#never rob someone of their tangerines

[vicaly]

a smiling friends and cotl crossover mayhaps? ;0

For you, king (∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART I

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

PART II ➡︎

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.4k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ and happy birthday to my channie! here's to another year of unhinged love letters. 🐺🖤

❥ okay so i'm moving this fully to tumblr as well as it being available on ao3 HOWEVER the entire fic is over the character limit for tumblr post so this one-shot has been divided into two parts. both parts are uploaded.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Dusk is a medley of tangerine and indigo. Peachy rays of the sun shine between drifting clouds. A quartered shadow of the moon makes a premature appearance. You breathe in the early October air, eyes fluttering shut with the exhale. Clutching onto the balcony’s rickety railing, the rusted metal so cold on your bare hands, you fill your lungs again, taking deep, slow breaths.

The world stops spinning. The muffled music, once pounding against your temples, fades away. Body steady, you sip on the fresh air and swallow away your nausea.

I can do this, you tell yourself. Just one last drop off. I hand it over and leave.

They probably won’t even recognise you. You let your hair grow past your shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. You changed your style, trading your baby pink and blue matching sets for muted mixtures of red and black. Fishnets, little gym shorts, a graphic KISS babydoll tee and an oversized, knock-off fur coat you nicked from a local bodega weeks ago, you transformed yourself into someone new.

You turn back to the glass doors now. Catching your reflection, you cringe at the smudged eyeliner and runny nose. You wipe your hands under your eyes and above your lip, sniffling your worries away. You fix your jacket, reapply your dark red lipstick, and frame your hair around your face.

“I can do this,” you mutter as you slide open the door and step back into the party.

You spot Vince by the DJ, Danni and Andrea lingering nearby. Your heart drops to your stomach. They once told you they hated Day-1 parties, yet here they are, taking shots of gin and robbing the entertainment of their equipment. They once told you they loved you too, that they would never leave you behind. All at once, the three of them turned their backs on you, forever haunting your every waking moment.

You push between bodies. Tonight is not about ghosts. You have a debt to settle.

“Name?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Vik.”

Viktor crosses his arms over his chest. “Think this a joke?”

You fight off a smirk. “Nah, that’s not what I think a joke looks like.”

He grits his teeth, tossing you a vulgar gesture before moving aside. “Bitch,” he hisses in your ear as you walk into the master bedroom.

Red lights, smoke, needles. Two topless women dance to the muffled music, bottles in hand. Three Day-1s watch, one with his hand on his crotch. The bed shakes by them, two junkies bouncing on it like children as another Day-1 makes out with their friend.

By the window, two more members stare out to the street.

Exit compromised.

Gagging erupts from the en-suite, coaxing your curiosity. Another topless woman hunches over the toilet. Horny Day-1 members crowd around the entrance, trousers around their ankles as they watch.

You redirect your attention to the table on the far right. Reggie, point-man of tonight’s drop off, sits facing the door. He flashes a toothy grin, racking his gaze over your curves.

Hands remaining by your side, you fight against the instinct to wrap your coat tighter around yourself.

Reggie calls you over with the curl of two fingers, puffing his cigarette smoke out through his nostrils. 

“Name?”

“Vinny sent me.”

The three men sitting around him exchange glances.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Reggie, dressed in a blood speckled undershirt and baggy cargos, sits up in his seat. “Is that what I asked?” He looks around his fellow members, drily chuckling with them before repeating, “Name!”

The rules for runners are very simple; there’s only one— Never state your name. It creates a trail and binds you to an affliction. Rival gangs won’t work with a spy, and your name will be the first they spill if caught. You’re simply a messenger, no different than the guy that delivers the same-day Amazon order, distributing grams of coke and meth instead of a Roomba.

Honour gangs, like Day-1, are tricky, however. They have a second rule:

“Never lie,” Vinny warned.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Figure it out.”

You shift your weight. His insistence on your name, knowing you will risk your safety, is simply a test of will and grit. You purse your lips, flirting your eyes over his all too arrogant, lanky frame, and reply, “Bitch.”

Reggie raises a brow. He stands, reaching a hand behind him.

“That’s what everyone calls me,” you quickly add, then you shoot him a wink. “Fat bitch, if you’re nasty.”

The room stiffens. Even the gags from the bathroom cease. You keep your attention tunnelled on Reggie. You watch as he fixes his shirt over his gun, holding your breath when he rounds the table.

Nearly an arms length away, a smile finally settles on his old face. “Where the hell did Vinny find you?”

You force yourself to return that same easy grin and peel back the lining of your coat. “Be sure to ask him that the next time you see him. I’m on a tight schedule.”

Reggie gestures for his members. You pull out the wrapped bags of crystal and pass them out, ignoring the way his eyes devour your frame.

“Are you handling the cash too, princess?”

You try not to cringe at the pet name. Licking your lips, you keep your features soft and peer at him from your lashes. “Not tonight. Vinny said you know where the drop point is.”

He hums. 

You pull your coat back around your body, resisting the urge to recoil under his glutinous gaze. He looks no younger than forty-five, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes not doing him any favours. Vinny warned you Reggie might get handsy. Under any other circumstance, you would have kicked him in the balls and spat on his face by now. But you’re in Day-1 territory and don’t have a gang of your own for support.

Reggie reaches his hand out. You take a step back.

Before the thrill of your resistance can poison his stare, you flash him a coy smile and playfully whine, “I’m working tonight.”

He nods towards the door, laughing to himself. “Go on then, princess.”

You turn your back to him, unable to force down a gag. Though you’re eager to escape, you keep your steps steady and even. You stride towards the door, knock thrice and shift your weight to make a show of your boredom while waiting for Viktor to respond.

A relieved breath topples out of you once the door shuts. You lean on your knees, shakily trying to catch your breath.

Viktor carefully scans your hunched frame. “You good?” He whispers, voice is strained, carefully void of emotion.

You nod, standing back to your full height.

Hazel eyes lock on you from the bottom of the stairs. Vince furrows his brows. Danni follows his gaze, Andrea already staring, lips moving.

Shit.

They can’t know it’s you, right? From the way Vince merely narrows his eyes, he must simply suspect something.

You turn to face Viktor.

He tosses you a cautious look, muttering, “I can’t help you.”

You know this, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Just tell me if they’re still looking.”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Viktor keeps his features neutral, posture stiff with his hands clasped before him. “They still got a hit on you, yeah?”

You nod.

“You packing?”

“You know I’m not,” you snap.

Non-members are not permitted entrance if carrying a firearm. You left yours with Vinny before running. Shoving your hands in your pockets, all you feel is your phone, lipstick, and switchblade.

“On the move,” he warns.

“Give me your gun.”

Viktor casts you a sidelong glare. “I can’t.”

You sneak a peek over your shoulder to find Vince halfway up the stairs. You see Danni reaching into her pocket, catching the glare of the lights against a blade. They’re in no rush, but if they make it to the landing before you can secure a proper weapon, you’ll be out of options.

“Do you have a knife?” you ask, taking a step back.

Viktor stiffens.

Shit, are they close?

“Last room down the hall,” Viktor mumbles.

You know you shouldn’t have, but fear triggers adrenaline and soon overwhelms your nerves. Panic binds to your bones, snapping tense muscles into action. You bolt— alone, alarmed. Pushing between drunks, jumping over junkies, you hurry to the farthest room and slam the door. It doesn’t have a lock so you tuck a chair under the handle. Rummaging through drawers, digging through the closet, lifting the mattress, you look for a knife, a gun, anything other than a three-inch switchblade to defend yourself.

The door trembles from the pounding of their fists.

“Come on out!” Vince shouts.

“It must be her! She’s always fucking hiding!” Andrea adds. “Get the fuck out here! Have the balls to face what you did, bitch!”

You find yourself warped in a memory—

“No one wants your boyfriend, Danni,” you shouted. “He came onto me.”

Her open palm landed on your cheek.

Tears gathered in your eyes, face stinging. You stumbled back.

“You’re a lying bitch,” she spat. “At least have the decency to face what you did.”

You blink out of your thoughts, dropping the mattress.

Dresser, closet , bed— Where else could a weapon be? You scan the room, heart hammering with every forceful knock of the door.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Reggie asks, voice muffled.

Your attention settles on the window in front of you. You hurry towards it to find the fire escape.

“Viktor, you sneaky fuck,” you whisper through a relieved chuckle. He wasn’t directing you to a weapon but rather an exit.

You quickly push it up, catching rumblings of orders to blow the door open. Up and out, you jump, sparing a second to shut the window behind you. It might be counter-productive to waste precious time on a window but you know that concealing your exits always gives you a head start.

Rushing down the stairs, you don’t look back upon hearing the loud blast of metal on wood. You just catch their commotion over the heavy bass of the music.

Jumping the final steps, you run.

The Underground sits on the corner of Bank and Third Avenue, tucked under a row of red-bricked townhouses. You lean against the wall, stowing yourself away in the alley to catch your breath. Sirens whirl down the street, casting red and blue lights over your sweaty face. A man of very little wealth stumbles by, clothes torn and stained, waving a sign that reads, JESUS LOVES YOU.

You roll your eyes, wondering where the fuck Jesus was when your parents failed you, when the bank repossessed all you had and when the system passed you from house to house.

The thick stench of sewage and rotten trash suddenly sets in, blighting your next inhale. Leaning over, you succumb to a gagging fit. Thankfully, only bile and saliva gather. You cough and spit it out, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. An annoyed sigh escapes you at the realisation that you fucked up your lipstick yet again.

“Just some drunken slut.”

You carefully redirect your attention to the far end of the alley. Two men stand a couple of inches apart. One of them wears a grey tracksuit, glaring at you under the light of the backdoor. He has a towel resting around his neck, just over a thin gold chain. Perhaps in his mid-twenties, his relatively handsome twists with contempt. The other one wears an oversized jersey and low-riding jeans. Though dressed like a boxing fan, you can tell by his rigid posture he’s anything but. No one who gambles their mortgage away on Underground matches stands that straight.

And then you catch it, in the glimpse of the light, the flash of his badge nearly slipping out of his pocket. You wish you were surprised, but you know all too well that it’s dirty cops like this legitimising gang activity.

He pulls his pants up, and continues to pace. “Is he gonna throw it or not?”

“He won’t,” Tracksuit replies, looking over his shoulder.

The dirty cop curses.

“You know how Bahng is,” Tracksuit explains. “He’s too prideful. He won’t ruin an undefeated streak for a few thousand.”

“It’s five hundred thousand, Mickey. Did you tell him that? Does he know?”

Mickey nods, readjusting the towel behind his neck. “And I’m telling you he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”

A shiver dances along your spine at the way the cop’s face hardens. Sinister desperation gleams in his gaze and he pulls out a long knife. In a single motion, he shoves Mickey against the wall and presses the blade against his throat.

Mickey chokes back a scream, throwing his hands up in surrender. “W-whoa, Andy! C-Come on, man.”

Andy bears his teeth, quietly laughing to himself. “Do you think this is a fucking joke? Do you know how fucked I am if he wins this match? Day-1s, Ravens, Siphons— they’re all after me, Mick. I have a family— a fucking career.”

“That’s not my pr—”

“Problem?” Andy finishes, his laughter becoming more manic. “You think it’s not your problem? What do you think I told them when I promised that Bahng would lose?”

Mickey’s face drains of colour.

“I told’em Mick with the little dick can fix it for us.”

Tears gather in Mickey’s eyes. He swallows thickly before shakily asking, “Wh-Why would you s-s-say th-at?”

“Come on, everyone knows you have a small—”

“You know what I mean!” He shouts.

Andy applies pressure with his knife. You catch a trail of blood running down Mickey’s throat.

“L-Look,” Mickey starts, screwing his eyes shut, lips quivering. “He’s hard-headed. The only way he’s not w-winning this ma-tch is if s-someone gets to h-him bef-ore he makes it to the r-ring.”

Andy smiles.

“He takes the long way ‘round. He likes the attention, c-can’t resist it, you know?” Mickey continues. “He goes thr-ough the back h-hall to circle the a-arena and enters the c-crowd from the fr-ont.” He takes a second to swallow before continuing, “It-It would be a real sh-shame if someone g-g-got to him before he can m-make it.”

You watch Andy nod.

“What did you do?”

You jump, hand already grappling for your switchblade as you turn to face your assailant.

Vinny glares back at you.

Giving him a shove, you clench your jaw and hiss, “Don’t do that!”

He corrects his stance, hands in his pockets, then spares a look over his shoulder. “Day-1s are blowing my phone up about some blonde bitch. Did you lock yourself in Tatiana’s room?”

You look back to the other end of the alley. Only flies circle under the backdoor’s light.

“Hey!” Vinny hisses, forcing your attention back to him. “Are you listening?”

“It wasn’t me,” you lie.

He deadpans. “You’re the only bitch I know who has a score to settle with Vince.”

You avert your gaze.

“What happened?” He repeats. This time his voice is less accusatory.

You’ve known Alvin “Vinny” Tucker since you were sixteen. He lived in the apartment above yours and later became your foster brother. You dropped out of high school together a couple months later to sell bootleg Marvel movies on Sixth Street. He really wanted to see Madonna in concert and promised you a front row seat with him if you helped. He was recruited by the Sixers around the time your foster mom came to collect you off the street and force you back to school. He told her where you were, you later found out, to spare you the violence the Sixers had in store for you. He never said it was a debt, though you did feel like you owed him something.

Things changed when Vince set a hit on you. Your description and name were on the radar of every gang, the reward being the acquisition of new territory. The left port is the most sought after piece of land, currently managed by Vince’s father, Vincent Jones Senior. Anyone able to deliver you back to your ex-friends alive suddenly has access to the docks and a monopoly on shipments.

With nowhere else to go, you turned to Vinny. He called Viktor, cashing in a favour, and got to work. The dyed hair, new wardrobe, change of address, it was all done in a matter of hours. And all you had to do was run, hand over the rocks and not attract attention— the goal was simple.

“So how the fuck did you manage to screw that up too?”

“I told you that it wasn’t me!”

“Say that again and I will lose my shit.”

“They can’t prove it was me, okay? Tell Day-1 Vince is paranoid. Run them my old description. Tell them he’s desperate. Let him clean that mess up himself,” you reply, rubbing your temples. “It’s not that fucking hard, Vin.”

You could use a hot bath right now. All you want to do is scrub off the stench of the alley and chaos of the night. For someone who swears he doesn’t want you, Vince took one look in your eyes and knew it was you. He always acted strange but you just thought he was being friendly. It wasn’t until he was rubbing your thigh between shots and rounds of cards that you realised he wanted more than friendship.

You cringe at the memory, pulling your coat tighter around your body, and push past Vinny.

He grabs your arm, yanking you back to face him. “Not that hard? Jesus, you’d think there isn’t a bounty on your head,” he hisses. “You need to be more careful, alright? This is my life too!”

Guilt gathers bile at the base of your throat. You let out a shaky breath, redirecting your gaze to the floor. “I-I know,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

Vinny grasps onto your biceps, lowering himself to meet your remorseful gaze. “You can’t panic like that,” he reminds, cutting you off. “The guilty don’t run. You know this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You hate the shakiness of your voice, the admittance of guilt. It’s fucking Vince and Danni and Andrea, the same fucking people that swore they were there for you. It’s their fault everything is falling apart. You’ve known Danni for five years, Andrea for three and both of them just believed Vince when he told them that you were hitting on him, even going as far as kissing him. Had they always suspected you to be a conniving whore, the type of malicious bitch that would risk five years of friendship, of real connection over some guy?

And you were too nice to him— a mistake that now could cost your life.

Vinny releases you with a defeated sigh, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Let me walk you home,” he offers, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

You nod and hug your coat tighter against your body.

He nods towards the entrance of The Underground. “After the match,” he promises. “Sixers have a bet to place.”

Bracing yourself, you follow him down the steps. “Against Bahng?”

“Boxing fan?” he half-jokingly asks, tossing you a confused look over his shoulder.

You shrug your reply.

The main hall smells of sweat and beer. One side holds five queues for refreshments and ticketing, while the other fosters chaos. Men clutching cash and shouting names crowd around the betting stands. Security struggles to keep them in line. Loud rap music plays over the looped announcement of tonight’s opponents — AIDEN MATTHEWS VERSUS CHRISTOPHER BAHNG. You watch their names flash over the screens, pictures of both boxers on either side of the doors. While Aiden is actively fit, muscles and abs on display, Christopher is the embodiment of perfect physique. Muscles defined, shoulders broad, chest puffed out, abs tight and chiselled, he stands with the grace of Adonis himself. Tall, confident, he leers over spectators through the screen with a cold-cutting glare.

Your knees almost buckle.

“It is the clash of titans! Reigning champion, Aiden Matthews, against the undefeated, the unstoppable, the undeniable, Christopher Bahng,” the announcer enthuses over the intercom before urging the audience to lock in their bets.

The only titan you see is Christopher, trailing your gaze up and down his televised body.

“You’re drooling,” Vinny teases.

You turn to cast him a sidelong glare to find he’s no longer by your side. His red beanie bobs in the crowd, through the doors and further into the arena.

“Vinny!” you call, trying to push your way through.

The crowd pushes back, almost throwing you against the wall. You curse under your breath, realising you might have to wait until the match starts to navigate through the arena.

Isn’t there a back hall that circles around, though? You recall Mickey’s words, scanning the crowd for that red beanie again. It still sits atop Vinny’s head by the ring on the other side of the arena. You look for a nearby door or access-point, finding a guarded door to his far left. If you can find the entrance on your end, you can skip through the large crowd and get to him easily.

You survey your surroundings. Another security guard stands before a door to your right. Pushing through the gamblers again and again, you force your way towards him.

“Authorised personnel only,” he gruffly informs.

“I-um—”

“You need to move, miss.” he cuts you off with a pointed look.

“I’m here to see Bahng,” you lie, letting your jacket drop off one of your shoulders.

He raises a brow. “Who commissioned you?”

“Mickey,” you reply before you can stop yourself.

There is much honour among gangs, this Vinny always makes sure you know. He always warns you against dishonesty, especially to certain gang members, since you have no affiliation of your own. But it’s just so easy when you have the right information and you like the way lies just happen to roll off your tongue, effortless and oh-so convincing.

The guard nods, much to your concealed surprise. “Just his type,” you swear you hear him grumble as he opens the door for you.

Hiding a smile, you make your way in without another word.

The back hall is dimly lit. The click of the door echos. Medleys of muffled bass and roaring fans only just seep through and bounce off the brick walls. You adjust your jacket on your shoulders and follow the turns of the hall.

DING!

You jolt, cinching a yelp at the base of your throat. Hastily, you dig into your pocket for your phone.

Vinny: where r u?

You: be there soon

“Lost?”

You look up at the sound of an Australian accent. To your left is an open door of a dressing room, casting a bright spotlight on you amidst the dark hallway. You put your phone away and take quick note of the bodies around the room. Mickey stands by some weights in the corner, eyes narrowing. A handful of medical professionals assess their equipment, rummaging through their kits and looking over clipboards just across from him. By the punching bag, right in front of a wall of mirrors, a couple of men, one with long, icy blonde hair and the other a short midnight black, evaluate your presence.

And there, in the centre of it all, stands Christopher Bahng. Jawline sharp, nose large and lips plush, those big brown eyes soften. You recall the way they were once glaring at his opponent on the screen, wondering what the hell it is about you that makes him opt for a gentler approach. Wrapping boxing tape around his hand, he approaches you.

“Can I help you find something, darling?”

The pet name sounds so casual, so natural, you wouldn’t have guessed that you just met. Your posture relaxes, coat falling off your frame, held up only by your arms. There is a softness in his deep voice that nurtures something forgotten deep within your soul. You feel it- whatever it is- sprout roots in your gut.

Searching his eyes, the cursed word escapes within a breath— “You.”

He smirks.

Does this happen often? Does everyone simply fawn over him?

He smells of leather and vanilla, towering over you. His minty breath fans your face. He rubs his thumb under your lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick from your chin.

You lean into his touch.

“You’re early!” Mickey shouts from his place in the back. “Sister Maria knows you’re needed after the match.”

Sister Maria can fuck herself, you think. She has tried and failed to recruit you one too many times. Though, if you had known that her clientele was anything like Bahng, you might have reconsidered.

Looking at him now, you can confirm that those screens barely did him any justice. He’s big. It’s no wonder he’s undefeated, the sheer size of him dominating enough. He barely even has a scratch on him, just a couple of cuts on his perfect cheekbones and a bruise that is well on its way to being fully healed, along his jaw. You resist the urge to trace the length of his shoulders, or the ridges of his abs all while leaning in to kiss his wounds away.

Instead, you swallow thickly and nod, “Yes, I-I just got confused.”

Bahng curls a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay, darling,” he smiles.

You bite back a moan. God, when did you get this pathetic? So what if he’s hot, and sweet, and beautiful, and huge, and—

“You can wait in here for me,” he nods back into his dressing room. “I won’t be too long.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. He flashes a cocky grin, knowingly gazing down at you. He really is prideful, a bit arrogant too, but you’re not quite sure it’s misplaced. Undefeated in the ring, the only chance anyone has at beating him is by planning an ambush before a match .

Shit.

Your eyes flicker to Mickey. He’s going to kill him. In a matter of minutes, Bahng and his team will circle the arena to enter the ring and get intercepted. And for what? A fucking paycheque?

You shift your weight.

“No!” you shout, starling the room.

All eyes snap to you.

What? You mentally scold. I can’t just shout ‘No’ and expect the entire fucking shit-show to be called off.

Bahng raises his brows. A smile plays on his lips and he lets a chuckle slip. “That needy?” he teases.

Fuck, he’s insufferable… You need to ride him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you force yourself to concede, “Mhm.” You grasp the waistband of his crimson silk shorts and tug him closer. He lets you, pressing himself against your stomach.

A trembling breath slips.

He holds back a chuckle.

Say something, your mind shouts.

“Fuck me.”

Not that!

He cups your face. The way you instantly melt into his hands is truly pitiful, your chest raging with humiliation. But then his lips meet yours and those roots that grew deep in your gut begin to blossom up through your rib cage and around your lungs. Absolute serenity blinds whatever contempt took purchase in your chest. You try to grapple onto that anger, that disdain, finding this sudden light feeling much too foreign.

But just as his lips cradle yours, this incomparable feeling of pure contentment soothes your panicked instincts. And it’s as though those roots, those branches that sprouted around your lungs, bloom petals of… Acceptance? Approval?

The feeling of his hands trailing down your spine ground you back to him. You wrap your arms around his neck. Cheek by cheek, he cups your rear and squeezes, pushing your hips up into his.

You moan, the muffled sound so frail. His tongue slips through and, for a boxer, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. He lets you take the lead, following your tongue round and round until you release another fraught groan.

And then he’s torn away.

Mickey stands between the two of you. He shoots you a nasty look before pushing Bahng back into the room. You can tell Bahng allows the meek force of his coach to overtake him, lazily stepping back.

The ease of his movements is not what arrests your thoughts, however. It’s the mess of red lipstick around his mouth, of which he makes no effort to remove.

“… and I’ll say it again!” Mickey shouts, his voice finally registering. “No sex before a match!”

You blink your attention off Bahng as Mickey moves to shut the door in your face.

“Let her in,” Bahng orders.

Mickey turns to give him a look. “She’s a distraction.”

You catch Bahng walking towards the weights along the back brick-exposed wall, effectively ignoring Mickey’s protests. “Don’t make me come over there, Mick,” he playfully warns, taking a seat on an inclined workout bench, “Let my girl in.”

You’re in the midst of wondering whether he’s merely his coach, a friend, or both when his final words set in. You hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over. His girl? You’d turn yourself in, confronting Vince, just to hear those words in that Australian accent again.

“You commissioned her for me, didn’t you?”

Right, you think to yourself as you will strength back to your legs. You’re his sex worker. This is nothing personal.

You roll your shoulders back and adjust your stance, channelling bored seduction, as Mickey begrudgingly opens the door.

Bahng calls you over with a nod. He has heavy weights in each hand, curling slow reps.

You lick your lips and force one foot before the other. But his biceps are flushed, flexing with every lift. You can’t help gawking, bouncing your attention from arm to arm, and almost run into one of his men.

“Jacket,” Midnight-hair says, positioning himself between you and Bahng with an outstretched hand.

While there isn’t anything of value left in your jacket, you know that if they find the lining is removable, your cover will be blown. You cannot deny them it either, especially if you want to get close enough to warn Bahng.

So you slowly peel the jacket off, sticking out your chest in hopes of distracting Midnight-hair. He keeps his eyes trained on you, gaze hardening as if he is struggling to commit to his choice. From the corner of your eye, you see Icy-hair push himself off the wall to carefully watch. If they refuse to get lost in your show, you’ll have to switch gears. In one swift motion, you whip the jacket off and roll it to a ball.

Midnight-hair glares. He unfolds the jacket as soon as he takes it– a detail you should have anticipated. Rummaging through your pockets, he announces, “Switchblade, lipstick, phon—”

You freeze.

Though it is quick, occurring in a blink of an eye, you know he sees it, cutting himself off at the realisation.

The lining flaps open.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi—

“Hang it by the door, Seungmin,” Bahng orders.

You meet his gaze. That easy playfulness that once danced within it, now dims into calculated intrigue. You spare a quick glance at Mickey. A relieved breath escapes at the sight of him muttering into his phone, alone in the corner.

Looking back at Bahng, you finally see it. There, sprayed on the back wall in black and silver paint, is a three pointed crown. In the middle, drawn with jagged, lazy lines, are three letters— SKZ.

Of all the fucking gangs.

Stray Kids, speculated to have immigrated from Australia or Korea, have slashed their way to the top of the city’s food chain. The chambering of a round— chk chk boom — shoot first and ask questions later. It’s how they’re known. Notorious for money laundering, drug trafficking, vandalism, extortion, arson, street racing, they’ve swept the city up from the coast to the police department. You’ve witnessed gangs fall silent at their mention, caught the way they would take hold of their weapon.

While there have been whispers about the members, the leader remains faceless. Vinny once informed you that no organisation can become this connected without someone calling the shots. At the time, you wondered if that was the most terrifying thing about them— how unknown they really are.

Staring at Bahng now, white canines on display behind a wicked grin, you realise that his leader’s anonymity is futile compared to the intimidation of their members. It’s their silent power, the ease in which they can rattle bones with a single look, perhaps even crack them with a single blow. You are not sure who Christopher Bahng is to Stray Kids— the muscle, the brains, some money pawn as they infiltrate the underground boxing scene, but you know he is dangerous.

Arousal dampens your shorts.

“Take a seat, darling,” he purrs.

He’s lethal, and your lies are unravelling. If you are going to make it out of here alive, you must reassess your information. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with wavering courage, and move towards Bahng.

Step.

Mickey is a rat.

Step.

This is Stray Kids territory.

Step.

Bahng knows you are not a sex worker.

Step.

Exits are compromised, Icy-hair now standing at the door.

Step.

Your life is now in the hands of an unrivalled boxer.

Bahng nods down to his lap. You carefully straddle it when it dawns on you— His life is in your hands too.

Half-hard, his cock pokes at the clothed apex of your thighs. Your lips quiver as you try to fight back a pathetic whine.

“My pecs tend to ache after working out,” Bahng sighs, continuing his reps. “Won’t you be a doll and massage them for me?”

You don’t need to be told twice, shifting yourself closer.

His jaw sets at the gesture.

Pecs of pure muscle, big and tight, you take a moment to gawk. They extend beyond the span of your palms, pale skin flushed under your touch. He’s sweaty but cold, nipples hard. You hold his gaze and kneed the heel of your hands into his chest. Again and again, you apply gentle pressure, watching as his brows furrow, large nose scrunches and full lips curl into a pleased sneer.

He hisses between breathless gasps. You resist the urge to catch another kiss at the sound.

“How does that feel?” you ask in a whisper.

Bahng sets his weights down. You notice Seungmin straightening his stance in the corner of your eye. Though your hands start to tremble, you continue massaging, knowing sudden movements might trigger a bullet.

Hands on your waist, he pulls you closer into him. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t do much massaging in your… line of work?”

You mentally curse. He knows you’re a runner.

“This is not the body part most people want massaged.” You try but cannot keep your lip from slightly curving, the thought of servicing him on your knees all too captivating.

He presses his fingers into your skin and parts his lips. You can tell from the force of his grip and shape of his mouth what he’s about to ask.

Sparing a quick glance at Mickey, you find he is still tied to his phone, muttering quietly into the receiver.

But then he catches your eye.

“Who—”

You throw your body over Bahng’s, exaggerating the force with a whip of your hair and a loud, erotic yelp to cut him off. You wrap your arms around his neck, press your lips to his ears and whisper, “Mickey is a traitor.”

While he originally hugged your waist to keep you from falling, Bahng now stiffens.

“Alright, whore,” Mickey shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

You spot him stomping towards you through the mirror. The collided image of your body intertwined with Bahng’s then overwhelms your attention. You have never felt small a single moment in your life, yet in his arms, you are minuscule. Your body relaxes into his, despite the chaos that ensues around you.

“…a fucking distraction, Chris,” Mickey argues. “You can fuck her after the fight.”

Chris. You like the sound of that, can see yourself moaning it as you bounce on his cock. You clench at the thought.

“Go back to your little corner, Mick,” Chris nods. “Don’t interrupt us again.”

“You want to win, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back your scoff. You can see the room stiffen at the sound through the mirrors. Peeling yourself from Chris’s strong frame, you fake a string staggered cough. The physicians ignore you, Mickey dismisses you, but Chris and his other friends remain observing, analysing.

“I’ve fucked plenty o’bitches before a match,” Chris confesses, flashing a smile so dazzling you almost abandon the jealousy that plagues your chest. “I always win.”

Mickey looks between your tangled bodies. His jaw sets, throat bobs. He wipes his face with the towel around his neck and forces a smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but it’s the thin scab on his neck that leaves you queasy.

Chris’s legs bounce beneath you, beckoning your attention. You grip onto his shoulder to maintain your balance as you meet his gaze. Wetness pools at the sight of his mischievous eyes. He peers at you under his brows, quirking one at your enamoured silence.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

What if you just kissed him again? How would he let it go? Knowing you lied and now leveraging information, would he be outraged if you closed the distance between you and played with his tongue? You know he enjoyed himself from the grip he had on your ass alone, not to mention the bulge pressing against your stomach.

You lean forward, leaving one of your hands rested on his shoulder, and brush your nose against his. He remains still, letting his gaze fall to watch your lips. While oh-so tempting, you don’t press them to his. Instead, you knead into his pectoral muscles deeper with your other hand, pushing into his skin with the heel of your palm. You’ve made sure to angle your head towards the mirror to gauge the distance of the other bodies in the room— particularly Mickey’s. Back in his “little corner,” he resumes his phone call.

Chris’s soft groan redirects your gaze to his features, contorted in relieved pleasure. Is he really tense or is it simply your touch?

Seungmin clears his throat from his place in front of the mirrors.

Chris shoots him a warning stare before offering you a softer version of one too. “Tell me what you know, runner,” he orders, voice quiet but full of command.

“I know he came to you with an offer to fix the fight,” you reply, keeping an eye on Mickey’s pacing frame. “I know you declined.”

His hands find a comfortable place on your thighs, and begin to glide up and down, soft and slow. Calloused, bandaged in boxer’s tape, they somehow provide tender care. You relax into him once again, resting your forehead against his.

“I know Mickey sold you out. I know he cut a deal to save himself and they’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

You nudge his nose with a shake of your head.

A ghost of a smile hovers over his plump lips at the gesture. He breathes half a chuckle and presses his fingers into the fat of your thighs, between the diamonds of your fishnets.

“You don’t know?” he practically coos. “Did you happen to catch a name, little one?”

Your attempts at pressing your legs together are pathetic. Instead of subtly easing your clenching desire, you squeeze his sides with your knees. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks.

Chris lets that smug smile settle on his lips, tonguing his cheek. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “You like it when I call you that?”

