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dokoni-mo · 4 years ago

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She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader

Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.

SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst

Word Count: 4626

WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol

A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.

Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.

Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.

After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.

This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.

Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.

Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.

That insufferable woman.

With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.

It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.

Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.

Freak.

Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.

Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.

"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"

Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.

The rain must have told him to be generous that night.

"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."

The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.

Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.

"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"

Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."

Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.

However...

Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.

It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.

Dream manipulation, huh?

It might be worth a try.

Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"

Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.

Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.

Muzan was being for real.

Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.

"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."

Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.

This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.

Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.

Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.

"I wish to see a pleasant dream."

Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.

It was repulsive.

But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...

It was worth stomaching.

After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.

"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"

"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."

Perfect, even.

Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.

"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

"Muzan..."

Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.

"Muzan..."

Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.

The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.

The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.

Those were not chopsticks.

Those were fingers.

All too familiar fingers.

"Muzan..!"

Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.

Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.

"Muzan!"

Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.

Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.

Other than her.

Her.

Oh, her, her, her.

His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.

You.

You were really here.

"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"

This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.

He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.

How could he ever forget?

Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.

Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.

Everything about you was.

Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.

He just...

couldn't.

You were human, yes.

But Muzan didn't care.

He was in love with you.

Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.

But that could come later.

"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.

His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.

Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.

Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.

The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.

Only you.

"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.

Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"

Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.

Just something to keep you safe from the truth.

His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.

Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.

You were perfect to him.

Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.

Muzan was never one to believe in angels.

However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,

He would believe them.

As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.

Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.

A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.

Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.

Muzan knew this night.

This was the night he told you the truth.

The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.

This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.

"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"

Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.

Enmu really was good at this.

Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."

A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."

You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.

After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.

You were so brave.

Your heart was so big.

Muzan felt so overwhelmed.

"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.

What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.

Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.

"I've always known."

Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.

Muzan knew this night as well.

It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.

How cruel fate was.

Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.

After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.

"What is it?" He questioned.

You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.

"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.

Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.

You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."

The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.

He loved you.

He loved you he loved you he loved you.

And he still did.

He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.

"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."

The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.

"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.

You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.

"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."

You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.

"What if we were to have a family of our own?"

Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.

"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.

"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."

Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.

This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.

You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.

The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.

Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.

"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."

If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.

For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.

Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.

What a fucking freakshow.

Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.

You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.

Muzan could hardly bare it.

He had felt you, held you near him.

And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.

This was a pain almost too hard to bear.

How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.

No amount of time with you was enough.

"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.

"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."

Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.

"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.

Enmu really was a special one.

After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.

Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.

Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.

He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.

Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.

After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.

"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"

Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.

Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.

Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.

Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.

"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."

Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.

It all clicked into place.

"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."

Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.

"Yes..." Muzan said.

"She truly was."

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimestsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader

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vore-scientist · 3 years ago

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Return of the Dragon King pt 1: Prison Break

[A non-sexual high fantasy GT/vore story with both hard/fatal+ other fantasy violence and safe/soft]

This story is a prose adaptation of an RP between @vixen525 and I. It takes place in one of her worlds and features mostly her characters.

Summary/Pitch: Separated from Sophia by the evil (and illegitimate) Prince Nero, Yonah must rescue his princess from Nero's devious clutches. With a collection of quirky fantasy characters as allies, Yonah aims to bring an end to Nero's reign and return the rightful heir to the throne.

But before that, he must escape from one of Nero’s prisons.

Story General Warnings: Return of the Dragon King overall will contain hard/fatal vore (in an intense fantasy violence style) along with soft/safe (the good stuff). Themes of abuse and torture as well. (There may be one instance of soft fatal that if I ever get that far I’ll warn for that specifically but it’s so far off from this it may never get written down)

Chapter Specific Warnings: This chapter contains all the story general warnings. This is NOT the chapter with soft/fatal. It’s hard only. It very much treads the line between hard vore and just standard fantasy violence. This part contains a very brief mention of attempted (and failed) sexual assault.

Onto the story:

----

For the 20th night in a row Yonah was replaying the moment in his mind, and like the 19 times before, this time was slightly worse than before.

It started with merriment, feasting, dancing, joking. Then transitioned to screaming, to blood, to Sophia being dragged away and him unable to stop it. And finally ended with waking up here, on a hard stone floor, in a room with no windows, with cold metal around his ankles and a chain attached to a back corner. With a terrible pounding in his head and an indescribable weight upon his core.

While he wondered why it had happened. Why this diplomatic mission to another world had been under false pretenses, however it wasn’t really worth dwelling on. He wasn't going to get answers here. All that he knew was he had failed. He had failed to protect Sophia. His charge. His friend. His princess. She was taken and he had let it happen!

After his 5th day in the prison cell he had given up trying to escape. Whatever that pressure was, pushing on his core, it stopped his magic. He had woken up without his robe, staff, and hat. For a normal wizard that would be a problem, but Yonah HaEsh was half FireWitch in addition to half giant. He had his own natural magic! Surely he could melt the cuffs and bars.

Nope. He could see the air shimmer with heat around his hands. He was generating magic, but it seemed to be… negated as soon as he tried to release it. All it succeeded in doing was make him tired. And hungry.

He was so hungry. The prison guards were giving him just enough food and water to stay alive for reasons that were beyond him. So he spent most of his time laying on the floor. Conserving his energy. For what purpose? For what event? None at all. He just hoped. And cried. Or at least tried to. His tears had long since dried up.

The screech of the prison bars sliding open grated upon his ears and he drew a harsh breath but did not give the guards the satisfaction of interacting with him. He had tried to rush at them a few times, just to have a little fun. But the chains weren’t long enough to let him reach the bars. All his antics got him was humiliation.

“Oy! Halfbreed Thing, you’re in luck,” came the voice of a nameless guard, “the warden decided to give you a treat tonight!”

Yonah didn’t respond. It was clearly sarcasm.

“He also said if you don’t eat up, you get nothing for a week!” And the door was closed again.

He still did not look. He had decided he wasn’t going to even touch what they had assumedly given him. It was probably poisoned, or drugged. Or both. He drew another breath.

That smell.

He finally looked. His heart racing. They wouldn’t… would they?

Standing with her back against the bars was a young woman with straight black hair, wearing a similar tattered outfit as himself. She must have been cold, and scared, but she was not shaking. Instead she stared right into his eyes. The fear in them was evident.

Now that his ears were no longer ringing he could hear her breathing. She was trying to calm down.

Apparently she succeeded. As she talked first.

"So... I guess they put you in here because you use magic too?" her voice was weak, and her accent thick upon his ears but he understood her well enough.

Yonah did not respond right away. Carefully he sat up, leaning against the back wall where his chains were connected, rattling them as they piled up.

“Well they certainly didn’t throw you in here so you could be my pet.” he snorted steam with his words, happy he could still do that much, and pleased him to see her concern at this display. So perhaps he could have some fun, even as her scent started to permeate his cell, leading his thoughts in another direction.

“No…” she answered, not moving any closer. “I doubt they’ve been feeding you well. I suspect they threw me in here in hope that you’d eat me.”

Yeah no shit. Had she heard the guard? Or was she too scared to listen. He had listened, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Being tossed a person to eat. How barbaric. Do they think I am some sort of feral animal?” His voice was hoarse with dehydration, and conflict. For he was considering eating her. Yonah HaEsh, despite being half giant, was not above eating smallfolk, if necessary. And she certainly smelled…delectable.

She shook her head “Many giants wouldn't hesitate if hungry enough… They may be normally polite to smaller folk but when half starved? All bets are off”

Yonah nodded, “I suppose so… Though I am only half giant.” He couldn't do more than suppose, as he did not know anything about giants of this world, though he remembered seeing one at Prince Nero’s castle. A little less than twice as tall as his own mother, and his mother was over 40ft tall! What he did know was that giants in his world would be tempted just like him, and while they were also normally polite… ish… their own survival was more important than the life of someone they did not know.

