I’m impressed. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Arthur turned red—like a fast, hot streak in which he seemed to vibrate, but only for a moment. “You flatter me.”

“Maybe you can show me how to do that. It’s a great parlor trick.”

“Do you hang out in many parlors, Albert?”

Albert found this to be funny. He laughed. “Oh, no. Not anymore. Perhaps a long time ago. Back in Pennsylvania, when I was a teenager. But I’ve done with all that.”

"All what.”

“The social circus. What have you.”

“Ah.”

“My interest in photography came about precisely so that I could have an excuse to get out of the house. I suppose that it took, though I am quite dreadful. Still, I try. I enjoy it a great deal.”

“You’re not dreadful, Albert. Quit talking about yourself that way.”

Albert knew that he was right. He was gratified. He took another drink from the flask, passed it. Arthur was a big man beside him. He’d never really sat next to him before. He was taller than Albert, though not a great deal—just enough, and his width, his wingspan, it could intimidate. Albert was not intimidated. He looked down, finished his cigarette, tossed it into the fire. The air was cold, and he shifted toward Arthur a little, almost absentmindedly.

“Hey,” said Arthur after a little while, swigging from the flask.

Albert jumped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just gonna ask, how did that meeting go with the gallery owner?”

“Oh,” said Albert, scratching at his beard a little. “It went well. Thank you for asking. I have another meeting in a few weeks. I’ve promised more material. From the Big Valley, of course.”

“That’s real good, I expect?”

“Yes, sir. It is.”

Arthur stared at him. He seemed a little sad, but it was way in the back somewhere. He took a drink of his whiskey and then looked back at the fire. “Good.”

“Arthur,” said Albert.

“Yep.”

“Thank you for taking me here,” he said. Arthur looked back, genuine. “I’m very fond of the terrain.” Albert took a deep breath. “I’m fond of you. I’m glad you’re with me.”

Arthur looked down at his hands. “Yeah, me, too,” he said, then he looked up and smiled, warm. He had little scars on his face. They were like little pieces taken away, or dents. Here and there. His hands were big and worn. Albert watched as he reached into his front pocket, took out a couple more cigarettes. He held one out for Albert. Albert took it. Their fingers touched. Something kicked up between them, but it was momentary.

“I think I’ll save this.” Albert smiled. “For now, I should be off to sleep. I’m still under the weather. I’d like to be fresh for tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” said Arthur, lighting the cigarette. “I’m gonna keep watch, just for a little while. There’s cougars around here. Sometimes they’re drawn to the smell of a campfire.”

Albert stood up, dusted off his pants. “It’s chilly,” he said. “Don’t stay up too late, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me. You get some sleep now, Mr. Mason.”

“Goodnight, Arthur,” said Albert.

“Goodnight.”

Back in his tent, Albert removed his boots and his hat. He scrubbed his scalp a little. He smoothed his beard, looked down at his fingers where he held the cigarette. Then he tucked it into the band of his hat. He lay back and closed his eyes. He could smell the smoke from Arthur’s cigarette, coming in through the tent flaps. Arthur’s tobacco was fresh and cut with a little bit of sweetness. He couldn’t tell what, but he could tell that Arthur had dried and treated it himself. It was not store-bought. Albert felt disoriented all of a sudden, like he was coming apart a little. He turned onto his side to go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Arthur fell asleep next to the fire, hardened into the dirt as a root. He hadn’t meant to drift, but the night was peaceful, and he’d got woozy from the booze and it made his eyes droop. He rarely dreamed in those days. It was almost as if he was too locked down, too unwilling to look behind the curtain of his own subconscious, for fear of what he might find there. But that night, he had a dream. It was a very simple dream. He dreamed that a pretty buck had come down into the valley while he slept. The sky was a cold and lonely mountain, far away, and he was beneath it, waiting. The buck had twelve points. It entered the moonlight, emerging from a shallow den of trees on the edge of the lavender field. He wanted badly to sketch it, but he knew that he was sleeping, and it would be gone by the time he woke. He dreamed that the buck came over to sniff around the campfire. It sniffed around his face. Its cold nose was on his ear. He tried to make sense of the feeling. He awoke.

What he awoke to was nothing so peaceful. He felt that cold touch on his ear, but it was no buck. It was the mouth of a gun, pressing on his face. It was nudging him into consciousness.

“It’s him,” said a voice.

Arthur opened his eyes. It was dawn. He saw a young man—maybe twenty-four or twenty-five years old—a ruffian with missing teeth in the front wearing a long black coat. He looked serious. He was holding a shotgun to Arthur’s head.