“I like it when you talk to me like that,” you stupidly confess. You switch sides before he can reply, turning away from the mirrors to face Mickey’s corner, and kneed his other pec with just as much pressure, perhaps adding a bit more to combat your embarrassment.

He allows you, leaning back and watching.

He’s so patient, you fondly think, avoiding his gaze. Won’t he let you suck him before his fight? Even allowing you a little taste would suffice. Swallowing, you cannot stop thinking how empty your throat is, how wonderfully agonising it would be to try to accommodate him.

You spare a sidelong glance at Mickey, snapping yourself out your lustful yearning long enough to ensure you aren’t being overheard. When you find he is tapping away on his phone, you press your lips to Chris’s ear and whisper, “Andy.”

Chris continues rubbing your legs, asking, “What do you know about him?”

“I think he’s a cop.”

“You think?”

“He never said it.”

“So how do you know?”

You force your hips to remain still even as goosebumps rise in the wake of his risky touch, inching closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

“His posture, he said something about his career being on the line, and I think I saw a badge. I just–” you pause to swallow the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. He’s barely even touched you and you’re already drooling. “I just connected the dots.”

Chris hums.

You lean back to get a better look at his face. His features are compressed in thought, brows knitted and eyes uncertain. Your hand has a mind of its own, abandoning its task on his chest to comb your fingers through his dark hair. Leisurely, he meets your gaze, even leans into your touch. You graze his scalp with your long nails, soft and slow.

You have had sexual partners. You have allowed your lust to cloud your judgement, tossed back drinks and spread your legs quite a few times between parties and side-jobs. But you have never been able to hold someone down, however. You have never been able to consistently see the same person over and over or even call them yours.

Here is Christopher Bahng— undefeated boxing champion, the best The Underground has seen. Sitting beneath you, erection pushing against your clothed crotch, he contently sighs. His hands move up to your hips, rubbing, soothing, adoring the shape of your curves and rolls. And his gaze gleams with admiration, bouncing around your features as if looking for a flaw.

You allow yourself to forget the world, the distant chants of fans and gamblers alike eager for the show to start. You forget the bounty on your head, your ex-friends, Vinny, Viktor, Seungmin lingering around the door with Icy-hair, Mickey texting in his sad little corner. You forget who’s territory this is and the title of the man sitting under you. You allow yourself to isolate this tender moment and pretend that Christopher Bahng is yours.

Your man, your protector, your love. He’d crush skulls between his fist and snap spines over his knee. He’d make sure you’d never have to run again. He’d make sure you’d never have to fear for your life. He’d hold you when you’re tired, and carry you to bed when you’re too lazy to make the trip yourself.

You wonder what that’s like— Love. You remember your mother once said something about it when you asked about your father.

“Love is a lie men created to seduce women,” she said while heating the bottom of her spoon. “Any man telling you otherwise is just desperate to fuck you.”

You mentally roll your eyes. You also remember instantly regretting your mention of it. You were about eight years old when she shared that nugget of knowledge. She then wrapped the conversation up by telling you the heroin she was preparing was her “special medicine” and you shouldn’t, under any circumstance, touch it when she passes out.

If that’s not motherly instincts, you’re not sure what is.

“How can I trust you?” Chris asks, lulling you out of your thoughts.

You make sure Mickey is still preoccupied with his phone before joking, “The word of a whore isn’t worth much anymore, is it?”

He cracks half a smile before leaning his head away from your touch. You take the hint, retracting your hand from his hair.

“You’re not a whore,” he states, voice gruff but quiet.

You swallow thickly. “I could be.”

“Yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Tell me what you’d do right now if you could.”

You wonder how honest you should be. Vinny always said that lying would get you killed, but you have an audience. Looking over your shoulder, you find Seungmin alone by the door. Icy-hair must have left when you let your delusions engulf you earlier. The physicians are desperately trying to look busy, sneaking glances at your proximity with their client. Everyone, save for Mickey who seems the most peeved by your presence, is already uncomfortable by your position on his lap.

How dangerous could the truth really be?

Meeting Chris’s playful stare again, you rest your hands on his tight abs and let a shy smile tug on your lips. “I would ride your thigh,” you confess. When he raises his brows, a surprised smirk gracing his lips, you explain, “They’re just so big and strong. I’m just curious to know what it would feel like on my clit.”

The transparent vulgarity of your confession dries your throat. Your chest heats, humiliation trembling your fingers. You part your lips, wishing you can take it back. But your voice fails you, as if standing firm with your statements.

“Interesting,” he muses. “Do it.”

You clear your throat, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“You want me to trust your word?” he asks.

He lets his hands fall to his sides. Your legs suddenly feel so cold.

“In—” you cut yourself off, taking another quick look around the room. “In front of everyone?”

He shrugs. “You told me you would do it.”

You projected two outcomes the moment they discovered you’re a runner and you decided to exchange information for your life.

One — You get laughed at and kicked out of the establishment.

Two — Chk chk boom.

You might have hoped that Chris considered fucking you before discarding you to the streets, wishful for a good orgasm or two. But you did not expect him to order you to grind on his leg in front of his team.

“Match starts in five,” Mickey announces.

While you turn to acknowledge the warning, Chris keeps his attention on you.

“It starts when I say so,” he replies.

Mickey grumbles profanities under his breath before turning back to his phone. You start to wonder what the fuck has held his focus all night when Chris cups your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“I’m beginning to lose my patience, darling,” he warns. “You’re either telling the truth or you’re not.”

You lick your lips. Of all the things you thought your life would depend on, you did not think it would be an orgasm.

Inhaling deeply, you adjust your stance and straddle his thigh. Your lips tremble at the sheer strength of his leg, so tense and taut under your wet shorts. You couldn’t have been more thankful for laundry day and the lack of clean panties available. With nothing but your tiny gym shorts between your crotch and his leg, you can feel every mighty muscle.

You notice movement in the mirror from the corner of your eye. One glance and you find Seungmin has turned to face the door. How often has Chris played with a whore in front of his friends? You clench your jaw as envy pesters your heart. What the fuck did those other girls have that you don’t? Why did he pick them? Why—

“Look at me.”

You obey, meeting his pacifying gaze. He curls your hair behind your ears, the gesture gentle and genuine.

You suck in your bottom lip, eyes wide as jealousy transforms into wonder. He may have picked others before you, but he chose to let you in now. He had a chance to turn you away and he fought to have you in this specific position, all to himself. And maybe he wants others to know that. Or maybe he really does have a fucked up way of verifying his sources. What matters is this time, it is you. And you’ll be damned if you don’t take advantage of that.

Hands on his stomach, fingers sliding between the ridges of his abs, you thrust. The first jut of friction is tentative. Hiccups of pleasure spark from your bundle of nerves and you wobble over his leg. Chris grabs your waist simply to steady you, and retracts once you regain your balance.

You continue, jaw dropping at the constant surge of satisfaction. Wetness gathers and stains your shorts, making the glide of your hips all the more effortless. One look in his eyes, and you know Chris feels it too. However, that wicked smile of his does not overwhelm his features until you moan.

Strained, frail, the sound cuts over the ruckus of the physicians. The room falls silent as you ground yourself hard against his thigh and release another fraught moan of pure enjoyment. Your hands travel higher on his chest, and you lean forward into him, keen to gain more leverage to arch your back.

Chris catches onto your intentions, his attention all too consumed by the curves of your rear. He grabs your waistband and pulls on it, tightening the fabric to sharpen the friction of the thrusts.

“Fuck!” Your voice breaks from bliss, orgasm already festering in the base of your gut.

It’s all too hot. Face, arms, legs, your skin burns, blood racing, nerves jittering. You need everything off. You need his skin on yours, his body engulfing you with more pleasure, more attention.

Lips quivering, breaths shaky, you sit back. You continue to chase your high while grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off. Your hips don’t miss a beat as you reach back to unclasp your lace bra in a few simple manoeuvres and toss it aside as well.

Chris lowly groans. His eyes flicker between each bouncing breast, hands finally finding their rightful place on your backside. He digs his fingers into the fat of your cheeks and helps you with your final few thrusts.

“Can you go a little faster for me?”

You enthusiastically oblige.

A powerful smack, landing on your left cheek, triggers your most erotic moan, voice laden with submission. He issues another on your right and you whine this time, squeaky and breathless.

Chris leans forward so your breasts bounce against his face. He doesn’t bury his face between them however, eager to watch your face eventually contort in ecstasy.

“Good girl,” he praises. “That’s right, keep looking at me.”

Twisting and turning, your arousal gathers.

“You’re doing so well, riding my thigh just like you promised, yeah?”

His voice is condescending, almost making a mockery of your whimpering. He even momentarily mirrors your rounded eyes and slightly pouty lips, looking up at you tauntingly. So why does it fuel your desire, motivate your hips?

You nod, despite your humiliation, voice whiny as you confess, “I’d do it again too.”

A growl of approval resonates from his chest and into yours. He kneads your cheeks, letting a deep groan of his own escape and collide with yours.

“That’s my good girl,” he affirms. “Don’t stop, darling. You’re almost there.”

Your toes curl, tight in your platform boots. Your eyes roll back, twitching when you throw your head back. Your jaw drops, a loud, shattered moan escaping. You cum between sporadically clenching, pathetically gyrating on his firm thigh.

Chris holds you still, mumbling quiet affirmations between your breasts. He presses wet kisses on each one, pulling you back into him. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you fall limp against him. He moans from his smothered place in the valley of your breasts and rubs soothing circles around your backside.

Head foggy, chest heaving, you let your eyes flutter shut. You know you won’t be staying here for long, either meeting the barrel of his gun or the side of the street. There’s no harm in soaking in this moment then, is there? You pretend he is your boyfriend, issuing tender aftercare as you attempt to collect your sanity. You don’t have to try so hard to keep up the delusion with the way he delicately wraps you in a warm hug and comforts your hammering heart with his lips. He peppers kisses up your collarbone, neck, then jaw before meeting the shell of your ear.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re cumming,” he teases. “Does your right eye always twitch like that? Or was that just for me?”

You open your eyes, squinting against the brightness of the room. Nuzzling the bridge of your nose under his jawline, you whisper, “Do you really need more convincing, Chris?”

You like the way his name rolls off your tongue.

The widening grin on his face tells you he likes it too. “I might,” he replies.

You tell yourself that it just slips, but you’re only lying again. You just want him to know. You want him to imagine you when he jerks off later, when he pounds that traitor to a bloody pulp, when he’s standing in the ring and winning his fight. You want him to be thankful for your presence tonight. You want him to repeat it over and over, to tell his friends about you.

So, shifting back enough to whisper in his ear, you offer your name.

Chris moves back to meet your gaze. He scans your features, his own a blanket of neutrality.

The weight of your action does not settle upon your shoulders until his eyes meet yours again, and you realise you cannot decipher them. Swallowing thickly, you blink back tears. How could you say that? Vinny just warned you against being this reckless. Your new image is tied to him too. You’ve been running around town, disturbing drugs on his behalf or Viktor’s. And you just offer your name, for what? A second of appreciation from a pretty face?

It’s my life too, Vinny’s voice quietly returns. He reminded you of that not even half an hour ago. Why the fuck would you tell some Stray Kids member your darkest secret? Why would you gamble the lives of your only remaining friends?

“I’m—”

Chris cuts you off with a shake of his head. So, you swallow your words.

He reaches for your shirt and helps you put it on. You don’t have the courage to tell him he forgot your bra. He then gestures for you to stand, and fixes your ruined shorts so they’re not riding up anymore. You watch as he studies the damp spot and clenches his jaw to force back a smile.

“Seungmin,” he calls, standing up and towering over you again.

You wonder how tall he is but know better than to ask now.

Seungmin reports to Chris’s side. Chris nods to your fur coat, “Grab it and escort her to the stands.”

“You’r—”

“Now,” he reaffirms, cutting you off again.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you accept your coat and follow Seungmin out. You shouldn’t have, but you sneak a glance at the mirror eager to catch his reflection one last time.

Chris’s features harden as he faces Mickey. His fists clench.

Mickey stiffens, all previous irritation dissolving into fear.

The door shuts.

Waves of painted faces and torsos, endless banners, and flashing lights— the arena succumbs to insanity. Roars of chants echo upon the ring announcer’s behest. The thick stench of sweat and spilled beer is what overwhelms you, however. Scrunching your nose in disgust, you try to swallow your nausea.

You wonder how anyone here can stand it, turning back to take a final look at Seungmin. He stands at the doorway, arms crossed, gaze lingering around your rear. His ears flame a hot pink at the realisation he’d been caught.

A lazy smirk plays on your lips. He didn’t get a good enough look before?

Seungmin mutters something to the security guard stationed at the door then hurries back into the hall. You wonder if the guard is a Stray Kids member too. Is the ring announcer? What about the employees behind the stands? Or do they simply work for the gang?

“Runner!” Vinny’s voice cuts through the crowd. You turn at the call of your position, finding him standing on his seat and waving you over.

A relieved smile spreads across your lips. He meets you halfway as you push between rowdy spectators. He takes your hand firmly in his and leads you back to your seats.

“Where the hell were you?” He asks over the commotion.

“It’s complicated.”

Vinny’s face darkens with scepticism. “What the fuck did—”

“Who did you bet on?”

He clenches his jaw. “Matthews,” he practically screams.

So the Sixers are in on it too. You wonder if the gangs are onto Chris, knowing he might be affiliated with Stray Kids, and are working together to bring them down.

“Change it.”

“The bell rings in less than a minute,” Vinny shouts before looking over his shoulder to the front doors. He meets your gaze, uncertainty flooding those cerulean eyes, and mouths, It’s fixed.

You shake your head.

Vinny rolls his eyes shut, teeth grinding. He swallows his anger, knowing he cannot hurl insults right now with such an audience. Unlike you, he knows better than to call attention to himself. Exhaling sharply, he harshly holds your gaze and parts his lips.

Profanities? Threats? You expect both, bracing yourself with a clench of your fists.

But Vinny merely shakes his head in disappointment. He pulls out his phone and begins dialling. While waiting for someone to pick up, he yells, “If I die, I’m going to kill you!”

You suppress a smile and stifle the urge to respond with a joke. You fear you might have reached his limit. You’ve dragged him into your dark vortex of despair, endangering his life again and again. You should reach out to him now, pull him into a tight hug and offer endless apologies. You should have taken the chance he gave you when he called your foster mom, and stayed off the streets. You should have finished high school, applied for colleges outside of the wretched city of Crimson Heights, and never looked back. Instead, you continue to test his patience. 

Side-jobs were simply more lucrative. You have a talent for blending in too, a permanent look of indifference plastered on your face. No one ever suspects some girl, twirling a joint between her fingers, to be running or organising hits on corner stores and local diners.

The first time you held a gun, power ignited through your veins. You carried the weight of life within a bullet, finger teasing the trigger. The first time you pointed it at some store clerk, black ski mask over your face and tongue swirling around a pink lollipop, you felt that stone cold power of metal and powder snake along your spine and caress the nape of your neck.

You rolled your shoulders back, angled your head and smirked.

The clerk soiled himself, hands up in surrender.

You pressed the barrel to his head anyway, boring your wild eyes into his fearful ones.

“Well, this is awkward for you, isn’t it?” you giggled before cocking your gun.

The memory lures a smile. While you didn’t shoot him, provided he was very cooperative, it was fun toying with him.

The lights begin to whirl around the arena, snapping you out of your thoughts. Vinny hangs up the phone, and though the crowd is deafening, you can still hear his heavy, nervous breaths beside you.

All lights converge in the centre of the boxing ring. The cheers increase, crowd buzzing with anticipation. A tall, slender man dressed in a clean, glittering suit enters and takes his place in the middle of the ring. He holds a hand up and waves, encouraging excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to The Underground!” He shouts into the microphone. Cameras capture his perfect white smile, projecting the image on the large screens hanging over the ring.

“My name is Jackson Wylder and I will be your ring master this evening. Now, I have an important question for you tonight.” He scans the audience, displays a look of curiosity and asks, “Are you ready to rumble?”

The cheers surge.

“I said,” he starts before darting around the ring, “ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?”

You clap your hands over your ears at the thundering roars of the fans. A group of manic men jump behind you, almost pushing you off your seat and onto the spectators in front of you.

Vinny links his arm with yours and pulls you into his side. You turn to give him a thankful look, but he avoids your gaze.

“Tonight, we have a clash of titans!” Jackson continues, turning to point to his left. “In this corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and hailing from our very own, Crimson Heights, give it up for the man who’s always up for a fight— the skilled and tenacious, Aiden Matthews!”

Aiden emerges from a dark hall closest to his corner. He wears a blue silk robe and white gloves, bouncing on his toes as he makes his way through the unruly crowd. They holler at him, either tossing praises or insults, and bump their hands against his fists. He waves his arms up to encourage their hectic energy then finally enters the ring. His coach unfolds a chair and then helps him out of his robe.

Jackson shakes Aiden’s hand. He mutters a few words before returning to the centre of the ring.

“And in the opposite corner, we have a fighter who needs no introduction—” Jackson starts again. A childish smile plays on his lips, like he’s a fan, himself. “A crowd favourite, a sensation, and the undefeated champion who makes every match feel like a blockbuster!” He’s giddy, practically giggling his words. “Standing tall at a staggering 6 feet 9 inches and weighing in at an impressive 215 pounds, please put your hands together for the man who’s taken the boxing world by storm, Christopher ‘The Phantom’ Bahng!”

The roars bellow deep from the crowd as they cheer and chant, “Bahng! Bahng! Bahng!”

Everyone, even Jackson, turns to the front door, waiting for Chris to emerge.

You swallow thickly.

The lights then shift to the other end of the arena.

Your heart already falters at his height. He’s still almost a foot taller than you in your thick platforms. You stand to see him, legs almost giving out when you spot his large figure appear through the back door. But it’s the mess of red lipstick still smeared on his lips, the blood speckled like freckles on his cheeks, and the dark patch on the leg of his shorts that wrings your soul. He didn’t even give you a chance to be grateful that he trusted you, slaughtering your sanity with such a dishevelled look.

Decorated in you, he enters the ring and shakes the hand of a bashful Jackson. No one seems fazed by his appearance. Jealousy pangs your chest at the thought of him being drenched in his past whores, the admittance of his pre-match rituals returning to you.

One look from Vinny might indicate otherwise. He glares at your smudged lipstick.

You roll your eyes and lean into him, too breathless and trembling to fight off his wrath.

“Tonight,” Jackson smiles, raising his hand to redirect the crowd’s attention. “Tonight, we’re in for a spectacular display of skill, heart, and,” he shoots the fans a little wink, “perhaps a bit of humour—because let’s face it, if you can’t have fun while throwing punches, what’s the point?!”

He takes a moment to laugh at his own joke.

You keep your eyes on Chris. Mickey does not unfold his chair and take his robe. Instead a shorter, just as muscled, man does. He gives Chris a weary look, of which Chris ignores, and squirts some water in his mouth.

You force yourself not to focus on the droplets that drip from his pouted, stained lips.

“This is not just a fight, folks,” Jackson informs with a raise of his brows. “No, no! This is a showdown!”

He lets the crowd go crazy before continuing, “Aiden Matthews is ready to prove that he’s a force to be reckoned with, but Christopher Bahng,” he turns to his favourite star and grins, “has captured the hearts of fans everywhere. Can Aiden dethrone the giant, or will Bahng continue his reign of dominance?”

You suck in a shaky breath and blow it out. You fill your lungs of tainted sweat-slick air, fighting the urge to gag, and release it once more. Looking around the arena, you swallow the growing lump in your throat. All these fans have come to watch Chris win, and have no idea that he almost died.

“So, buckle up, ladies and gents! Keep your drinks close, your snacks handy, and your eyes glued to the ring! It’s time to witness boxing history unfold right before our eyes!” Jackson’s eyes twinkle with astonishment and wonder. He holds his arms out and turns in a slow circle. “Are you ready for this showdown?” He asks as if truly probing for a personal answer.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!”

Mouth guards in, both fighters stand.

Aiden, while built and tall in his own right, looks like an ant compared to Chris. He pounds his fists together and grunts to assert his dominance. He bounces on his toes and shoots Chris his most menacing glare.

Chris flashes a lazy smile. He rolls his shoulders back and holds his fists up. He peers over his gloves at Aiden like a predator stalking its prey.

The bell rings.

“And here we go, folks! Round 1 is officially underway! Aiden Matthews is looking to prove himself against the undefeated giant, Christopher Bahng!” Jackson comments ringside.

Aiden cautiously circles the ring with Chris. He maintains a safe distance, the heat of his gaze wavering under Chris’s relaxed stance. Testing the waters, he tries his luck with a quick jab.

Chris has the height advantage, however, effortlessly leaning back to dodge. The punch barely grazes the air before him.

Aiden narrows his eyes.

“Ooo,” Jackson hisses. “So close!”

The crowd laughs, almost as one, before splitting between chants for each boxer.

Aiden, eager to recover, steps in quickly, unleashing a flurry of body shots aimed at Chris’s midsection.

You hold your breath and tighten your grip on Vinny’s arm.

But, Chris doesn't flinch. His arms, long and strong, keep Aiden at bay with precise blocks. The controlled ease of Chris’s movements highlight Aiden’s childish, tantrum-like fighting style. You can’t help wondering how the fuck Aiden made it this far. Perhaps other boxers can’t track the chaotic jabs as well as Chris does. Maybe they didn’t even try.

“Matthews is coming in hot, throwing quick combos, but Bahng is as cool as ice—deflecting every shot with ease!”

Chris, ever patient, waits for an opening. He keeps his elbows tucked in, movements minimal, letting Aiden expend energy. He evades each punch with swift swerves of his head, taking small steps back. Even hunched, crouched inwards, his frame still looms large over Aiden.

The majority of the crowd now chants Chris’s name, flooding the arena with jittery admiration.

Like a trigger, fast and smooth, Chris snaps forward with a sharp jab. The blow lands against Aiden’s guard, but the sheer strength of it forces him back.

“Bahng with the first real strike of the night!” Jackson shouts.

Aiden’s eyes widen. He finally feels the power, you realise, and his gaze floods with fear.

Jackson tosses the crowd a giddy look and gushes,“That jab was like a freight train!”

The crowd clamours with laughter in agreement.

You catch a ghost of a smile hovering over Chris’s lips. Is it insane that you find him even more attractive when he’s menacingly playful? An image of his face inches from yours, that same impression of a smile unable to settle on his lips, surfaces. Those feline eyes, teasing, daring, coaxing you to ride him.

You bite your lip and refocus your attention on the match.

Aiden resets and presses on. He bobs and weaves to avoid Chris’s long reach. Ducking low, he slips inside Chris’s defence to unleash a rapid combination of punches to the torso and a hook aimed at the chin.

Chris blocks the body blows then, all too calmly for someone being beat up, rolls with the hook, avoiding the brunt of it. That sinister smirk settles, oh so cunningly, curving the corners of his lips. Without delay, Chris counters with an uppercut from the right, the snap of his arms swift and steady.

Aiden only just manages to block it in time, but the impact leaves him rattled. He stumbles back with a loud grunt. Wheezing and regaining his footing, his eyes betray him, glowing with newfound respect for his towering opponent.

In awe, Jackson remarks, “Bahng is a mountain of patience—waiting for just the right moment to strike! Matthews is going to have to dig deep if he’s going to find a way in!”

You glance at the final seconds of the first round, glowing red above the ring. Less than thirty seconds remain.

Aiden, perhaps knowing he has to make a statement, launches a last-ditch effort. He levels a heavy left hook aimed at Chris’s side, almost mirroring the speed Chris recently displayed.

But Chris, as if seeing it in slow motion, smoothly side steps.

You gasp with the crowd.

He counters with a punishing fist aimed at Aiden’s temple. The punch connects cleanly, the crowd choking on their cheers. The thick sound echoes between the staggered shouts, twisting your stomach with unease.

Aiden stumbles towards the ropes, using their stability to keep himself standing.

The bell rings before Chris can issue another attack.

Jackson steps back into the ring. He eyes Aiden with wide eyes before sharing a look with the audience. “What a way to end the first round!” He laughs. “Bahng’s precision is something to behold, and Aiden Matthews has already felt the sting of that power! Can I get…”

The rest of his words fade as you fixate your attention on the boxers. Aiden returns to his corner with a shuffle of his feet. He’s drenched in sweat, face red and eyes tired. His coach wipes his face then squeezes some water into his mouth.

Chris leisurely walks to his seat. He wipes nose with his arm as he sits. Composed, unbothered, he stares his opponent down.

Aiden shifts in place.

You can’t help but do the same.

You’ve been wanting to leave since the fourth round.

You thought it was over when Chris landed an uppercut so sharp, you swear you heard Aiden’s jaw shatter. You watched as his eyes rolled back and he met the floor with a loud, echoing thump. Aiden’s team flinched, leering over the ropes only to be scolded by the referee.

Chris’s eyes gleamed with something ominous, standing over Aiden’s limp body. He tilted his head and tongued his cheek, lips heavy with the impression of a smirk. He doesn’t merely look proud, but gratified. You wondered at the time if he loves the splitting sound of a bone breaking just as much as you love the chambering click of a loaded gun.

But the crowd remained in the arena. Vinny gave you a reassuring look as if silently telling you it won’t be much longer, and the fifth round commenced.

Jackson returns ringside now, two more rounds later, announcing after the signal of the bell, “Round seven, folks, and this has been an all-out war! Aiden Matthews has been relentless, but Christopher Bahng’s defence is like a fortress!”

The crowd roars as Aiden and Chris step toward the centre of the ring again. Aiden, slick with sweat, jabs at the air, his face tense and determined. Chris, towering over him with his eyes ever so calm and calculating, bounces lightly on his feet.

As the audience resumes their chants for Chris, Aiden charges forward. He jabs with considerable speed and aggression. His punches are fast but painstakingly desperate. It’s almost embarrassing to witness, and you’re not even a fighter.

One glance at Chris and you catch his mask of cool flicker with hushed notions of pity, as if feeling sorry for his opponent. You scan his fighting stance, devouring his toned body with your eyes. His skin gleams with sweat and blotches of forming bruises. His left cheek holds a patch of purple; right brow split.

You swallow thickly, watching his muscles twist as he effortlessly weaves. He slips left, right, then ducks under an all too wide hook.

“Stay still, you fucker!” Aiden orders through gritted teeth, the microphones hovering over the ring catching every spit-splattered syllable.

Chris faintly smiles, eyes locking on Aiden's. He moves just enough to miss another jab by mere inches, dancing around the ring like he has all the time in the world. He then jumps high, resembling a kangaroo, once, twice, only to circle the ring again.

The buzzing energy of the crowd grows, their cheers building as if Chris’s little gesture is any indication of a shift in the round.

The screens cut to Jackson. He swallows thickly as his eyes track Chris’s movements then comments,“Matthews is giving it everything he’s got, but Bahng…” he takes a moment to let out a whistle, “Bahng is like a ghost out there! Just out of reach!”

Aiden presses harder, frustration creeping in as he tries to close the distance. He throws heavy hooks and uppercuts.

You almost scoff, wondering why he hasn’t learned yet. His efforts are useless against someone as skilled as Chris. Truly a phantom in the ring, Chris’s footwork is flawless, always just a step ahead, and he barely reacts.

He then ever so slightly adjusts his stance, leaving an opening wide for Aiden to pounce.

You furrow your brows.

Jackson voices his concern too, narrowing his eyes. “Is Bahng showing weakness?” He asks as if he cannot believe it himself. Then his eyes widen. “Matthews sees it—he’s going for it!”

Aiden lunges forward, hurling all his power into a swift right hook toward the exposed side.

However, as steady as his opponent commits to the punch, Chris sidesteps with speed that rivals lightning, and counters with a sharp left jab that snaps Aiden’s head back.

You stand again with Vinny, both gasping with the crowd. A hand flies to your mouth as you watch Aiden stagger back.

“OH!” Jackson beams, “Bahng saw that coming from a mile away!”

Chris is relentless. He moves in smoothly, landing a quick, precise combination—jab, cross, uppercut—that sends Aiden stumbling backward.

Aiden’s guard falters.

Chris steps forward. He drives a thunderous right hook straight into Aiden’s gut.

Aiden gasps for air, the force buckling.

Chris, collected and focused, steps back, allowing Aiden a moment to gather himself.

Your eyes widen at the pacifying gesture, wondering what he has to gain by giving his opponent a chance to strike again.

All thoughts cease within seconds as Chris feints an attack. It draws Aiden’s guard up high only for Chris to slip low and deliver a devastating body blow, placed perfectly under the ribs.

Aiden groans, dropping to a knee. The air is completely knocked out of him.

The referee stands over his kneeling frame, counting, “One!”

The crowd erupts with excitement, some jumping as they cheer for Chris, while others remain shackled in disbelief as Aiden tries to regain his strength.

“Two.”

Jackson is rocking in place, jittery with joy as he enthuses,“Bahng is not just beating Matthews—he’s outthinking him! Every move is a step ahead, like he’s reading Aiden’s mind!”

“Three.”

Aiden is wobbly, but pulls himself back to his feet. He shakes his head, attempting to refocus. You suppose that Jackson’s comment must have struck a cord because Aiden looks as though he is done thinking. He lunges again, impulsive and messy.

Chris is undeterred by the chaos Aiden becomes, this time feinting a right cross.

Aiden’s guard flies to the right. Then, Chris pivots and delivers a clean left hook to his temple.

“What a move!”Jackson praises. “Bahng’s precision is surgical!”

Aiden collapses against the ropes.

Chris steps back, watching, waiting.

The stillness of Aiden’s muscular frame worries the referee. He steps in, leaning by Aiden’s side to get a better look.

The camera pans over his swollen, bloody face. You cringe.

The referee stands back to his full height to wave his arms, calling, “It’s over! It’s over!”

The crowd explodes into catastrophic cheers upon the referee’s decree.

Chris raises his gloves in triumph and pride. While he is well within his right to gloat, and perhaps has done so before based on the fact that you know he likes to show off, he remains composed. The only emotion hinting towards elation is in the lightness of his gaze as he looks around the arena at his fans. He nods to them, lips finally curving into a smile.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was shy.

Jackson returns to the centre of the ring. He gestures his hands towards Chris, encouraging the howls of the crowd. “Christopher Bahng has done it again!” He says, smiling fondly at Chris. “Not just with power, not just with speed, but with pure brilliance in this ring. He’s shown everyone why he’s the undefeated champion!”

You don’t get a chance to revel at the sight of Chris stiffening as Jackson holds his arms out wide for a hug. Vinny tugs on your arm instead, nodding his head towards the exit. You keep your arms linked and stay close as he pushes between the manic crowd for you.

“Explain yourself,” Vinny orders the moment you’re back on the street.

You look over your shoulder at the entrance of the arena, then whisper, “Not here.”

Vinny rolls his eyes but starts walking towards your apartment. After three blocks of silence, he says, “Talk.”

“I was looking for yo—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he seethes, cutting you off. “How the fuck did you know Matthews would lose? It’s been fixed for the last week.”

“Just listen to me,” you plead, raising your voice. “When I was waiting for you in the alley, I heard some things.”

Vinny shoots you a nervous look.

You continue, “One of those things was that there were back halls that go around the entire arena. I really was looking for you in there, Vinny. You left me to fend for myself and those people were hard to squeeze through. So, I found one of the doors. And— listen, I know you’re gonna be mad at me, but I really thought it would be easier this way.”

His face falls into disappointment. “You lied.”

“I lied,” you confess, avoiding his gaze as you continue down the street. “I told the guy at the door that Chris—”

“You call him Chris?” Vinny interrupts, voice heavy with astonishment.

“Well—”

Vinny cuts you off with your name and a shake of his head. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he humorlessly chuckles. “No one but his inner circle calls him Chris. What the fuck did you do?”

“I told the guy at the door that I was his prostitute. It was only supposed to get me in so I could find you.”