So why was he holding back? Well for one thing, she was out of reach. For another… He did not like the idea of being fed a person, it was insulting. The idea was nearly offensive enough to scare his hunger away. Nearly.

“Why you?” he hissed. Trying to chase away the remaining offensive thoughts. The mental images of grabbing her, sinking his fangs into her soft tasty flesh, and using his jaws and hands to rip her apart. The thoughts of how delicious it would be to finally satiate his hunger properly for the first time in weeks.

It took her a long minute to answer “I… keep escaping. I got out the door this time, nearly made it to the outer wall.”

“Ohhhh, curious” he breathed out, glad his ‘treat’ turned out to be interesting enough to distract his thoughts with. “You do not look like an escape artist. Or are you of hidden talents?”

She shook her head “The magic they use to… nullify the magic of others… doesn’t work on me. And my own magic doesnt like that im captive and kept… helping me escape”

Ohhhhh fascinating. He did not say out loud this time. “Sounds like you are a handful. Though perhaps you are rather, a mouthful. Or two in my case.” he smiled with all his fangs.

She swallowed nervously “Y-yes”

“Why don’t they just kill you? Are you important?”

She shook her head again “They are waiting for the execution order. That’s… why I’m here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She took a breath. “If another prisoner kills me… they don’t lose their capital funding for executing a prisoner without the proper paperwork…”

“That’s where I come in” and he snarled “I don’t like being used as a tool. And I don't really want to eat you”

She nodded “That’s… good”

“But I am hungry.”

“Oh…”

“Why are you in this prison?”

She looked away. “I… killed someone. With magic.”

More fascinating by the second. “Why, would you do that.”

It was an obvious struggle for her to answer “It wasn’t… it wasn’t intentional. He pinned me up against a wall and started tearing off my clothes. My magic just... reacted. The next thing I knew he was dead”

Yonah snorted again “Should have been intentional!”

“I haven't had any formal training! My magic just happens!”

“Shame” he sighed. “Do you know why I am here?” he asked, changing the subject.

“You’re… a mage. A rogue one. Like I am.”

That was new to him, “A rogue mage?”

“Practicing magic is highly regulated, don’t you know?”

“No.” Yonah saw that made her very confused “I am not of this world”

She seemed to accept this easily. This world seemed to be more comfortable with the idea of other worlds than his own, which had only started to make contact with new realities. He had also decided she didnt need to know his story yet. For he had not made up his mind on keeping her alive, or eating her. If he ate her, then it would have been a waste of breath to tell his own tale of woe.

He tugged on his chains to pile them up and keep them from getting tangled. And for the next few minutes he occupied himself with this task.

“They stop-”

Yonah looked at her so fast his neck cricked. She started again.

“They stopped using shackles on me because the chains kept breaking. Perhaps I could” she took a single step forward, and seeing that Yonah did not react, took another. “I’m sure you would appreciate more freedom of movement.” She took another step.

“Well not all of us are so damn talented now are we?!” he growled. She took two steps back.

“Im trying to help you! Maybe I can figure out how to get it to work on you too!”

“A self proclaimed untrained mage!” he spat “and why would you help a monster like me?”

For as much as he wanted to be civil, he was also a monster. And as much as he tried to fight the temptation to be monstrous, he did not know if he could succeed.

“It wasn’t being a monster that got you in trouble! It was magic.”

She sounded very sure of that.

Yonah snorted “That is your own assumption”, and turned around to lay his head on the chains, facing the corner.

After a few minutes he heard her soft footsteps, and he craned his neck to look. She had gotten a lot closer than he expected and was reaching for his chains. She was clearly in the mood to help him. Unfortunately he was in a mood to play with his would be treat instead, and he did not have any confidence that she could help, so why not have fun.

“Are you sure that’s wise little morsel?” he sighed with a fanged smile.

Amazingly she did not back up but touched chains by his ankles.

“No. But sooner or later they will get the execution order signed. So my odds of survival are shit. But they are better if I free you.”

Yonah made his eyes glow with what fire he had left “Are they better? You said you were untrained.”

She looked embarrassed, “I’m hoping I can practice on these chains of yours. My magic does disable the nullification. We can work together to get out.”

“Untested magic is dangerous” yonah growled “Maybe I should just eat you!” he snapped his teeth.

Still she did not leave. Instead she stood up and glared at him “So what? I die and you survive another week until the next council meeting and your execution is approved?”

Yonah narrowed his eyes “Maybe I dont care about that anymore.” but he does not move either. “You dont know why im truly here. Maybe I deserve this!”

His fiery eyes still on hers, she retaliated “I dont care if you do! I need to get free, and I cant on my own. You want to be free to dont you? If I can use my magic, I can break these chains, disable the anti-magic on this room, save us both!”

Yonah rolled his eyes, losing their staring contest. He did not stop her from continuing her investigations of the chains. But his mind wandered, until he exclaimed.

“Maybe you’re a plant! Instead of using me to kill you, you’re here to kill me!” he jerked the chains away from her.

“I’m unarmed!” she insisted and scrambled forwards to maintain contact with the metal.

“You said they cannot chain you, that their anti-magic shit doesnt work on you, so yours does work, and it’s killed someone before!” He knew that this new panic was not helping him in the slightest, and yet he did not care.

“Most of my magic isn’t working! I just somehow break chains and disable the magic nullification! I don’t know how it works or how to activate it! But the fact I can means they want me dead so they stop having to catch me! And magic isn’t allowed and I definitely don’t have the indicator that I have special permission, those are super obvious.”

Yonah blinked “Could be lies! You could be spitting lies! Permission to use magic. How ridiculous”

“Everyone knows that the few legal mages have face tattoos to make them obvious”

Yonah breathed steam again and finally she backed away from the painful heat. “I dont! I don’t know anything about this world! You could say anything and I wouldn’t know if it was truth or lies!”

“Oh… right” she looked at her feet “You aren't from this world. That must suck as much as my own problems with my memory…”

She rambled a little more about how she was definitely a prisoner, it was obvious from her malnutrition, and that despite not being able to be kept in chains she had marks on her wrists and ankles from the failed attempts.

But Yonah was not listening anymore. Once again he turned away and was trying to cry himself to sleep.

So she took the opportunity to touch the chains near his ankles again.

“Careful now!” he hissed without looking at her. “You don’t want to get burned” Hearing her yelp as she touched the chains, which he had put his mind to pumping his fire into. Maybe he couldn’t melt them, but he could make them painful to touch.

He heard her curse, and then the chains rustled again as she grit her teeth and grasped the half giant sized links, whining in pain and holding back tears. 3 seconds were all she could manage before she had to stumble back, sitting on the ground and blowing on her burnt hands.

Yonah sat up and looked at the chains. He did not let his face show any surprise as he found rust and cracks that had not been there before.

“Wow. It didnt work. Big fucking surprise, some help you were, but I guess you were telling the truth about being being put here for me to eat.” he lay back down. “Maybe I’ll do that in the morning.”

Suddenly the pain in her hands was not as important as what the half giant had said.

“It started to work! But I couldnt hold on long enough!” she wailed, “I tried! I really tried, to help you’re sorry ass!”

“And you FAILED” he snorted back.

“Only temporarily!” she insisted

“And look where it got me. Nowhere. I’m going to sleep”

“If the chains were just a little cooler! Then maybe-”

“I told you to be careful. You have only yourself to blame for your failures and your injuries” he stated, fully aware it was his fault. And that he was sabotaging himself. And yet he couldn't stop himself.