Arthur felt the adrenaline, sucking into his chest and yanking him from the dream. Like being plunged into ice cold water, and it near on made him nauseous. He eased his hands over his head, turned onto his back. “Easy,” he said. “Easy, boy.”

“Shoot him,” said another voice.

“Colm said bring him to Hanging Dog alive,” said the boy.

Arthur was suddenly terrified. He glanced to the tent. He saw that it had been roughed up. Then he saw the other guy—he had Albert by the throat with a pistol to the head, and Albert looked white with fear and a little queasy. He was ragged, unnatural with his hands up like that. It triggered something in Arthur. He initially made to lunge, but he caught a boot to the gut for that, sending him to his side curled up like a goddam snail. The sound he’d made was ugly. He felt bludgeoned with regret, as he knew what he was going to have to do. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

“You’re coming with us,” said the boy. “You go quiet, and we’ll let your friend here live.”

“Yeah, I don’t really believe you.”

“Arthur?” said Albert. “Arthur, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Arthur. “Try not to talk too much, Mr. Mason.”

“If you say so.”

“Get up,” said the boy, nudging Arthur with the gun.

“You nudge me with that gun one more time, boy, things ain’t gonna pan out too smooth for you in the end.”

“Get up.” He nudged him again, this time too hard.

It went by in an instant after that. Arthur was fast when he wanted to be, ruthless. He grabbed the barrel of the gun with both hands, shoved it up, hard, cracking straight into the kid’s dumbass face. It sort of exploded on impact, his nose neatly broken as he stumbled backward, allowing Arthur to usurp the weapon and shove the boy into the dirt and shoot him dead. Arthur then pointed the gun at the second man, the one who had Albert. He was a young man as well, even younger by the looks of it, and Arthur felt terrible inside, like he was looking in a mirror. “Let him go, or I do you up, too,” he said.

The boy sent Albert forward to his hands and knees with little hesitation. Then he stared at Arthur in abject horror for a moment before picking up and running as fast as he could in the other direction. Arthur lowered the gun, let him go. He went to Albert who coughed and beat his fists into the dirt a couple times. He seemed to have got the wind knocked out of him. Arthur hauled him to his feet and steadied him hard. “You okay?” he said, dusting off his vest. “Albert? Talk to me.”

Albert was out of breath, his shirt untucked but he did have his boots on. “Good heavens,” he said. He lurched forward a little with his hands on his knees. “Is that man dead?”

Arthur patted him on the back. “I’m afraid he is. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Better him than me.”

“They ambush you in your tent or something?”

“No,” said Albert, popping up now, wiping his face with the yellow handkerchief from his pocket. “I went down to the creek, to get some water. They ambushed me there.” He sneezed.

“You went down to the creek alone?”

“I thought I could handle a few whitetail,” he said. “Those men showed up, asked me who you were. I wouldn’t tell them, so the one grabbed me, dragged me back here, and then the next thing you know, you’re shooting people, and my entire life is flashing before my eyes.” He sneezed again.

Arthur straightened up and sighed. “Bless you.”

“Thank you,” said Albert. He took a deep breath. “Boy I’ve got some luck, don’t I.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Arthur. “But we do need to get the hell out of here.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You know, I think the shots I got yesterday, of the lavender fields and the herd of sheep, those are better than anything I’ve gotten so far? No black bear, but bears be damned. I’m through with predators.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am.” He turned to Arthur then, slowly, finally catching his breath. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“Of course. I wasn’t gonna let them kill you,” said Arthur. “And I sure as hell wasn’t going with them.”

“Did you know who they were?”

“Not really,” said Arthur, scratching his head. He looked around, making sure nobody else was coming up the horizon. “I mean—I know there’s rough stuff around these parts. I should’ve been more careful. I thought we was safe.”

“With you, I am always safe,” said Albert. “I just wish I were a little more aware of my surroundings. It’s always been a problem for me. As you well know. When I was a boy, my father used to shout at me to get my head out of the clouds. Told me to quit chasing the damned butterflies. That was before the cholera got him, of course.”

Arthur threw the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap, studied Albert. “Cholera, huh?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, don’t be too down on yourself. You held your own back there.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You didn’t give in to those men. That’s very brave.”

Albert smiled in spite of himself. Then, he stumbled forward, just a little. Arthur caught him by the shoulders. “My word,” said Albert. “I guess I’m still a little dizzy.”

“Just try to breathe. In through your nose, out your mouth.”

“You’re kind, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I ain’t kind, Mr. Mason.”