“You didn’t,” Vinny says. Upon the guilty look in your eyes, he closes his own and sighs, “You fucked him?”

“Not exactly,” you hesitantly correct. “He’s really hot, okay? And he was really nice to me, and I don’t know if you know this,” you sarcastically start. “But not many people have been lately.”

Vinny offers you a vulgar gesture.

You roll your eyes. “I just told him what I heard and he needed convincing.”

“You fucked him,” Vinny concludes.

“Do you think I would be able to walk right now if I did?”

You try not to laugh as Vinny’s features coil in disgust. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that it doesn’t matter now. Chris is fine, the Sixers didn’t lose a dime and you can finally get that bath you have been craving earlier this evening.

However, the shriek of tires pierce through the silent night instead.

Vinny reaches for his gun, pushing you behind him. You go to grab your own only to remember you don’t have one. The switchblade will have to do if running is not an option.

A black van speeds down the street, darting past you to swerve onto the sidewalk and block your path. Seungmin jumps out of the passenger seat. Icy-hair and another tall, dark haired man, whose features remarkably resemble that of a fox, emerge from the back.

Vinny cocks his gun.

“Wait,” you shout, stepping between them. You hold your hands up, giving Vinny your most reassuring look. “I know them,” you explain.

Looking amongst the intruders, Vinny furrows his brows and asks, “How?”

“They’re Chris’s friends,” you reply, quietly adding, “I think.”

Vinny glares. “You think?”

“Walk away,” a deep voice orders.

Icy-hair steps forward with a gun of his own. However, he is not aiming it at Vinny.

You deadpan. “Did he tell you to do this? God, is he always this dramatic?”

“Tell me about it,” Seungmin mutters, then nods towards the van. “Get in.”

Turning to Vinny, you offer him a small, assuring smile. “I’m fine, Vin. Just go.”

Vinny scoffs, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at you. “He has a gun to your head.”

“Chris is an egoistic, attention-seeker,” you dismiss. “If they wanted to shoot me, they would have done so already.”

“How can you be sure?” Vinny shouts.

Chk chk boom, you think. Your brains would have already been splattered on the sidewalk.

Nodding behind him, you repeat, “Go. I’ll call you later.”

Vinny shakes his head, clenching his jaw and directing his frustrated gaze to the ground. As if wrestling his intuition, he resentfully lowers and uncocks his gun. He takes another look around at the men, swallowing thickly.

You wonder if they know he’s trying to memorise their faces. You wonder if they care.

“If you die,” Vinny says, voice wavering. “I will kill you.”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips. “Good.”

He breaths a baffled chuckle, gives you one final look, then forces himself to walk away

You turn to face the others, or at least you’re in the process of turning.

A black bag slips over your head. Arms pulled back, hands bound, you attempt to struggle against their grip. Too slow, your squirming does not distract them. Someone hooks their arms under your shoulders, another scoops up your legs. Heart pounding, you release a searing scream, attempting to wrangle your way out of their grasp. You kick and try to flail your arms, grunting as you fight against their hold. The three men look strong, but they are nothing compared to Chris. You doubt only two of them can maintain their grip this well when you feel another set of hands, then another.

Vinny shouts your name.

Your body is tossed into the back. You land with a loud groan, cursing at the impact of the pain.

He shouts your name again, the hard stomp of his feet echoing in the street.

A bullet sounds.

No, no, no—

“No!” You desperately scream. “Vinny!”

Tears gather in your eyes. This is all your fault. It goes beyond sticking your nose in business you had no right knowing. Since that day he found you back on the streets, hustling scammers out of their well-stolen money, you have dragged Vinny into your hole of reckless misfortune. You asked him to bail you out of one too many fuck-ups, forcing him to further implicate himself in your thoughtless schemes, often against the advice and support of his gang. He has risked his reputation, relationships, money, his good fucking sense, all in the name of childhood friendship.

And how do you repay him?

With a bullet.

Lip quivering, you ask between sobs, “Did you shoot him?”

You never deserved kindness. You never deserved freedom. You never even deserved compassion.

You are a tornado of vile anguish, a chaotic force of impulse and betrayal. You are a waste of space, your very existence is a curse set upon your parents. You should have known as much when the universe tore them away. You are not worthy of connections— all your friends withering in the wake of your misfortune.

What compelled you to believe that Chris would be any different? He might have been devastatingly beautiful and the look in his eyes might have continuously hinted at something tragically scarred. His kisses might have breathed new life into your soul, hands might have cradled every nightmare to rest. But he is still a victim of your calamity. You should have known a good feeling never lasts.

The back door slides shut. The engine revs, jolting the van into motion.

“Did you fucking shoot him?” You cry, voice breaking as a sob overwhelms you. “Vinny!”

Please forgive me, you want to scream.

“Shut up!” Someone shouts over you. You move to kick the speaker only for someone to grab hold of your ankles and bind them together too.

“He shot at us.” The same speaker clarifies. “And he has terrible aim for a self-appointed hero.”

Relief washes over you, ice-cold upon your trembling bones. You lean back, embracing the pain of the awkward position of your hands under you.

“He told us to knock her out,” Seungmin says, voice slightly distant. He must have returned to his place in the front seat.

“He did?” Icy-hair’s deep voice replies.

“I don’t think so,” someone else adds.

You lay limp amongst the shuffling of movements, ignoring their argument, too lost in thought to care. Though Vinny is alive, it does not alter the epiphany that has just dawned upon you— You inevitably ruin anyone foolish enough to come too close.

The edge of the bag lifts and a damp cloth presses against your mouth.

You embrace the darkness.

PART II ➡︎

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

as someone who only just watched bullet train and wanted to find tangerine stuff, i was SO worried i was gonna be getting myself into a dead fandom but so happy to find your works😭😭💕💕 Could i request tan with an innocent reader who doesn’t get any of his innuendos or dirty jokes and sometimes scolds him for his bad language?<33

hii!! thats so so sweet, I and many others have got lots for you to read, so no worries!! and I absolutely love it! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

potty mouth

tangerine x f reader

wc || 0.7

warnings || lots of swearing, bc duh it’s tan😭

a/n || had this in my drafts

masterlist + rules

taglist

Tangerine had the mouth of a sailor, there was no doubt about that. He would constantly spew strings of curses anywhere and everywhere he went.

Throughout your relationship with him, you have learned a few new curses, some you had no idea were even a thing. But with Tan’s cockney tongue, you’ve grown quite accustomed to his rather crude vocabulary.

“Ah, you fuckin bellend.” He hisses, forcefully placing the kettle back on its spot. “Twat.”

“What happened?” You ask, looking over your laptop from the dining table.

“Fuckin water splashed up, didn’t it.” Angrily dropping a spoon into the sink.

“Fiver.” You nod, keeping your eyes on your screen. “Five quid in the jar.”

“Oh get fucked.” He chuckles, sliding your cup of tea across the table to you.

You smugly grin. “Oh, that’s definitely two more, pop in seven. Keep going like that and I can my nails done.” Hiding a giggle as you reach for your mug, raising it to take a sip.

Laughing. “Dick.”

Making a playful expression, eyes blown wide as you gasp. “I’m definitely going to get my nails done at this rate.”

“Shut up.” Grinning as looks over at your screen, clearly trying to distract you. “What you working on?”

“Yeah, nice try. Gimme.” You smile, extending your hand.

“I thought it goes in the jar? Hm?” Hiding a smirk as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few notes before laying them in your hand.

“It’s also known as ‘my purse’ … that’s sixty?” Head cocking as you looked at him.

“Yeah, so you can get colours on your nails, or whatever you get.” Acting coy, as if he didn’t know any of the lingo.

“No-no. I was just kidding.” Sliding the money along the table.

He nods warmly, wryly smiling as he did so. “I wasn’t… keep it, treat yourself.”

“Now I feel bad.”

“Good, you should do. You just robbed me sixty quid.” Pretending to look offended as he stands. Nodding into the other room. “Come watch tv with me, I’m bored.”

“Sod off.” Snickering as you closed your laptop, taking his hand as he leads you into the living room.

Faking a gasp as he turned around. “That’s two pounds, that. I’ll make a jar for you, hypocrite.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the same as the ones you say.” Laughing earnestly as you slump into the sofa beside him.

“I suppose I can let you off.”

You snuggled into his side, looking up at him with a sarcastic expression. “That’s so kind, thank you.”

“I guess it’s alright.“ Grinning as he picked up the tv controller, flicking through the channels. “What would a perverted frog say?” He asks practically out of nowhere, his gaze fixed on the tv. “Rubbit.”

“Uh—?” Head tilting to the side in confusion. Brows furrowing as your mind worked wonders to decipher what he meant.

He lowers his head, nodding slow as a way to prompt you to understand. Noticing your confused furrowed brows, he slowly adds. “Rubbit— rub it.”

“Oh, you are disgusting.” Hiding a snicker as you gently slap his chest.

You’d never hit him with any malice, it would always be a gentle love tap. You didn’t want him to feel like a child being reprimanded by his mother, so you always made sure to do it lovingly and playfully. Tangerine is the kind of guy who is naturally cheeky and charming, so much so, that his dirty innuendos usually fly over your head.

“What do you call a lesbian dinosaur?”

“I don’t know, what do you call a lesbian dinosaur?” You ask, entertaining him.

“Lickalotapus.”

“Are you done?” Stifling your laughter as you pretend to look displeased.

“Nah, I got a few more… what’s the difference between pink and purple? … the grip.”

“Alright, you know what?” Giving his arm a quick harmless tap. “Where’d you even learn these?”

“Lem, he taught me when we were kids.”

“Liar… there’s no way, that he taught you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Not particularly, no.” Suppressing a laugh as you turned your attention back to the tv. “Fancy watching Thomas?” You asked, playfully provoking him.

“Fuck off am I watching that… yeah, yeah I know.” Scoffing as he reached into his pocket, immediately noticing your quirked brow. “You’re gonna be effing minted, aren’t ya?”

Smiling sincerely as you snatched the pounds from his hand. “That depends on you.”

@tangerinesgf @kpopgirlbtssvt @ch3rries-n-cream @earth-elemental18 @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @thewinterv @navs-bhat @ilovetangerinewithallmyheart @theredvelvetbitch @randomawesomeperson102 @lov3lypeaches7 @princess-pebbles-things

[shitpostingkats]

Obsessed with these tags OP omg

First of all, how dare you stab me in the heart with that comparison to Jesse. I can absolutely see it. Now I want to know how Jesse would come into play in all this- Cod I love Spiritshipping they were meant for each other <3

Second, I know I already requested Yuya and Jaden interactions (and oh boy did you deliver), but now you have me intrigued. Like it doesn't even have to be the groupchat AU, I'm just genuinely curious now how you think Jaden would interact with all four of the Yu Boys. I am giving you an excuse to write Jaden and Yuri interacting also because to be completely honest I love Yuya to bits and pieces but Yuri has always been my favorite of the four. <3 "Yuri is the violence" Dear cod I want to see the two of them tear into someone. I have no idea who exactly but they would be terrifying. Give them an audience perchance. Maybe the rest of the protags. (I live for reactions) I'm living for this.

Jaden meets them and it's like witnessing all the parts of himself he keeps tucked to his chest exposed for everyone to see. He sees Yuto and wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him nothing was his fault. (He's a hypocrite, he knows he (Jaden) deserved everything he got. He didn't, he really didn't) He sees Yuya and sees the mask he's put up for so long, sees his attitude of "maybe if I ignore this then it'll all go away" and wonders if his own mask ever looked this close to cracking. He sees Yugo and wants to scream and tear his hair out because when did he lose that part of himself? When did the mask truly become a mask, when did he lose that spark that made life seem actually worth living? (He knows damn well when he lost it.) He sees Yuri and sees a world where he gave in completely to the madness, where he found comfort in the pain because it was the one time he truly felt like he was in control. He wonders what it cost him, if it cost anything at all. He wonders what friends he sacrificed to get where he is now, and if it was worth it. He looks into his eyes and thinks maybe it was. He wonders if maybe their worlds aren't as dissimilar as he first thought. (That thought alone might scare him more than anything.)

It's late and I'm not very good with words (at the moment at least) But you have got me HOOKED and you are currently my only source for this dynamic, I will be plaguing your ask box for a good week at least, I hope you know this- (Feel free to tell me to chill out at any time btw, I just saw your blog description and took that as a personal challenge sdfghj /lh)

Much love <3

*hands you back your worksheet and it looks like this*

*hands you stickers hands you a candy from the candy bowl, never worry about blowing up my inbox, I love hearing from people, hands you a tangerine*

Bestie you are doing such a good job thank you for the kind words, also your mind. I hadn't realized the potential for Yugo + Jaden interactions until you started messaging, now I am rocked by the implications. Now I have to write the yu-bois into the gc au. Can't promise I'll publish anything anytime soon, but I'm always excited to talk about these funny card game guys.

Yuri and Jaden the reformed supervillain and the still-thinks-he-has-to-be-the-evil-brother. Jaden is trying to nudge the guy in the right direction but totally worried because he is only barely older than him and still kinda a mess, meanwhile Yuri would gladly sell Jaden for one corn chip but also belligerently hangs out with him because he kinda is one of the best fusion duelists in the world, maybe he can learn some things. Yuri is like "Let's rob this 7/11! >:3" and Jaden is like "Oooh! There's a deal on slushies!"

Reformed murder hobo in the body of a college student tries to reform child murder hobo: seven injured, Yugo's on the roof, more on this story at 11.

[erischeatsdeath]

tangerine attempting to rob ladybug only to find that he literally only has thirty bucks in bills and barely-worth-shit coins and foreign currencies he never exchanged, nearly-expired chocolate, the eighth burner phone he's needed this week after breaking seven, that stupid fucking bucket hat, a case for his glasses someone shot a bullet through, shitty first aid kits, and a nintendo ds. tangerine being so dismayed because he is unironically in love with a man who plays animal crossing and says the nougat is his favourite part of a chocolate bar and wears a bucket hat.

[peachmuses]

shuuzou shrugs, " something about the innate need to take care of grandchildren or children who never come by anymore. sharing food is an act of love. sitting with someone and peeling a tangerine so your hands get dirty and theirs don't, making sure someone has eaten, making sure that someone is taken care of. worrying about a person because they come home alone, late at night, often. " he shrugs, " we, " japan, " are a community based people; we want the best for the future for the children -- and we want someone to take care of us when we get older. it's the collective and not the 'i'. i give them extra herbs i grow, and they give me leftovers or things they don't want. they watch my place when i'm not there, and i watch theirs when they aren't. communities are important. " " and you wonder why you were voted the neighborhood parent, " ryou says softly, a hand moving to tussles shuuzou's hair. eyes roll and he gently slaps the hand away. " yeah well. i'm happy with the kids i do have. i don't want anymore. " brow quirks, " did you at least take the books with you ? " he shakes his head, " could've been racially motivated anyways. america is bad about that. " lips quirk upwards, " they say we all look the same, but if you ask me, they all look the same. seriously. put any popular white guy picture next to another popular white guy and tell me they couldn't be twins. " tatsuya hums, " like walking on the streets of la at midnight with headphones on like you wouldn't be mugged. or that time you nearly got robbed. or that one time - i have a whole list, koto, do you want it alphabetized ? " shuuzou pouts, " koda is my step-son ??? he's a good boy for me. plus, my children love him. " head shifts, " i never said i didn't have a good time, however, sorry darling, my vacation time at work is almost up. " " so shuu - " tatsuya still has questions, " what was this about your kids making you their pet project ? " shuuzou's eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, and he shrugs, side-stepping the conversation entirely, " kids love drama. " it says everything and nothing all at once. he's gotten really good at doing that, in the other twos absence in his life. lips quirk upwards in fondess, " the first time zu came by, one of the girls fainted. "

" deep, deep down inside, " makoto starts, voice trailing as he eyes shuuzou / mind changes and he's shaking his head. there's something to be said about how he's loved because he is a good person, wanting to be a good person, but makoto decides he'd rather not get into it. " what is it with grannies doing that, anyway? "

" something, something, " kazuya's paraphrasing, clearly, " so you don't waste away. " he shrugs easily enough. " i think the older they get, the more likely they are to show their love through gift giving. they just worry. a lot. " he shrugs.

when attention turns back to him, makoto shrugs, slowly blinking at shuuzou when tatsuya leans into him. " yeah. " it was a whole thing, really. " i was, " hand raises, stopping at top level of imaginary stairs before he pushes hand forward, mocking the motion. " all the way at the top, carrying like six or seven books when it happened. i walked out with bruised ribs and a killer headache, i'm pretty sure i bled on about half the books before i just got up and went home. "

" wouldn't that be considered attempted murder? "

" or manslaughter, depending. "

" and... what did you do about it? "

brows furrow as a hand comes up to scratch his neck. " went home? " like he said before...? " there were multiple people around and i didn't feel like finding out which person had done it, so i just left. "

" your poor ego... "

" what ego? " he then turns his attention back towards tatsuya, " i didn't do shit but mind my business. trouble finds me. "

kazuya looks back towards shuuzou. " ... yes? you came with me before and didn't hate it entirely? or sit around and keep an eye on koda like you always do. who knows, maybe i'll come back and you'll have another hobby. " he shrugs, not entirely serious, " fine, don't burn it down, then. "

[atlantean-studies]

Fox Lore #2 (Stories By Culture)

JAPANESE

Enough is Enough!

The foxes who infested the house and grounds of Major Counselor Yasumichi's old mansion were always making mischief, but since they never really did any harm, Yasumichi let the matter pass. They got naughtier and naughtier as the years went by, though, until one day he angrily decided that enough was enough. Those foxes would have to go.

He announced a grand fox hunt to his household, for the next day. The servants were to bring bows and arrows, sticks, or whatever weapons they could devise, and flush out every last one. They would surround the house, and men would be posted not only on the garden wall but on the roof as well, and even in the space between the ceiling of the rooms and the roof. Every fox that showed itself would be killed.

Near dawn on the fateful day Yasumichi had a dream. A white-haired old man, looking rather like an aged menial, was kneeling under the tangerine tree in the garden, bowing respectfully to him.

"Who are you?" asked Yasumichi.

"Someone who has lived here in the mansion for many years, sir," the old man answered nervously. "My father lived here before me, sire, and by now I have many children and grandchildren. They get into a lot of mischief, I'm afraid, and I'm always after them to stop, but they never listen. And now, sir, you're understandably fed up with us. I gather that you're going to kill us all. But I just want you to know, sir, how sorry I am that this is our last night of life. Won't you pardon us, one more time? If we ever make trouble again, then of course you must act as you think best. But the young ones, sir -- I'm sure they'll understand when I explain to them why you're so upset. We'll do everything we can to protect you from now on, if only you'll forgive us, and we'll be sure to let you know when anything good is going to happen!"

The old man bowed again and Yasumichi awoke. When the sky had lightened, he got up and looked outside. Under the tangerine tree sat a hairless old fox which, and the sight of him, slunk under the house.

The perplexed Yasumichi gave up his fox hunt. There was no more troublesome mischief, and every happy event around the house was announced by a fox's sharp bark.

Fox Arson

A retainer who served the governor of Kai was heading home one sundown from the governor's mansion when he saw a fox, gave chase and shot at it with the kind of noisemaker arrow used for scaring off dogs. He hit it in the back leg.

The fox yelped in pain, rolled over, and dove, limping into the brush. As the retainer went to retrieve his arrow the fox reappeared in front of him, and he was about to shoot at it again when it vanished.

A quarter of a mile from home he saw the fox running ahead of him carrying a flaming brand in its mouth. What could it be up to? He spurred his horse on. On reaching the house, the fox changed into a human being and set the house on fire. The retainer was ready to shoot as soon as he got within range, but the human changed right back into a fox and got away. The house burned down.

Beings like that exact swift vengeance. It's better to leave them alone.

The Fox In The Brothel

In a time of our honorable forefathers, there dwelt in a mean mountain village of Settsu Province a poor faggot-cutter who followed the way of Lord Buddha, taking no animal life for the solace of his belly and praying as a devout man should for the eternal welfare of his spirit.

One day in a ravine he came upon a vixen, caught by the paw in a trapper's snare, which with many a moan and with tears running down her muzzle para-para seemed to beseech him for succor, so that in pity he would have released her. But being minded to rob no honest man, he trudged a long ride down the mountain to his hut, and taking from a hiding place in the thatch a piece of silver, the fruit of weeks of toil, he returned to the ravine and set the vixen free, and wrapped the silver piece in a bit of cotton cloth, he tied it to the snare and went his way. The vixen, when he released her, fled not, but as thought understanding his heart, fawned upon his feet and licked his hands and followed him limping tobo-tobo to the mouth of the ravine, where she gave three sharp barks and sprang into the thicket.

Now on the third evening thereafter, as the man squatted in the mouth of his hut resting from the sweaty labor of the day, on a sudden there appeared before him a damsel, clad in a brown-silk robe, who called to him, and he, seeing her rare beauty and thinking her some great lady strayed from her cavalcade, prostrated himself before her and begged her pleasure.

Said she: "Abase not thyself. I am the fox which thy humanity set free the other night from the snare, and whose life thou didst purchase with thy silver piece. I have taken this form in order to request thy favor as I may, and I will serve thee with fealty so long as thou dost live."

At which he cried: "Esteemed mistress of magic! Not for my unparalleled worthlessness is thy high condescension! I am eight times rewarded by this thy visit. I am but a beggarly forester and thou a repository of all beauty. I pray to thee, make not sport of my low condition."

Then said she: "Thou art a poor man. Suffer me at least to set thee on the way to wealth."

Asked him "How may that be done?"

She replied "Tomorrow morning don thy best robe and thy stoutest sandals and come to the mouth of the ravine where thou didst rescue me. There thou shalt see me in my true form. Follow whither I lead and good fortune shall be thine. This I promise on the word of a fox." At that he prostrated himself before the damsel in gratitude, and when he lifted himself, she had vanished.

Next morning, when he came to the ravine, he found awaiting him the vixen, who barked thrice and turning, trotted before him, leading him by paths he knew not across the mountain.

So, they proceeded, she disappeared in the thicket whenever a chance traveler came in view, and he satisfying his hunger with fruits and berries and slaking his thirst from the rivulets, and at night sleeping under the stars. Thus, the reaches of the sun wound up the days till on fourth noontide they descended into a vale where lay a city.

At sundown they came to a grove hard by the city's outer barrier where there was a shrine to the fox deity, Inari. Before this, the vixen barked thrice, and bounded through its door. And presently the woodsman beheld the damsel issuing therefrom, robed now in rich garments and beauteous as a lover's dream leaping from the golden heart of a plum blossom.

Said she "Take me now - who am they daughter - to the richest brothel in yonder city, and sell me to its master for a godly price."

He answered: "Barter thee, to the red-hell hands of a conscienceless virgin-buyer? Never!" Then, with a laugh like the silver potari of a fountain, she said.

"Nay, but their soul shall be blameless. So soon as thou hast closed the bargain and departed, I shall take on my fox shape in the garden and get me gone, and thus the reward shall be thine and evil intent shall receive its just deserts."

So, as she bade him, he entered the city with her and inquiring the way to the quarter of houses of public women, came to its most splendid rendezvous, which was patronized only by brazen spendthrifts and purse-proud princes, where all night the painted drums went don-a-don and the samisen were never silent, and whose satiny corridors lisped with the shu-shu of the velvet foot-palms of scarlet-lipped courtesans.

So great was the damsel's beauty that a crowd trooped after them, and the master of the house, when he saw her, felt his back teeth itch with pleasure. The faggot-cutter told him his tale, as he had been prompted, averring that he was a man whose life had fallen on gloomy ways so that he who had been a man of substance was now constrained to sell his only daughter to bondage.

At which the proprietor, his mouth watering at her loveliness and bethinking him of his wealthy clientele, thrust ink-brush into his fist and planked before him a bill-of-agreement providing for her three years' service for a sum of thirty gold ryo paid that hour into his hand.

The woodsman would joyfully have signed, but the damsel put forth her hand and stopped him saying: "Nay, my august father! I joyfully obey thy will in this as in all else, yet I pray thee bring not reproach upon our unsullied house by esteeming me of so little value.” And, to the master of the place she said: "Me thinks thou saidst sixty ryo."

He answered: "Were I to give a rin more than forty, I would be robbing my children."

Said she: "The perfume I used in our brighter days cost me ten each month. Sixty!"

Cried he: "A thousand curses upon my beggarly poverty, which constraineth me. Have mercy and take fifty!"

At this she rose, saying: "Honorable parent, there is a house in a nearby street frequented, I hear, by a certain prince who may deem me not unattractive. Let us go thither, for this place seemeth of lesser standing and reputation than we had heard."

But the master ran and barred the door and, although groaning like an ox before the knacker, flung down the sixty gold ryo, and the woodsman set his name to the bill-of-agreement and farewelled her and went home rejoicing with the money.

Then the master, glad at the capture of such a peerless pearl of maidenhood, gave her into the care of his tire-woman to be robed in brocades and jewels, and set her on a balcony, where her beauty shone so dazzling that the halted palanquins made the street impassable, and the proprietor of the establishment across the way all but slit his throat in sheer envy. Moreover, the son of the daimyo of the province, hearing of the newcomer marvel, sent to the place a gift of gold, requesting her presence at a feast he was to give there that same evening.

Now this feast was held in an upper room overhanging the river, and among the damsels who attended the noble guests, the fox-woman was as the moon to a horde of broken paper lanterns, so that the princely host could not unhook his eyes from her and each and every one of his guests gave black looks to whoever touched her sleeve.

As the sake cup took its round, she turned her softest smile now to this one and now to that, beckoning to each to folly till his blood bubbled butsu-butsu with passion and all were balanced on the thin knife-edge of a quarrel.

Suddenly, then, the lights in the apartment flickered out and there was confusion, in the midst of which the damsel cried out in a loud voice: "O my Prince! One of thy guests hath fumbled me! Make a light quickly and thou shalt know this false friend, for he is the one whose hat-tassel I have torn off."

But cried the prince (for he was true-hearted and of generous mind): "Nay, do each one of you, my comrades, tear off his hat-tassel and put it on his sleeve. For we have all drunk overmuch, and ignorance is sometimes better than knowledge." Then after a moment he clapped his hands, and lights were brought, lo, there was no hat left with a tassel upon it. At this, one of the young blades, laughing at the success of the artifice, began to sing the ancient song which saith:

       The hat thou lovedst,                Reed-wove, tricked out with damask,        Ah me, hath blown away,                Into the Kamo River-        Blown amidst the current.                While I wandered seeking it,        While I wandered searching it,                Day-dawn cam, day-dawn came!        Ah, the sawa-sawa                Of that rustling night of autumn,        There by the water,                The spread-out, rustling water!

But the damsel, crying that with the affront unavenged she would not choose longer to live, ran into the next chamber and, stripping of her clothes, cast them from the window into the swift current, while she herself, taking on her fox form, leaped down and hid in a burrow under the riverbank. So, the party of the prince rushed in and, finding the window wide and her vanished and seeing the splendid robe borne away by the rushing water, deeming that she had indeed drowned herself, made outcry, and the master of the house plucked out his eyebrows, and his folk and the gallants put forth in many a boat, searching for her fair body all that night, but naught did they discover save only her loincloth.

Now on the fourth evening after that, as the faggot-cutter sat in his doorway, the damsel appeared before him, robed in a kimono of pine-and-bamboo pattern, with an obi of jeweled dragonflies tangled in a purple mist. Asked she: "Have I kept my fox-word?"

He answered. "Aye, eight times over. This morning I purchased a plot of rich rice land, and tomorrow the builders, with what remaineth, begin to erect my mansion."

Said she then: "Thou art no faggot-cutter henceforth, but a man of substance. Look upon me. Wouldst thou not have me to wife?" But he, seeing how her carriage was as graceful as the swaying of a willow branch, her flawless skin the texture of a magnolia petal, her eyebrows like sable rainbows, and her hair glossy as a sun-tinted crow's wing, and knowing himself for an untutored hind, knelt in abasement before her and spoke.

"Nay, wise one! Doth the smutty raven mate with the snow-white heron?"

Then she said, smiling: "Do my bidding once again. Tomorrow return to the city and to the brothel where thou didst leave me, and offer, as the bargain provided, to buy me back. Since the master of the house cannot produce me, he must need pay over to thee damage money, and see that thou accept not less than two hundred gold ryo." She saying, she became a fox and vanished in the bushes.

So next morning he took his purse and crammed it with copper pieces and betook himself across the mountain, and on the third day he arrived at the city. There he hastened to the brothel and demanded its master, to whom he said, jingling the purse beneath his nose: "Good fortune is mine. For, returning to my village three days since to pay my obligations with thy sixty ryo, I found that my elder brother had died suddenly in the next province, leaving to me (since he was without issue) all his wide estates. So, I am come to redeem my beloved daughter and to return thee thy gold plus the legal interest."

At that the master of the house felt his liver shrink and sought to put him off with all kinds of excuses, but the woodsman insisted the more, so that the other at length had no choice but to tell him that the girl had drowned herself.

When he heard this, the woodsman's lamentations filled all the place, and he beat his head upon the mats hata-to, crying out that naught but ill treatment had driven her to such a course, and swearing to denounce the proprietor to the magistrates for a bloody murderer, till from dread to see his establishment sunk in evil repute, the man ran to his strongbox and sought to offer the bereaved one golden solace.

Thus, with two hundred more ryo in gold (for mindful of the maiden's rede, he would take no less) the woodsman returned to his village, with an armed guard of ten men for an escort, where he rented a stout godown for the money's safekeeping.

The night of his return, as he sat on his doorstep, thanking all the deities for his good luck, the fox-maiden again appeared before him, this time clad only in the soft moon-whiteness of her adorable body, so that he turned away his face from the sight of it.

Asked she: "Have I kept my fox-word?"

And he answered, stammering: "Eight hundred times! Today I am the richest man in these parts."

Said she: "Look upon me. Wouldst thou not possess me as thy concubine?" Then, peeping despite himself betwixt his fingers, he beheld the clear and lovely luster of her satiny skin, her breasts like twin snow-hillocks, her bending waist, and the sweet hidden curves of her thighs, and all his senses clamored like bells, so that he covered his eyes with his sleeve. 

And said he: "O generous bestower! Forgive the unspeakable meanness of this degraded nonentity. My descendants of the tenth generation shall burn the richest incense before the golden shrine which I shall presently erect to thee. But I am a man and thou art a fox, with whom I may not knowingly consort without deadly sin!"

Then suddenly he saw a radiance of the five colors shine rainbow-like around her, and she cried out in a voice of exceeding great joy, saying: "Blessing and benison upon thee, O incorruptible one! As a fox I have dwelt upon the earth for five hundred years, and never before have I found among humankind one whose merit had the power to set me free. Know that by the virtue of thy purity I may now quit this animal road for that of humankind." Then she vanished, and he built a shrine to her in the mouth of the mountain ravine, and it is said that his children's grandchildren worship before it to this day.

CHINESE

On Fox Spirits

All that I have learned about fox spirits is from magazine articles as well as stories from my grandparents, so this is by no way an authorative account. Anyone who knows more is welcome to contribute. -- Galen Jang

Fox spirits occupies the same mythological niche as the faerie in Western mythology. They are beautiful beyond endurance, elusive, powerful, mischievous and vindictive.

In Chinese mythology, the human form is the pinnacle of creation. All animals, and sometimes plants seek to achieve human form on their way to immortality. Of these animals, foxes seem to succeed the most.

They do this by absorbing the essence of the moon and the sun. Some folklores maintain that foxes achieve this by conducting rites of worship during full moons. After a few centuries, they will acquire the ability to change into human form.

Most fox spirits in stories are females.

They usually appear as an extremely beautiful woman. The male fox spirits, rare as they are, appear either as erudite and handsome men, or wise old men. You can tell a fox spirit from a human from their tails.