“I was trying to help you. You don’t have to be so rude. We are stuck in the same situation and I am trying to make a difference.”

“I dont have to be polite either. Now you’re the one being rude, keeping me awake”

She crossed her arms in defiance of her own fear “You’re kind of an asshole. I thought maybe we could work together to escape but apparently you’d rather stay and be executed.” She stood up, glancing at her hands, “Guess I’ll just try to figure out how to disable the nullification and escape without you if you really are that opposed to working together.” She turned and walked back to the cell bars before sitting down again.

Yonah looked away, no longer amused by her company, for he was too tired, and too hungry, too angry. Mostly at himself for heating up the chains.

Of course, he couldn't sleep, even though he wanted to do so. After about 10 minutes he glanced at the human, who was making hand motions at the bars. He could just barely feel the sparks of magic failing to become embers at her will.

That got boring really quickly, and he noticed that, unlike earlier, she was shivering. Not with fear…

“You’re wasting your time, little one”

She gasped and jumped from her sitting position, nearly toppling over. He was not asleep like she had assumed. And now he was staring at her with those glowing eyes again, full of fire and hunger.

“I am not giving up” she yawned and shook even worse, “I have no desire to be executed, not by the prince, and not by you!”

Yonah’s eyes dimmed with compassion, “You can try again in the morning. You keep this up and you’re going to freeze to death”

To his surprise she snarled at him, “What do you care!? You obviously arent worried about execution, and I dont have much else to do at the moment!”

Yonah rolled his eyes “Do you want a warm place to sleep or not? I’m only offering once. Can’t imagine you’ve had a warm bed in a while”

“I- what?” she paused, processing what he said, “Warmth… sounds wonderful… But you talked about eating me in the morning!” so she did not step near him.

“I said maybe. So you don't have to worry about it until then” He considers for a moment “I’m still making up my mind. I dont want to be used as an execution method, but I am starving. However” he yawned, his fangs looking larger than before, “I promise not to eat you tonight, and I am very warm if you want to sleep in my arms.”

“This room is absolutely freezing…” she admitted, “But I dont like the idea of you waking up before me to have a snack!”

She still looked hesitant so he added “Tiddles won’t be able to bring anything with you still visibly uneaten”

Now her fear was replaced almost entirely with confusion “Tiddles?”

“One of the little guards who did this to us. Sneaks me food most nights. If he comes tonight, I promise that I will let you try again, in the morning, to break the chains, before I resume considering whether or not to eat you. How does that sound?”

“How… likely is this Tiddles to show up?”

“He appears most nights, but not the last, and he never skips more than one night in a row.”

“How about you promise to let me try again, regardless of if Tiddles shows up!” she was not about to take such a chance.

Yonah scrunched up his face “Fine.”

“Alright, that’s much better.” she took a step towards him again “It means you have to let me go, and you wont think about eating me until after I get to genuinely try to free us”

“If you’re not tucked out of sight soon, I dont get fed, and I’ll have have a much harder time not thinking about it” he threatened “Tiddles can’t claim he thought I ate you if you’re standing alive at the front of the cage!”

A few more steps, she was almost within reach… “Fine… I guess… I just want to try a couple more times, it will be quick”

His patience waring thin he made his eyes flash “but I want to sleep, and to get fed”

“It will only take a moment!” she stopped just out of reach.

“Tiddles often manages to get me an entire barrel of crap! I’ll be willing to share” his mind now on the food, he couldnt think of much else.

“Im starting to figure it out though”

Why was she so insistent! This was not the time! “You’re tired, and cold, and hungry. You try any more magic and you’ll just pass out.”

He had gotten to his knees but he deflated a bit, lowering down into a position not unlike a crouching dragon “So I offer one more time than I said I would. A warm place to sleep. A proper meal. Or you refuse, and I get angrier, I get hungrier, and you stay cold and my only option for dinner”

She hesitated and finally sighs, “You are probably right... I just got so close to escaping today... I was gonna use a wind spell to blast open all the doors when one of them tackled me...” She took the step forward that got her within reach, and Yonah slowly reached around her, stopping her rambles. “But maybe after a rest I’ll have better success”

Having held back long enough, yonah scooped her up and returned to his corner to curl around his new teddy bear, thin and cold as it was. In contrast, his own embrace is soft, pillow-like even. And warm. So very very warm. She tensed in his grip for only a moment before calming down and closing her eyes with a deep sigh.

“By the way, I didnt introduce myself. My name is Savina”

Not resisting the urge, Yonah nuzzled her with his face, his normally neatly trimed facial hair overgrown and tangled and in need of a wash. He was drinking in her scent, even if he was resisting getting a taste, “I didn’t introduce myself either. Now shut up or I’ll put your head in my mouth to shut you up. I hear Tiddles”

As he was facing the back wall, it appeared as if he was alone in his cell, as the footsteps got closer, along with scraping noise and soon, a jingling of keys. Unlike earlier, the screech of the door opening was not so bad, knowing what it meant.

“You awake big guy? Damn this thing is so heavy… I managed to get a lot of scraps so it’s not mostly water this time! Probably tastes just as bad as all the rest, worse since I couldn’t sneak any salt in... but better than nothing right?”

The only response Tiddles got was a slight movement of Yonah’s head. His bushy mane of unkempt black hair shifting. Then two orange lights appeared. The giant's eyes locked on him with anticipation and hatred.

The guard, Tiddles, who couldn't have been older than 20, dragged a barrel within reach of Yonah, though the prisoner did not make any move.

“The others were laughing earlier about how you got a decent meal tonight… but I dont see any plate. Not surprised it was a lie. Im sorry again that this is not seasoned. But…” He left and returned before Yonah could investigate the food. Holding a large sack, the smell coming from which made yonah take a very intense breath.

“I did bring these… They were going to be used to torture other prisoners. Tested them on me. Just one bite and I thought my tongue would burn up in my own mouth, I drank so much water I thought I would throw up. But maybe it’s not as intense for giants!”

Through his dehydration Yonah started to drool, the spicy smell of the hot peppers filling his half FireWitch brain.

The display of hunger caused Tiddles to freeze up a moment “Um… I’ll take that as a yes to these. Great Goddess they make my eyes water!” he set the sack down and went to the other back corner where an empty barrel was on it’s side.

“I’ll take this one, yes?” Tiddles didn’t wait for an answer but said “you’re… not as talkative tonight. Usually you threaten-joke about eating me along with the slop. You alright?”

As soon as Tiddles had moved away from the full Barrel and sack of peppers, Yonah Sat up and scooted over with one hand. Revealing the reason he was not talking. Savina was tucked into his elbow, having fallen asleep.

Tiddles seemed briefly transfixed by the woman. If yonah had to describe the expression the closest would be reverence. Before cringing away.

“That’s what they meant by a good meal!?” He shook off his surprise “what a load of dragon crap. You’re not some feral animal”

Yonah didnt respond to this continued attempt to bond with him as he dragged the barrel back to his corner and stuck his finger in, building up his fire to warm up the cold scraps and water. Tiddles made no more small talk and left him to his pitiful “meal”.

Once the contents of the barrel started to steam, Yonah nudged Savina awake. She was not happy about that.

“I was actually sleeping well, what the fuck”

Yonah set her on his lap, the barrel in front of them both. “If you dont eat some of this now, I’ll eat all of it. You wont get a single drop, but if you eat now, you wont make a dent in it noticeable to me”

She nodded, understanding, and put her hands into the barrel. Yelping in pain as the hot slop made contact with her burnt hands.