“Well, to me, you are kind.” Albert smiled and took a deep breath. He seemed to blink many times as if to acclimate his vision. “Now, if you don’t mind, let’s please go.”

They packed up their camp, stowed the bedrolls and the tents and all of their earthly goods upon their horses. Arthur let Albert hang onto the canteen. They then mounted up and began riding back toward Strawberry at a pleasant trot. Arthur did not think about how that man he had killed back there, the man trying to abduct him, was an O'Driscoll. He tossed Albert an apple and then shined one up for himself.

“What are your plans now?” said Arthur as they came around the curve. The rocks, the terrain in these parts was beautiful, but treacherous. “You heading back right away?”

“I thought I’d stay the night at the hotel,” said Albert. “Take the train back to St. Denis in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

“Oh?”

“Sure,” he said, biting into that apple. “Where I’m camped, on Flat Iron Lake, it ain’t far from Rhodes.”

“Rhodes?” said Albert. “My, what a dreadful little town.”

“You’re telling me.”

“You know I stopped through there once,” said Albert, “just looking for a drink at the parlor house they've got. Four different men asked me where I stood on the War of Northern Aggression. Of course, they were all neanderthals, and far be it from me to correct them on the fact that it’s 1899. I thought I’d keep my front teeth.”

Arthur laughed out loud at this, tossed the apple core to the weeds. “You still make me laugh, Mr. Mason, the way you talk sometimes.”

“Well,” said Albert, a little bashful for this. He trotted up alongside him. “I certainly do try.”

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #albert mason #arthur morgan x albert mason #arthur x albert #albthur #chapter 3 is posting soon #<3 #i just realized i never posted chapter 2 here

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fangirlshrewt97 · 5 years ago

Text

You make a terrible shield, pretty boy

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: None

Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Original Male Character, The BAU team

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2019, Violence, Hurt, Whump, Case fic

Whumptober Prompt: Human Shield

Summary: When they go to interview a potential unsub, one profiler ends up becoming a human shield.

Takes place sometime in season 9, no major spoilers.

-------------------------------

Derek bit back a swear as the unsub pulled on Reid’s hair, making the young genius go on his tiptoes or risk getting his hair ripped straight out of his skull. Why was it always Reid?

This case had started off like any other, coming in to work, Hotch had called the team to gather in the conference room. A serial killer was active in Grandview Valley, California. Over the past two and a half months, five undergrad college men had turned up strangled, beat up, and wrapped in a plastic sheet in rarely used alleyways. Hotch had said the reason it took such a long time for the local law enforcement to call in the BAU was because the bodies were spread out over three towns in the area.

When they had gotten to the town, it had seemed like every other small town the team visited, the neighbors all knowing each others business, no one could imagine anyone in their quaint little town being capable of such atrocities, and little help from hostile local cops who thought they were invading their territory. With the town’s mine drying up fast and the drop in tourists to the lake, the town’s economy was hanging on by a thread, and the population was fast dwindling, breeding resentment and envy for the few who were able to stay afloat.

Normally Derek was able to put on the charm and just ignore the glares directed at his back, but every since Hotch had presented the case a pit had been growing in his stomach that had just gotten larger the longer they had stayed in town.

After three days, they finally managed to catch a break, despite it being at the cost of another victim turning up. Their unsub was accelerating, dropping victims every three days instead of his usual 8 days, which meant that they were closing in on him and he was panicking.

Much like the other victims, their newest one was a young white male with chestnut brown hair and a slim frame. The unsub had strangled him with rope, and the bruising indicated the victim couldn’t have been killed more than 12 hours before. The plastic sheet was the same as in the other cases but the victim wasn’t as neatly wrapped. If the unsub was not paying attention to his own rituals, then that meant he was devolving and they had to find him fast. With Garcia’s help they were able to narrow their suspects, and decided to split into groups of two to go interview them, hoping to catch them off guard.

Based on the victimology and modus operandi, the team profiled their unsub to be a 30-50 year old man, fit enough to take on adult males, even if they were all on the skinny side. Sociable enough to charm the victims into trusting him, but sociopathic enough to feel no remorse as he beat them. Their search had given them three possible suspects. Darren Holloway, 35-year-old shop teacher at the local high school, poor dating record, parents died young, he had moved to the town at the beginning of the previous school year and was still a mystery to the people. James Anton, 43-year-old estranged father of two, twice-divorced, kept to himself, owned a fishing store on the outskirts of town and lived in a secluded cabin near the woods. And Elijah Cohen, 48-year-old miner who had been fired a few months back for assaulting the chief miner and was currently doing whatever odd jobs came his way.