Some of them have not quite mastered the human form. While the body looks human enough, the tail remains. They solve the problem by tucking their tail inside their pants. The ones who do master the human form can be enticed to show their true form by getting them drunk. So, if your friend remains human after a good night of drinking, you can believe that he's human.

If they are killed, they revert back to their original form. It's the women who were dangerous. They usually seek to copulate with human males. They use the sexual act itself to absorb their partner's energy in order to add to their own powers. Such relationships, if prolonged, result in sickness and eventually death for the man. So, if you see a beautiful woman who wants to have sex with you for no reason, watch out!

Most fox spirits are not as brazen as that. The fox spirits ordinary people have experienced are much more elusive. They live in attics or some deserted room in a large house. You never see them. You know they're there because of the noises they make.

The difference between fox spirits noises and ghost noises is, of course, fox spirits make the noises day and night! Sometimes the fox spirits throw things, such as rocks and tiles, into the yard or against the door. You know people aren't responsible for the disturbance because you can't see anybody around the house.

When a family is haunted by a fox spirit, they set up a shrine in the abandoned attic. Incense sticks are burned regularly. Sometimes food is also offered. Things usually quiet down after that. Most of the time, the fox spirits leave their landlords alone if the landlords leave them alone. Sometimes, the fox spirits will even take care of any thief or burglar who is foolish to rob such a house.

Pu Sung-Lin said that the belief of fox spirits was limited mainly to northern China. In southern China, the main belief is in a much more malevolent sort of spirit called Wu Tong.

The spirit in the story "Story of Tseng Shi" may be a Wu Tong. However, the belief of Wu Tong seems to have died away in the south in the last two centuries. My grandparents grew up in Fujian which is definitely southern China, yet the only spirit they know about is the fox spirit. The malevolent Wu Tong lost the war for the belief of human beings. Will the fox spirits now lose the belief of the human beings as well?

King of the Nine Mountains

Translated from Liao Tsai Chi Yi

There was a man surnamed Li living in T'sao Chou. He possessed the greatest wealth in town. Behind his mansion, he had an empty lot which was going to waste. One day, an old man came to him and offered to rent the property with one hundred pieces of gold. Li refused on the ground that the lot had no house on it.

The old man said "Please accept the money and don't worry about the rest."

Li didn't understand, but he accepted the money just to see what would happen. After several days, the old man came to him and said "I already moved in, but we're so busy setting up our new household that we neglected good manners. Today, my children shall prepare a banquet for you, the landlord. We hope you will grace us with your presence." Li went to the lot and, to his surprise, discovered a brand-new mansion there.

As he entered, he saw that the inside was lavishly decorated and furnished. Jugs of wine lined the walkways and the scents of good tea wafted from the kitchen. As the banquet began, he was toasted by the old man. The wine tasted of the finest vintage. He saw and heard many men, women and children, maybe more than a hundred in total, living in the mansion.

He then knew they could not be ordinary human beings, but fox spirits. As he returned from the banquet, he returned with death in his heart. He bought sulfur and other flammable material from the city market and, with the help of his servants, secretly placed them all around the new mansion. When he was finished, he ignited it.

The fire blazed and sent black smoke upward toward the heavens like a black and evil mushroom. The smell of burning flesh and the screams of the dying filled the senses. When the fire died, he and his servants went into the wreckage. There they found the charred bodies of hundreds of dead foxes.

While he was inspecting the carnage, the old man entered the mansion. The old man's face was contorted with grief and anger. He said "I have never wronged you. I gave you hundreds of pieces of gold in good faith. That is not a niggardy amount of money. How can you bury your conscience and slaughter us! I must avenge the cruel deaths of my family."

Then the old man left. Li thought the old man would just try some supernatural tricks on his family, such as throwing bricks at his house, but years passed and nothing happened.

Then tens of thousands of bandits gathered in a nearby mountain. The local officials could not gather enough forces to suppress them. Li worried about the safety of his large family as well as his rather large fortune. Then an astrologer who called himself the Old Man of Southern Mountain arrived at the town.

The astrologer became famous because he seemed to know everything, and everything that he predicted had come true. Li invited the astrologer to his home and asked about his future fortunes. The astrologer stood up from his seat in respect and said "This is the true emperor!"

Li was both afraid and astonished. Then he accused the astrologer of lying. The astrologer said "Since ancient times, all the dynasties have been founded by emperors who came from common birth. Who among them is born emperor?" Li began to believe him. The astrologer offered to become Li's military advisor and asked him to prepare armor and weapons.

Li worried that no one would follow him. The astrologer said "I will go into the mountains and speak for the true emperor. I shall tell them of your grand destiny and the bandits will surely follow you."

Li became glad and sent the astrologer along. Li then began to prepare as the astrologer instructed. The astrologer returned a few days later and said "Your great prestige, plus my tongue has convinced all the bandits to follow you." Li looked outside and saw thousands ready to follow him, so he made the astrologer into his chief advisor.

He then made a great banner, proclaiming his own imperial status. He then fortified his positions in the mountains and the sound of his name shook the neighboring prefectures.

When the prefecture sent an army against Li's army, the astrologer led the defense and easily destroyed the small government army. The prefectural magistrate became sorely afraid and asked for help from the principality magistrate. The principality magistrate dispatched a larger and better equipped army.

That army went into an ambush prepared by the astrologer and was again destroyed. The prestige of Li became great and his army swelled. He then styled himself the King of Nine Mountains.

The astrologer told Li that the army needed horses. He told Li of a caravan transporting imperial horses from the capital. Li ambushed the caravan and took all the horses. His prestige swelled still more and so did his pride. Li now gave the astrologer the title of Lord Protector. As for himself, he believed that he would soon wear the dragon robe.

The provincial governor was very alarmed by his robbery of the imperial horses. He received reinforcement from the imperial government. He divided his army into six columns and attacked Tsao Chou. The banner of the imperial army filled the mountain valleys around the King's fortress.

The King of Nine Mountains became afraid and asked the astrologer for more advice, but his subordinates could not find the astrologer. The great king looked down on his enemies and said "I never realized how powerful the imperial government is."

Soon, his fortress was broken and he was captured. Because he committed the crime of attempted usurpation as well as banditry, Li and his entire family were executed. It was only then he realized that the astrologer was the old fox he betrayed.

KOREAN

The Salt Peddler and the White Fox

Long, long ago, there was a salt peddler who was very poor. One day, as he had been doing every day, he left his house early in the morning with a sack full of salt on his back. He travelled from one village to another, peddling salt to the villagers. After his last visit for the day to a remote village, he headed for home. He was virtually dragging his feet due to exhaustion from the day's work. He was still far away from his home when dusk settled in. It became completely dark in the middle of a rugged mountain with the dense growth of bushes and trees. Overwhelmed by fatigue and darkness, he could proceed any longer; so, he looked around to find some shelter for the night.

After a while, a huge rock caught his eye, He managed to reach the rock, whose top could be seen against the night sky. He put down his empty A-frame back carrier. He then noticed a cave-like hollow spot at a corner of the underside of the rock. The cave was large enough for him to crawl into and stretch himself; so, he settled in for the night. His eyelids became heavier and heavier. He was about to fall asleep, when he heard a strange sound. He became wide awake. So frightened was he that his hair stood on end. "What could it be?" With both jaws pressed against each other and holding his breath, he peered into the dark. He could not see anything unusual. He stuck out his head slightly. He could hear the sound more distinctly. it was a faint voice of a woman.

Since it was unmistakably a human voice, he felt a little relieved. "But what is she doing at this time of the night and on this rugged mountain?" Curious, he crawled out of the cave to look around. However, he could not see a woman or anything else unusual. So, he came back to his shelter and lay down, hoping to sleep.

The salt peddler tried to forget everything and was ready to sleep, when he heard something, again. It sounded even more strange coming from somewhere above. He crawled quietly out of the cave, again, and looked up at the top of the rock. And he almost screamed! He saw a white fox, with her long tail drooping, sitting on top of the rock and grinding a human skull against the surface of the rock. The peddler was all but petrified at the frightful sight. But with all the courage he could muster, he crawled ever quietly toward a big tree nearby and watched every move of the fox behind it. The fox apparently did not notice him. She kept grinding the skull, occasionally turning it and apparently making it into some kind of container.

After a while, the fox was trying the skull container on her head and, when it did not fit well, she muttered with an irritated voice. She kept grinding and then tried it on, again. She repeated these several times, until finally she was satisfied. "Now, it fits! It's perfect." She wore the skull container and made several tumbling feats like an accomplished acrobat.

The whole scene gave the peddler icy chills in his spine. Though scared and shaking, he was staring at the fox so that he would not miss anything she did. After several more tumbling feats, the white fox suddenly disappeared and, instead, there stood a stooped old woman. Tidying up her hair, she talked to herself: "Oh, dear me, I'm a little late; they must be waiting for me anxiously." Then, she jumped down and started walking toward the village the peddler visited last that day. The peddler soon became more curious than frightened, and decided to follow the old woman. Often, he had to run to catch up with her. When the granny finally reached the village, she went straight into the house of the wealthiest in the village. "Here I am, finally!" When she announced her arrival, there was a commotion in the house, people dashing out to meet and greet her and asking why she was so late. The old woman seemed to know why she was expected there. She went straight into the room reserved for the housewife and her guests. The peddler then approached the gate and asked for an overnight stay. Well known to the villagers, he was led to a male guest room across the women's living quarters. It was close to midnight. The peddler lay down on the floor, trying to listen to every sound coming from the women's room across a small courtyard. He could hear only indistinguishable noises. After a while, everything quieted down. Then, suddenly, there was a loud gong sound, followed by someone chanting incantations with intermittent interruptions by low, steady gong sounds.

The peddler could swear that the chanting voice he heard was that of the old fox-woman. He sensed that something terribly wrong was going on in that room. "Without knowing the real identity of that old woman, they are letting her chant spells. The old fox must be cursing on someone, pretending to be exorcising some evil spirit," he thought. He felt he must do something about it. Just then, a farmhand of the house came into the room to sleep. "What's going on there? Is anybody ill?" asked the peddler.

The farmhand casually said that because the old master of the household suddenly fell seriously ill, the family invited the granny, an old acquaintance who had the reputation of being the magic chanter in the vicinity, for her service. He hardly said that before he started snoring. Things were as the peddler had suspected. Except for occasional gong sounds, it was rather quiet. Perhaps, family members all fell asleep. The salt peddler came out of the guest room and tiptoed across the court yard toward the women's quarters. The old woman's chanting was almost imperceptivity low and mumbled. He stepped quietly up onto the wooden floor and sat in front of the paper-pasted sliding door of the room.

Wetting his forefinger and gently pushed it through the paper door. Then he peeped into the room through the hole. All but the old woman was sleeping. The old fox-woman was still chanting spells with her eyes closed and with a gong stick in her right hand. The peddler listened carefully to her chanting in order to discern what was being said. "...this is mine, my feast... if this old stock ... Dies.... Die...die...hurry up and die! After you are dead, your soul, too, will be mine. Die! Die! Hurry up and go to hell! The sooner..., the better...." This old witch must be smiling, too, though the peddler could not see it. The peddler felt indignation. It was upsetting to see the family members sleep without knowing what was really going on. He could not merely sit there doing nothing about it. He slipped down from the floor and went to a storage room. He came out with a wooden pestle and dashed into the family room. Everyone got up from sleep and looked at this midnight intruder with a pestle in his hand.

Without a single word, the peddler struck the old chanter hard on the head with the pestle. Everyone in the room jumped up and stepped aside, astonished and dumbfounded. And the old fox-woman fell flat with the barking sounds of a fox, and turned back into a white fox with a cracked human skull on its head. While all this was happening everyone in the whole house gathered in the room, looking at one another and at the blood-covered fox. The peddler then told them about what had happened since that evening in the mountain.

"How horrible! It was close! The master would have died...." Next morning, the old master recovered as suddenly as he had fallen ill. The salt peddler was richly rewarded by the master, and from that day on he lived happily without having to peddle salt any longer.

The Fox Girl

From Korean Folktales by James Riordan

There was once a wealthy man who had a son but no daughter. So badly did he want a daughter that he spent much of his time praying at temples and consulting fortune tellers. Finally, his prayers were answered and a girl was born: she was the apple of her father’s eye and could do no wrong.

When she was fifteen years old, the girl went mushrooming on the mountainside and was so engaged in her task that she did not notice the gathering shadows of dusk. Meanwhile, at home, her parents were becoming anxious, and they formed a search party to comb the hills. However, just as they reached the top of a ridge, they spotted the girl through the gloom in the valley below. Her father was much relieved.

“Where have you been, my dear?” asked her father “We were so worried for you; a wild beast could have killed you.”

"Forgive me, Father,” she replied. “I was so tired that I fell asleep beneath a bush; when I awoke the sun was already going down.”

The incident was soon forgotten. But a few days later a strange thing happened: one of the master’s cows died in the night. Next night another died, then another. The bodies showed no sign of wound or illness. The master was so concerned that he ordered the cowherd to keep watch all through the night to catch the culprit.

That night, the man hid behind some hay in the corner of the cowshed and waited patiently.  At midnight he was astonished to see the master’s daughter creep into the shed and approach a cow. Anxiously he watched her oil her hands and arms with sesame oil; then to his horror, she slipped her arm into the cow’s belly and pulled out its liver. And she ate it.

The poor cow rolled over and died.

In the morning the cowherd went to the master and recounted all he had seen.

The father, who loved his daughter with all his heart, shouted angrily at the man, “How dare you invent such wicked stories against my daughter.  You will pay for these lies.”

And the man was dismissed.

Next night a second cowherd was set up to guard the cows. He too hid behind some hay and witnessed the daughter’s odd conduct: she oiled her hands and arms, thrust one arm into the cow’s belly, pulled out the liver and ate it. And the cow rolled over and died.

Next morning, he went to the master and told him the story.

The father still would not believe such tales of his beloved daughter. So, the man was also dismissed.

A third herdsman spent the night in the cowshed and reported all he had seen. He too was sacked.

Thus, it continued: Each night a cow died. Then, when no cows were left, the pigs began to die, and then the horses all of the same mysterious ailment. In the end, all the cowherds, swineherds, and stable boys were dismissed and no one from the village would work for the rich man. All that was left of the once-mighty herd of cattle was a solitary old horse.

Next night, the master sent his only son to solve the mystery. The young man concealed himself behind some hay and kept watch. In the middle of the night, he heard footsteps and the barn door opened. It was his sister stealthily entering. In his relief, he was about to cry out to her. Yet something in her look stopped him: her eyes were sly and narrow, her thin lips cruelly curled, her face stony and stern.

He stared in disbelief as she greased her arms and thrust them into the horse’s belly, pulling out its liver. With blood dripping from her lips, she then chewed and swallowed the steaming meat.

He dared not breathe until she had returned to the house.

At dawn he called his father into the barn and showed him the dead horse.

“Father,” he said grimly, “you will not like what you hear; but I must tell you the truth. It is my sister. She it is who came in the night and ate the horse’s liver.”

His father stared at him with hurt and anger in his eyes. He was silent for a moment, then shouted at his son, “You must be madly jealous of your sister to make up such tales. No doubt you fell asleep and had a nightmare. Get out of my sight, I don’t want you in my house.”

Not knowing where to go, the disconsolate son wandered off into the hills. After several months he came upon an old monk struggling across a mountain stream. Having helped the monk to safety, he was invited to stay the night at a nearby temple.  And there he told the story of this sister. The old man nodded sadly.

"Yes, I understand,” he said. “That night, when your sister was in the hills, she must have been eaten by a fox who took her form, the very likeness of your sister. So, it was really the fox who killed the animals.”

"Then I must return at once,” the lad exclaimed, “and warn my parents.”

"I fear it is too late,” said the old monk. “Morning is wiser than evening. Set out tomorrow.’

Next morning, the young man was given three small bottles: red, green, and blue.

"Take this horse,” said the monk, “and use the bottles as I have instructed.”

With that the boy thanked the monk and rode off down the mountain track. It was several days before he arrived home. Once there, he could hardly believe his eyes: the house and yard were overgrown with weeds. And there, in the middle of the yard, was his sister, sitting in the sun, catching lice and worms, and eating them.

"My dear brother,” she cried on seeing him. “Where have you been all these months? How I’ve missed you.”

She went to hug and kiss him, but he drew back in alarm.

"Where are Father and Mother?” he asked.

"They lie in their graves,” she replied, giving no explanation for their deaths.

Realizing that she had eaten them too, the young man knew he had to escape before she killed him as well but how? Suddenly he had an idea.

“Dear Sister, I have come a long way and I’m very hungry,” he said. “Could you prepare a meal?”

He thought he would escape while she was cooking. But the fox girl was cunning.

"Assuredly, dear Brother. But I shall tie a rope to your leg and the other end to my waist.”

She left him in the yard while she went to prepare some food; every now and then she tugged on the rope to make sure he had not run away. After some time, he managed to undo the knot, tie the rope to a gatepost and ride swiftly away on his horse. It was some time before the fox girl realized she had been tricked.

She rushed after him with the speed of a fox and it was not long before she was gaining on him. He glanced back and, to his horror, saw her rapidly catching up, reaching out her hand to grasp his horse’s tail. Recalling the old monk’s instructions, he swiftly took the little red bottle from his pocket and threw it behind him.

The bottle instantly burst into a ball of red fire, blocking the fox girl’s path.  Although the flames singed her hair and clothes, she raced round the fire and was soon overtaking her brother again. This time he threw down the green bottle and straightaway a dense green bush of brambles sprang up, barring her way.  Although she was scratched and bleeding from the thorns, she fought her way through and began to catch up with the fleeing brother.

Just as she was about to grab the horse’s tail, however, he took out the blue bottle and desperately cast it behind him. This time it formed a mighty blue lake that soon engulfed the fox girl who splashed and thrashed in the water before sinking below the waves.

As the brother watched from the shore, he saw the dead body of the fox float to the surface of the lake. At last, he had killed the fox who had taken his sister’s form.

NATIVE AMERICAN

Why the Fox has a Huge Mouth

One day many years ago, at a time when his mouth was still small and dainty, as in fact it used to be, the fox was out walking and happened to notice a huaychao singing on a hilltop. Fascinated by the bird's flute-like bill, he said politely, "What a lovely flute, friend Huaychao, and how well you play it! Could you let me try it? I'll give it back in a moment, I promise."

The bird refused. But the fox was so insistent that at last the huaychao lent him its bill, advising him to sew up his lips except for a tiny opening so that the 'flute' would fit just right.

Then the fox began to play. He played on and on without stopping. After a while the huaychao asked for its bill back, but still the fox kept on. The bird reminded him, "You promised. Besides, I only use it from time to time; you're playing it constantly." But the fox paid no attention and kept right on.

Awakened by the sound of the flute, skinks came out of their burrows and climbed up the hill in a bustling throng. When they saw the fox playing, they began to dance.

At the sight of the dancing skunks, the fox burst out laughing. As he laughed, his lips became unstitched. His mouth tore open and kept on tearing until he was grinning from ear to ear. Before the fox could regain his composure, the huaychao had picked up his bill and flown away. To this day the fox has a huge mouth - as punishment for breaking his promise.

The Dancing Fox

Foxes love to dance. They dance in the dark with young women who slip quietly from their beds and come running out into the night.

But the fox who dances must wear a disguise. He must hide his long, bushy tail. He must wrap it around him and stuff it inside his trousers, though when he does, he is really too warm. He perspires. Yet still he is able to dance.

Now, one of these foxes was young and amorous, and he never missed the nightly dancing. Toward morning, however, as the cock began to crow, he would always hurry away.

This fine fox was a subtle flatterer, a favorite with all the young women. Each of them wanted to dance with him. And as it happened, one or another would sometimes feel slighted and grow resentful.

One of them once, in a fit of pique, drew her companions aside and pointed out that the fox always left before dawn. Who was he? And why did he run away?

The young woman wondered. Then they made up their minds to catch him and hold him until it was daylight.

The next night, when it was dark, they made their circle and began to dance. Soon the fox appeared, as usual disguised as a young man in shirt and trousers. Suspecting nothing, he danced and sang. The girls made him heady with their caresses, and he became more spirited and more flattering than ever.

As soon as the cock crowed, he started to leave. "No, no," they all cried, "don't go! Not yet! The cock crows six times. You can stay till the fifth."

The dancing continued, and there were more caresses. The fox forgot that he had to leave, and at last the white light of dawn appeared. Frightened, he tried to flee. But the young women held him. They entangled him in their arms. Then suddenly, with a growl, he bit their hands, leaped over their heads, and ran.

As he leaped, his trousers ripped open and out flew his tail. The girls all shrieked with laughter. They called after him and mocked him as he ran out of sight, his long, bushy tail waving between his legs. Then he disappeared and was seen no more. He never came back again.

Kajortoq, the Red Fox

One Summer Day, Kajortoq, the red fox, left her brood of cubs in the den and went out in search of something to eat. On a vast plain she met Aklaq, the brown bear, and said: "Cousin, it has been a long time since I last saw you! What is the matter with you?"

"I am hungry," replied Aklaq.

"Me too. I really am," said Kajortoq. "Let’s hunt together. You go this way and I shall go that way."

"There is nothing this way but ptarmigan," complained Aklaq, "and they are afraid of me. Every time I get close to them, they fly away."

"It is easy for me to catch them," remarked the fox. "But," she added, "I am afraid of men."

"I am not afraid of men," said Aklaq, "but I am unable to catch ptarmigan."

"In that case," declared Kajortoq, "wait for me here; I shall go and get you some ptarmigan. I shall not be long."

Aklaq waited and Kajortoq soon returned with a few ptarmigans. The brown bear was full of joy and thanked his companion again and again. He was very hungry and ate the ptarmigan at once. When he had finished, he said, "You were very kind to bring me some ptarmigan. In return I shall now bring you a man. Wait for me here."

Kajortoq waited but the bear took a long time to return, and when he did arrive, he had no man. Instead, he staggered along; he was losing blood and behind him the ground was red. A man had shot an arrow at him and had wounded him in the side. The shaft of the arrow had broken and the point remained in the flesh.

Kajortoq sympathized: "Cousin, I feel sorry for you. Let me take care of you." Kajortoq built a stone fireplace, lit a fire, and heated some stones.

"Stretch out here," she told the bear. "Stretch your legs and even if I hurt you, do not move. If you stir, you will die because I shall not be able to remove the arrow."

The bear stretched on the ground. The fox took a red-hot stone from the fire and applied it to the wound pushing harder and harder on it. Aklaq moaned and howled with pain, but soon the howls stopped; he was dead.

Kajortoq stood on her hind legs and danced around the bear, laughing loudly: "I can brag to myself. No one could do this but I. I have had enough to eat for a long time." The fox did not return to her lair but remained at this place for the duration of the summer, feeding herself on the meat of the bear.

When winter came, she had run out of provisions. The bear had all been eaten; there was nothing left but the bones. She placed them in a pile and buried them under some boulders.

A while later she saw Amaroq, the wolf, coming toward her and went to meet him. "How are you, cousin?"

"Not too well," answered Amaroq, "I am very hungry."

"Have confidence in me," said Kajortoq. "I shall show you what you have to do to get some food. Do you see that river in front of us?" She pointed to a nearby river covered with a thin coating of ice. Here and there water could be seen through holes in the ice.

"Go over there," suggested Kajortoq. "Try to catch some trout. I am going to make you a fish hook. All you have to do is sit near the hole, tie the hook to your tail and let it sink to the bottom. Remain seated and do not move until the sun sets. At that time, you will pull in your hook. There will be a trout caught on it. Believe me, that is how I caught mine."

The wolf sat beside the hole without moving. Meanwhile, the red fox set out along the shore saying that she was going to look for something to eat. Instead, she hid behind a small hill to watch the wolf, but being careful that he did not see her.

Amaroq stayed where he was for the entire day, confidently awaiting the results of his fishing. By the time the sun had reached the west he realized he had caught nothing. He growled in anger, "Kajortoq lied to me. I am going to run after her and eat her!"

He tried to get up but his tail was stuck to the ice. He pulled on it again and again until all of a sudden it came free; his tail had broken. Frothing with rage and bleeding profusely, the wolf searched the plain for traces of Kajortoq. The fox, however, had slipped away to hide in her hole.

The wolf soon discovered her den and cried, "Come out of your hole so that I can eat you!"

"What are you saying?" answered Kajortoq, sticking her head out of her den to look. As she did so she bent her head to one side and kept one of her eyes closed. "I have never seen you before. What do you want?"

"You deceived me today and I have lost my tail. Now I am going to eat you!"

"I know nothing about that," replied Kajortoq emerging from her hole. "Did you ask that red fox over there? It must be him. I heard someone pass my door a little while ago."

Impatiently, the wolf left Kajortoq to run after the other red fox. Kajortoq saw him go and kept watching until the wolf fell from his wound. By the next morning, having lost all of his blood, Amaroq was dead. Kajortoq stood up on her hind legs and started dancing in circles around him. "I can boast to myself. No one could do this but I."

She lived on the wolf all of that winter. When she had eaten all his flesh, she made a pile of the bones and went elsewhere in search of food.

One day she saw coming toward her a brown female bear who looked larger and more terrifying than any bear Kajortoq had ever seen.

The bear addressed the fox angrily. "Did you know my son? He left last spring to hunt but he did not come back. I have found his bones near this hill."

“I know nothing about it," answered Kajortoq. "I did not see him. I shall follow you and you can show me where his bones are."

They left together. The fox recognized the place where she had killed Aklaq. Seeing that the female bear was crying Kajortoq pretended to be full of sorrow.

"Tears won’t help you," she told the mother bear. "I believe I know who killed your son. Wait here awhile for me."

Kajortoq climbed to the top of a hill. From this vantage point she looked in all directions and saw another brown bear. She returned in haste to the female bear and said, "The one who killed your son is over there. Go and attack him. He is big and strong but I shall help you."

While the bears fought Kajortoq jumped around pretending to help. In fact, she only spattered blood on her hair. At length the female bear killed the other bear. She turned to the fox and said gratefully, "You helped me, thank you. Take all this meat. I am tired and wounded and do not want any of it." The bear started homeward, but died of her wounds before she was out of sight.

Kajortoq once again danced for joy and was happy. The two bears would provide plenty of meat for a long time to come.

Coyote & The Rock

From Coyote & Native American Folk Tales retold by Joe Hayes, Maripose Publishing, 1983.

Once Coyote and Fox went walking together. They came to a big, smooth rock. Coyote spread his blanket over it and together they sat down on the rock and smoked their pipes.

When they stood up to go, Coyote looked down at the rock and said, "What a nice rock this is! I think I'll give it my blanket. My blanket will keep this good rock warm and dry."

Then Coyote walked off with Fox, leaving his blanket behind covering the rock. They walked down the hillside toward the river. But they hadn't gone far when dark clouds gathered above and a cold rain began to fall.

Coyote hugged himself and shivered. "Brrrrr! Now I wish I still had my blanket." And he told Fox, "Run back and tell Rock I want to borrow my blanket for a while."

Fox ran off up the hill, but he returned without the blanket. "Rock wouldn't let me have it," he told Coyote. "He says it's his and he wants to use it."

That made Coyote angry. "That selfish rock!" he muttered. And he ran back up the hill and jerked the blanket off Rock.

"Rock," Coyote growled, "you've been lying there in the sun and rain for a thousand summers and winters. It wouldn't hurt you to get a few more raindrops on you. I only wanted to borrow my blanket for a short time to keep dry. Now I'm taking my blanket back. You can lie here uncovered for the rest of time!"

Coyote threw his blanket around himself and Fox and they continued their walk down the hill.

Soon the sun came back out and Coyote and Fox sat down again to talk. But just when they sat down, they heard a strange noise above them -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump.

"Fox," Coyote said, "run up the hill and see what is making that noise."

Fox disappeared over the crest of the hill, but he soon reappeared, running as fast as he could, with his tail stretched out behind him. "Coyote!" Fox barked, "Run for your life! The rock is after us!"

Fox dived into a badger hole, but his tail didn't quite make it out of the way. Rock rolled over the tip of Fox's tail and to this day it has been white.

Coyote turned and dashed toward the river. He leaped into the water and swam to the other side. Coyote shook himself and sat down on the bank to rest. He knew the rock would sink if it tried to cross the river after him.

Imagine Coyote's surprise when he saw the rock roll into the river and begin to swim across -- a-blub-blub-blub-blub -- a-blub-blub-blub-blub.

Coyote ran into a thick forest. Surely the trees would stop Rock. He reached the center of the forest and paused to catch his breath. Coyote heard a terrible crashing and thundering as Rock toppled the trees and knocked them to splinters. And on it came -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump.

Coyote ran toward the prairie at the far side of the forest. When he reached the edge of the trees, he met Bear.

"Bear!" Coyote panted. "Please help me. A rock is after me!"

Bear roared, "Waaaahhh! I'll swat that rock with my paw!"

Bear sat down to wait, and when Rock came past, he swung his paw. "Aaaooouuuuu!" Bear rocked back clutching his broken paw against his chest.

The rock rolled on -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump.

Coyote ran across the prairie, and he saw Buffalo grazing on some green grass. "Buffalo!" Coyote begged. "Please help me. A rock is after me."

Buffalo snorted, "I'll butt that rock with my head!" And Buffalo lowered his head and charged at the rock. They met -- Boom! Buffalo flew through the air. His horns were broken and his head split wide open.

And the rock rolled on -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump -- a-thump-thump-thump-thump.

Coyote ran and ran. Now the rock was right at his heels -- thump-thump-thump. He saw a lodge ahead of him, and standing near it were two old women with stone hatchets in their hands. The women called to him, "Run between us, Coyote. Run between us!"

Coyote did. And then the rock passed between the old women, they lowered their hatchets -- crack! The rock shattered into a thousand pieces.

Coyote lay on the ground with his heart pounding, panting for his breath. The old women walked to the other side of the lodge and whispered to each other. But Coyote could hear what they were saying.

"How nice and fat Coyote is," the old women whispered. "He'll make a fine meal for us."

Then Coyote knew the old women were witches. He'd better plan his escape. He saw some jugs of water beside the lodge and he crept over and dumped the water out.

When the old women returned, Coyote said, "I'm thirsty from that long run. Could I have a drink of water?"

They said, "Certainly. Drink from one of those jugs over there."

Coyote walked over to the jugs. "These are all empty," he told them. "But that's all right. I'll take one down to the river and fill it."

Coyote picked up a jug and walked off. As soon as he was sure the women couldn't see him, he threw the jug to the ground and ran off laughing to himself.

When coyote didn't come back, the witches realized that he had tricked them. They began to argue, each one accusing the other of letting Coyote escape.

Finally, they grew so angry they picked up their stone hatchets and hit one another over the head. And that was the end of those witches. And it's the end of the story too.

But not the end of Coyote. He had many more adventures.

FRENCH

The Fox and the Little Prince From Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's -- The Little Prince

The Little Prince was in a French countryside, and wandered through a field. He hadn't seen anyone for miles, and the last person he talked to was a grown-up that told him to go away, since he was so busy. So, the Little Prince is all alone in this meadow, in the middle of no place, lonely, bored, and sad. All of a sudden, a small tuft of gold and red fur peeks up behind the grass mounds, and the Little Prince asks the air....

"Who's there?" A very reluctant fox peeks his head up better for the Prince to see him. Of course, the Little Prince never saw a fox, and was curious. "What are you? You're pretty to look at."

The Fox was puzzled, and asked the boy: "You don't know what I am? You're not sent by the farmer to trick me?" the Little Prince looks confused now, and shakes his head. The fox continues "I'm a fox. Who are you?"

The fox maintains his distance...not going close to the Little Prince at all. The Prince tells the fox who he is, and where he is from; a small planet very-very far away. The fox looks at him as if he had just told him an ordinary fact. The fox asks "Are there any farmers where you live?"

The Prince says no.

The Fox asks: "Are there any guns?"

The Prince says no, "Just me, my little plants, my small volcanoes, and my Red Rose under glass."

The fox smiles, and says: "That sounds perfect. Are there any chickens?"