Grumbling about how she was an idiot, yonah rummaged around in his chain pile for a flat piece of metal. It was a band from a previous barrel that he had broken. That was the only time he had gotten an earful from Tiddles about how if he continued to do that, Tiddles wouldnt be able to sneak him more food. He was able, with some effort, to heat it, pinch it, and bite it into a sort of ladle, which he used to scoop up the scrap soup and hold it to Savina who was very grateful.

Even with his encouragement she ate very little. Yonah had no idea how long she’d been here, but it was likely longer than himself, and it was very probable that her stomach had shrunken, so he eventually gave into his own hunger and stopped trying to get her to eat more and let her slump against his middle and fall back to sleep.

But before he ate any of it he took the peppers out of the sack and crushed them into the prison soup. It took all his self control not to just eat the peppers straight up. So he rewarded himself by licking the juice from his fingers.

He would have downed the contents of the barrel like a shot but resisted as it would have wasted all his patience preparing it for better taste. And even if it was literal scraps in unsalted water, hunger was the best seasoning. And the peppers, made this the best thing he’d tasted in the time since he woke up in this cell.

It made it much easier to not think about eating the woman in his lap as he too lay down to fall asleep.

---

He woke first, and during the hours of the night his stomach had become rather empty again. Though he kept his promise and resisted thinking about eating her. He did not, however, resist tasting her; he never made a promise involving tasting.

“NO!” she yelped and sputtered as he licked her face like a very large dog waking up it’s owner, clearly convinced he was going to eat her, panicking.

He stopped licking her, But he was not listening to her protests. The moment she yelled the world felt lighter. He felt… no, no time to dwell. He tossed Savina aside and focused on generating a lot of fire into his ankle cuffs. It wasnt enough to melt them, but it was enough to make them soft. Soft enough that he could pull and stretch them and get free.

And then the feeling was gone. Back to that soul crushing feeling that had been ever present, as if it was never gone.

“What did you DO?” he snarled as he rubbed his freed ankles, which were red and raw from the previously tight metal cuffs.

Savina got up, looking frazzled with one side of her hair sticking up and out at odd angles due to half-giant spit. “What I was trying to do last night! Hey!”

Yonah crawled to her and picked her up, putting his face close to hers to demand, rather loudly “Do it AGAIN”

Defiantly she took his gaze and his rank breath “I wish I could! Like I said before, and like you just saw, I can’t do this on purpose! It just happens!”

In a rage his eyes flash and he bares his teeth “Fucking useless!”. His urge to throw her against the wall lost out to his being touch starved and instead he sat back down to hold her just a little too tight.

He did not fail to notice that a small hint of the relief of pressure occurred when she gasped at his moment of rage.

“So. Did that count as your morning try? Should I start considering whether or not to eat you again?”

She stiffened in his grasp “that wasn’t intentional! But doesn’t it prove what I was saying, that I am too useful to consider eating, that with practice I can succeed?”

“I already got my legs free. I can reach the bars now. Reckon i can try smashing them… and if I eat you i may have the strength to do it” he huffed. With a small amount of food and a night’s sleep, what he had was the energy to be a massive dickhead again. “So you would be helping me.”

“Those bars are heavily reinforced with the prison magic! They’ve kept giants bigger than you in this prison!”

“I’d still like to try, so you’re lucky I want company more than a proper meal right now,” he chuckled against her. She was so skinny she wouldn't even be a proper meal, maybe half of one.

“Please let me try again later to disable the nullification. Then we can both get out and get decent food” she sounded both desperate and angry.

“I know exactly what I’m eating if I get out” his eyes flashed again and he licked his lips.

Savina shuddered but did not sound disgusted when she said “i think i have an idea of what… or who… that might be”

“So, are you going to try again or what?” Yonah was getting impatient.

“Will you be ready to break down the bars when the magic reinforcement is gone?” she asked.

Yonah backed up against the wall, bracing himself so he could charge. If she succeeded.

Savina went to the front of the cell, grasped the bars and closed her eyes, muttering. Occasionally she let go and made hand gestures.

Nothing.

Maybe she needed encouragement. Yonah growled at her. Low and threatening. Savina stiffened and he felt the pressure lift, very slightly, very briefly.

“Get on with it!” he hissed.

“I’m trying!” she shot back, walking to the center of the cell, it didnt seem to matter where she was.

Then she screamed, her whole body hitting the ground as suddenly Yonah was on top of her, having pinned her under a hand. He snarled in her face “Maybe I should just eat you then! At least my last meal will be a tasty one!”

This succeeded in having the desired effect. Whatever the nullification was, it lifted. However he could feel it coming back.

“NO! I’m trying, give me one more chance, I know I can do it!”

He was not listening to her. He had confirmed his theory. Without hesitation he took her left arm in his jaws. She started crying and screaming, Pushing at his face to pull away. “Stop Stop! You’re hurting me!” Her voice was shrill.

/That’s the idea/ he thought.

With a sickening CRUNCH and a shriek, it was Yonah’s turn to be thrown, against the wall.

Not that he cared. Not one bit.

The magical nullification was gone.

From the entire prison. With no signs of coming back.

Keeping his promise not to eat her, and extending that promise to any part of her, Yonah crawled over to Savina and opened his jaws to release the nearly severed arm, along with at least a gallon of bloody drool. Savina just sobbed. Hmmm she could bleed out. That would also be counter to his promise, in spirit, if not in word. He rubbed a thumb and finger together until they were red hot and pressed the tip of the finger to her shoulder.

The scent of burning flesh filled the air as he cauterized her wound. But there were more important things to take care of now.

Fueled by adrenaline, hunger, and literal fire in his veins, yonah gripped his prison bars, making them red hot. In a few moments he wrenched them apart and he was out. He barely noticed the flash of light behind him as he stepped out of his cage.

The alarms hadn't even started ringing by the time he ran into the first unfortunate guard.

----

It was the alarm bells that brought Savina back to earth. She sat up, and blanched as a sticky arm rolled off her chest and into her lap. She was still covered in blood but the wound had sealed. For all her lost memory she did recall something very important. She should keep her arm. Holding it kept her from trying to touch her shoulder. She had never experienced anything so painful in her life-

No… wait. She had experienced something more painful… Now her head throbbed too! Nevermind any of this! She had to find the half giant mage, he was her ticket out. Even with the magic nullification gone, she wouldn’t get far drained of her own magic and severely injured.

It wasn’t hard to find him. All she had to do was follow the trail of carnage and busted cell doors.

The first guard she found had no head, and a chunk of a shoulder missing. Blood pooled on the ground from the massive bite. Hmmmm. He had a nice sword. Putting her arm down momentarily, She took the sword and a belt to sheath it. It was a bit tricky to get the belt off the person and onto herself but she managed. Before she took her arm off the ground and continued on, not caring to avoid stepping in the blood. .

More dead guards lined the halls as she progressed. Most of them were missing their heads, some of them burned to a crisp. But many were only missing their limbs, or had a bite taken out of the side. Some of those were still living. One in particular had been bitten from the hips down, their guts spilling out onto the floor. She decided not to use her sword to put them out of their misery. Her excuse being that it would be too much effort to put her arm down every time.

Finally she caught up to the large mage. He was in one of the storage rooms where the more dangerous items confiscated from mages were kept. He was ransacking it, shoveling items into something, but finished as she entered and stood up, putting a hat on his head. If he wasn’t so large and didn’t have such a distinct physique, she might not have recognized him.

Dressed in a stunning outfit of mostly blues and golds, with a massive wide brimmed pointed hat to match, his hair now shining and tied back in a segmented pony tail, standing up to his full height and holding a majestic wooden staff, the once brutish creature from the cell was looking more like a person. Except for the fire in his eyes and blood and viscera hanging from his jaws.