Derek had stuck to Reid, the pit in his stomach now the size of a decent black hole, weighing him down as they parked in front of Holloway’s house. Hotch and JJ had gone to talk with Anton in his shop, and Rossi and Alex had gone to Cohen’s newest workplace, the pub downtown. Since it was already past seven, they figured that Holloway would be home, and their bet had paid off. The porch light was on, and they saw movement through a side window. Looking at one another, they nodded to each other before letting Derek took the lead.

They only had to wait a moment after ringing the doorbell for Holloway to open the door. The man was almost as bulky as Derek, slightly taller, with a short sleeve t-shirt that showed arms littered with splinter scars and calloused hands.

While the conversation had been going well, Derek had gotten a call from Hotch that he stepped out for a second to answer. But a second was all the time it took. In between Derek stepping out to the balcony and speaking with Hotch who told him that their other two suspects did not pan out and hearing a loud crash from behind him, Derek thought he had barely breathed.

When he turned around and raced to the room where their unsub and Reid had last been, gun raised, he saw the two of them scuffling on the floor, Holloway pinning Reid to the ground.

“Reid!” Derek shouted as he fired a shot. Unfortunately Holloway was quick and dodged the bullet before seizing Reid by his hair and pulling him in front of him, making him effectively a human shield.

“Now now agent, I suggest you put your weapon down, we wouldn’t want to hurt your friend anymore than he already is do we?” Holloway taunted. His words incited a spike of worry in Derek who gave a once over of Reid and swore in his head when he saw that his gun had been dislodged during the scuffle and the knife Holloway held to his throat had nicked his forearm.

Derek made to move forward but Holloway just took a step back, hand still gripped tightly in Reid’s hair, forcing the genius to move with him.

“That does not seem like a smart choice Agent Morgan. And you seem like a smart man.” Holloway’s face was twisted in an ugly smirk Derek really wanted to punch. Catching Reid’s eyes, Derek wasn’t surprised to see the kid wasn’t afraid, but his eyes had that look that showed he was playing out a thousand different scenarios in his head. Trusting Reid to come up with a way to get them both out of here in one piece, Derek lowered his gun.

“There’s a good agent. Now slide it over here.”

Growling, Derek put the gun softly on the wooden floor. Derek looked at Reid again, only to see him back again, a determined glint in his eyes. Blinking slowly, Reid signalled for his friend to do as he was told. Muscles tensing in case he needed to act quickly, Derek slid the gun across to where the two men stood.

Holloway relaxed for a fraction of a second, thinking he had the upper hand, but that fraction was all Reid needed to violently jerk his head back. He heard a satisfying crunch as Holloway released Reid to grip at his now bleeding nose.

Derek took advantage to tackle the man to the ground, pinning him on his stomach effortlessly and handcuffing him. Holloway kept squirming, but when the three heard sirens coming close, the fight seemed to drain out of him. Holloway kept shouting profanity at the both of them, but he was easy enough to tune out once they handed him over to the local police.

Derek walked Reid to the ambulance despite the younger man’s insistence that he was fine.

“Reid, for god’s sake, can you just let the paramedics tell me you are fine? I promise I will leave you been after.” Derek growled, adrenaline still pumping from the fight.

Reid looked ready to protest, but settled when he saw the glare from Derek.

The paramedics were quick to clear him, putting a small bandage over the cut and recommending a cream for the bruises from where Holloway had grabbed him too roughly.

The rest of the team arrived by the time the paramedics finished with Reid, and got to see Holloway being driven back to the Sheriff’s station. Sheriff Sterling thanked them for their help before following his officers back to the station.

“You ok Spence?” Alex asked as she stepped close to the team genius.

“I’m sick of playing human shield to unsubs, but otherwise I’m peachy.” Reid grumbled. Rossi failed to mask his snort as even Hotch’s mouth showed an upward tilt.

“I know right, what are they even thinking, using you as a shield? With how skinny you are, there is actually a lot of area still open to hit. You make a terrible shield, pretty boy.” Derek teased as he lay an arm around Reid’s shoulders. Reid scowled and jabbed his elbow into Derek’s side, making the team chuckle, but they were all relieved he had come out of it relatively unscathed. Despite their profession carrying some risks they all signed up for, somehow, Reid always bore the brunt of it, and the team always worried the next time would be the time he didn’t make it.

Luckily, today was a happy ending, all said and done.

#whumptober2019 #no.4: human shield #criminal minds #my fic #my writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #cm fic #whump #angst #human shield #I know the ending seems a bit rushed #but it is 1AM and I just want to get to bed so it is what it is

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longneckreach · 5 years ago

Text

Threat Assessment

Aspis padded along in the wake of a battle-scarred Tundra and tried not to feel sick.