The Prince says no.

The fox says "Well, no place is perfect then."

The Little Prince gets restless, and asks if he can pet the fox. The fox tells him no. "I can't be petted or played with, and you can never be more than an acquaintance."

Sad, but not discouraged, the Little Prince asks the fox why, because he's lonely, and hasn't had anyone to talk with or play with him in ages. The fox shakes his head, and says: "I'm not tame. I can't trust anyone, and all I care about right now is hunting chickens, so I don't have time to be tamed."

The Little Prince asks what ‘tame’ means.

The fox smiles, and explains:" It takes a very long time. It can't be done in minutes. You'd have to invest a lot of your free time, and sacrifice your own wishes to succeed. You need to show you're trustworthy and special."

The Little Prince doesn't understand. He asks, " What do you mean special? What do you mean time, and trustworthy?" the fox continues.

"It means, you have to make a promise. And keep it every day. It's a sacrifice, but I suppose hunting chickens will bore me soon, and you have free time to spare, so...I'll let you tame me. You must come here, to this meadow every day at the same time. Sit at the edge of that field at that same time, in the same spot. I will stay here, in my spot every day, at the same time. Soon, I will come closer. But you will stay in your spot, and will not move. One day, I'll be right in front of you. Then, perhaps the next day after that, I will talk with you. And every day after that, we will talk. Then, I will let you pet me. Then...one day...I will play with you." The Little Prince shakes his head. "Why would it take so long? I'm lonely now." The Fox answers, "You won't understand now. But if you keep your promise, and show up here every day, and sit there at the same time every day, I will one day have something to look forward to, as will you." The Little Prince reluctantly agrees, having nothing else to do, and being curious just the same. The next day, he comes to the field and sits in a spot. The fox shows up a little later, sitting far at the other end of the meadow, by the trees hidden from the Little Prince's gaze.

This continues for a week, then 2, finally after about a month or so, the Little Prince and the fox are playing, and good friends. They talk about everything and nothing...they run around and play tag and other games. The Little Prince tells the fox about his Red Rose on his tiny planet; he reveals how she is cruel to him, snobby, and selfish. She only opens her petals for him, and despite how rude she is sometimes, he still has to take care of her, and he still is overjoyed when he is by her.

He then tells of his anger when he realized she lied to him. She told him she was the only rose of her kind, that no other flower was as beautiful as her. But he saw a whole garden filled with red roses Just like her! He was hurt, and knows how sad she'll be to know she's not special at all.

The fox listens to all of this, and every day, when their visit is over, he leaves for his den.

Weeks pass... The next time they meet, the fox tells the Little Prince he can no longer come to the field and see him anymore. The Little Prince is frantic, afraid he said something to hurt the fox's feelings. The fox shakes his head.

"There is no use crying...or begging me to stay. You've tamed me, and now I have to return to the wild again. I won't ever be the same again, because out of all the humans, you have treated me the kindest. I promised you I would tell you why we had to take so long to tame me...Men have forgotten that 'what is essential to life, cannot be observed by the eye' Only what we feel in our hearts is what lasts, what's real. By taming me, you made this time special to me, on what would ordinarily be just another day, or you--just another human. You are now special to me, the way your Rose is special to you. No one can understand this, because over all the humans in the world, you are the only one I befriended, the only one I will remember. Now, every day at the same time I will think of you. And every day at the same time, you will think about me. Never let anyone tell you your rose is ordinary, for only she has tamed you, and only you are special to her, thus, she is unique to your heart."

The Little Prince cried and cried, not wanting to part with his new friend. He asked, "What is the meaning of making friends that you tame if you lose them?"

The Fox replied one last time, "It will always matter to me. Remember, 'what is essential in life cannot by observed by the eye.' " And then, the fox smiled, and ran off into the forest again, this time, not to return.... And the Little Prince left the field sadly...and for a few days, he returned, looking to see if the fox would be there again by chance. Finally, he moves on to the next place...and comes to the same garden of roses he found that day... He stands defiantly at them all: "All of you are useless, ugly, and ordinary! My rose is the most beautiful and unique flower in the universe, and she is special to me, and I to her!”

GERMAN

Reynard the Fox and Isengrin the Wolf Reynard the Fox wanted a drink.

It was hot and he had been running all day. It was night when he came across a well; there was a big moon in the sky.  The Fox could see a bucket at the top of the well.  But there was no water in the bucket. Reynard looked into the well and could see the water at the bottom. The Fox jumped into the bucket and down he went to the bottom of the well.  And as the bucket went down into the well, the other bucket came up to the top of the well. The Fox drank all the water he wanted. Then he found that he could not get out of the well. The other bucket had gone to the top of the well. "If someone would only get into the bucket at the top of the well," said Reynard to himself, "that bucket would come down to the bottom of the well and the bucket that I am in would go to the top." It was while Reynard was talking to himself that Isengrim the Wolf looked over the edge of the well. "I thought I heard someone talking down there." said Isengrim. "Hello, my good friend," called Reynard. "What are you doing down in the well?" asked Isengrim. "I am having a great feast." called Reynard. "Can't you see the big cheese I am eating? It is so big that I cannot eat all of it." Isengrim the Wolf looked into the well. He saw the reflection of the big yellow moon and he thought it was a big cheese. "Get into the bucket and come down and have a feast with me," called Reynard. Reynard had played many tricks on Isengrim and the wolf did not trust him. He looked down into the well again. There he saw what he thought was a big yellow cheese. And he began to want some of that cheese very much. "On your way home," called Reynard, "stop at my house and send my wife and children to me. I would like them to have some of this cheese." "I would like to have some of that cheese, too," said Isengrim. And the wolf got into the bucket. Down went Isengrim to the bottom of the well.  And as he went down to the bottom, the bucket with Reynard in it came to the top. "Have a good feast on the cheese!" called Reynard. When the bucket reached the top of the well the fox jumped out and ran home. Isengrim, at the bottom of the well, howled and howled. Some farmers came and threw stones down into the well. When morning came, Isengrim the Wolf was dead.

The Skinned Goat

There once lived a father and his son, and they had a goat. The boy had to drive her to the pasture every day. But this goat was an old hag. In the evening the father used to ask her if she had enough to eat and drink. But she always answered, "How can I have had enough to eat and to drink, if I have not even seen one stalk of grass and one drop of water?" Then the son always got a sound beating.

One day the father decided to find out for himself. He saw that after having eaten off three meadows and drunk up three ponds, she still pretended to be hungry. Now the old man decided to slaughter the goat.

He had already stuck and halfway skinned her, when he noticed his knife was getting blunt. He went into the house to sharpen it. No sooner had he gone than the goat got up and ran into the woods, where she hid in a foxhole.

When the fox came home and wanted to get into his hole, he was terribly frightened, for out of his hole there came a voice saying; "Halfway skinned and halfway killed, I am a piece of mutton. Come on in and I’ll eat you up!"

The fox was afraid and went right away to his brother-in-law, the bear, and told him about his grief. The bear went with him to the spot, got into the hole, but turned around immediately, when he heard the horrible words.

"I can’t do anything in this matter," he said and ran away.

In his distress the fox went to the panther, then to the tiger, and finally to the lion. But none of them could help him, and they all took to their heels.

At last, the fox met the bumblebee, to whom he poured out his complaints. The bumblebee said, "I will help you."

"Bigger ones have tried in vain to help me, and you think you can do it?" replied the fox. But he obediently led the bumblebee to the hole. It flew buzzing inside, sat down on one of the skinned parts, and started stinging vigorously. The goat soon felt the pain and ran bleating out of the hole, where she fell again into the hands of her master, who had been looking for her, and so she was killed completely.

The Fox and the Hare in Winter

The Hare is able to support himself even in the coldest winter. He is satisfied with the buds he finds in hedges and shrubs.

One cold winter, the hare me the fox. Surprised, the fox asked the hare, "How fine and well fed you look! What are you living on these days? I am so hungry and I cannot find anything to eat."

The hare replied, "I have been living on eggs of late."

"On eggs! How on earth do you get them?" the fox wondered.

The hare answered, "This is what I do. There are women coming along here with basketfuls of eggs that they are taking to market. When I see a woman coming, I let myself fall flat on the ground before her, as if I were wounded by a shot. Then the woman puts her basket down in order to catch me and to take me to the market. Just as she thinks she had caught me; I stagger on for about ten steps and let myself fall to the ground again. I repeat this several times, until I am far away from the basket. Then I hurry back to the basket and carry it into the wood, and there I have enough food for a whole week."

The fox replied, "I like that. Wouldn’t you help me get some eggs, too, in these hard times?"

"With great pleasure," replied the hare, "if you will be kind enough to let me have my share."

As agreed, they took their positions behind a bush on the road. The fox got a basketful of eggs in the described manner, and he hurried into the wood with it. The hare followed him in order to get his share. When he reached him, the fox had divided up the eggs into several little piles. The hare asked him with astonishment, "Why so many shares?"

Pointing to the different piles, the fox replied, "This one is for my father; this one for my mother; the other one is for my brother and my sister and the last one is mine."

"And where is my share?" asked the hare in surprise.

"There is nothing left for you," was the answer. Too weak to punish the fox, the hare left angrily. But I decided to watch for a chance to pay back the fox.

After some time, the hare and the fox met again. It was very cold, and the earth was covered with snow. Again, the fox wondered at the hare’s prosperous look, since he himself was suffering terribly from hunger. Thus, he asked, "What are you living on now?"

"On fish," the hare replied.

"Please," said the fox, "couldn’t you let me have some as well to appease my hunger?"

The hare answered, "I shall help you once more. Not far from here by the castle, there is a fishpond. The inhabitants have made a hole in the ice in order to catch fish. In the evening I go there; I stand on the ice and put my little tail into the hole, and after some time, I draw it out and there are plenty of fish hanging on it."

"Well," replied the fox, "this sounds all right to me. With my long tail, I should be able to catch a lot."

The hare said, "You will find me at the fishpond tonight."

At night they met at the appointed place, and the hare said, "Sit down by the hole, put your tail into the water, and remain like this until I come back. I shall go over to the garden to eat some cabbage."

The hare went away, and the fox remained there patiently, happily thinking of appeasing his gnawing hunger. After a while he tried pulling and found that his tail was getting heavy. But he continued to sit there, just as the hare had told him to do.

It was a long time before the hare came back and asked, "How are things going?"

The fox replied, "You have been away for a very long time. I have tried once, but my tail is so heavy that you will have to help me get it out."

The hare said, "Pull hard!"

But the fox could not get it out. He pulled as hard as he could, but the tail was frozen fast in the ice.

Now the hare approached with a stick, hit him over the head, crying, "This one is for my father; this one is for my mother; this one is for my brother and my sister; and the last one is for me!" He knocked him on the head from the right side and from the left, until the fox fell down dead.

The Fox and the Wolf

The fox and the wolf once divided the produce of their common work in a field. But the fox cheated the wolf when sifting the chaff from the corn: he kept the corn for himself and left the chaff for the wolf. The wolf was satisfied with this distribution, because his heap was bigger than that of the fox. Then they both went grinding. When the corn was being ground, the millstones noisily said, "cricks cracks," but when the chaff was being ground, they only said very softly, "climm clamm," so that the sound could barely be heard.

The wolf listened to this with astonishment. He could not explain it, and asked, "How is it that before the millstones said ‘cricks cracks’, whereas now they only whisper ‘climm clamm?’"

The sly fox gave him the advice, "Throw small stones and sand among it; then you can hear the grinding better!"

This is what the stupid wolf did. And hark! What a noise the millstones made now. They grated so loudly that one had to shut one’s ears. The wolf jumped for joy when he heard the millstones making more noise when grinding the chaff than when grinding the corn.

Fox Hill near Dodow

Karl Bartsch

In the village of Dodow near Wittenburg there lived an old woman who possessed a fox strap. With its help she could transform herself into a fox, and thus her table never lacked geese, ducks, and all kinds of poultry.

Her grandchild knew about it, and one day when the schoolmaster was talking about magic in the school, the child talked about the fox strap, and the next day brought it to school.

The schoolmaster took it into his hand and unintentionally approached his head with it. Suddenly he was standing before the children, transformed into a fox. They broke out with a deafening noise. This so frightened the little schoolmaster that he jumped out the window with a single leap.

He ran to the hill that lay near the village and there built himself a den.

One day a great hunt was organized, and our fox was among those pursued by the huntsmen. A bullet hit him, and suddenly a schoolmaster was lying there before the bewildered huntsman. The bullet had struck the fox strap and ripped it apart.

In memory of this event the people of Dodow gave the name Fox Hill to the place where their schoolmaster had lived.

ITALIAN

Giovannuzza the Fox

There was once a poor man who had an only son, and the boy was as simple-minded and ignorant as they come. When his father was about to die, he said to the youth, whose name was Joseph, "Son I am dying, and I have nothing to leave you but this cottage and the pear tree beside it."

The father died, and Joseph lived on in the cottage alone, selling the pears from the tree to provide for himself. But once the season for pears was over, it looked as though he would starve to death, since he was incapable of earning his bread any other way. Strangely enough, the season for pears ended, but not the pears. When they’d all been picked, others came out in their place, even in the middle of winter; it was a charming pear tree that bore fruit all year long, and so the youth was able to go on providing for himself.

On morning Joseph went out a usual to pick the ripe pears and discovered they’d already been picked by somebody else. "How will I manage now?" he wondered. "If people steal my pears, I’m done for. Tonight, I shall stay up and keep watch." When it grew dark, he stationed himself under the pear tree with his shotgun, but soon fell asleep; he woke up to find that all the ripe pears had been picked. The next night he resumed his watch, but fell asleep right in the middle of it, and the pears were stolen again. The third night, in addition to the shotgun, he carried along a shepherd’s pipe and proceeded to play it under the pear tree. Then he stopped playing, and Giovannuzza the fox, who was stealing the pears, thinking Joseph had fallen asleep, came running out and climbed the tree.

Joseph aimed his gun at her, and the fox spoke. "Don’t shoot, Joseph. If you give me a basket of pears, I will see to it that you prosper."

"But, Giovannuzza, if I let you have a basketful, what will I then eat myself?"

"Don’t worry, just do as I say, and you will prosper for sure."

So, the youth gave the fox a basket of his finest pears, which she then carried to the king.

"Sacred Crown," she said, "my master sends you this basket of pears and begs your gracious acceptance of them."

"Pears at this time of year?" exclaimed the king. "It will be the first time I’ve ever eaten any in this season! Who is your master?"

"Count Peartree," replied Giovannuzza.

"But how does he manage to have pears in this season?" asked the king.

"Oh, he has everything," replied the fox. "He’s the richest man in existence."

"Richer than I am?" asked the king.

"Yes, even richer than you, Sacred Crown."

The king was thoughtful. "What could I give him in return?" he asked.

"Don’t bother, Sacred Crown," said Giovannuzza. "Don’t give it a thought; he’s so rich that whatever present you gave him would look paltry."

"Well, in that case," said the king, very embarrassed, "tell Count Peartree I thank him for his wonderful pears."

When he saw the fox back, Joseph exclaimed, "But Giovannuzza, you’ve brought me nothing in return for the pears, and her I am starving to death!"

"Put your mind at rest," replied the fox. "Leave everything to me. Again, I tell you that you will prosper!"

A few days later, Giovannuzza said, "You must let me have another basket of pears."

"But, sister, what will I eat if you carry off all my pears?"

"Put your mind at rest and leave everything to me."

She took the basket to the king and said, "Sacred Crown, since you graciously accepted the first basket of pears, my master, Count Peartree, takes the liberty of offering you a second basket."

"I can’t believe it!" exclaimed the king. "Pears freshly picked at this time of year!"

"That’s nothing," replied the fox. "My master takes no account of the pears, he has so much else far more precious."

"But how can I repay his kindness?"

"Concerning that," said Giovannuzza, "he instructed me to convey his request to you for one thing in particular."

"Which is? If Count Peartree is so rich, I can’t imagine what I could do that would be fitting."

"Your daughter’s hand in marriage," said the fox.

The king opened his eyes wide. "But even that is too great an honor for me, since he is so much richer than I am."

"Sacred Crown, if it doesn’t him, why should it worry you? Count Peartree truly wants your daughter, and it makes no difference to him whether the dowry is large or not so large, since no matter how big it is, beside all his wealth it will only be a drop in the bucket."

"Very well, in that case, please ask him to come and dine here."

So Giovannuzza the fox went back to Joseph and said, "I told the king that you are Count Peartree and that you wish to marry his daughter."

"Sister, look at what you’ve done! When the king sees me, he will have me beheaded!"

"Leave everything to me, and don’t worry," replied the fox. She went to a tailor and said, "My master, Count Peartree, wants the finest outfit you have in stock. I will pay you in cash, another time."

The tailor gave her clothing fit for a great lord, and the fox then visited a horse dealer." Will you sell me, for Count Peartree, the finest horse in the lot? We won’t look at prices, payment will be made on the morrow."

Dressed as a great lord and seated in the saddle of a magnificent horse, Joseph rode to the palace, with the fox running ahead of him. "Giovannuzza," he cried, "when the king speaks to me, what shall I reply? I’m too scared to say a word in front of important people."

"Let me do the talking and don’t worry about a thing. All you need to say is, ‘Good day’ and ‘Sacred Crown,’ and I’ll fill in the rest."

They arrived at the palace, where the king hastened up to Count Peartree, greeting him with full honors. "Sacred Crown," said Joseph.

The king escorted him to the table, where his beautiful daughter was already seated. "Good day," said Count Peartree.

They sat down and began talking, but Count Peartree didn’t open his mouth. "Sister Giovannuzza," whispered the king to the fox, "has the cat got your master’s tongue?"

"Oh, you know, Sacred Crown, when a man has so much land and so much wealth to think about, he worries all the time."

So, throughout the visit, the king was careful not to disturb Count Peartree’s thoughts.

The next morning, Giovannuzza said to Joseph, "Give me one more basket of pears to take to the king."

"Do as you wish, sister," replied the youth, "but it will be my downfall, you will see."

"Put your mind at rest!" exclaimed the fox. "I assure you that you will prosper."

He therefore picked the pears, which the fox carried to the king, saying, "My master, Count Peartree, sends you this basket of pears, and would like an answer to his request."

"Tell the count that the wedding can take place whenever he likes," replied the king. Overjoyed, the fox returned to Joseph with the answer.

"But, sister Giovannuzza, where will I take this bride to live? I can hardly bring her here to this hovel!"

"Leave that up to me. What are you worried about? Haven’t I done all right so far?"

Thus, a grand wedding was performed, and Count Peartree took the king’s beautiful daughter to be his wife.

A few days later Giovannuzza the fox announced: "My master intends to carry the bride to his palace."

"Fine," said the king. "I will go along with them, so I can finally see all of Count Peartree’s possessions."

Everyone mounted horses, and the king was accompanied by a large body of knights. As they rode toward the plain, Giovannuzza said, "I shall run ahead and order preparations made for your arrival." As she raced onward, she met a flock of thousands upon thousands of sheep, and asked the shepherds, "Whose sheep are these?"

"Papa Ogre’s," they told her.

"Keep your voice down," whispered the fox. "Do you see that long cavalcade approaching? That’s the king who’s declared war on Papa Ogre. Tell him the sheep are Papa Ogre’s, and the knights will slay you."

"What are we to say, then?"

"I don’t know! Try, ‘They belong to Count Peartree!’ "

When the king came up to the flock, he asked, "Who owns this superb flock of sheep?"

"Count Peartree!" cried the shepherds.

"My heavens, the man really must be rich!" exclaimed the king, overjoyed.

A bit further on, the fox met a herd of thousands upon thousands of pigs. "Whose pigs are these?" she asked the swine herds.

"Papa Ogre’s."

"Shhhhhhhh, see all those soldiers coming down the road on horseback? Tell them they are Papa Ogre’s and they’ll kill you. You must say they are Count Peartree’s"

When the king approached and asked the swine herds whose pigs those were, they told him, "Count Peartree’s," and the king was quite glad to have a son-in-law so rich.

Next the king’s party met a vast herd of horses. "Whose horses are these?" asked the king. "Count Peartree’s." Then they saw a drove of cattle. "Whose cattle?" "Count Peartree’s." And the king felt ever happier over the fine match his daughter had made.

Finally, Giovannuzza reached the palace where Papa Ogre lived all alone with his wife, Mamma Ogress. Rushing inside, she exclaimed, "Oh, you poor things, if you only knew what a horrible destiny is in store for you!"

"What has happened?" asked Papa Ogre, scared to death.

"See that cloud of dust approaching? It’s a regiment of cavalry dispatched by the king to kill you!"

"Sister fox, sister fox, help us!" whimpered the couple.

"Know what I advise?" said Giovannuzza. "Go hide in the stove. I’ll give the signal when they’ve all gone."

Papa Ogre and Mamma Ogress obeyed. They crawled into the stove and, once inside, pleaded with Giovannuzza. "Giovannuzza dear, close up the mouth of the stove with tree branches, so they won’t see us." That was just what the fox had in mind, and she completely stopped up the opening with branches.

Then she went and stood on the doorstep, and when the king arrived, she curtseyed and said, "Sacred Crown, please deign to dismount; this is the palace of Count Peartree."

The king and the newlyweds dismounted, climbed the grand staircase, and beheld such wealth and magnificence as to leave the king speechless and pensive. "Not even my palace," he said to himself, "is half so beautiful." And Joseph, poor man, stood gaping beside him.

"Why," asked the king, "are there no servants around?"

In a flash, the fox answered, "They were all dismissed, since my master wanted to make no arrangements whatever before first knowing the wishes of his beautiful new wife. Now she can command what best suits her."

When they had scrutinized everything, the king returned to his own palace, while Count Peartree remained behind with the king’s daughter in Papa Ogre’s palace.

Meanwhile Papa Ogre and Mamma Ogress were still closed up in the stove. At night the fox went up to the stove and whispered, "Papa Ogre, Mamma Ogress, are you still there?"

"Yes," they answered in a weak voice.

"And there you will remain," replied the fox. She lit the branches, made a big fire, and Papa Ogre and Mamma Ogress burned up in the stove.

"Now you are rich and happy," said Giovannuzza to Count Peartree and his wife, "and must promise me one thing: when I die, you must lay me out in a beautiful coffin and bury me with full honors."

"Oh, sister Giovannuzza," said the king’s daughter, who had grown quite fond of the fox, "why do you talk about death?"

A little later, Giovannuzza decided to put the couple to the test. She played dead. When the king’s daughter saw her stretched out stiff, she exclaimed, "Oh, Giovannuzza is dead! Our poor dear friend! We must have a very beautiful coffin built at once for her."

"A coffin for an animal?" said Count Peartree. "We’ll just pitch her out the window!" And he grabbed her by the tail.

At that, the fox jumped up and cried, "Penniless man! Faithless, ungrateful wretch! Have you forgotten everything? Forgotten that your prosperity is due to me? You’d still be living on charity, if it hadn’t been for me! You stingy thing! Ungrateful, faithless wretch!"

"Fox," begged Count Peartree all flustered, "forgive me, dear friend, please forgive me. I meant no harm, the words just slipped out, I spoke without thinking…"

"This is the last you’ll see of me"—and she made for the door.

"Forgive me, Giovannuzza, please, remain with us…" But the fox ran off down the road, disappeared around the bend, and was never seen again

JEWISH

The Fox and the Fishes

In the morning of the world, says an old Jewish Legend, the vast seas were empty except for the huge bulk of the monster Leviathan, lurking at the bottom of the ocean. He was a king without subjects until the Angel of Death was sent to populate the seas by drowning one member of every species of land creature and transforming it into a fish.

The fox determined that he would outsmart the Angel of Death and cheat the Leviathan. As he sat on a bank beside the sea, contemplating his watery future and wondering how he could escape it, his reflection gave him his cue just as the shadow of Death fell upon him.

Instantly, the fox burst into tears and loud lamentations.

"Why do you cry, Fox?" asked the Angel, impatient to get on with his work.

"I am mourning my friend," said the fox, sobbing. "As your shadow passed over him, he threw himself into the sea in his haste to join the Leviathan's legions. There he is now." The fox waved sadly at the creature in the water who waved sadly back at him.

"Good, good," said the Angel, and flew away.

All went well for the fox until a year later when his deception was discovered by Leviathan himself. During the counting of the fish, he realized that there was no fox fish among them. Displeased, Leviathan lashed his dragon-tail through the waters, demanding to know why. The timid parrot fish told how the fox had tricked the Angel of Death.

"Bring me the fox alive," Leviathan commanded the catfish. "I wish to eat his heart and thereby gain his cleverness. Tell him that I am dying and wish to make him King of the Fish in my place."

The catfish soon found the fox, and told him Leviathan's story. Proud of the honor, the fox hurried onto the catfish's back.

On the long journey, the fox had time to reflect and wondered if he had not been tricked. "O Catfish, now that I can't escape, tell me what the real purpose of this trip is," said the fox. The catfish revealed Leviathan's plan with great satisfaction. Fox was not so clever after all, he thought.

"My heart!" cried the fox. "He wants to eat my heart! Now you are in trouble because I haven't got it with me. Why didn't you tell me while there was still time? Didn't you know that we foxes never carry our precious hearts with us? It is back home, safe in my burrow."

The fox suggested they return to shore to retrieve the heart. When they reached land, however, the fox jumped off and scampered away, jeering at the catfish's stupidity. The catfish hid beneath the bank, where he remained, afraid to face the wrath of Leviathan. The fox has never returned to the shore, which is why to this day there are no fox fish in the sea.

PAKISTANIS

The Five Little Foxes and the Tiger

Once upon a time, on the plains of East Pakistan, a fox and his wife lived in a little hole. They had five children who were too young to feed themselves, and so every evening Mr. and Mrs. Fox crept out of their hole and made their way to the bazaar or market place, which was full of roughly-made stalls.

But they didn’t go there to buy anything. They waited until all the people had gone home to their suppers, and then the two foxes crept amongst the stalls looking for scraps of food for their children.

Sometimes they found nothing but a few grains of rice or shreds of pumpkin but at other times they picked up quite large pieces of fish or meat which had been dropped unnoticed by a stall-holder.

Then the two foxes were overjoyed and would hurry home talking happily together. But no matter who had found the most food – and to be truthful it was nearly always Mrs. Fox who was the better scavenger – Mr. Fox was so full of pride at his cleverness that he could not stop boasting.

“How much sense have you got, my dear?” he would ask his wife as they hurried along between large tufts of brown grass and withered-looking bushes.

“About as much as would fill a small vegetable basket,” Mrs. Fox would reply modestly.

Then after a few minutes she would say, “And how much sense have you got, my good husband?”

“As much as would fill twelve large sacks, needing twelve strong oxen to carry them,” the conceited Mr. Fox would reply, time and time again.

Now one evening, when the two foxes were on their way home with food for their children, and Mr. Fox had just told his wife for the hundredth time how clever he was, a large tiger suddenly stepped out from behind a bush and barred their way.

“At last, I’ve got you,” growled the tiger, showing them his sharp white teeth, which glistened in the moonlight.

Mr. Fox began to tremble and his legs gave way, so that he crumpled up into a heap and lost the power to speak.

But clever Mrs. Fox held her head high, and looking straight into the flashing eyes of the tiger, she said with a smile, “How glad we are to have met you, O Uncle! My husband and I have been having an argument, and since neither will give way to the other, we decided that we would ask the first superior animal who crossed our path to settle the matter for us.”

The tiger was surprised at being spoken to so politely, and also very flattered at being called ‘Uncle’, which is a term of great respect in Pakistan.

So, he did not spring at the foxes to kill and eat them, but replied, “Very well. I will help you if I can. Tell me what you were arguing about.”

“My husband and I have decided to part company,” said Mrs. Fox in a clear, calm voice, while her husband, who had closed his eyes in fear, now opened them wide in surprise. “But we have five children waiting at home for us, and we cannot decide how to divide them between us fairly. I think that I should have three, since I have had to spend more time looking after them than my husband, and that he should have only two. But my husband insists that I let him have the three boy cubs, and that I keep only the two girl cubs. Now, O wise Uncle, who do you think is right?”

When Mrs. Fox saw the tiger licking his lips, she knew that he was thinking that somehow, he must have the five fox cubs as well as their parents for his dinner. And this was exactly what she had hoped for.

“I must see the cubs for myself before I can make a decision,” said the tiger. “Will you take me to your home?”

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Fox. “We will lead the way, and you shall follow.”

Poor Mr. Fox was completely at a loss to know what his wife was doing, but thinking that anything would be better than being eaten alive by a tiger, he staggered to his feet and followed his wife along the rough track, until they reached their home.

“Wait here,” said Mrs. Fox to the tiger. “You are too big to get inside our hole, so we will bring the children outside for you to see.”

She turned to her husband to tell him to go in, but he, needing no encouragement to get away from the tiger, shot into the opening like a flash.

Mrs. Fox went in more slowly, talking all the time, saying that she would not keep him waiting more than a moment, and thanking him for being so gracious as to promise to judge their case for them.

Once inside their hole, the foxes gathered their children together as far away from the opening as possible, and in whispers told them what happened.

“Don’t make a sound,” said Mrs. Fox, “and presently the tiger will realize he has been tricked, and will go away.”

She was right. The tiger waited for hours, first patiently, then furiously, as it gradually dawned on him that the foxes had no intention of letting him see their children, and when the sun rose the next morning, he had to go hungrily away.

After this, Mr. and Mrs. Fox went by a different path to the bazaar, and kept a sharp look-out for tigers.

Mr. Fox never again asked his wife how much sense she had, but once or twice, when he showed signs of becoming proud again, she would say to him, “How much sense have you got, my dear?” and he would answer with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh! About as much as would fill a small vegetable basket – a very small one, I’m afraid.”

PALESTINE

The Fox and the Sheepskin Jacket

Once upon a time a fox living in Palestine lifted his head from the undergrowth where he had been hiding, and saw an eagle.

‘Hallo!’ cried the eagle as it swooped down close to the fox. ‘How you can bear to live all your life down there on the ground, I do not know. You really are a most un-enterprising creature.’

Then the eagle soared up into the blue sky again, and as the fox watched it he half wished that he could fly too.

In a few moments the eagle was swooping down again, saying, ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes, I did,’ called the fox. ‘What does the world look like from so high?’

The eagle alighted beside him and replied, ‘Sometimes it is so far away this it is almost invisible.’

The fox laughed scornfully. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.

This annoyed the eagle who had always hated the fox for his cunning underhanded ways, and now he suddenly thought of a plan to get rid of him.

‘Jump on my back and I’ll take you up to see for yourself,’ he said.

The fox hesitated for a moment and then he climbed on to the strong back of the eagle, settled himself among the feathers and cried: ‘I’m ready! Up you go!’

The eagle soared upwards and the fox closed his eyes in alarm, for he had never travelled as fast as this on the ground, let alone in the air.

‘How big does the earth look now?’ asked the eagle presently.

The fox opened his eyes and gasped as he peered downwards. ‘It looks about as big as one of those straw baskets they make at Lydda,’ he said.

‘Aha!’ said the eagle. ‘But it won’t look as big as that in a minute.’ Up and up they went, and then the eagle asked again, ‘How big does the earth look now?’

‘It looks about as big as an onion,’ replied the fox, hoping that the eagle would soon begin flying down again.

But the eagle continued to soar upwards, while the fox clung to its feathers, feeling very alarmed and still scarcely daring to open his eyes.

‘How big does it look now?’ asked the eagle at last.

Peering down through half-closed eyes, the fox could see nothing at all. Even when he opened his eyes wide in surprise, he could still not see the earth, as it was so far away below them.

‘I can’t see anything at all!’ he said. ‘How far away do you think the earth is now?’

‘That I can’t tell,’ replied the eagle. ‘But I leave it to you to find out.’ So, saying the eagle turned right over onto his back so that the fox was shaken off.