With misplaced confidence she walked right up to Yonah and holding the shoulder end of the severed arm she swung to smack him in the ankle. He had on boots now and she wasnt sure he felt that until he looked down at her.

“You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” She bellowed “You TORE my arm off! Why would you do that?!”

He looked at her angry and quizzically “The anti-magic field is gone. It worked.”

She did not back away from his gaze, since he was not currently trying to eat her she figured he wasn’t going to. Clearly he had not hesitated with the guards. She waved the arm around in frustration "you didnt have to BITE IT OFF"

Yonah crouched down to snarl “Clearly I did. You weren’t in enough… danger to disable the field. I’m rather clever you know.” Without asking he scooped her up to hold her up to his face with a cheeky, blood stained grin, “After you told the story of your assault, I started to put the pieces together. Mortal peril seems to do the trick nicely”

“I still dont think you needed TO BITE MY ARM OFF,” she repeated.

Once again she used the severed arm to slap him, now in the face.

He blinked in a kind of shock and then bared his teeth “I think you’ve lost your arm privileges”

His first instinct was to get the wrist between his teeth and gulp the arm down. But… he still felt like he should keep his promise. And now that his belly was half filled with chunks of prison guard he could think clearer.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU BASTARD!”

Savina shrieked as the giant man pinched her arm, the severed arm, plucking it from her weak grasp. His eyes flashed and it was lit up like a match.

Lost for words she watched as her arm burned into ash before her very eyes, the giant man grinning once again.

Now she was shaking with rage “I COULD HAVE RE-ATTACHED THAT”

His grin became a scowl “How in this reality was I supposed to know that?”

“Weren't you listening, you didnt even need to bite it off in the first place! My magic was starting to work!”

He talked as he placed her onto his shoulder, securing her to the harness he had found with his belongings.

“Didn’t I? We dont know that. Guess we will have to experiment later” he smiled wickedly, marching out of the room “But right now, I’m still hungry and there’s still more guards left alive.”

As he said this a guard rushed around the corner with a crossbow and fired. Yonah, having heard the footsteps just jerked his staff and the bolt exploded. He snatched up the guard, put the poor fucker’s head in his mouth and bit down, while pulling the body away. The sound was similar to when he’d bitten her arm, and blood spurted from the neck onto his face, and Savina’s entire person.

Yonah swallowed the head and tossed the body aside “I can’t eat them all at my size even if I only eat pieces. I can burn them, or crush them” he explained as yet another guard appeared which he simply squashed by slamming his staff down upon, “but I think we need some help. The human prisoners do not seem so eager to get back at their tormentors as I had thought.”

“They are running away from you. If you weren’t on a massacre they would probably be taking the advantage to riot and get revenge.”

“So we need more monsters.”

As he continued through the prison he broke every occupied cell, letting the prisoners run, and killing every guard with an intense savagery. But the most horrific thing, in Savina’s opinion, was when he picked up whole and alive guards and tossed them into his hat.

Eventually he broke into a cell and the prisoner inside did not immediately cower or run, but stood up, eyes reflecting in the darkness. A tall pale man with dark hair smiled with sharp fangs.

“That’s a vampire!” Savina informed him. The vampire bowed.

“A very blood starved vampire, and I could smell the flood coming from the other side of the prison, yet I was too weak to break myself free once I felt the magic nullification just, go away. Was that you?” he stared at Savina, not Yonah.

Savina gingerly touched the raw, burned flesh of her shoulder and looked very annoyed, “Yes. it was me.”

“I’m going to feast now, as I see you have been doing, mysteriously small giant”

“Don’t fill up on the ones I’ve killed, take out the ones still alive” Yonah instructed.

“Wise words,” said the vampire, “though I will take a little of this one, just to gain back my strength.”

Before leaving yonah sniffed at the vampire. Then reached up into his hat and pulled out a fancy, though sadly wrinkled and dirtied, suit. And tossed it at the vampire.

“Smells like you”

The vampire stood up from taking a drink of blood from the guard who Yonah had decided to merely kick against a wall.

“My clothes! You are a gentleman monster!” And with a snap of his fingers swapped out his prison outfit for his old one. “I feel more like myself already!”

Done with the small talk, Yonah moved on. It was time to get out of this place, with hopefully minimal distractions. He would still make a snack, a charred corpse, or a bloody pulp out of any guard he came across.

But it was only a few cells later that again, the prisoner did not immediately scream or flee. Yonah could sense a very eerie magical aura from her, she was pale like the vampire but he suspected she was not one. She smiled at him like the vampire but her teeth were flat.

“My dear emancipator, did you come across a spider necklace during your rampage? I would very much like to have it back.”

That was odd enough that Yonah decided not to ignore it and instead reach into his hat. He did not recall a spider necklace so he could only think the words. An object indeed fell into his hand. Which he tossed to the woman who squealed like a giddy teenager as she caught it.

Putting it on she rubbed the shining black thorax of the obsidian spider inlaid on the silver medallion.

That eerie aura from before increased 100 fold, followed by the chittering, skittering, buzzing of millions of tiny legs and wings. Unlike Yonah’s cell, this woman’s had a window. And through it marched or flew an unimaginable number of insects and arachnids.

Yonah took a step back. But the plaque of bugs was swarming into the prison from every window, every crevice, every crack in the wall, every broken pipe.

“My children will clean out this place” she giggled, though it was closer to a witch’s cackle.

Yonah backed away from her. Deciding that it was now time to leave this wretched place, confident the bugs could take care of the rest. It was by her merciful magic that the bugs avoided him entirely, and seemed to be able to scramble away from his footsteps even as he started down the corridor.

Ah, another guard, coming out of a nearby door, a good distraction from the creepy crawlies. He rushed and shoved the guard up to their torso into his mouth and got ready to bite down. As the ribs started to crack between his teeth the taste of this guard matched up to a familiar smell.

Releasing his jaws he held a gasping, screaming Tiddles.

“If you dont want that one, my babies will happily take him!” The bug witch called from behind him.

Ignoring the creepy aura yonah wheeled around snarling “He’s MINE” and he secured the flailing young man to his shoulder.

“Suit yourself” said the witch, “but he seems to not like you very much, and I am not overly fond of him myself”

Tiddles was indeed trying to free himself, earning him a swift flick to the head. “Probably hurts with those broken ribs to struggle like that, little one. I will keep you safe.”

Without another word Yonah turned back. Enough of this. He pointed his staff at the wall and blasted a hole through, stepping outside. Still in the walled compound he did not take a fresh breath of freedom just yet. He ran for the walls.

Arrows and crossbow bolts rained down at him. Fine. It was time for some big magic. Yonah stopped and took his staff, raising it into the air he found in it the perfect spell. He swirled it around and chanted. The morning sky, which was clear, crackled, and a swirling storm cloud gathered overhead.

The guards on the ramparts screamed as bolts of lightning struck them, leaving Yonah free to take down a section of wall and flee into the forested mountains.

It was after he had been half running half jogging for 15 minutes that he stopped and sat down against a cool boulder shaded by the trees. Or rather he nearly collapsed. One big gorey feast after weeks of starvation would not immediately restore him. That would take time. He had been running on the reserves of his magic, adrenaline, and a bloodlust.

The moment he closed his eyes to rest however, he felt Tiddles renew his struggling.

“Why do you keep this up” Yonah mumbled, not looking at Tiddles, but feeling him freeze.

“I dont want to die!” the young man squeaked. “I saw you eat the other guards!”

“Well then aren’t you in luck that I filled up on them? I had enough to be satisfied for a while.”

That did not calm Tiddles down any more, the struggling was back “You kept me as leftovers!” he shrieked.