He didn’t try very hard.

He’d done his best not to learn the names of any of the hired muscle Nalkh had picked up for this raid. He told himself it was just because they were so obviously here as talon fodder; no point in getting attached, when they were all meant to die anyway.

Meatshield, his brain whispered.

He knew that wasn’t true. If he avoided talking to anyone, he could keep pretending he was better than them.

Longneck Reach was...gentle. It felt solid and secure and natural, but there was a softness in the air. Okay, it was nerve-wracking walking the gauntlet of serthii, centaurs, and longnecks to get to the main den, but that was just because he wasn’t used to it. None of them had even spared him and his “partner” more than a friendly glance.

This really was a Wind clan, he thought, stomach twisting horribly. They took hospitality seriously. And they’d believed the Tundra, simple as breathing, when she smiled and said they were travelers on their way to hunt the Icefield.

Test their defenses, Nalkh had said.

These people were all going to die. They were all going to die and it was Aspis’ fault.

He’d expected it to be over before he had time to think; the Marrow Massacre wasn’t exactly known for wasting time. But Nalkh had meant what she said, back in that tent in the Wasteland—she respected the fact that this clan had allies, and that their martial strength might be exponentially more than it appeared on the surface. She respected the fact that they knew their own terrain; and they had contacts with the Resistance, as well. The Massacre was good, and Aspis didn’t think they’d been spotted; but with harpies and serthii and longneck scouts, they couldn’t be sure.

Not unless they sent someone in to test it, at any rate. And lucky Aspis got to be the canary.

The Tundra dipped her head. “I counted at least five unguarded entrances,” she murmured, voice dripping disdain. “These people are asking for it.”

Aspis flinched. When the other two dragons cast sharp looks his way, he passed it off as a sneeze.

Nalkh didn’t want to go in blindfolded, and if the Longneck Reach dragons had been on her territory recently, they might recognize any actual members of the Massacre. Aspis and the Tundra couldn’t set off anyone’s radar, because nobody knew who the hell they were.

And she’d been right. The Reach had no idea.

Correct that, Aspis thought miserably. Not a canary. A Judas goat.

Their guide, a silver-blue Wildclaw with a calm demeanor and bright golden eyes who didn’t deserve what was about to happen to her, stopped by the edge of the watering hole and gestured around them.

“...should be enough to not get lost, we won’t make you sit through a full tour. We try not to torture our guests,” she added with a wink. The Tundra gave a blatantly false laugh, and Aspis belatedly tried to smile. The Wildclaw placed a casual hand-paw on the hilt of her sword and continued, with a friendly, knowing look at the Tundra, “If there’s anything specific you want to see, just ask anyone and we’ll find you a guide. I was just about to visit the armory, myself, ma’am.”

The Tundra’s dark eyes snapped into focus. That was exactly the kind of reconnaissance they were supposed to be performing.

Anxiously, Aspis tried to make a quick tactical assessment of the valley. He supposed it would be hard for large species to maneuver deep in the ravine, and...and since most of the valley was bare shale and thin grass, there’d be no point in trying to burn anything but the crops…

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t think like this. But he had to…

Realizing the others were watching him expectantly, he jumped and said “Yes! Of course. Um, sorry. Whatever you want,” he told the Tundra, trying for the tone of a friend. “I’m up for it, you know that.”

The Wildclaw laughed quietly. “Good save,” she said as the Tundra glared at him behind her back. “But I see through you, young man. We have a few Bogsneaks here, we know what a young growing male needs and I haven’t fed you yet. Chavi!” She gave a short whistle. “Can you take our friend to the storeroom? We won’t be a minute!”

Suddenly, things did happen faster than Aspis could track. Before he fully realized what was happening, the Wildclaw had ushered his Tundra off and another, smaller Tundra had appeared at his side.

She couldn’t be more different from the two who’d just left. Neither a leonine battle veteran nor the crisp, polite officer, she was all shades of copper marbled with deep blue, with a panther’s grace and stillness as she watched him.

“Um,” he managed. “Aspis. I’m really not hungry, actually.”

She smiled. “That’s fine. But your friend will be meeting us near the storeroom. Let’s go that way regardless, all right? No one will make you eat, or do anything you don’t want to do.”