With a scream the fox began to fall down. Through the air he rushed, sometimes the right way up, sometimes the wrong, but all the time wondering what would happen to him when he hit the earth.

Suddenly he knew! He had landed on a ploughboy’s soft sheepskin coat, in the middle of a ploughed field, and because this had broken his fall, he was still alive.

Heaving a sigh of relief, the fox scrambled under the sheepskin jacket. Using this as a disguise in case anybody saw him and tried to kill him again, he ran swiftly into some woods to take cover.

But he was not safe here, for immediately he came face to face with a leopard. But instead of attacking the fox and eating him, the leopard was so surprised at the coat he was wearing that he asked, ‘Where did you get that warm coat, Fox? I’ve never seen you wearing one of those before.’

‘I’ve changed my way of living,’ replied the fox quickly. ‘No longer do I steal the farmers' chickens, because I have become furrier and have learned how to sew. Would you like me to make you a sheepskin jacket like mine?’

‘Yes, I would,’ said the leopard, thinking what good camouflage it would be when he was stalking game for his dinner.

‘Very well,’ said the fox, ‘You’re a much better hunter than I am, so if you can bring me six sheep, I will make you a jacket with their coats, and will eat their meat for my payment.’

The unsuspecting leopard went off to steal the sheep from a nearby hillside, while the fox lay down and laughed to himself, feeling very pleased at his own cleverness.

When the leopard came back with the six dead sheep, the fox persuaded him to help him to carry them close to his den. Then, promising the leopard that the jacket would be ready next week, he sent him away.

Now the fox had a wife and six little cubs, and when they saw all the meat that the leopard had provided for them, they were delighted. Never had they had such a feast before! For days they all ate as much as they could and each night they slept deeply and rested well, for there was no need to go hunting now.

But the leopard was not so happy. He kept coming back to the fox’s den and shouting: ‘Isn’t my jacket ready yet?’

The fox put him off with various excuses, until all the meat had gone, and then he said, ‘You are a much bigger animal than I am, Leopard, so I’m afraid I shall need more than six sheepskins for your coat. Will you bring me three more sheep tomorrow? Then I think I can finish making it.’

The leopard was getting a little suspicious by now, but off he went and killed three more sheep, and brought them back to the fox.

Now the family could eat their fill again, and they all feasted happily until the meat had gone. But the fox was beginning to regret his behavior, as he knew the leopard would want revenge when he found out that there was to be no sheepskin jacket after all, for he had no idea how to sew.

He began to go hunting in a different part of the country, and always looked around carefully to make sure the leopard was nowhere near when he went in or out of his hole. When he did meet the leopard he made excuses about the jacket, saying that he had run out of thread, or just broken his needle; he even pretended that he was not the fox who had eaten the sheep, and since all foxes are very much alike, the leopard could not be sure which was which.

But at last, the leopard knew that he had been tricked, and he decided that it was time to get even with the fox.

Hiding behind a boulder one night, he lay still, scarcely breathing, until he heard the sound of the fox returning from a hunting expedition. With a bound the leopard pounced on the fox, intending to kill him, but the fox was so quick in reaching his hole, that all the leopard managed to catch was the fox’s bushy tail.

‘All right! I’ve missed you this time,’ the leopard shouted. ‘But I shall know you from all the other foxes now, as you will be the only one without a tail.’

Then to make sure that the fox would suffer a few days’ starvation, the leopard took a hornet’s nest and put it on the ground beside the opening to the fox’s den. He knew that the humming sound the hornets made was very much like the noise of a leopard purring, and he hoped that the fox would stay inside, not daring to go hunting while he thought the leopard was waiting for him.

For almost a week, the fox family went hungry, until at last, the fox began to get suspicious, for he wondered how the leopard could stay in one place for so long without going away to get food.

Creeping close to the opening, the fox peered cautiously outside, and discovered the hornets’ nest.

He was furious that he had been tricked so easily, but he dared not show himself to the leopard, as he would easily recognize him now that he had lost his tail.

However, he had to take some risks if he were going to put into practice the plan which he had been working out, while listening to the hornets’ humming.

So, waiting until darkness fell, the fox rushed hither and thither, calling at the homes of all his friends and relations.

‘Come with me! I have found you a splendid vineyard full of ripe grapes. Come and feast with me, while it is dark and the owner is asleep at home.’

Soon dozens of foxes were following behind him and he led them to a secluded vineyard some way from his den. ‘What a feast! What juicy grapes!’ all the foxes exclaimed as they began to eat them hungrily.

‘Wait a minute,’ commanded the fox. ‘We mustn’t all eat from the same vine. I will show you each of your places, and then you can eat unhindered by anyone else, and we shall not have any quarrels.’

One by one, he led the foxes to a different vine, and said to each, ‘Now you must not mind if I tie your tail to your particular vine. This will show the others that the vine belongs to you, and it will prevent any greedy fox from straying to his brother’s place and eating his grapes.’

All the foxes agreed quite readily, until eventually nothing could be heard but the steady munching of grapes.

Silently the fox left the vineyard and made his way to the owner’s house, where he banged on the door and woke up the whole household, crying: ‘Go to your vineyard! The foxes are robbing it! Take up your sticks and drive them away.’

The people in the house were soon awake, and ran shouting towards the vineyard, waving their heavy sticks.

The foxes heard them coming and tried to run away, but their tails were tied so tightly to the vines that the only way they could escape was by tugging so hard that they left their tails behind them.

After this every fox in the district had a short tail, and so the leopard never found out which was the fox who had tricked him. He was so annoyed that he went away to live in a different part of the country, and then the fox, his wife and his six little cubs were able to roam about freely, and to hunt wherever they liked.

RUSSIAN

How the Fox Saved the Horse's Life

Once upon a time a bear was hiding behind some trees on the edge of a field in Russia, hungrily watching a peasant and his horse ploughing the soil.

The horse was old and tired, and presently the peasant shouted angrily: ‘I’m fed up with your slowness, old horse! You are no use to me at all. I shall let the bears have you!’

Now the peasant did not really mean what he said, and was thoroughly alarmed when the bear lumbered out from behind the trees and growled, ‘Very well! I will eat your horse for you. Give him to me.’

‘Oh no!’ gasped the man. ‘Don’t eat him yet, I beg you. Give me enough time to finish ploughing this field and then I will let you have him.’

Of course, the man had no intention of giving his horse to the bear, for he knew he would never find enough money to buy another one, but he hoped that by the end of the day he might have thought of a plan to outwit the bear.

‘Very well,’ said the bear. ‘I will wait until you have finished.’

The peasant went on with his ploughing, but his mind was not on his job. He kept wondering how he could get the horse home safely, for the bear was a big one who could kill both the horse and man with one blow.

Later in the day the peasant stopped work for a few moments’ rest, and sat down at the edge of the field to eat a crust of bread.

He heard a rustle in the nearby bushes and turning he saw the face of a fox peering at him.

‘Sh!’ said the fox. ‘Don’t call out! I heard what the bear said to you, and have worked out a plan that will save your horse. But you will have to reward me.’

‘I would give anything I have to save my poor old horse,’ said the old man. ‘What is your plan?’

‘First of all, we will decide on my reward,’ said the greedy fox. ‘I shall want twelve hens for my supper.’

‘Very well,’ said the peasant, who had only twelve hens and no more. ‘I will give them to you if your plan works.’

‘I have a small bell here, which I shall fasten round my neck,’ said the fox. ‘Then I shall go into the forest, creep behind the bear, and leap about so that the bell rings.’

‘But that will not frighten a bear!’ exclaimed the man.

‘Of course, it won’t,’ said the fox, impatiently. ‘But when the bear hears it and asks you what it is, you must tell him that the King’s son is bear-hunting with a number of his courtiers. That should frighten the bear away pretty quickly.’

Off went the fox among the trees, and up got the peasant and began to plough again. Presently the sound of a bell reached him, and he knew that the fox was leaping about in the forest, trying to make his bell sound like those the bear-hunters tied to their horses.

The bear came towards the peasant with his eyes full of fear. ‘What is that noise?’ he asked.

‘I heard that the King’s son was coming into the forest today, bear-hunting with his friends,’ replied the peasant. ‘I expect they have started the hunt and the bells are those on their horses.’

The bear had changed from a bully to a coward now, and he begged the peasant to save him. ‘Don’t betray me,’ he said, ‘and I promise not to eat your horse after all.’

‘I will not let the hunters get you,’ said the peasant, ‘but I will hold you to your promise afterwards.’

The bear crouched on the ground beside the cart on which the peasant had brought the plough to his field. Then the fox got as close to the bear as he could without being seen, and shouted: ‘We are hunting bears. What is that dark shape beside you, my man?’

‘That is a tree stump,’ called the peasant. ‘I have been cutting wood for my fire.’

‘If it’s a tree stump, why is it standing up? Are you sure it’s not a bear?’

‘Lie down,’ whispered the peasant, giving the terrified bear a push, and sending him under the cart. ‘It’s a tree stump all right,’ called the man. ‘I have cut it down now, and it’s on the ground.’

‘Well that’s a queer place to put it,’ shouted the fox, who was still well hidden by the trees. ‘Why don’t you load it on your cart, and tie it firmly with rope, so that it doesn’t fall off? That is what we do with logs as big as that.’

‘Very well,’ said the man, and the bear, needing no encouragement, scrambled up into the cart and allowed the peasant to tie him up firmly with rope.

‘You are a foolish fellow,’ called the fox. ‘Most people put an axe in the cart with the log, and then they can chop it up for firewood as soon as they get home.’

So the peasant took his axe, climbed into the cart, and killed the bear with one blow.

The horse neighed with happiness as the peasant harnessed him to the cart and prepared to go home, but the fox kept leaping and bounding around them as they went, crying: ‘Don’t forget my reward. Twenty hens you promised me.’

‘Not twenty! I have only twelve and that was the number we agreed on,’ said the poor peasant, wondering what his wife would say when he handed over her fine, plump laying hens to the fox.

As they neared the peasant’s cottage, his three dogs heard him coming, and leaping up from their place beside the hearth, they rushed out joyously to greet him.

‘Dogs!’ screamed the fox. ‘You didn’t tell me you kept dogs!’

He turned tail at once and rushed back towards the forest. The three dogs chased after him for several miles but he just managed to get into his hole before they caught up with him.

‘I shall never try to help a human being again,’ said the fox as he lay down to get back his breath in the safety of his home.

But the peasant was delighted that his dogs had saved him from giving up his wife’s precious hens, and when they returned, panting loudly and extremely hungry, he gave them an extra big supper.

Later on, he told his wife the whole story. But she did not believe him, so he took her outside in the darkness and showed her the dead bear, promising that he would skin it in the morning, and make her a fine, fur rug to go on her bed and keep her warm during the bitter, winter nights.

As for the horse, he said nothing, but he lived to a ripe old age, and never again did the peasant threaten to give him up to the bears.

LAPLANDER

The Fox, the Fish, and the Bear

Far away in the north of Lapland there once lived a fox who had been looking for food for days and days but had found none.

‘What shall I do?’ he asked himself as he lay on the hard packed snow. ‘If I cannot find food I shall die.’

Just then he heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance and he guessed that some sleighs were coming up from the sea towards the place where he lay.

Now most of the Laplanders in this part of the country were fishermen, and this fox loved eating fish. So, he stretched himself out on the snow in such a way that the sleigh-driver would think he was dead.

Sure enough, after a few moments a string of sleighs stopped right beside the fox.

‘What luck!’ said a man’s voice. ‘A dead fox! Now I can sell its fur.’

Then, picking up the fox, the man slung its body on to the front sleigh and continued on his way.

Cautiously the fox opened his eyes. He saw that the dogs were dragging four sleighs, and that they were all empty except for the last one, which was piled high with fish.

Presently, as the sleighs rode over some bumpy ground, the fox let himself fall off onto the snow, taking care to make a loud plop.

Immediately the man reined in the dogs, leapt off the front sleigh and slung the fox up on to the second sleigh. Then he continued his journey.

After a few more miles the fox again let himself fall off the sleigh, taking care to make an even louder plop as he dropped into the crisp snow.

Once again, the man stopped the sleighs, picked up the fox and slung him on to the third sleigh.

From here the fox could smell the fish so strongly that his stomach ached with hunger and his mouth watered profusely.

In no time at all he had dropped off the third sleigh and the man had stopped yet again and picked him up.

‘What a nuisance you are!’ said the Laplander, throwing him up on the top of all the fish on the fourth sleigh. ‘If you fall off here, I shan’t bother to stop again. I shall never get home at this rate.’ Then, climbing back and settling himself into the front sleigh, the man whipped up the dogs and hurried off.

Now the fox opened his eyes and began to get busy. The cunning animal gnawed the thin ropes which tied the fourth sleigh to the third, until at last, he separated the sleighs.

The man drove on, never realizing that he now had only three sleighs, and empty ones at that, while the fox seized the broken rope in his teeth and dragged the sleigh off the track, towards a big snowdrift where he could hide.

Never had he eaten such a splendid meal. Fish after fish went down the fox’s throat, until he began to think he could eat no more.

He was just taking hold of what he had decided must be the last fish of the day when the snapping of a nearby twig made him turn his head.

In horror, he saw a huge, long-tailed bear approaching through the trees.

‘Where did you get all that fish?’ growled the bear, looking at the sleigh which still held a good pile of fish.

‘I caught it myself,’ lied the fox. ‘It’s all mine and you are not to touch it.’

‘What did you catch it with?’ asked the bear.

‘I will show you if you like,’ said the fox. ‘Come down to the river and you will soon have a pile of fish even bigger than mine.’

So, the fox made his way through the trees towards the river, while the bear lumbered after him.

The river was covered with ice, so, taking a sharp stone, the fox knocked a hole through the ice until they could see the sluggish water flowing below.

‘Now,’ said the fox, ‘you have to sit on the bank with your back to the river and your tail hanging down through the hole into the water.’

The stupid bear did as he was told, and sitting down he gently eased his long tail into the hole in the ice.

‘How shall I know when I have caught a fish?’ he asked.

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ replied the fox. ‘You will feel a slight nip as the fish bites and then you must gently ease your tail up through the hole, eat the fish, and begin again.’

Then the fox dashed off to his sleigh, and, seizing the rope in his mouth, he dragged it as far away from the river as he could.

But the bear sat on and on, waiting for the slight nip which would tell him that he had caught a fish. It got colder and colder as night came on, and presently the bear began to realize that the fox had tricked him.

‘Wait till I catch him!’ he growled, trying to turn away from the river in the direction the fox had taken. But the ice had frozen tight around his long tail and he could not move.

He tugged and pulled for a long time in vain, until at last, his great strength triumphed and he found that he had freed himself from the ice.

But on looking behind, he also found that he had left most of his big, bushy tail in the frozen river, and all that remained was a little furry stump.

And that is the reason, say the Laplanders, why even today, all the bears have such short stumpy tails.

PERUVIAN

The Fox and the Gulls

Once upon a time a gull laid her eggs on the shore of Lake Titicaca in Peru. There were three eggs altogether and the whole day long the mother gull sat on them to keep them warm, only leaving the nest very occasionally to go and catch herself a fish from the lake.

At last, the eggs were ready and three little gulls pecked and chirped their way into the world.

Their mother was tremendously proud of them, for this was her first family, and she was kept very busy flying to the lake to catch small fish for her children, or up to the cliffs behind the nest, to search for insects.

As the little gulls grew bigger, the mother had to spend more and more time away from the nest, searching for food to satisfy their healthy appetites; and so, it happened that she did not notice her old enemy, the fox, hiding behind a small outcrop of rocks not far from the nest, watching her every moment.

The country around Lake Titicaca was almost all desert, so there were very few trees and bushes about and practically no smaller animals for the fox to feed on.

‘Be patient!’ the fox muttered to himself, for he was very hungry! ‘Don’t make a sound and you will soon have the best meal of your life.’

Waiting until the mother gull had flown high up the cliffs to search for insects, the fox crawled stealthily towards the young gulls in their nest.

On his way he noticed an old sack. Which had been blown by the wind from a nearby village, and picking it up he exclaimed:

‘Just what I wanted! Now I can put the gulls in this sack and carry them right away from their nest before I eat them. Then their mother will not hear their cries, and will not come and peck me to pieces.’

Closer and closer the fox crawled to the nest until suddenly he pounced upon the first gull and thrust it in his sack. The second and third gulls scarcely had time to utter more than a few surprised chirps when they too were seized by the fox, who slung the sack over his shoulder and hurried away as fast as he could go.

But the few weak cries of the gull-chicks had been heard by the mother as she was flying back with her mouth full of fish for her children.

Looking down she could see the fox running away from the lake towards some rocky hillocks where he hoped to hide while he ate his meal.

The cunning gull did not swoop down on the fox at once, but followed him at a distance so that he did not know she was there.

‘O my poor children!’ she cried to herself as she flew. ‘How can I get you away from that evil creature?’

The sun was hot and the earth was dry and dusty, and before long the fox was feeling very exhausted with all his running. Added to this his back was getting sore, for the young gulls had sharp beaks and they continually pecked at him through the sack as he ran.

Presently he stopped, and, giving the top of the sack an extra twist or two, he put it on the ground, placed a heavy stone on top of it and sank down nearby to have a rest.

‘I’m exhausted!’ he said. ‘I’ll just have a short nap and then make for that pile of rocks on the other side of the valley. Nobody will see or hear anything there!’

Closing his eyes, the fox was soon fast asleep, and then the mother gull, who had been silently flying above him for some time, glided down to the earth.

‘Hush, my children!’ she whispered with her beak close to the sack. ‘Don’t make a sound or you will wake the wicked fox. Just do exactly as I tell you and all will be well.’

The little gulls were delighted to hear their mother’s voice, and lay quietly while she pushed the heavy stone off the sack and untwisted the top.

‘Creep out now!’ she whispered, ‘and go and bring me some thorny twigs from that dead bush.’

The little gulls blinked from the sunlight for a moment of two, and then they staggered over to a shriveled bush nearby and picked as many thorny, prickly twigs as they could.

‘Push them in the sack quickly,’ said the mother gull, and as soon as they had done this, she twisted the neck of the sack up again and put the large stone back on top of it.

‘Now, follow me!’ she said softly, and the little gulls hopped and ran behind her until they had reached the safety of a small cave in the cliffs.

‘Now I shall take you home on my back, one by one,’ said the mother gull, for her children were not yet old enough to fly on their own. ‘But don’t make a sound while I am away, or the fox will hear you.’

So, the mother gull got her children safely home again. But she found a new place for her nest, right on the other side of the lake, where the fox would not be able to seize her children again once he found he had been tricked.

Now the fox had been very tired when he fell asleep, and it was not until an hour or two later that he woke.

Looking up at the sun and seeing how much of the day he had wasted; he slung the bag onto his back again and hurried off in the direction of the pile of rocks he had chosen for eating his meal.

He thought that the sack seemed a little lighter than before, but the thorns pricked his back in the same way that the little gulls’ beaks had done, and so he did not realize that the birds were not there.

At last, he reached the place where he thought he could eat them without anyone seeing or hearing, and cautiously he opened the sack, and reached in to take out the first bird.

With a cry he withdrew his front leg, covered with scratches and with a branch of the thorn entangled in his fur.

‘I have been tricked!’ he screamed. ‘Who put these thorns in my bag and let out the gulls?’

He knew the answer to this at once, for only the mother bird could have done it. So, leaving the bag on the ground he hurried back to the lakeside to the place where the gull had had her nest.

But of course, it was not there, and peering across the lake the fox saw what looked like the mother gull sweeping down to a nest with food for her chicks.

The fox was determined to have his revenge, but could see no way of getting across to the other side of the lake.

All night long he lay on the shore trying to decide on a plan to get the better of the gulls, and when morning came, he thought he had one.

‘I will drink and drink and drink,’ he said to himself, ‘until the lake is dry and then I can go across on the mud and seize those little gulls again.’

So, he lay down at the edge of the lake and began to drink swallowing the muddy water as fast as he could.

Gradually he began to swell and soon he was feeling most uncomfortable. Bigger and bigger grew his body and still he went on drinking.

‘There can’t be much water left now,’ he puffed, his eyes half closed, and body swollen to six times its normal size.

Gasping and gurgling, he swallowed a few more mouthfuls, and then ‘Crack!’, the sound of a loud explosion filled the air.

The fox had drunk so much water that he had burst, and now lay dead on the shore of the lake.

Across the water the gulls heard the strange noise, and the mother flew off to see what it was all about.

‘The fox is dead, my children,’ she cried happily when she returned. ‘Now we need have no fear that he will try to take you away again.’

So, the gulls lived happily and peacefully beside the lake until the children learned to fly and were able to go off and have families of their own.

[jeonstellate]

timestamp: transient

it’s 6:08 pm when you become seungmin’s muse.

๑彡 kim seungmin x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 love at first sight!au, photographer!au, stranger!au, tourist!au — little angst(?)

๑彡 paragraph format — 0.6k words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

Kim Seungmin found himself surrounded by small forevers as he stood meters away from Paris’ most famous tourist attraction. As a photographer in his leisure time, he was no stranger to magnificent views. However, it didn’t mean he stopped appreciating capture-worthy sceneries after a while.

On the contrary, each precious moment he had seen have strengthen his ability to feel and capture anything that presents itself. With enough practice, he was able to memorialize anything that exist within reasonable timeframes. From hours to seconds, including those that only lasted for milliseconds, if he was ready and alert, he could immortalize almost anything.

Seungmin remembered, rather clearly, his most favorite photographed moments of his siblings. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung when they were goofing off as they entered their dorm after their respective workouts. Minho when he played with a cat on the street on their way to get groceries. Jeongin when he was full-on laughing at whatever shenanigans their other brothers were doing. Hyunjin and Yongbok when the former made the latter model for one of his sketches. As frequent subjects of his photography, his siblings have gotten used to the deep click that goes off out of nowhere.

For Seungmin, it was the simplest things — small, little details — that made a moment worth capturing. Being out in a foreign country, especially near sunset, he was half-tempted to immortalized everything he was seeing. From the sky being painted with the most aesthetically pleasing array of colors to the different kinds of genuine love he was seeing all around him, he recognized he wasn’t in short of a muse even if his brothers weren’t currently around.

And yet . . . he still struggled to find the muse.

Everyone and everything was a muse by their own right, of course, but nobody and nothing seem to standout to him.

Nevertheless, with the fleeting blend of tangerine, salmon pink, and lavender all around him, Seungmin leveled his camera to his face. He then willed, silently, for the cosmos to show him what he was looking for.

Still, with the building anticipation, Seungmin never expected his muse to be personified by the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes on. He didn’t mean to stare, but he found himself almost completely frozen in awe. Through the small window of his camera, he watched as his subject of art looked up at the Eiffel Tower with sparkling bright eyes. Then, while he was still unable to tear his eyes away, he took note of how their stance and choice of clothing gave away something crucial about them.

Everything about his newly found muse screamed tourist — and, simultaneously, temporary.

Not that those mattered to him, anyway.

The person, whoever and whatever they might be, was still his chosen muse — even if he was not theirs.

Seungmin valued the ethicality of consent, but he also knew it would be his greatest regret if he let his much-awaited, picture-perfect moment pass. Thus, for the sake of his own sanity, he compromised with using overdue consent for his shots as a possible conversation starter.

Yet, of course, that was without realizing the universe’s plan — which, as quickly as it gave him his muse, also took them away from him just as quick.

When Seungmin lowered down his camera, his muse was already a retreating figure in his sight — gone with every second that ticked away.

With that, he was effectively robbed of a chance to converse; but, in return, he was left with something he would often find himself clinging onto months after.

It was the name his muse answered to when called by someone out of his sight. It was the exact same address that they made a promise to "be there in a second."

[first name].

The sun had disappeared and the sky had been engulfed by endless darkness. The waxing gibbous moon shone and, together with a few scattered stars, illuminated the otherwise utterly dark night.

Under the blinding lights of Paris, Kim Seungmin was left yearning for his muse.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-Ire, “Fallen Star.”

Here it is, the end of an arc. I hope you guys like it and thank you so much for humoring my little detour. I needed this :)

The sun rose turning the sky to a bright tangerine orange. Golden rays of sun filtered across the open desert landscape, highlighting ten silhouettes against the horizon. Ten men and ten horses trekking their way across the surface of an alien planet leaving only footprints in their wake across the open landscape.

Adam lifted his head to the open sky and took a long deep breath. The scent of the alien planet in early morning was snuffed out at a moment when he received a strong whiff of cigarette smoke and coughed, looking over at Deputy Thompson, who had lit up and was taking his second long drag.

“Those will kill you you know.”

“So will continuous self doubt.”

“Point taken.”

The Deputy blew a ring of smoke into the air, “Besides, gets me relaxed before we go out to do something stupid.” he glanced towards the front of the group where the sheriff had taken point, riding on the back of his glossy black horse now coated in a thin layer of orange dust, “Ain’t that right sheriff.”

The man turned slightly in his saddle, “The only one bringing the dumb here is you Thompson.” He turned around on his horse and fell back slightly to speak with them, “Besides if it wasn’t for McBride and his group, we would all be at home drinking cold beer and spending time with our wives, but instead he’s dragged us out of bed to go chasing after him, and I intend to make him regret that.”

He turned to look at Ramirez and Adam, “Now, you boys probably didn’t hear this, so I am going to give you the rundown. Last month we caught one of McBride’s boys out past the border of Caster and Collville, and with a little bit of… persuasion, he graciously told us a few things. Turns out McBride and his men are planning on robbing a train coming from one of the outlying colonies and in towards the capital. He plans on doing it halfway through its journey between Hander and Chelsey where there are the least amount of people and the least amount of eyes.”

Ramirez snorted, “A train job, seriously? Isn’t that a bit cliche?”

The Sheriff frowned at him, “I don’t think McBride was really considering the literary appeal of white might and might not be cliche, when he determined that there is a LOT of expensive stuff being brought in on that train.”

Adam tilted his head slightly, “Like what?”

“The crops grown here on this colony are a cardinal ingredient in many pharmaceuticals all across the galaxy both human and alien. Drug companies and hospitals alike pay top dollar for our crops to be refined and bottled right here. It only grows in very specific conditions in very specific towns on the western rim. It is harvested and refined on the rim, and then put on the train to the capital where it is tested and then sealed for shipping.” If McBride gets his hands on those bottles, he can sell them on the black market at top dollar, where they will be used for refinement in a whole myriad of illicit drugs, including but not limited to human derived hormonal drugs, which support not only the black market, but also slave trafficking rings.”

Adam and Ramirez both blinked in surprise, “Really, we had…. No idea.”

“The government doesn’t like to talk about how important some of the colonies are to the workings of the inner ring, but we supply a lot of natural resources and raw products that can be both dangerous and expensive once they get out. This is not to mention that the train just so happened to fall on the very auspicious day when they are moving a group of rich city investors on that same train…. Came to take stock of their investments on the rim, and are now being shipped back to the capitol. Our job is to make it to the train before McBride does, or, barring that we don’t make it in time, we need to at least stop them and stop the train before those crates go missing.”

“How many days away are we”

“We have about two or three days, so its best we pick up the pace.”

After that their voices were silenced, and only the sound of thundering hooves could be heard over the hard packed earth.

***

Adam was shaken awake on the third day, bleary eyed and confused, rubbing sleep from his eyes and rubbing his hands along the light stubble dusting his cheeks and chin. Ramirez knelt over him, “Rise and shine sleepy head, today is the train job, you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Adam groaned and rubbed his head wobbling to his feet as the other men around him began to rouse, The air was filled with the smell of smoke from last nights dwindling campfire, now just ashes in the dirt before them.

A few of the men kicked dirt over the still smouldering remains while Adam and Ramirez worked to pack up camp, hoisting saddles onto the back of horses.

“You alright?’ Ramirez asked as he stood next to Adam, the two of them pulling their saddles onto their respective horses.

Adam nodded and shook himself  little, “Yeah, just a…. Weird dream is all.”

“What was it about.”

He shrugged, “Can’t really remember much, but right before I woke up, it was like I was looking down at myself sleeping, from above, I swear I saw you walking across camp to wake me up, but…. That might just be me misremembering.”

“OR you had some sort of out of body experience.”

He snorted, “Yeah sure.”

“Remember anything else?”

“Blue fire and maybe some mountains, but that is about it.” He tightened the girth strap on his horse and patted Maroz on her soft velvet snout. The horse gummed at his hand with her upper lip, and he smiled slightly, patting her on the neck, “That’s a good girl.” 

With the other men ready, the group of them saddled up and began their ride out into the desert.

The Sheriff kept there pace as fast as he could without tiring out the horses, knowing that they might need to chase.

“Not to question the wisdom of this sheriff, but how are we going to catch up with a train. I mean it may look and sound like an old time train, but we both know it isn’t, the thing can probably go at around 200 mph.” 

The sheriff turned to look back at him, “That’s true, but due to the nature of the location, they have to slow the train coming through the valley, there are some pretty tight turns and curves that would be dangerous at such high speeds, not to mention that it is a common crossing rout for cattle, and the train needs to be slow in the area to keep from turning someone's livestock into pink mist. A collision that big and going that fast could also potentially derail a train. Its never happened, but the engineers say it can so thy like to keep it safe.”

“How slow?”

“Very slow, I would say about thirty mph through the hot zone, and that is….”

“About as fast as a horse can run.” Adam sighed, 

“Precisely, now let's speed it up, the train is coming and we still have a ways to go.”

As the day wore on, Adam’s heart began to race, and he could feel it thudding away in his chest pressing out against the vest he wore like it was going to crash through his ribcage. Ramirez rode along beside him, a surprisingly fast learner when it came to horses and riding them.

Off in the distance, Adam caught the blast of a train whistle.”

“Speed up boys!”

Adam kicked gently against the Horse’s sides and snapped the reins, and below him Maroz bokre into a light gallop bouncing him up and down wit her thundering gate. With all ten of them riding at that speed, they sounded like rolling thunder.

Light flashed over the badge on his chest.

The whistle came again, and the roaring of the train grew louder as they poured over the ground, between rocks and around shrubs.

The plateau around them began to slope downwards, and as they came over the rise, the land below them morphed into sharp focus, a vast tract of land snaking between high plateaus, and a silver rail that ran like a glittering snake between them. And along that silver line came a roaring black goliath missing only the blaack puff of burning coal and smoke to set it aside from the trains of old.

And just behind it, ran at least a dozen black dots, slowly gaining.

“GET ON THAT TRAIN!” The sheriff shouted over the roaring, and the entire group of them broke down hill at a full gallop. Adam leaned low over his horse’s neck, feeling her body move and roar beneath him. His ears rung with the sound of the approaching train and the clatter of hives over packed earth.

The train was approaching now, fast, and he was coming up just on the left, pulling his horse into a shallow parabola that brought his run just parallel . The sounds was deafening now, though he thought he could hear the call of men’s voices. The horses legs rolled like a blur beneath him, and Maroz huffed and puffed and and snorted with exertion. He was close now, and the glittering rails of the track rolled by just to his right.

His heart throbbed in his chest.

Just ahead of him, the sheriff kicked his boots from the stirrups and threw himself sideways onto the train, grasping on with a grip of iron.

Other men began to do the same.

He heard a gunshot.

With a swift motion, he kicked his feet from the stirrups and braced his boots against the saddle. Maroz remained steady below him, and with a final prayer and a deep breath, he launched himself sideways reaching and grasping for anything he could hold to. 

He caught one of the hand rails beside a compartment door and was jerked away from Maroz as her gait slowed.

His feet whipped behind him in the wind before he scrambled o gain purchase, the leather of his gloves helping maintain his grip as he hauled himself upwards and onto the side of the train just between compartments.

A voice, from over the sound of the roaring, and he looked back to see Ramirez and his horse sprinting after.

The horse’s back was lathered and wet, its eyes wild as it pushed itself forward.

Ramirez clung on with gritted teeth.

Adam reached out a hand, “JUMP!”

And like the good marine Ramirez was, no fear and no questions, he kicked his way frew and threw himself awkwardly sideways.