“Naw” Yonah said and reached into his hat to draw out an intact, but dead, guard, “I already did that.”

He felt Tiddles faint at that declaration. This did not bring Yonah any joy, as Tiddles’ terror had done before. Being so full Yonah just returned the corpse to the pocket space that was his wizard hat.

“So, where to now?” Savina said after five minutes “We need to get going, surely someone will try to follow! There is more than one shift of guards and they will be looking for all the escaped prisoners, especially you, who was responsible!”

“I think the bug witch will make sure no one does” yonah said, though it was more likely that at least one idiot would manage to slip away. “But I am tired, We need to find a cave or something to hide out in to recoup my… I mean our strength”

“I can help with that”

As if on cue the bug witch stepped out from behind a tree. Yonah eyed her suspiciously. Savina was too hurt and too exhausted to do the same.

“Oh really? And why would you?”

She just laughed “You saved me? And you returned my amulet to me! I owe you big time. By the way, you look just awful. Would you like my children to clean you up?”

“What do you mean?”

Before she answered there was more buzzing in the air as wasps swarmed around her “these little gals are very efficient! I promise they will not sting”

“They cannot hurt my humans either!” he said, nervous about what was about to happen.

“Of course”

He still held his breath as the wasped charged at him and his companions. Savina screamed as well before she smartly held her breath too. Tiddles was the luckiest, unconscious for the whole thing.

It was over in just a minute, thank the gods, as Yonah would have to take a breath. Still, he sneezed and a few bugs flew out. Savina was breathing heavily.

“So, bug witch,”

“Cait!”

“Cait… What’s a nearby place for a big monster to get some rest?”

The woman considered “Hmm… The woods that way are decent. Bears will be scared off by you. Humans should leave you alone. There’s a cave in those woods if you want extra shelter. I want to get back to my home but I can have one of my babies guide you there”

“That would be much appreciated” Yonah focused and gathered up more strength to stand up. And then froze in place as the largest drider he had ever seen came into sight.

“Babe!” he called, ignoring yonah and scooping up the witch into a hug that transitioned into messy kisses.

“I got out of the prison!” she declared, “this nice big fellow helped me! Got my amulet!”

The Drider was a full head taller than Yonah and eyed him over with all 8 eyes before nodding. From between all of his feet a smaller, but large dog sized tarantula, scampered up to Yonah.

“Charlie here will lead you to shelter!” said Cait, “Now I haven't been home in a long time”

And with that, the witch and the drider left.

Charlie made a hissing sound while scraping her feet on a rock to get Yonah’s attention. She led Yonah to a large rocky incline and eventually to the mouth of a cave.It was large enough that if he crawled, he could get in. Which he did without hesitating.

The cave was larger in the inside and he probably could have stood up but he stayed sitting.

The spider stayed at the entrance of the cave, made a little dance, and then disappeared.

“Seems safe enough…” Yonah said. He unharnessed Savina so she could sit in his lap. “Guess what, I was lucid enough during my rampage that I picked up food that wasn’t dead guards!” and from his hat he got out some bread and cheese, and even a barrel of water.

“Um… no thanks” she said.

“You must eat, Savina”

“Im too nauseated from the pain.”

She did look a little green now that she said it.

“I have a healing potion… it should numb the pain a bit.” This he took from a sleeve. A small vial. Just a single ounce. It was like a grain of rice in his palm “It will even help with your shoulder, to at least regrow the flesh around it and stop infection”

She took it, and still looking like putting anything in her mouth would make her vomit, she downed it like a shot.

30 seconds later she felt much better. Or at least, felt less pain… She still felt like complete shit. But took the food with her good arm and started eating.

“I dont know why you brought him along…” she said, referring to Tiddles through a mouthful of bread.

“I doubt someone as kind as him works at an evil prison if he has a happy home to return to. Plus if i had let him go.. The other prisoners might not have been so kind to him. He was still a guard.” Yonah yawned, “Fuck. Im tired. Didnt we just wake up like, an hour ago?” he asked.

“Sure but you just broke a prison” Savina pointed out.

“I did… didn’t I…” Yonah tried to lay down but found that didn’t work with Tiddles on his shoulder. So he resigned himself to sleeping upright for now.

Still half starved, Savina did not manage to eat much. So yonah put the food back. He found a outcrop of rock that he could lean against and put an arm protectively in front of Savina. She put her own remaining arm over his. And they both fell asleep at the same time.

Even through the exhaustion of his over half a month in prison, and the torpor his kind got from a full belly, Yonah HaEsh heard the quiet footsteps of someone entering the cave.

Yet his brain was still slow to react. He opened his eyes and stared down.

Kneeling in his lap, holding Savina’s arm to his fanged mouth, moments away from biting down, was the vampire.

----

[FIN]

UHHHH thanks for reading. If you liked this please let me know. If this fits your blog theme please reblog it!

I hope you enjoyed this. and I hope to have more of it for you in the future. lots more adventure to come!

#sfw vore #hard vore #fatal vore #nonsexual vore #ROTDK #sfw does not mean NON FATAL #there is nothing here that wouldnt be in LOTR #well maybe it's a little more intense than LOTR #I work on a sliding scale of LOTR to GoT and this leans more LOTR

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aceofspadegrass · 4 years ago

Text

Crack involving Couch Stealing

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter, Chishiya Shuntaro, Last Boss, Niragi Suguru, Mira Kano, Ann Rizuna, Kuzuryuu (Brief Mention really-), Kuina Hikari (Also a brief mention), @brainwashedkittenstuff, @a-simp-20, and yours truly

Genre: This is literally crack. We stole stuff like gremlins.

3k words

I don't even know if I got us accurate you guys, this is literal crack- I tried my best okay? I hope you like it-

It all started with Hatter calling an emergency executive meeting.

Nobody of that caliber was exactly expecting it when Hatter made the sudden announcement, especially since it seemed too important to pass up. Whatever it was had to have been so crucial that it couldn’t have been done in private. Maybe there were new members that they had to attend for? Perhaps Hatter finally figured out where the heck the face cards could possibly be.

Maybe he got a new kimono and just wanted to show off to the group.

But still, they all show up to the meeting, and Hatter was impatiently pacing back and forth at the front. He seemed pensive, and that caught everyone’s attention, several pair of eyes watching the man clad in red. Finally, Hatter stops, slowly coming to the position as he turns towards everyone, scanning each and every face behind his sunglasses. “ We have a problem.” Hatter states, lowly and filled with suspicion and irritation. A few of them look at him curiously from their seats, Last Boss leaning a little closer as he rested his arms on the sword bag from where he stood.

“ What is it?” Ann asks him, and Hatter glances at her, the air tense as everyone waited for his answer. It had to have been something serious if Hatter looked this mad, but not where he would usually send Aguni and his little pack of gremlins to handle it without having to rally the group like this.

“…… Someone stole some of my kimonos and my good hats.” He scowls, tilting his head down where a shadow fell upon his face. “ Not only that, but they also took my couch. My fucking couch.”

Everyone was silent for a few seconds, trying to process this. Niragi was the first to react, scowling and groaning loudly, his eyes rolling in his head like an angry wave. “ Oh my fucking goodness, you called us here for a missing couch?”

“ And kimono and hat!” Hatter retorts, his hands slamming against the table and making it shake. Niragi scoffs, his lip curling. “ So? It’s just a bunch of shit, why do you care?” “ See, this is why you’re my least favourite.” Hatter looks directly at the barbeque lizard, who looks at him angrily, sitting up.