That was...a strange way to phrase it, but Aspis nodded and followed her. They left the waterfall and the small lake behind, stepping out of the way as a Serthis working a pair of gale wolves herded a rambra flock down to the water. They walked back up the valley until Chavi flicked her ears toward a rough path carved into the canyon wall, and Aspis followed it up to the mouth of the primary den. The Wildclaw had pointed it out to them earlier, when they first arrived…

It was almost empty; just a Guardian and two Mirrors, and a single Longneck. The Guardian was the color of shale and muted goldenrod, draped in the sigil of the Beastclans. She looked like she’d been born from the cave stone itself, like she belonged here. The green Mirror lay between her paws like a kitten at the feet of a Sphinx; the Longneck sat cross-legged in a little alcove at the Guardian’s exact head height, as they spoke to one another quietly.

Immediately, Aspis’ mind whispered: Charge. He’d only met a few Guardians with a living Charge, but they all oriented toward the object of their devotion this way.

The other Mirror was dirt-brown and unassuming, her eyes as dark as the rest of her; unlike the green male she wore no armor, but her posture was tense and her eyes roamed in a perpetual threat assessment, tail-tip flicking every few seconds. A real fighter.

The Guardian looked down at Aspis as he stopped just inside the den mouth. Her voice was deep, like all her kind, but kinder than he expected.

“This is him?” she asked.

Chavi sat at his side, a soft wing gently brushing his shoulder as she confirmed it.

The Guardian gave a shallow, respectful dip of the head. “Hello, Aspis. I wanted to speak to you in private.”

Oh, gods, Aspis thought for a wild moment. They’re going to eat me.

Nobody seemed to be angry, or even stern, which was...weird, considering they’d obviously figured him out.

“My name is Adecia,” said the Guardian. She tilted her horns toward her Charge, then nodded toward the two Mirrors one at a time. “This is Jori, our clan coordinator; my mate Radec; and Ennis, one of our outriders. I want to assure you that you’re among friends here, and that you’re free to leave whenever you choose.”

“All...right?” said Aspis.

“How much do you know about Longneck Reach?” Adecia asked kindly.

Aspis had no idea what was going on. “Uh,” he said, wondering how much he could say safely. “You’re...a Wind clan? With ties to the Beastclans, obviously. Um...everyone kind of knows you support the Resistance, sorry if that’s supposed to be a secret…”

Ennis snorted, but it wasn’t an unkind sound, and Adecia gestured for him to continue.

“Um,” he said. “That’s...pretty much it.” Aside from one minor detail.

There were glances exchanged all around. This time it was the Longneck who spoke, sitting up and reaching out so that Adecia would lift her to the ground.

“The Reach was founded as a place of safety,” she said. “A haven for my tribe, in the beginning; we wanted to find a place far from the fighting, where we could live in peace. Over time, we found a lot of other dragons and Beastclan who didn’t want to live surrounded by fear and hate all the time. We wanted to create a place where we would protect one another.”

“A sanctuary,” Adecia said softly. The others, even the wary Ennis, dipped their heads in acknowledgement. “For anyone who wanted one. Including you. We’ve seen your kind of fear before, you know.”

He blinked. “You...you have?”

“More times than we can count,” rasped Adecia’s mate.

“How often does this kind of thing happen?” he asked, bewildered.

Chavi’s wing brushed his shoulder again. “Did you think you were alone?” she murmured. “There are millions who have been through this and come out the other side. We can help you, if you allow us.”

Ennis’ tail twitched violently; she curled it around her paws. “There’ll always be assholes who hurt others to feel stronger,” she said, short but fervent. “Their most powerful weapon is making you feel alone. With a pack, a clan, whatever, you always have help and you know it. It takes their power away. Not your fault. The first thing you do when you’re hunting is isolate your target.”

Aspis’ stomach was in knots. He didn’t know how these people had known, but this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Perhaps sensing this, Chavi took a step to the side to give him space without abandoning him.

“We’re not trying to gang up on you,” she told him. “I can sense that you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, and we’re not trying to make decisions for you. But...when you’re ready to leave, especially if it’s today, just know that we’re here to help. And know that a mate who loves you won’t treat you this way.”

Something in Aspis’ brain stuttered to a stop.

“Wh—wait, what?”

“It’s why you weren’t challenged at the border,” said Ennis. “Oliver has a special protocol when anyone enters our territory smelling like fear. We only get one chance at a first impression. That’s why I didn’t talk to you either. Liendra’s better with, you know. People.”

“Oliver’s a Tundra?” Aspis guessed, since that was the only thing they’d said so far that he could make sense of.

For some reason, this caused the Reach dragons to exchange another long series of looks.

“Close enough,” Jori decided. Okay. Weird, but, okay.