He would have landed below the train had Adam not caught him by the wrist and hauled him inward, where he scrambled onto a precarious handhold.

“GET INSIDE.” Adam shouted, “I’m going to head back to the cargo car.”

Ramirez nodded, swinging around Adam and onto the hitch that held the cars together. Adam hauled himself upward and onto the top of the speeding train. Wind whipped at the brim of his hat, and te bandana around his neck.

He jogged along the top of the train, his boots thundering against the meta.

At the end of the train a man appeared, one of McBride’s men, and Adam had just enough time to duck to the side as a bullet hissed past him.

He turned and fired off one shot. It went a bit wide, but caught the man by the brim of the hat, blowing it completely off. It got caught up in a gust of wind that pulled it down and under the train.Adam fired another shot just as the man was preparing to fire again.

The bullet caught the man in the upper chest, and before Adam could really take in what had happened, the man fell, pitching backwards off the train and hitting the ground hard in a cloud of dust only to vanish as the train whipped past.

Adam stood, stunned for a second. He’d never shot someone before, at least no one human, but the sound of gunfire broke him from his reverie, and he dived down as the bullets flew past him, crawling across the open top of the train with  clawing hands. Another head appeared over the edge, and he fired off a wild shot with one hand hoping to t least deter the man for a moment.

His bullet did more than that, and before he knew it another body had fallen to the dust below the train.

Footsteps on the train behind him, and he rolled around in panic only to see the Sheriff running past him, “GET TO THAT CARGO CAR!”

Adam leapt to his feet, racing forward alongside the sheriff, wobbling slightly as the train rolled forward.

The Sheriff held a shotgun in one hand, and it only took the first two of McBride’s men to figure out what that meant.

Adam raced alon after him until a hail of bullets stopped them in their tracks.

They dropped down before one of the cargo cars and found Deputy Thompson with his back pressed against the wall, “THEY’RE TRYING TO DISCONNECT THE CARGO CARS!” he shouted over the sound of the wind.

“If they do that we’re fucked!”

The sheriff turned and looked at Adam, “You go up top,Thompson and I will go distract them from the inside. If you can get your hands on McBride, do it, and keep them from detaching that car.”

Adam nodded and jumped up to catch onto the edge of the car as the two other men prepared themselves to breach the door. Adam had just pulled his feat up when he heard the slame of the door being pushed open and the rapidfire of gunshots. He used the noise as cover to run along the top of the car as th men were distracted.

He could hear voices and more gunfire as the fight concentrated inside that cargo car.

He had just com upon the edge when he looked down, Finding McBride and one other man desperately working to get the clamp undone.

Adam didn't’ waste time.

A sharp gunshot was the only warning McBride and his man had before the second man pitched backwards and fell over the connecting metal clamp.. McBride looked up only to find a gun aimed at his face.

McBride went to pull his weapon but there was a sharp click as Adam fired…. But there was no gunshot.

McBride was still in the process of lifting his weapon as Adam made a last second decision, leaping downwards towards McBride.

The man’s eyes widened, and he jerked to the side. There was a gunshot, but the bullet went wide. A hot flash of searing pain cut along the underside of his ribcage before he slammed into McBride, pitching them both back through the opening and into the cargo car.

They were a mass of tangled rolling limbs as they scrambled to gain the upper hand. McBride grabbed him by the font of the vest with one hand and punched him repeatedly with the other until he was seeing stars. With one last ditch effort he kicked the man in the chest sending him pitching backwards towards the door. McBride landed on the floor with the clatter, and the two of them leaped to their feet.

Adam ran forward throwing a sharp jab at the man’s face which caught him along the cheek. McBride came in close slapping him against a pile of crates, and they ended up clawing at each other, grappling for the other man’s throat like two vicious dogs going for the kill.

Adam Kneed McBride in the stomach sending him staggering back before coming in with a low uppercut to the face.

He reeled backwards hand to his nose.blood already streaming down his face.

Adam looked around desperately for an upper hand, and, surprisingly, found one. A long steel rod stacked up against the wall, likely for use in some kind of construction, and left as scrap.

It grabbed it.

McBride laughed, “What are you going to do with that, hit me over the head with it?”

It was a bit of an enclosed space, but there was still enough room, and Adam spun it in one hand like the shaft of a Drev spear, and crouched low in a ready position point forward, using a stance that he thought was the inferno, before realizing that, somehow he had gotten the foot placing wrong.

That was strange, why had it felt so natural.

Like he had done it before.

He shifted his stance and grinned at McBride motioning him forward, “Why not come see.”

The look on McBride’s face was one of apprehension at first, glancing between Adam and his improvised weapon.

At some point, his pride overtook him, and he came charging forward, likely trying to get inside Adam’s guard before he could strike.

A pity that Adam was trained with the spear, a pity for McBride at least, because instead of swinging the shaft at him from above, he struck forward like a snake, trusting with an overhand grip, that sid the rod don the length of his arm and protruded from just under his triceps.

McBride doubled over, holding to his sternum with a look of agony.

WIth another sharp crack, Adam came down with the reverse end of the spear wheeling it around in a blur and sending the man crashing to the ground, unmoing. He staggered back to his feet bleeding from his lip, and from his nose, and from a cut above his eye. He was seeing stars, but he still had enough energy to hogtie McBride and grab his loaded weapon from the floor before heading into the car.

There was one man left, and with the pressing of cold steel to his temple, the man stopped and raised his hands.

“Might want to put the gun down, partner.” Adam hissed, some measure of sarcasm entering his voice.

The man’s weapon clattered to the ground.

The Sheriff and Thompson stepped from behind cover.

“You get McBride?”

“Yeah I got him, trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey.”

“What happened to your face.”

Adam frowned, and the two other men laughed.

“Thomspon, you take care of McBride, Vir and I are going to check the rest of the train and clean up whatever mess has been left.”

The other man nodded, and Adam fell into step with the Sheriff as they moved up through the inside of the train. All they found at first were scared passengers cowering in their seats, but finally, they met up with a man trying to make his way through one of the doors and into the next car.

Adam and the sheriff aimed their weapons, “Stop right there, your boss has been captured, and it might be best for you to surrender now.”

The man raised his hands wide and scared.

“Come slowly.”

Adam saw what the man was thinking seconds before it happened, and raised his weapon to late as the man went bolting through the door.

He and the sheriff broke into a run chasing after the man and down the length of the train.

They made it to the last car, when the man stopped in the middle, Adam looked up his gun raised to see what had stopped him. Ramirez was coming through the opposite door, whistling tunelessly. His eyes fell on Adam first, “I was wondering when you were going to…. His voice fell away as he saw the man between them.

A clear calculation had gone through the bandit’s head and he raised his gun towards his only hope of exit, and fired.

Ramirez jerked once eyes wide and then….fell backwards as if in slow motion.

Adam screamed, and the two of them raised their weapons at the same time, unable to fire for fear of hitting Ramirez a second time.

The man brushed past him thundering through the door. Adam leapt forward, catching Ramirez just before he hit the ground urging the sheriff forward, “Get that Bastard.”

He knelt on the hard metal floor of the train carriage, holding Ramirez in his arms. The look of shock had still not passed from the other man’s face, and Adam’s hands shook, “Ramirez…… R-ramirez.” His voice quivered a bit as he desperately looked for the bullet wound, sure he was going to see a spot of blood begin leaking across the other man's chest at any moment.”

Ramirez blinked in shock.

“Ramirez! I….Angel, stay with me dammit. Where were you hit!”

Ramirez blinked again reaching up with a shaking hand and began patting at his chest and body brows knit in confusion, “I…. I thought.”

Both of their heads turned, very slowly as they caught sight of a glittering bit of gold lying on the ground before them.

A dented, golden star.

Adam sighed in exasperation relief.

“No friggin way.”

Ramirez stared at the star on the floor, “Huh, ill be damned.” He looked up at Adam, “You know if I had known a nearth death experience would be what it took for you to hold me like this, I might have tried to die sooner.”

Adam harumphed and dropped ramirez unceremoniously to the ground with a thud, “Drama queen.”

Ramirez grunted, “I thought we were having a moment, you using my first name and all.”

“The only moment we are going to have is the moment I put my boot up your ass.”

“Kinky.” Ramirez said, reaching down and picking up the deputy star from the floor inspecting it with some measure of pride. Up ahead the train was beginning to grind to a slow halt.

The Sheriff returned a moment later, dragging the man who had made the ill fated attempt to Kill Ramirez.

He seemed only marginally surprised to see Ramirez on his feet, and laughed when he saw the star, “Well I'll be…. First time I’ve ever seen that happen.”

He looked between the two of them.

“Good work boys, some damn good work.”

***

The capital city stank of horses and mud, but the two men were smiling as the sheriff saw them off at the train station, “We owe you boys a debt of gratitude. Risking your lives like that, and helping us take down McBride and his cronies. This county will be forever grateful.”

The two of them looked down at the gold stars on the front of their vests, and slowly reached up sadly unpinning them from the front of their shirts and holding them out to the sheriff.

The man shook his head, “Keep em. And I’d be glad to work with you again if you ever decide to return. You’ve earned my respect and more.”

The train whistle bored, and the two of them were forced to step inside waving to the sheriff and the other deputies as the train began to roll forward slowly with a soft chug, chug, chug.

Ramirez and Adam left town surprisingly forlorn to watch their friends, and their horses go.

But they had a stack of pictures both print and on their implants. 

The one picture that they both held, was a sepia photo of a group of men standing before the sheriff’s office, all with glittering badges, accept fo the trust up group of men kneeling at their feet. At the Center stood Adam and Ramirez Adam With his hand on McBride’s shoulder like a prise hunt, and Ramirez with his dented golden star.

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (20)

They all turn to stare at him.

“Dear? How do you know that?” Okaa-san says.

Otou-san shakes his head and sits down heavily on the stairs. “The manufacturer for those weapons is in Yukigakure. Just like the incriminating ryo left at the scene of that theft.”

Oh.

Oh sweet Merry.

She mutters, “Shika said—when we were talking about the theft, he said it had to be an inside job, because an outsider couldn’t know anything. But if they were like me—if they’d read the comic based on Konoha in their past life, they would know. They’d know almost everything even if they never set foot here.”

She swallows, throat suddenly dry. “If it was plot-relevant, then they’d know more about what was valuable and how it was defended than people who’d lived here their whole lives. They’d even know the weaknesses of the ninja sent after them, if those ninja were major characters.”

Otou-san nods. “And if he or she needed to finance the manufacture of those weapons, what could be easier than to steal something from here and sell it to another hidden village?”

She sits down heavily on the stairs.

Her heart’s pounding too fast. The side of her head is throbbing in time with the beat.

“Well.” Okaa-san coughs. “That’s mildly terrifying.”

She lets out a humorless chuckle at the understatement.

Horror wars with elation in her brain. Elation at the knowledge that she isn’t alone here.

Horror at the idea of someone knowing everything about this place and deciding to use that knowledge for their own gain. If robbing Konoha wasn’t low for them, would they stoop to manipulating Naruto, Sakura, Uchiha? To hurting them to get their way, change a narrative they don’t like?

“But Iruka-sensei said Yukigakure gave us those guns for less money than they gave them to other villages.” Naruto says suddenly. “Maybe that’s the not-Mayu’s way of making it up to us?”

“You think villains who would commit such an unyouthful action would be capable of feeling guilt?” Lee says doubtfully. “Shouldn’t we tell Gai-sensei about this?”

“We can.” Otou-san sighs. “But I’m not sure how helpful it would be. Nara-san said Yamanaka-san knew about the Yuki connection between both the theft and these “guns”. For all we know, the price reduction could be a concession negotiated between the Hokage and the thief, and we just have a morsel of knowledge about that deal which would endanger Mayu more than it would help the village.”

She fidgets, tracing the scar on her lower lip.

Lee’s brows are furrowed, his mouth pulled down in a frown.

Okaa-san reaches out and smooths a hand over his hair. “Why don’t we get Ichiraku’s and sleep on it? I think Sanji would agree we’ll all make better decisions with some ramen in our bellies.”

Naruto springs to his feet. “Yeah! Ramen’ll fix everything, believe it! C’mon, I’m hungry, let’s go, let’s go!”

It doesn’t quite fix everything, she reflects later as she descales and fillets the pike for the offerings tomorrow. There’s still another reincarnated person who robbed the village, had her father take the fall for their crime, and is now mass-producing the very weapon that killed her past self, which they can do next to nothing about.

But ramen smoothed out the crease in Lee’s brow when they all agreed it was better to tell Gai-sensei than not. It lightened the mood and made everything this day had thrown at them seem a little less important in light of the celebrations planned for tomorrow.

Their small garden is now even smaller thanks to the a large wooden structure that sits next to the back fence.

It’s a bit like a cross between a shed and a greenhouse, if it only had three walls and no doors or windows. The roof is curved and the walls are sturdy, to protect the shrines inside from the elements.

There’s a length of thick white rope fastened with red twine inside the front gable, which is meant to ensure that the shrines are protected from malicious spirits.

Each one of the shrines has a small building that is sealed automatically once the shrine has been assembled, keeping a small object for the deity to inhabit safely locked away from prying eyes. There’s a small recess before this structure, for offerings to be placed, and a little column that puts them above the eye level of a kneeling person.

They’d debated setting aside a space for the shrines in the living room inside the house, to ensure they could be protected and cared for. But she kept getting impulses of outside, of wind and rain, freedom, that eventually they decided it was better than keeping them cooped up inside.

Plus this way, Luffy can’t raid the fridge as easily.

She’s already found certain small cuts of cooked meat have gone missing. If he’s anything like the manga, then she’s not giving him the chance to clean out the entire fridge.

They’ve been working on constructing it and the shrines on weekends and in the mornings during training. According to Gai-sensei, it’s excellent practice for C-rank missions.

Now all that’s left is to paint the structure and the ten shrines housed within.

Working out what to set out as offerings for tomorrow had been a challenge and a half.

For the most part, the Strawhats can be grouped into small sections of what they will and won’t eat.

Nami and Chopper are fruit lovers. Sanji, Zoro, Brook and Usopp are partial to seafood. Luffy, Franky, and Robin are happy with beef and other land-based meats.

However, Zoro, Sanji and Brook like varieties of seafood that are difficult to get in Konoha— octopus, lobster and prawns are expensive and hard to find, while sea king meat just doesn’t exist here. At least Zoro is happy enough with a traditional plate-2-bowls meal with rice.

Robin prefers sandwiches, and she’s not quite sure if the burgers Franky loves fit into that criteria. Chopper can’t stand spicy or bitter foods, but Zoro and Robin dislike sweets.

She’s just thankful that Luffy, Nami Usopp, and Merry are so easy to feed. Pike’s one of the few fish that Konoha doesn’t need to import, so it and tangerines relatively inexpensive.

There’s no chance of combining all their preferences into one dish. Her head hurts just imagining the clash of flavors.

So she had to somehow come up with a way of creating a meal that would (hopefully) make each of the pirates she idolizes happy.

No pressure.

Chouji ended up being her savior in this respect.

And maybe Uchiha did as well, but only a teeny tiny bit.

She’d been brainstorming different versions of meals she could try making that would satisfy everyone, but kept coming up short.

The added tension from Sakura’s friendly-again-but-still-not-quite-sitting-back-at-their-table thing at this time wasn’t exactly helping her think either.

“I’ve got cola, coffee, tea, heck even sake, but still no idea on what to pair any of them with.” She complained, tapping her pencil against the list in front of her.

Chouji had leaned over, a thoughtful look on his face. “Why not make them lunchboxes? That way you can make lots of things in smaller amounts and personalize each lunchbox for each of them.”

“Hm. That is a good idea.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Only downside is working out when I can cook what and how much time the preparation of each portion is going so everything in the bentos is relatively fresh for when it’s offered... how much d’you think eleven more lunchboxes would cost?”

She’d just begun sketching out lines for a tentative timetable when Uchiha complained, “Why do you think you’ve gotta do everything on your own?”

She looked up, a little offended. “I’m not praying for help with this, are you mad? That’d be like asking someone to bake their own birthday cake.”

“What Sasuke means,” Chouji intervened. “Is that we could always split the work three-ways between us, and bring it to your house on the day?”

She blinked. “You...you guys would help me like that?”

Chouji smiled, then made a squeak of surprise when she lunged over the table to hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“I have lunchboxes to spare.” Uchiha drawled. “Plus someone’s got to make sure you don’t mess up.”

She had then let Chouji go so she could boot Uchiha in the shin.

As a result of this arrangement, when she wakes up on The Day, all she has to worry about is preparing the pasta for Sanji, Nami and Usopp’s lunchboxes after training with Gai-sensei.

She’s almost worried that her timining be a little delayed because Gai-sensei grabs her in a bone-creaking hug when she arrives at training and spends about three minutes weeping over how youthful she is.

He then makes them run fifty times around the village balancing the paint pots they’ll be using later to ensure that the paint is agitated enough “so its most YOUTHFUL colors will shine through!!”

They nearly lose the purple when Naruto fumbles slightly over a root.

She bolts down her food at breakfast.

She puts on more rice again in preparation for the sesame onigiri, and pulls out a pot to fill with water that’s set to boil and a pan to gently heat some oil on the stove.

She smashes a clove of garlic and drops it in when the oil has begun to smoke gently, deseeding and dicing up some chilis and tossing them in as well for flavor.

She can’t help her grin when the heady spicy-savory scent fills the air, finely chopping capers and anchovies to toss in once she’s fished out the smashed garlic.

The scent mellows somewhat when the diced pike hits the pan as well, and she pushes it around until the fish is almost-but-not-quite cooked through.

Then in with a generous glug of wine and the heat is turned down to a gentle simmer to let the alcohol cook off.

Just in time for the rice to have cooked and cooled enough to begin mixing with yellow and black sesame seeds and begin forming into ten onigiri.

They don’t have any fillings other than the sesame, because they’re designed to take the edge off the stronger flavors of the pasta (her) and the takoyaki (Chouji), as well as serve as a substitute for a sesame topped bun accompanying the hamburger steaks (Uchiha).

The others begin to arrive at around ten.

Sakura and the Harunos arrive first alongside Ino and her dad.

She shouts a hello as Naruto and Lee lead Ino and Sakura through the kitchen to the back garden, nails orange with peeled tangerine.

Ino darts forward and steals two slices, chortling in response to her indignant “Oi!” and passing one to Sakura, who grins as she nibbles on their way out.

Yamanaka-san is totally at home chatting with Gai-sensei and Otou-san, but he snickers when Nara-san immediately gravitates towards him when he arrives. Shikamaru gives her a nod as he follows the adults outside and she puts the pasta on to boil.

She’s set aside two extra tangerines for when Shino and his father arrive. After all, she, Chouji and Uchiha are making enough to feed eleven deities and many many people, so shouldn’t their insects also be able to eat as well?

Shino’s dad stares at her inscrutably when she explains her reasoning, before accepting the fruit with a nod and a “thank you” barely audible over a loud buzzing.

Shino shifts from one foot to the other during this exchange before gently tugging his father’s sleeve. It occurs to her as she drains the pot-full pasta and adds the sauce alongside a cup of boiling water to emulsify everything that this might be the closest she’s ever seen him to being embarrassed.

Chouji and his dad arrive as she’s sprinkling in some parsley as a finishing touch.

They’re both carrying huge containers full of takoyaki and cooked spring greens, and she spares a small moment to be envious of all the amazing things Chouji’s family can afford to do.

Then she launches Chouji another hug to thank him for all his help once he’s set his cargo down.

He squeaks like he did last time and Akimichi-san laughs loudly, for some reason.

Iruka-sensei and Uchiha arrive with eleven lunchboxes, two dogs, Kiba and his mum, and Hinata in tow.

Uchiha keeps sneaking what appear to be morsels of meat to Akamaru and Kuromaru.

There’s also a pale-eyed frowning boy who Iruka-sensei introduces as Hyuuga Neji, Hinata’s cousin who’d been sent along to act as her chaperone.

The boy sniffs disdainfully when they greet him and goes to stand in a corner of the garden near Mebuki, completely ignoring Lee when he waves to him.

She doesn’t think she likes Hinata’s cousin very much.

The lunchboxes Uchiha brought are black lacquer decorated with gold and red tomoe, much fancier than anything she’d been expecting.

When questioned, he just shrugs and says, “It’s just old stuff from New Year’s. It’s just taking up space at home, so it’s better off here.”

She knows better than to say anything like “sorry”, so she just pats his shoulder and says “No, that compartment’s too small for the onigiri, put it in this one.”

“That’s way too big, it looks tiny in that one.” Uchiha snaps, but with a bit less bite than usual.

Iruka-sensei looks mildly overwhelmed by all the people in the back garden. Okaa-san comes along, hands him a drink, pats his shoulder and says “They’re in my house,” in a sympathetic tone.

Iruka-sensei gives her a pitying look and knocks the sake back in one go.

Adults here can be weird.

Finally they’ve finished serving and she calls out “Food’s up!”

The adults come in to help take the larger platters of food outside, a huge plate of pasta, several smaller hamburger steaks in the style of what they’d call “sliders” in her world, and mound upon mound of takoyaki and spring greens and tangerines.

There’s a clamor outside as people begin getting their portions.

She, Chouji and Uchiha are each balancing either three or four lunchboxes per person as they take them outside.

Sakura is helping Kiba paint a pattern of cherry blossoms across Chopper’s already vibrantly pink shrine. Evidence of her handiwork on Robin’s shrine is clear is the decoration of swirling petals and the streaks of matching purple paint all over her forehead.

Ino and Naruto obviously have had a battle over the orange judging by the splashes on their hands and clothing. On the plus side Nami and Luffy’s shrines are looking particularly colorful.

Shikamaru and Hinata are splotched with green, light blue and black-and-white. Lee is smudged with brown, cyan and white paint and beaming proudly.

Shino has yellow paint on the end of his nose and is looking at the detailed illustrations of insects on the sides with pride.

The only shrines that aren’t quite done are Sanji’s, which has a blue overcoat but no decoration, and Zoro’s which doesn’t have half its roof painted yet.

“We were waiting,” Naruto says, holding out two buckets of green paint and blue respectively, “For you guys to add your bits.”

She beams at him.

Of course, Uchiha has to ruin it by immediately grabbing the green.

“What?” He says, offloading his three lunchboxes onto Kiba. “I’ll give it back once I’m finished with it.”

Ino rolls her eyes and shoulders her paintbrush, adding another orange splotch to her outfit. “Ugh. I’ll help Mayu-chan, it’s better to get it done quickly. Let’s go before the food gets cold.”

Orange, red, and yellow fish on the blue background are much more vibrant and eye-catching than green, though Uchiha does “help” by flicking the paintbrush at her while she’s distracted.

In thanks, she smears yellow on the back of his neck.

After the extra decorations are finished, Lee, Sakura and Kiba redistribute the lunchboxes to make their offerings.

The only problem is there’s eleven of them and ten lunchboxes.

“You all go ahead.” She steps back. “I’ll do the next bit.”

Each one of them place the pirate lunchboxes down in front of the shrines and step back.

For some reason, she feels like traditional prayers and chants appropriated from the sage guy won’t really be all that welcoming to them.

But then, what? What could help them feel at home at these shrines, so far from the sea?

Her gaze falls on Brook’s shrine.

Oh.

Oh, well it’s obvious when it’s put like that, isn’t it?

She just hopes she remembers the words correctly. She doesn’t want to butcher them on accident.

“Yohohoho, yohohoho~ Yohohoho, yohohoho~”

Her voice sounds frail and quiet, and she can feel everyone’s eyes on her. Still, she stumbles through the last two refrains of yohohoho’s to the first verse.

“Binksu no sake wo, todokei ni yuku yo, umikaze, kimakase, namimakase~ Shio no mukou de, yuhi wo sawagu, sora nya, wao kaku tori no uta~”

Naruto joins in on the next verse, singing along slightly out of tune and mixing up some of the words.

His cheeks look as flushed as hers feel, and it’s hard not to giggle when they catch each other’s eyes. Somehow they both manage to keep singing.

Gai-sensei and Lee boisterously shout DON alongside them as they join as well, Gai-sensei’s voice strong and sure, while Lee’s volume makes up for any deficiencies in wording. She almost can’t hear Okaa-san’s melodious voice and Otou-san’s decidedly tone-deaf one join in on the second set of Yohohoho’s over their noise.

Sakura and Ino’s voices are both high-pitched, but they carry the tune well enough. So does Kiba, though he’s pitching up to a falsetto for some reason. Hinata’s voice is soft, but she’s genuinely singing, unlike Shikamaru and Sasuke who’re mumbling through all the bits apart from the yohohoho’s. Shino is monotone if precise and enthusiastic, while Chouji has a surprising set of pipes on him.

Akamaru is just howling to the beat. And with that accompaniment, how could anyone stop themselves from singing along?

It feels like more people than could possibly fit into their house and garden are bellowing Bink’s Sake together by the time they’ve reached the third set of Yohohoho’s.

It can’t exactly be called “harmonious”. Everyone’s a little out of tune, a little off beat.

But the mixing of all the voices of her family and friends feels so right, it makes her voice stronger, lets her sing louder.

She opens her eyes and nearly chokes on the next note.

Hovering in front of the brightly painted shrines, slightly faded but gaining color and substance with every passing moment, They stand.

Merry appears in all her glory, as if in mid- sail. Brook is playing his violin, a foot tapping to the beat. Franky is winding up for his SUPA pose, grinning broadly. Robin is resting a hand on Chopper’s hat. Chopper himself is peeking at them the wrong way round from Robin’s leg.

Sanji’s tapping out his cigarette with a grin and giving a small salute. Usopp is waving to them, like a captain would to his 8,000 followers. Nami’s blowing a kiss as if to adoring fans.

Zoro...is climbing over the garden fence and jogging to take his place in front his shrine next to the others. Nami shoots him a Look while Luffy laughs at him, sitting in mid air and clapping his feet together.

The Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates then turns to her and gives her a wide grin.

She blinks away tears as he and his crew fade away with the last notes of the song.

The food in the lunchboxes is gone.

The food on Naruto’s plate is also gone.

In fact, all the food in the immediate vicinity appears to be gone.

It’s just that Naruto looks down at his plate and yells in indignation first.

She lets out a wet laugh. “Darn it Luffy.”

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Johnny Ramone who Died: September 15, 2004 in Los Angeles, California

John William Cummings (October 8, 1948 – September 15, 2004), known professionally as Johnny Ramone, was an American guitarist and songwriter who was the guitarist for the punk rock band the Ramones. He was a founding member of the band, and—along with vocalist Joey Ramone—remained a constant member throughout his entire career.

In 2009, he appeared on Time's list of "The 10 Greatest Electric-Guitar Players". He ranked No. 8 on Spin's 2012 list of the "100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time" and No. 28 on Rolling Stone's similarly titled 2015 list.

Alongside his music career, Johnny appeared in nearly a dozen films (including Rock 'n' Roll High School) and documentaries. He also made television appearances in such shows as The Simpsons (1F01 "Rosebud", 1993) and Space Ghost Coast to Coast (Episode 5 "Bobcat").

His autobiography, entitled Commando, was released posthumously in 2012. In the book, Ramone writes about his love of baseball and of collecting baseball cards and movie posters, particularly horror-related posters.

John William Cummings was born in Queens, New York City, on October 8, 1948, the only child of a construction worker (a steamfitter) of Irish descent. He was raised in the Forest Hills neighborhood of Queens, where he grew up absorbing rock music. As a teenager, Johnny played in a band called the Tangerine Puppets alongside future Ramones drummer Tamás Erdélyi (better known as Tommy Ramone). As a teenager, he was known as a "greaser", though he was later described as a tie-dye-wearing Stooges fan. He was a lifelong New York Yankees fan. He also worked as a plumber with his father before the Ramones became successful, at one point attended Peekskill Military Academy in Peekskill New York, and briefly attended college in Florida.

He met future bandmate Douglas Colvin, later to become Dee Dee Ramone, in the early 1970s while delivering dry cleaning. They would eat lunch together and discuss their mutual love of bands like the Stooges and MC5. Together they went to Manny's Music in New York City in January 1974, where Johnny bought a used blue Mosrite Ventures II guitar for just over $54. On the same trip, Dee Dee bought a Danelectro bass. They collaborated with future bandmate Jeffrey Hyman, later to become Joey Ramone, to form the Ramones with Richie Stern on bass. Stern left after a few rehearsals. Tommy joined the Ramones in the summer of that year after public auditions failed to produce a satisfactory drummer.

Johnny was responsible for initiating one of the major sources of animosity within the band when he began dating and later married Linda Daniele, who had previously dated Joey. Though the band remained together for years after this incident, relations between Johnny and Joey remained strained. Years later, when Joey was in the hospital dying of lymphoma, Johnny refused to telephone him. He later discussed this incident in the film End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones, saying an attempt at such a reunion would have been futile. He did add that he was depressed for a week after Joey's death. When pressed, he acknowledged that this was because of the bond forged by the band. In their road manager Monte Melnick's book about his time with the Ramones, Johnny is quoted as having said, "I'm not doing anything without him. I felt that was it. He was my partner. Me and him. I miss that."

Johnny was one of the few conservatives in the punk rock community and was a staunch supporter of the Republican Party. He made his political affiliation known to the world in 2002 when the Ramones were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. After thanking all who made the honor possible—clad in his trademark T-shirt, ripped blue jeans and leather jacket—he said "God bless President Bush, and God bless America". He said in an interview, when questioned on his conservatism, "I think Ronald Reagan was the best President of my lifetime." This was evident when the band released the UK single "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg" in 1985; Johnny pressed for a name change, finding the title insulting to Reagan, and the song was retitled on American releases as "My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down (Bonzo Goes to Bitburg)" after a line from the song's chorus. In this same interview he claimed that "Punk is right wing".

Johnny's father was a strict disciplinarian. Johnny is quoted as saying: "My father would get on these tangents about how he never missed a day's work. I broke my big toe the day I had to go pitch a Little League game and he's going, 'What are you – a baby? What did I do, raise a baby? You go play.' And even though my toe was broken I had to go pitch the game anyway. It was terrible. It would always be like that. I'm glad he raised me like that but it would always be, 'What are you – sick? You're not sick. What did I raise – a baby? I never missed a day's work in my life.' Then I went to military school, and in military school, you couldn't call in sick."

Johnny's early adulthood was marked by bouts of delinquency which he stated were inexplicable at the time. "I didn't become a delinquent until I got out of high school. I had a two-year run. I'd go out and hit kids and take their money and rob everybody's pocketbooks. Just being bad every minute of the day. It was terrible. I don't know what my problem was. Things that were funny to me at the time were horrible. If I found a television set sitting in the garbage, I'd take it up to the rooftop, watch for someone walking down the block and drop it in front of them on the sidewalk. It was funny watching them see a TV set come crashing down 30 feet in front of them. To me it was hysterical, but it was also a mean and terrible thing to do. I also found a way of stopping the elevator. I could open up the door and stop the elevator. I would wait for an old lady to get in and stop the elevator. They'd be yelling and pushing the alarm, and I would keep them there. At about 20 years old, I stopped drinking and doing drugs, got a job and tried to be normal."

In 1983, Ramone was severely injured in a fight with Seth Macklin of the band Sub Zero Construction. He was saved by emergency brain surgery. This incident was said to have inspired the next album's title, Too Tough to Die. He never spoke of the incident in the following years.

Johnny Ramone married his wife Linda in 1984 at the office of the city clerk in New York City. She had originally dated Joey Ramone but left him for Johnny. Joey and Johnny continued to tour as the Ramones after this, but their relationship worsened. However, despite reports that they had stopped talking to each other altogether, Johnny talks fondly of Joey in his book Commando. In the documentary End of the Century, Johnny told how Joey's death had a profound impact on him emotionally and that he was depressed for "the whole week" after his death.