“ You take that back you egotistical lawn flamingo-“ “ Okay, settle down. Hatter, may I ask why you’re so riled up over this that you had to call us all here?” Ann looks at Niragi for a second with narrowed eyes before turning her attention back to Hatter, Niragi huffing and slumping back into his chair with a face of annoyance, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric of his shirt.

“ Well obviously, I need someone to be on the lookout and catch these criminals!” “ Oh, so you don’t know who did it then.” Chishiya croons, tilting his head slightly to the right. “ And so you expect us to figure out who, in this vast space full of people, took some of your supposed ‘precious’ items?” “ Yes! You got it!” Hatter grins, and Chishiya just looks at Hatter with that face, eyes half-lidded and slightly smiling in that way that nobody could tell what he was thinking at the moment. He doesn’t look away for a while, just staring straight at the madman they called their leader.

Niragi grumbles under his breath, but finally tilts his head back to Hatter. “ If we find these assholes, can I kill them?” Hatter just smiles, taking a step back and slowly unfurling his arms wide, his grin becoming wider. “ Well, you know what the rules are: Death to the traitors.” —————————————————————————————————

The Beach was huge, but there was no way that they could possibly miss someone carrying a whole ass couch, right? Wrong. Apparently it was hard as dicks.

The group of both factions asked and looked around for the identity of these people, but nobody has seen a thing, especially anyone carrying a whole couch around the Beach. Neither has anyone seen anyone with any kimonos or hats. A few offered the idea that maybe they hid it away, since they were just clothing articles and perhaps they were ready to take it away somewhere else or reasons unknown.

They even went through every single room in search of anything suspicious. Aguni had gotten the entire militant sect in search of these items, even if most of them had no real clue why these items were this important.

There was nothing. Every room was practically the same, with a few differences here and there that held a hint of individuality, but by the end they were all left in the same state of ransack. They couldn’t be neat about this, especially since clothes could be very easily hidden. A couch, less so, but an initial glance would always prove whether or not the couch was anywhere in sight.

Chishiya had resorted himself to just watching from a high spot, hidden from everyone as he stares below into the lobby. at a bird’s eye view. He had already sent Kuina away to ask people about what they might have seen, and now he just needed to wait if she came back with anything worth of note.

Ann was currently doing the same, in fact, seeing if she could piece anything together that could detect a potential suspect. So far, there was nothing of note. Not a single bit of clue of anyone with hats, kimonos, or what should have been a very visible couch.

Niragi and Last Boss ended up working together in forcing answers out of anyone that even looked remotely suspicious to them, and receiving the same answers of ‘ No, I haven’t seen anything!’ followed by either running or being frozen in fear of what the two could potentially even do to them. Mira and Kuzuryuu were taking the more simpler approach of just keeping an eye out as they went about their day, careful eyes watching everyone’s movements in the case that they may slip and reveal a connection to the robbery. A note, a simple sign, anything of worth.

Even Hatter was on the move, as he was adamant on retrieving his items back, no matter what. He’s changed out of his usual outfit in favour of a much simpler robe. Hatter knew that there was a chance he wouldn’t hold back, and he didn’t want to stain a perfectly good kimono in this natural punishment. After all, he had to uphold his own rules, didn’t he? Meanwhile, Aguni was out by the cars. There was a chance they could attempt to escape the Beach altogether. Now why steal a bunch of Hatter’s stuff in the meanwhile was unbeknownst to him, and likely unknown to everyone, but it happened, and now here he was.

“ Hey, what brings you out here?” A voice snaps him from his scan over the area, and he looks down to someone smiling up at him, dressed in simple modest swimwear of a tan variety, along with a head covering. Aguni looks around briefly, wondering where this person even came from, or whether this was connected to the case Hatter presented today. He looks back at her, who remained smiling at him, politely and without a hint of mischief or other intention. “ I’m looking for someone. Have you seen someone with some kimonos, maybe some hats? A whole couch, even.” Aguni asks her, as he’s asked others that dared even approach Aguni. The woman shrugs, staring at the cars with a simple curiosity.

“ Nope, not a clue. What kind of person has a whole couch? Isn’t that kind of ridiculous?” Aguni nods a little. It certainly did sound a bit ridiculous, but it was reality, and the reality of it was that someone stole a whole couch along with some articles of clothing. The woman lets out a low whistle, and looks back up at Aguni. “ Well, I wish you luck that you find what you’re looking for! Hopefully they haven’t gotten far!” With that, she walks away, apparently just on a simple stroll and with no ill intention of walking anywhere far. Aguni found the interaction a little strange, but he didn’t exactly suspect them, as they must’ve just gotten curious as to why he was standing out here by himself when there wasn’t even any reason to really be near the cars yet.

So he goes back to watching the cars, counting them just in case. He had to make sure nobody got away with this odd crime.

—————————————————————————————————

Hours pass, and none of them could spot a single thing. Not a single kimono, not a single hat, and no couch.

“ Are you sure someone stole your stuff? Because this is all amounting to wasted time.” Ann questions, folding pale arms over her chest as she looks to Hatter. Hatter nods with a firm determination, Ann continuing to look at Hatter with an air of a serene cold disbelief.

“ Do you mind proving it then? If you wouldn’t mind." “ Of course, of course! Right this way!” Hatter leads the group of executives through the hallway and to his room suite, opening the door and letting them in. Immediately, they could see the clear lack of one of Hatter’s couches, which made the room oddly empty, the table lacking its companion.

“ And look here!” Hatter gestures to his closet, and everyone comes over to take a look. For the most part, everything seemed normal, but a few hangers were clearly now empty, in a random selection that nearly hid the crime unless there was a keen eye that would recognize the pattern, Hatter pouting dramatically. “ A woe! And look down here.” Hatter waves a hand down at boxes on the ground. They looked untouched, but Hatter kneels down and pops off a few lids, revealing empty boxes that they figured must have contained hats at some point.

“And you’re sure you didn’t just misplace them?” Aguni asks, and Hatter whips around, a few pitiful angry tears in his eyes as he looks up at Aguni. “ Of course I did not! I wouldn’t do this to myself on purpose, and these hats were very important to me, you know!”

Aguni grunts slightly in acknowledgement.

“ You don’t suppose they’ve already left, have they?” Mira remarks, and Aguni shakes his head. “ None of the cars were missing from the parking area, so it’s very unlikely. They have to still be on the premise.” “ Come on, we searched every room, and nothing turned up! Every spot is devoid of anything!” Niragi throws a hand up in the air. “ We might as well blame it on ghosts or something like that." “ Ghosts aren’t real, and even so, they would not be able to take a couch, no matter how strong you would make them out to be.” Ann adjusts her sunglasses, and crosses her arms again. “ But it is strange how nobody was able to locate a single responsible party. There is no way this was the work of a single person.” Everyone else nods along, agreeing with Ann. It was certainly a strange case.

“ Let’s look once more, and see if anything new turns up.” Mira offers, and they all spread out among the Beach again, hoping a second sweep would turn up anything.

—————————————————————————————————

Lo and behold, a string of interest finally rears its head in the form of a woman, who was casually trying to put tape on what looks to be a beach ball. Niragi approaches her, who seemed rather invested in whatever she was up to. “ Whatcha got there?” He asks the moment he gets closer, noticing a bunch of iridescent streamers next to her. She looks up with a smile, and just twirls the beach ball in her arm. “ It’s something special.” She chirps, and Niragi raises an eyebrow, smirking. “ Oh yeah? Does this ‘something special’ have anything to do with a missing couch? Maybe some kimonos or hats?” She just smiles more, and settles the beach ball on her lap again. “ That’s silly, why would I have anything to do with a missing couch?” “ Because some idiots stole shit, and now we’re all on a goose chase to find out the culprits.” He stick his tongue out, leaning close to her and he swirls it around. “ And then we’re going to punish them for betraying Hatter. Death to the tr-“ Niragi suddenly gets cut off as cold water suddenly hits him in the face, and he stumbles backwards, wiping the water off hurriedly and grumbling loudly. “ You little…!” He wipes the water and opens his eyes only to be greeted with an empty spot, streamers and all. “ Oi, you bitch! Where the hell did you go!” He looks around the area, but somehow he managed to lose her, Niragi scowling and pulling out his walkie-talkie. There was no way she wasn’t a part of this. “ Hey, I think I found one of the culprits.” He says into the device, and he puts it away as he starts to scour the area for her. Niragi wasn’t going to let her out of his sight again.