Adecia cleared her throat. “The dragon you’re with told Liendra she was your mate,” she pointed out. “We’ve...noticed things that caused us concern, aside from the fact that Frank and Oliver reported you smelling afraid.”

“I bet you did,” Aspis managed weakly.

Chavi placed a paw near his, but didn’t touch him. “I’m an Earthsenser,” she said, as kindly as she could. “I know when people are being truthful. You were lying when you said you were fine, you were lying when you said you were eager to leave in the morning.”

“You go tense when she talks to you,” Ennis added, low and dark. “She moved to touch you and you flinched.”

“And we’re not fools, Aspis,” Adecia finished. Her eyes were sad. “We can see the marks as easily as anyone. Only some of them are from fighting.”

Like daybreak, Aspis finally understood what they thought was happening. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry at how wrong they were, but at the same time, he couldn’t suppress the well of emotion that rose up at the realization.

All of this...he recognized Adecia’s name. He hadn’t known her on sight, but he’d been sent to infiltrate her clan. He knew the name of its leader.

The clan leader, her administrator, her mate, and two of her scout-sentries. Ennis was clearly a serious fighter, Chavi’s earthsense was a rare power and she moved like an advance scout; both of them wore Resistance badges...

He swallowed.

“I, uh,” he said. “Let me...get this straight, okay? One of your border guards...smelled that I was scared?”

“He’s a customs inspector,” Adecia corrected. “We don’t have border guards. But yes.”

“And so he changed to a completely different protocol, and told you,” he said, turning to Ennis. “And you ran and found someone with better people skills to guide us in, and then went and found someone with a powerful magical ability to help keep an eye on us. And then when you thought something was wrong, you went and told…” He looked back at Adecia. “You’re the clan leader!”

“I’m really only the executive officer on the Council,” she demurred.

“You’re still...and you have your mate, and I know he’s the scout captain,” though once he said it out loud Aspis realized he wasn’t supposed to know that. “And your clan coordinator, and...and both of you are obviously important to the Resistance...and you all took the time to arrange this without tipping your guests off, just because...you think my mate is hitting me?”

Adecia’s eyes softened.

“Of course.”

Heart shattering, Aspis thought in despair: Alumette would have loved this place.

She would never see it. Even if he went along with Nalkh’s raid, Ali would never have a home; the bandit queen was right, they’d never be able to leave the Marrow Massacre, not really. They’d just end up dead or captured again. And was that what Ali would want? Was he doing this for her, really, or for himself—because he couldn’t bear to lose his sister?

What would Ali want him to do, if she were here? Did it matter? And why should he care, anyway, that these people had just moved mountains because they were worried about a stranger? That shouldn’t have anything to do with it.

Locked in a parched cell in the Wasteland, murmuring back and forth to Kpinga in the dark, he’d always insisted that the one thing the Pit couldn’t take was his identity. That he had to remember there was always a choice, that no one could turn him into a monster. It shouldn’t matter whether they were kind to him, it should matter that they were people...

He’d been willing to let them all die.

“Adecia?” he said, mouth dry, throat tight. “There’s something you need to know.”

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sooosketchy · 6 years ago

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My Nintendo Switch Screenshots 2017

Backed up most of my screenshots off my Switch and wanted to share a few of my favorite moments I captured during the first year (2017) playing breath of the wild (botw). My 2018 and 2019 collection will go up in a separate post. Botw was the only physical game I owned the first year having the Switch and was completely immersed in the world of Hyrule in a way I had never experienced with any other video game.

Very First Screenshot

Kass

First time encountering Kass was such a memorable moment. You’ll be minding your own business traveling new areas and scoping out the territory, then all of a sudden you hear this distant sound. You think to yourself, “am I just hearing things, did I just pass the source of the sound, am I heading the right direction?” Until the sound gets closer and you head towards the direction faster looking for where the sound is coming from and then you see him, Kass. This big blue bird, holding an accordion, playing a pretty sweet song and placed in spot where you least expect to find him. Finding him is one of the reasons why I loved this character, he’ll be located in spot across Hyrule you just don’t expect, And once you hear a snippet of his song your’re compelled to stop what your doing and find him and solve his puzzles. First time meeting him I spent a few minutes appreciating his catchy tune and made it a goal of mine to find every single spot he was stationed at. I was invested in his story and wanted to learn more about him along my journey. He reveals hidden shrines so its worth putting time aside to find him since it helps complete all the shrines anyways. Getting him home was gonna take some time but I loved bumping into him during my lonely travels and hearing him play. I wanted more background and story out of Kass and luckily we got a bunch more through the Champions Ballad expansion pass. Yay!!!