On September 15, 2004, Johnny Ramone died in his Los Angeles home at the age of 55, 23 days before his 56th birthday, following a five-year battle with prostate cancer. Many of his friends and musical contemporaries came to pay their respects. His wife Linda kept his ashes

[mosaicrecords]

A Mosaic Review

Mosaic's Paul Desmond Box Set: "one of the top reissues of 2020."

Scott Yanow has shared his review of Mosaic's latest Paul Desmond box set, appearing in the October issue of the New York City Jazz Record, which appears in its entirety below: The Complete 1975 Toronto Recordings Paul Desmond By Scott Yanow In a word association game, the name Paul Desmond would always be followed by that of Dave Brubeck. Desmond was the alto-saxophonist in the Dave Brubeck Quartet during 1951-67, had been part of the earlier Brubeck Octet, and enjoyed occasional reunions with the pianist during the decade up until he passed away in 1977 at the age of 53. Both his first and his final gigs were with Brubeck. Besides adding a great deal of warmth and wit to Brubeck’s music, Desmond gave him his greatest hit, “Take Five”. After the classic Dave Brubeck Quartet broke up, Desmond was less active but still played brilliantly whenever he led his own occasional record dates, guested with others, or toured with his former boss. He only led one significant group of his own during his final decade, a quartet with three Canadians: guitarist Ed Bickert, bassist Don Thompson and drummer Jerry Fuller. If one does not count 1974’s Pure Desmond (which had Desmond, Bickert, bassist Ron Carter and drummer Connie Kay), a bootleg CD of a later festival performance from 1976, and three songs that were filmed in late-1975, that quartet’s entire musical legacy until now was captured on three albums, all from 1975: Like Someone In Love (Telarc), Paul Desmond (Artists House), and Live (A&M Horizon). Mosaic’s latest limited-edition box set has seven CDs by the Desmond Quartet. In addition to the 19 pieces from the trio of albums, there are 32 previously unreleased performances. The music was recorded live by Don Thompson at Toronto’s Bourbon Street during the group’s engagements of Mar. 25-29 and Oct. 26-31, 1975. To the casual observer, seven CDs of music by a quartet may seem a bit excessive, but in reality every note played by Paul Desmond was special. He had a beautiful floating tone on alto that sounded unlike anyone else. Desmond was one of the very few altoists of his generation (along with Lee Konitz and Art Pepper) who did not sound like a close relative of Charlie Parker. Desmond’s thoughtful style was quite original with one idea leading logically to the next no matter how long the solo. Somehow every note fit, even when he was using his wit to quote other songs, and he always sounded relaxed, even when the tempo was fast. In his own groups, whether it was his recordings with Jim Hall or live performances, Desmond always used a guitarist rather than a pianist (a recorded live set with the Modern Jazz Quartet was a rare exception) and he much preferred having a drummer who kept steady time than one who was an overly stimulating accompanist waiting for his solos. Ed Bickert was a melodic guitarist with a clear tone and a style that was complementary to Desmond’s. Don Thompson gets to solo on nearly every number but he keeps his improvisations concise and never loses the momentum of the performance. Jerry Fuller proved to be a quietly supportive drummer; he does not get a single solo but does his job well. Since the music on the Mosaic box is taken from 11 different nights, there are some repeats of titles with “Things Ain’t What They Used To Be” being heard four times, but the solos of Desmond and Bickert are quite different during each version. The final seven performances by the quartet from Oct. 30-31 are a bit different because Bickert had to return home when his father passed away. Valve trombonist Rob McConnell, who otherwise never recorded with Desmond, is in his place. He fits in well with the group but Desmond’s solos are briefer than on the other dates and some of the musical magic is missing. The “new” material on the Mosaic release is on the same level as the three previous released albums, the recording quality is excellent, and Desmond sounds consistently inspired by his sidemen. Whether performing “Line For Lyons”, “Emily”, “Wave”, “East Of The Sun”, “Just Squeeze Me”, “Tangerine”, or “Take Five”, Paul Desmond is heard at the top of his game throughout this wonderful set. This is one of the top reissues of 2020 and, since it is a limited-edition release, do not hesitate to pick one up soon. Mosaic MD7-269 Paul Desmond, alto; Ed Bickert, guitar; Don Thompson, bass; Jerry Fuller, drums Too Marvelous For Words; Line For Lyons; Emily; It Could Happen To You; Just Squeeze Me; I Wish I Knew; I Should Care; Audrey; Just Squeeze Me; Meditation; Tangerine; Darn That Dream; Nuages; Like Someone In Love; Things Ain’t What They Used To Be; Line For Lyons; Wendy; Too Marvelous For Words; When Sunny Gets Blue; Audrey; Darn That Dream; Take Five; Tangerine; Wave; It Could Happen To You; Emily; Line For Lyons; When Sunny Gets Blue; Things Ain’t What They Used To Be; Just Squeeze Me; All the Things You Are; Autumn Leaves; Wave; I’ve Got You Under My Skin; Nuages; East Of The Sun; Let’s Get Away From It All; Line For Lyons; Just Squeeze Me; My Funny Valentine; Mean To Me; Wendy; Things Ain’t What They Used To Be; Wendy; Wave; Things Ain’t What They Used To Be; Nancy; Manha De Carnaval; Here’s That Rainy Day; My Funny Valentine; Take Five 8:11:31 For more information, visit www.mosaicrecords.com. Thanks for sharing, Scott. For more info, and to order your set, go here.

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[ga-yuu]

"I want to rob you during the flowering season" story event-Tamamo VS Kurama summary

Story starts off with MC and Tamamo treating a young boy who has fever. The boy was living with his mother somewhere outside the town. While treating the boy MC asks if he is going to see the cherry blossoms this year. The boy's eyes lit up and says that every year his father takes him to see the cherry blossoms. MC asks his mother where the child's father was. His mother told her due to his work he has to travel different towns and this year, he can't make it. Hearing that the boy again felt sad. Noticing this MC realises the cause of his fever.

MC and Tamamo leaves the house. She thanks Tamamo for accompanying her to see the patient, Tamamo smiles and says she doesn't have to thank and will be always there for her all the time. Tamamo asks MC the cause of the fever and MC tells him that it was because the child misses his father so much and due to that his energy levels went down leading it to fever. Tamamo didn't understand what she was trying to say.

MC says that inorder to cheer the boy she was planning to give him a branch of cherry blossom tree. That will help him bringing back his memories with his father. Tamamo touches her cheeks and smile at her saying that she is a kind woman. Hearing this MC blushes and stares at Tamamo's eyes. Then she thinks that even though her heart beats faster when Tamamo says something like that, it might be nothing for Tamamo. They soon hears someone 's voice from the sky and black feathers starts falling.

It was Kurama. He landed down and with his usual smirk he says he was surprised to see Tamamo here. Tamamo covers MC behind his back says the same thing to him and Kurama says that Yoshitsune gave him some errands,even though he was not looking forward to do it Benkei bribed him by giving sake and tangerine. Kurama asks them what they were doing here?

MC explains the whole thing to Kurama. She also tells him about their plan of bringing the tree branch to the boy. Kurama after listening, thinks for a while and smirks at Tamamo. At that point Kurama challenges Tamamo to a match. The first person to find and bring the branch to the boy wins. And for the reward, MC has to do whatever the winner asks.

Tamamo denied at first. Kurama said he can't back out and eventually he accepts. With that Kurama fly away. Tamamo and MC went to the forest. Tamamo says it's hard to find the cherry blossoms because there was heavy rain for some days and also the forest was mud tells her to be careful.

While both of them where searching for a cherry blossom tree....MC hears noises behind the bushes and suddenly taken aback by seeing a figure emerging.

Tamamo covers MC from the figure, the figure turned out to be Kurama. They both asks him what he was doing here and Kurama answers to them saying that he is here for MC. MC asks why and Kurama after a slight hesitation says that he is not much into human flowers and trees. He found a tree that he thought might be cherry blossom tree and he wants MC to come and see it his was right.

MC was delighted after hearing that and she agrees to come and see. She wanted that boy to have the cherry blossoms as soon as possible. Tamamo was hesitant but still agrees. At this point MC realises that Tamamo doesn't entirely hate Kurama and actually he believes in him that he won't mess with her. Kurama picks up MC and fly away.

MC closes her eyes when she sees how much far they were from the ground. Kurama calls out to her and she opens her eyes. Kurama asks where she was holding and MC realises she was grabbing his sleeve. She let go and apologises. Kurama says that she is a troublesome woman.

Kurama shows her the tree he found to MC, but it turned out to be something else.

MC asks him why he challenges Tamamo all the time they meet. Kurama says that it's because he is bored. MC asks why? He says that a humans can't understand because they have shorter life span compare to them. He also says Tamamo is one of those that never bores him.

Kurama asks MC is viewing the cherry blossoms is same for them? The child who wanted to see the cherry blossoms, is it to kill his boredom? MC replies saying that people have their own reason and also the boy wants to see the cherry blossoms, not to kill boredom ,they are suppose to be a foundation for his heart. He then says that flowers are weak and they die soon and MC adds on saying that they bloom every year. When the old ones fall and scatter, the new ones will grow stronger. Well it depends on who you are.

Kurama surprises MC with an unexpected question asking what does cherry blossom meant for her? She thinks for a while and answers that it helps her in motivating herself to work harder. Kurama then felt disinterested saying they are still the same. MC asks the same question back to him but he says he doesn't understand those feelings and brushes her off. He says for now he just wants to find one before Tamamo does and lands on a cliff. He says that he will her here for a while and let her know once he finds the cherry blossoms. He also says not to wander around and flies away.

MC while waiting for him, notices a pink colour at the corner. Thinking that it might be a cherry blossom tree she walks over there but slips and falls off the cliff. She hears a familiar voice calling her name.....

Tamamo end (premium)

MC falls and lands on someone's arms. When she opens her eyes, it was Tamamo smiling at her. He asks if she was hurt anywhere? But she says she is fine and puts her down. MC thanked Tamamo for saving her. Tamamo asks where Kurama was and MC said that he asked her to stay there till he finds the cherry blossoms. Tamamo says that's good and he was just about to get her. MC asks if he found the cherry blossoms. Tamamo takes her hand and leads the way.

Tamamo takes her to their destination and there was a beautiful cherry blossom tree which was shinning under the sunlight. Tamamo says he was lucky to find it even after the heavy rain. At that second Kurama comes to them. Tamamo says that since he found it first he wins. Kurama frowns saying that there is no reason for debate and agrees with Tamamo. Before leaving he says that next time wouldn't be as easy as today. After that, they both brings the branch to the boy. The boy becomes cheerful and energetic again and thanks them.

On their way back Tamamo looks at MC and asks if she has forgotten the deal. MC says she has no idea and then it clicks in her mind the deal that Kurama and Tamamo made before their fight started-"MC will listen to whatever the winner says." Keeping that in mind Tamamo again takes MC to the same cherry blossoms spot the view the cherry blossoms with her. Cool breezes starts to touch them and MC starts to feel cold. Tamamo tells her to come closer so she could be warmer. MC was little shy but agrees. While watching the beautiful site, Tamamo says that in all his life he has never found anything different while watching the cherry blossoms but this time watching it with women he loves makes it more special and beautiful. Tamamo holds her chin and brings it closer and plants a soft kiss on her lips. After the brief kiss he looks at her face and asks if Kurama did anything to her? MC says no and Tamamo was signs with a relief.

MC thinking that Tamamo was worried about her asks if he didn't trust Kurama. Tamamo says that he has known Kurama for a long time and he knows that he won't do anything like that (awwwwww). But this time its different because MC is the woman that he chose and that's that. MC was so happy to find that Tamamo thinks that way about her and tells him that he gives her to much credit. Also she only see Tamamo and compare to his her life is short, so seeing the cherry blossoms with Tamamo is also special for her. Tamamo smiles and says she is cute and touches her lips which was still warm from the kiss. He tells her he wants to hear more sweet words from her lips. MC thinks that Tamamo always convey his feelings freely and she to repay the love that sweetens her heart. But she doesn't wanted it to be in words and kisses his cheek.

😂😊😇😍😋😎😘😭😫❤💓💔💖💕💘💗

Tamamo epilogue

Yoritomo Vs Yoshitsune

Yoshitsune epilogue

Shigehira Vs Yoichi

😂😊😇😍😋😎😘😭😫❤💓💔💖💕💘💗

I will try to post faster.... Because sometimes I won't be in a mood to translate or the internet sucks..... But I will try to post soon.

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Bonzo accidentally confessing how head over heels in love with jonesy he is(to someone else or jonesy)

Bonzo was happily drunk. Reached his limit so Robert cuts him off. It was the best decision he ever made.

“Rob, Bob, Plantei. “ Bonzo giggles, yes giggles.

“I’m in love. I’m in love.”

“with who? If it's me I assure you I do not return…”

“nooooo. Isss Jonesy. John Paul Jonesy.”  Bonzo snuggles up to Robert, in a platonic way.

“ahhhh! Tell me more.”

“He isss brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I just have me drums and cun play a bit of…... He can play anythin you place in front of him. Anything” Bonzo waves his hands in the air. “n he’s soooo smart. Smartest I know.”

“He is. Go on then.”

“He’s soo kind and sweet n caring. Quiet, but I quite like that. But he can be sneaky. Cause trouble n make it seem as if he is not to blame.”  Bonzo stilts up, eyes wide, his smile covering his face.

“Then is is is beautiful. Some say he is  the pretty one. Noooo he is beautiful. His hair I don’t know what the color is , just know its my favorite. Nooo blue, blue is me favorite. He has better eyes than you. like the ocean.  You think his hair is soft. I do. I wander what he smells like.” Bonzo I now laying on his back on the couch they are on. “His cheekbones and and his hair frames his face. I want to put me hands on his hips. Think I could carry him? I bet I could. I want to carry him to bed and…”

Robert puts a hand over Bonzo’s mouth. “don’t go there mate.” The singer pulls his hand away. “you licked me!”

“yeahhhh, I want to lick him. I bet he tastes like whiskey and weed.”  Bonzo flips over and holds his face in his hands. His smile still ear to ear. “I love him.  Ya know I never found a bassist I could really work with. He’s the one.” Bonzo rolls back on his back. “I love him, I love John Paul Jonesyyyyyyy. “ Bonzo laughs. “John. I love John. John loves John.  Do you think John loves John too.?”

Jonesy walks into the room on the Starship, where Bonzo and Robert are.

“Jonesy.” Robert says. “Jonesy. Bonzo has something to tell you.”

“Roooobbert. Noooo.”

“Robert yes! Now, get up.”

Bonzo complies only to be pushed toward Jonesy, who catches the mostly drunk drummer. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Bonzo, tell him” Robert demands from behind.

Bonzo shakes his head.

“Bonzo is head over heels for John Paul Jonesy”

Bonzo kissed Jones on the lips who pushes him back. “uhhh. I “

“sorry.” Bonzo tears up.

“no, no don’t cry. You just caught me off guard.” Jonesy kisses him back. “kiss me back. Will you.”

Robert turned to Jimmy who was sitting quietly in the corner. “look I’m a matchmaker now!”

“No Robert you are not. Bonzo just ‘accidentally’ confessed he’s head over heels for Jonesy and you just shoved them together, literally. “

@outcastedangel @ledbythreadsn @raptorcat1960 @tartcakes123 @poomerpong365 @ritacaroline @girlofthemoon75 @sweet-lady-jane @tangerine-page @m-faithfull @brownskinsugarplum76n @john-denswhore @sacramentogirl23 @will-you-heed-the-masters-call

[wilccard]

pain: your muse looks after mine when they have a headache

( cont. from here. )

This is exactly what he expected, and it’s this which somehow makes it worse. Vladimir stares at him, face blank and bordered by light, trying to set his world right again. For a second, one eyebrow twitches slightly at the disease-riddled penguin, because God, what an August thing to say, and God, how he missed him. He verges between bursting into laughter and lashing out. For the span of a second, he teeters over into both of these possibilities, these realms of no return - and then the last sentence comes.

No: he expected this brand of venom. He didn’t expect the wound that comes with it - the wound it comes from. As though the last available defense to mount, the last rule in the book, was biting as hard as you can as you go down. Never August’s way before, was it? But he supposes we all must learn.

“Augustus. I returned because the year was over; now, what I came back to is a whole other matter than what I came back for.”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, this rigid calm in his voice. It’s not religion and it’s not spiritualism; he didn’t meditate his way into it, didn’t have some Western change of heart as he bandaged a ten year old in Tibet. It simply came to him one morning, a flurry of swallows, a large absence he lived with all his life until then. Nothing poured into it, nothing seeped in - the hole itself closed up, evaporated. He spent the next months of his volunteering internship in that fugue state, that bliss, not selflessness, but not self-possession, either - a state where the self is relegated to the background, a stage prop, a spectator. He didn’t think; he didn’t want. If he would’ve thought, he would’ve seen it for the intermittence it was, a temporary boon from whatever God deigned to make him the way he was, to make him this thing that craves, that doubts. He accepted the boon without seeing it, so that by the time the internship ended and he began backpacking through East Asia, he already felt it begin to disintegrate. It slipped through his fingers the moment they turned real again; the moment they touched objects and memory. By the time he crossed the border from the plains into towns and cities, it was almost all gone. Still, traces of it remained. They settled onto him sometimes, like ashes from a bonfire that cleansed something raw a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago - a bonfire that burns and burns and sends its dragonflies of char to reach you. It showed him, beyond any written word and feat of heroics, that the world is neither him nor his. That their world as they know it is just this bunched-up cloak in a vast and unopened wardrobe. He could still call onto this realization at times ( he called onto it quite a bunch of times, actually, the closest thing he’s ever had to a better nature, to an internal voice that did not call for self-annihilation ) like that night he got robbed blind in an alley in Lanzhou. Like that night he sat down with a strange boy in Tokyo, and spoke in ridiculous Japanese, which he still couldn’t learn properly because of how much it reminded him of his father, may the nameless stay nameless. Or tried to speak - to explain, to give a coherent sense to it. Who was it that said the personal never comes into question until it must be relayed to others; until it becomes personal for others? He told that boy, through quick and purposeless kisses, his name is Augustus, no, his name is August and I have no idea how to get back to him, who I’ll be if I do, what he’ll make me into. Stop touching me unless you can tell me how. Stop touching me unless you somehow become him. Like that day he bought a payphone for the first time in months, with a bloody flip and everything, and inserted the scratched SIM card he’d kept in a wallet. Like the deluge of messages on August’s number, ranging from unhinged to waspish to utterly, heartrendingly lovely, August’s sweet, imperious boy-king tone somehow reaching him through the screen. And then his mother’s texts, Rose’s, Roi’s, Snow’s, all the people in his life he somehow wanted to get away from, not to find himself - precisely to leave himself behind, an alchemy of fear. The farce of it. Oh, the farce of it. He told them this on the first day: it’s not goodness that moves me. It’s not others I want to save. I’ll lose my mind, mama, I’ll lose my mind if I spend one more week in this city. He told them, didn’t he? But there’s no way to make people who love you understand: you had to see if there was a world without them. It’s the only thing closest to death I could bear doing. You had to see. You saw.

He’d texted August a long string of messages in return, hating every single one, hating himself for the first time in months. And then, composure somehow restored, pulling the strings of his mind and heart together as though into a braid, he bought tickets home. He also cracked the payphone. The thought of not hearing back was impossible to cope with. The thought of hearing back and being told to stay the fuck off even more so.

That’s the way of primordial calm, isn’t it? Sometimes it just comes to us as cowardice.

He runs both hands through his hair, uprooting the grimy, dust-speckled strands. A physical testimony, his hair must’ve gathered the dust of three continents, mountain crags and steppe and neon airport terminal before it fell here - in this pristine two-storey from a fallen empire. His fingers rest on the tips, tug at them until it sends fire across his scalp. Pain lends clarity - another lesson they both learned.

“You’re in such a state”, he speaks before August can break anything else. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

On the other side of the door, his legs slump. He inhales so hard it sends something sparking on the off-center of his vision. His body, whole and entire, gives way into the frame. The door stays open, sweetheart, August’s mother begins to tell him from the corridor, but she stops dead at the sight of his face, his doubled-over position, inches away from kneeling. Perfect manicured fingers, even now, Christ, reach to him into a mauve lanyard. Lifeline. Get up. Come back tomorrow. You have to. You have to.

He follows her to the end of the corridor and picks up his bags. Before he’s fully out into the front lane, he can hear his mother scrambling to reach August’s room and open the door.

                                                                        ——

London is an uncanny valley - he hasn’t registered it on the taxi ride to the central neighborhood, headed to August’s house, when all he did was flip through his airport phone and send customary messages of Safe landing x. The cabby tried to ask him questions about the journey and he had to lie about being motion sick just to stay alone with his fucking thoughts. One thought: how is he, how is he, how is he, how does he look will he want to see me is there someone to see me at all. As the ugly communal blocks morphed into marble columns, into Huxley-esque car gates and alarm systems, he pressed his forehead against the window with small, shallow breaths. Suddenly, feeling close to throwing up was the furthest thing from a lie he’s ever said in this timezone.

He registers it now, though, the strangeness. He tries to hitch another cab from August’s street but nearly runs into the bike lane instead ( daft tosser, comes the scream, which he supposes it’s only fitting enough ). London was never a part of him, and it never went to great pains to give him any sense of belonging, a great and foreign body that rejects the transplant. Even so, he mourns for what he lost - London was the only thing he’d known, and that’s irreplaceable. The unfamiliarity of it batters against him until it’s almost as painful as the visit. Several degrees off, though; he still carries the shards in his body somewhere, so that when he finally reaches his flat he has to cover the wounds from his mum as though he came from Ypres. The bags are heavy, leaden. The strap bites into his shoulder with every step. One of them got lost or nicked at the airport, but he could care less - there’s nothing he could care less about, at that. Whatever he brought as gifts, he still tucked neatly into his cabin bag - they were purchases spaced out over the course of a year, evolving from bizarre memorabilia to enthusiastic keepsakes to dull, compulsory duty-frees in the last run.

His mum is on him in a split-second. She throws her tiny arms around his neck as though happiness made an acrobat out of her - he returns the hug, breathes in the tangerine tint of her hair, tries to keep his knees from buckling.

Dorogaya mama, ostanovit’! He laughs, and it’s not familiar to his ears, it won’t be to hers either, but he pulls her closer, diverts the moment. Stop it, you’re going to make me fall over. He seats the bags down, gently, begins to speak about his journey over whatever she’s saying to him, his leveled voice leveling hers down in turn. Vladimir thinks, well, if he speaks quick enough, expansive enough, he can drown out her questions, her exclamations, her prodding which will only serve to lay him open - touch one seam and everything will spill out.

“Look, I have to wash my hands, I’ve been in more cabs in the last hour than in my entire life. Dropped in to August’s for a moment on my way here—”

Her touches slow down, brought to a half - she only moves one hand to cup his cheek, a perfect, eerie stillness descending. “You went straight there. You landed and you went to see him”, she says. Not a question anymore. “Oh, Vladya. Malchik, malchik.”

“Yeah.” He’s at the sink, zipping through the small living room. “Yeah.” He scrubs in between his fingers, lathers everything with so much soap it stings his skin. His own nails scrape against it, back and forth, and is this fucking sink broken, because Vladimir feels water splattering him from somewhere. It’s one more minute until he realizes he’s crying. His mother lays an arm around him, and it’s then it turns into great, racking sobs, sounds that leave him gasping and grasping for air. They can’t be drowned by the tap. He still turns it higher.

                                                                         ——

He’s there the next morning. He hasn’t slept, not really, and he’d like to blame the jet lag but he knows that doesn’t cover it, not fully. He hasn’t eaten, either - he nitpicked at some stew his mother put together, long enough so that she won’t begin to sob, and then he thought of how everything gets to her so intensely and how he’s all she has and how can he carry all this love, this burden she breathed into him? If he came home from Nepal injured, sick? If he didn’t come home at all? If, and this was the scar, this was the boiling wound, he was the addict? And then a mudslide of rage went through him, over him at the thought that sure, it suits August just fine to up and do this, with a fucking family tree serving at his heel, some bloody Bilbo Baggins genealogy ready to nurse him into health. And then guilt, opening up in patches like craters in the earth. Sickness at thinking this without believing it; at believing it without thinking it. So he just pushed the bowl away and went to lie down.

But he’s there. A part of him is shocked at it. He thought ( it wasn’t until the last second that he admits this, until he rings the doorbell and waits for the grand mansion to open, and there is no way to back off, no way to slip into the comfortable hide of the coward and the runaway ) that he might not show up. That he was at the crossroads of it, as he’d been with everything else, as he’d been since birth or conception or whatever design cut him out like this.

But then Mrs. Sutherland opens, and her smile is August’s smile, and her eyes are August’s eyes, and Vladimir realizes something infinitely more terrifying: he would’ve come here anyway. He would’ve come to him always. In any timeline, in any scenario, in any of the horrific universes he thought up, and which are still not out of the question. He would’ve been at this door day and night.

His room is just as still as it was yesterday. This time, he comes prepared: a pail of water, lukewarm, a set of blades, shaving foam. He wanted the blades there, insisted on it; nearly came to blows with Valeria over the fact. I trust him with his own life as much as I trust him with mine, Valeria. I know who he is.

He brandishes them like weapons, or reliquaries, or whatever you carry when you go to meet a saint turned feral, a messiah fallen.

August rolls his eyes at him, or perhaps he imagines it. “Please, would you not? I have an awful headache.” Vladimir would call bullshit, and he almost does, but then he sees the way his friend winces at the slightest sound of him closing the door a little too hard. He also smells, through the antiseptic and 300-quid cleaning supplies, the faint traces of vomit, the blade-point acid of it. He’s worked hospitals, he’s worked bars - he knows how to tell it apart.

“Frankly, my dear”, is all he says, “I would be surprised if you didn’t.” He tries to keep his voice low - the words are equal parts cheer and restraint, modulated to fit the shut-blinds darkness. Through the drapes and valences, tendrils of morning sun reach Vladimir’s tense body, and August’s curled form on the bed. It paints gold-leafs over both of them.

He takes his shoes off, leaves them at the door. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, a worn-down thing he hasn’t worn since sixth form, and approaches the bed. He settles down on one knee onto the mattress, fully behind the other, water pail balanced carefully next to his thigh. “Up you go.” He can feel August readying his forces to hiss a barbed remark, can feel it in the tight coiling of the other's body rather than through any sound. Like a small, wounded animal, a former predator shunned to the edges of his own kingdom—his own mind.

“Shut up”, Vladimir intercepts him. He wants to say, is on the cusp of it: listen to me or I’ll give you the fistfight you’re itching to have, but then he reckons August has half a mind to take him up on the offer. And how will he ever explain that to their mothers? “Sit up and scoot closer to me, eyes to the wall. I’m either the one doing this or your mom is.”

Somehow, August obeys; whatever he read in Vladimir’s voice, he recognized it for what it was. Not power, not as they were both taught to define it, but deeper and darker than that - a force that precedes the names men gave to power.

He sinks his hands in the water, and, gently, lays them on August’s temples. He doesn’t think that this is the first time touching him in over a year. Doesn’t think that all the people he’s touched, all the people he felt, were just stepping stones until this moment, less than placeholders, less than even tokens or symbols for this moment, this warmth, this boy. He doesn’t think - maybe that’s the only thing it was, that calm, that ancient and bloodless acceptance. Just the ability to finally quiet your mind.

In circling motions, pressing just hard enough, he massages a line across the crown. Starting from the forehead, his touches advance, moving in half-moons until his hands meet at the nape of his neck once more. He lays two fingers into each side: the junction of nerve and vein. And then he presses it until he can feel the tension jolting back, can feel it roping and fluttering and then easing at last. He shudders under the other’s pulse - August shudders in turn. A sound escapes from August, broken, unwound. It crashes into the silence, a heat source, the proof of a taming, and splits it into pieces. Vladimir, too, sees it for what it is.

He takes off August’s sweater, pulls it over his head with care. Underneath, the bones of his spine poke out like knolls in the grass, like the grave-mounds of dead kings. He presses his lips to the first one, then the second, then the third. Against his cheek, the boy’s skin is feverish warm. It’s sickly, yes, it relays a tight-called battle, a losing or a winning, with both at painful, inestimable costs. A pain he’ll have no way of knowing, no words to ask about. There’s no mistake about it. Not even the rising ebb of desire can stave that understanding off, and it scares him so much his breath catches. But beneath the bones, beneath the shakiness of it, August’s heart is still loud enough to rattle the very stars. Vladimir presses his ear to it. thank god thank god thank god thank god.

They can work their way back from this. It’s there. Everything that needs to be is there.

“I'm going to say this once, and one time only.” He murmurs, soft, dazed. He can hardly feel his lips moving, still tenderly ghosting against August’s back. Not planting kisses - not appraising scars, either. Let me finish, his breath says, half caress and half vigil over the skin.

“This shit? It's not on me, and I refuse to carry it. If I did... August, love, if I pick this up, if you make me pick this up and claim it, it’s over for us. Not because I want it to be, not because it should be. But because there’s no other way. I never learned to love my way through guilt, and you deserve more than someone who comes to you as to a flame they have to shelter. A lonely artifact they’re responsible for.” At their side, Vladimir’s hand roams over the tangled bed-sheets, still warm with water, and seeks August’s fingers. The same quiet desperation of dorm nights and summer camps. He wills his voice not to break, and if he can touch him, if he touches him back, he will manage it. He will manage everything.

“ So... no. This is not on me. And you have to understand that. But the rest of it - what led to this, ultimately, but what could’ve led to a million other places - is on me. I should've come sooner. Stayed in touch. Should have explained to you that me leaving was never… meant to be permanent. That it never could be. There is nothing else but this - not because we’re doomed, or we doomed ourselves, but because I choose it. Or perhaps I don’t, okay, perhaps a thousand centuries made this choice for me, but what difference does it make? If everything is timeless and you’re the only thing I want? Does it matter if the purpose comes from inside out or from outside in? It’s you, August, it’s always been you.”

Someone is gasping for air. It could be both - knowing them, it probably is. Outside the window, the sun turns mellow, half-burnt, half on its way to a great and glorious grave.

“Turn around. Turn to me.”

August does.

[tenderlylethal]

open to - m/ f/ nb 

suggested connection - silas is a driver for your city’s equivalent of the mob and your muse is someone he’s picking up on his rounds. they could be an escort/ the spouse of someone high up that he’s supposed to chauffeur/ a criminal on their way to rob somewhere who needs a getaway driver/ someone who got into his car drunk, thinking that it’s their uber - go nuts! 

the dark bloom of midnight had made way for the first tangerine rays of early morning, and over the softly crunching static of his car radio you could just about hear the birds outside perch high on buzzing streetlamps to start their opening symphony of the new day. not that it was a new day for silas, whose large calloused hands had been lazily clutching his steering wheel for what felt like weeks now. the simplicity of driving made his volatile mind quiet down, his brain sluggish and heavy, and although he missed the thrill of being anything other than the designated driver for the mob bosses that ran his hellhole of a city, he knew his trigger fingers and hot-wired mind couldn’t take it. he’s watching the birds when the soft click of his car door alerts him to the fact that someone has just stepped in, and he curses himself silently as he finds himself completely unable to remember who they were supposed to be and why he was picking them up. too many long nights will do that to you, he had seen a program about it on tv one morning as he tried desperately to lull himself to sleep. memory loss, it was like ptsd wasn’t even enough to quell the vengeant god hellbent on making him pay for his former crimes.

 one leather clad arm snakes over the seat beside him as he darts a look over his shoulder so he can pull out of his parking space, and the face staring back at him does nothing to spark his memory. “ hope you don’t mind radio static, there’s never nothin’ to listen to this early in the mornin’” his gruff tone is almost conversational as he meets the stranger’s eyes in his mirror as they set off down the dark road, a ghost-town during this witching hour. he doesn’t bother to introduce himself, having found that the power of a name was never something you wanted to give to the lost souls that took up temporary residence on his seats. “-- where to? ”