Korok

Till this day I’m still trying to track down each Korok. And getting to the Great Deku tree was still one of the toughest puzzles to figure out. But its worth the trouble. Gazing up at the night time sky underneath the Great Deku’s branches make for some really pretty shots.

Meeting Sidon

Mipha was the first champion I meet along with her family and the Zora people. I realized how complex and tedious it was going to be to actually look through every nook and crevice in each town/village. I spent two days exploring the Zora domain and all the surrounding area to complete the Zora outfit.

Dragon

First time seeing a dragon was from the edge of Lake Hylia and after that I had no clue of what they did, how to get close to one and how many more there were. Atop Mount Lanayru was where I met my first dragon.I spotted it from afar while climbing up the mountain and thought it was some kind of glow in the dark octopus but it wasn’t. Awaking it and bringing it back to its former self was fun to do and seeing it fly away happy and not sick with the ganon flu was nice. Wonder why the remaining two dragons didn't have a side quest where each one was unlocked? Does anyone find it wrong that in order to collect scales, horns, nails or whatever other drops the dragons leave behind, you have to shoot an arrow at it? Ouch!

Outfits

My favorite outfit is the Dark Tunic. The whole set gives you night time speed when you walk. And it scares the pants off of anyone who lays eyes on you. You get some interesting reactions from different NPCs and enemies.

Picasso... I mean Pikango

Always took the time to see how his paintings looked whenever I’d find him at a stable. I want to recreate a few of his paintings and put my own spin on it.

Gerudo Town

Eeeeeeeeee! Yup, my reaction was the same as Villa’s. I still see Link in the traditional Gerudo outfit on my timeline and I can’t lie, Link looks pretty cute in it. It was funny seeing him all shy in it and was a nice change of mood from the usual fight evil, save Zelda, tough knight vibe. Gerudo town was quicker to explore and interact with all it had to offer since it was in the middle of a huge sandbox. There was still a lot of ground I had left to cover outside of Gerudo town that I have yet to go back and explore. Its that big! Meeting Riju and seeing her hidden softer side was a great addition to her character and left me wanting to know more about her. So I had a bit of a sleep over at her place and got to see her act her age for once and read through her journal as well. I have an entire collection of shots following her around but that will be up on another separate post. There is so much you can learn from a character by just following them and seeing what they do on a daily basis. You see certain sides of them that you won’t normally see if they’re in specific areas or in front of other figures. Its amazing how they incorporated so much of their personality into the game by simply showing small mundane things they do around town, at their homes, or out in the open. Shes my favorite next gen champion and I resonated with her story more than any other character.

Bolson

This man made me my dream home. I wish I had this home in real life. And hes always out in the front of the house rocking his sick threads. If you complete his requests he’ll furnish the home with all the things a home owner should ever need. Terry used to work for him in the beginning but hes a whole other side quest that’s worth checking out too. I keep all my rare gear safe and sound hanging on my walls including a few of the champions gear. I come visit the house from time to time to either switch gear or change an outfits color.

Lynels

I don’t go anywhere near them unless I absolutely have to. It is not a fun time. There’s different shades of Lynel; blue, gold, silver and drop powerful gear like arrows, swords and ingredients too.

Shrine Monks

These guys look so creepy! Are they dead, mummified, or just dehydrated and decrepit. One interesting detail that I didn't realize until a couple shrines later was they all have different poses and props they use. Makes me wonder how powerful and knowledgeable the Sheikah were many years ago. They must have ruled back then because of all the advanced technology they created. Now the Sheikah tribe comprise of just a few members in a small quite village. Some have even gone rouge and become part of a new tribe called the Yiga clan. I can see why Purah stays the way she is cause Sheikah don’t age to well. Poor Impa.

Death Mountain

The center city where you’ll find most of the Gorons is small and didn’t take a whole lot of time to see everything, but outside of it takes time. There a few side quests peppered beyond the hardened volcanic border,in the pools of lava, as well as around the town heading up to the volcano. I advise you to bring your flame resistant outfit; you can get from Goron city, and max it out with the help of the fairies.

Scenery

This game is SO BEAUTIFUL. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of a puzzle or walking down a hill and all of a sudden ill get a glimpse of the surrounding, then I end up staring at it and zooming in with the camera. Truly breath taking.

What was I suppose to be doing again..... oh yea, Zelda.

Memories

These were so tricky to figure out but finding one was so satisfying. I saved most of them till the very end, right before entering Hyrule castle. I would start by looking at an image and pinpointing areas in the background and guessing how far the picture was taken by looking at the foreground. 10/10 would do it all over again.

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