At the same time on the other side, Last Boss was walking around trying to look for anything that might have been looked over, and someone comes up to him intentionally, Last Boss pausing and staring at them, internally confused as they smile. “ Hi! I like your hoodie, it looks cool.” Last Boss blinks. They weren’t even scared? That was…. very strange. He doesn’t say a word though, continuing to stare down at this strange person. “ Anyways, I wanted to ask someone, and you were the closest person. Do you think fedoras are valid?” Last Boss just continues to stare down at them, but he eventually offers a simple shrug. He wasn’t actually sure. They were just hats. Wait. “ Do you know who stole the hats?” He asks them, and they just stare back without a hint of knowing or not knowing in their eyes. “ It’s just a question that I wanted to get off my tongue. So, are they or aren’t they? What about top hats, those are cool too. You’d look cool with a hat actually. Maybe a beanie? Ooh, do you like beanies? They’re really soft and-” They continue to ramble about hats, and Last Boss didn’t really have time for this, beginning to unsheathe his katana and stab them. “ Ah, sorry! I must’ve been boring you. Bye for now!” They run off, and Last Boss watches them go. Maybe they were scared of him, and only decided to run the moment he started taking his sword out.

As it normally went. Last Boss slowly blinks, then ends up on his way. The walkie talkie goes off with Niragi’s voice announcing that he may have found one, and Last Boss silently acknowledges it, his walkie talkie continuing to go off as other militants ask for a description to keep an eye out for them.

—————————————————————————————————

Another hour passes, and even with Niragi’s discovery, they still couldn’t find anything. They ended up all taking a lunch break, passing around information on the topic over some sandwiches that Aguni made for everyone. “ So, our only lead is a girl with a beach ball?” Ann questions, her finger delicately wrapped around a sandwich. “ But you somehow lost here because….. you got hit in the face.” “ Fucking water…..” Niragi mutters, tearing a bite off of his own. Chishiya quietly smirks, leaning against the chair with his hands in his pockets. “ To think you got bested by water of all things. Who knew.” “ Shut it milk boy.” Niragi growls, mouth still partially full. Chishiya shifts slightly, getting comfortable. He doesn’t say anything, just watching and offering nothing more than a small lopsided smirk. “ This at least narrows the search. If we find that one person, we can find out who else might be responsible for this.” Aguni tells them all, and they all offer affirmatives in both nods and short agreements. “ So, the last place you saw them was….?” “ By the pool.” “ Right, so let’s search there thoroughly. It’d make no sense for anyone to bring a beach ball into the main building-“ Hatter busts into the dining area suddenly, grinning madly. “ I found them! I found them!” Everyone turns to look at Hatter, both with surprise and interest. Hatter rushes out of the hall, and soon everyone follows after him, Hatter running out and towards where the cars are. Once everyone got out there, they saw the culprit, or better yet, culprits. “ Hey! It’s the fucker with the beach ball!” Niragi yells out, pointing at the girl hanging out from the sunroof, grinning. She was partially covered with what was obviously Hatter’s beloved couch, haphazardly strapped to the car. If any of them squinted, they would also see her wearing one of Hatter’s kimonos, which only further incriminated her. “ And the hat person��.” Last Boss mutters, squinting as an open robed person wearing what seemed to be a hoodie underneath judging by the hoodie atop their head hops into the drivers seat, the car roaring to life. Hatter frowns and begins to head over there, as does Aguni and his men, but the car quickly peels away, and laughter fills the air as Niragi and Aguni attempt to shoot the wheels useless and at the car, but whoever was driving managed to avoid every bullet, or really had no fear as they drove away, and the woman hanging out above the sunroof yeets an iridescent streamered beach ball, which added with the speed the car was going, made it a fearsome weapon as it hits Hatter square in the face.

He yelps in pain as he’s knocked back, and everyone watches as the car drives into the sunset, couch strapped to it, and Hatter sits up, rubbing his face. “ Clever, clever……” Hatter opens his eyes as iridescence rolls away from him, Hatter shaking his head. “ But no matter, once we find them….. They’ll pay. They’ll pay hard.” And for these little thieves, they better be ready to face the consequences if they were ever caught. But, at least they had fun doing it~

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lousimusician · 5 years ago

Text

Trying To Adjust (Part 2)

Pairing: Frat!Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom deals with the aftermath of your breakup

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

——————————————

Ever since the party, Tom had been having a rough time with what had happened.

And he was finding it harder to get along with his friends, now that he realized that most of them, other than Harrison, were assholes.

Tom really liked you, like really liked you.

The two of you had met during one of your projects. The school was holding a film festival and you were going to be directing your own film and since Tom was an acting major, he turned up at the audition.

You absolutely loved his performance and immediately said yes.

And naturally, since you and Tom would be working so closely, he flirted with you for a bit, and you flirted back, but once he asked you out, you turned him down.

It had been a huge hit to his ego, and from there he had been pretty determined to take you out. But after you had first turned him down, all of his following advancements were ignored.

After a month he had given up. And he was glad he did because once he started focusing more on the film and work, he had realized just how passionate you were about film.

And he admired it greatly.

He loved how determined you were about directing and writing, that after a certain day of shooting he looked up all of your past projects he found on your YouTube channel and watched them all. And not only that he ended up practically stalking you on every social media website you had.

And from there he was completely head over heels for you.

It was something he had never felt before. He had no desire to be in a serious relationship until you came along.

He stopped sleeping with girls because he honestly didn’t care about them anymore and he went back to trying to ask you out, but in a more easygoing way as to not come off strong anymore.

And at the end of the month, you agreed to go out with him.

If only Tom hadn’t been so clueless to the concept of dating, then you wouldn’t have broken up in the messy way you had.

And now with every passing day, Tom was missing you more and more.

The only problem was that he had no idea how to talk to you again after what happened.

Which is why complaining to Harrison all day and night was what he resorted to—

“Do you think she misses me?” Tom asked, staring up at the ceiling.

”Nope.” Harrison said, popping the ‘p’.

At this point Harrison had just started saying anything he wanted to since Tom was refusing to listen anyway. But as long as he could finish this damn paper by tonight, he didn’t really care too much about Tom’s woes.

”You know I blew her off 8 times? I even stood her up on two of those occasions.” He sighed.

”Uh-huh— you were an awful boyfriend,” he said typing away.

”God, what’s wrong with me,” he said, sitting up and looking to Harrison.

He looked up from his laptop, “What? Like you want a list or something?”

”C’mon Haz! I’m serious!”

Harrison rolled his eyes, “You were too consumed with what everyone thought of you. That, and you never had the attention span to focus on one girl for long periods of time anyway.” He said, going back to typing.

Tom fell back onto his bed, exasperated. “She probably hates me.”

And we were back to not taking Harrison’s actual criticisms.

”Not probably— she most definitely hates you.”

”I wonder how she’s doing.”

”Probably a lot better since the breakup.”

”What should I do?”

”Nothing, suck it up and fuck her roommate.”

”How could I have messed up so bad— my first ever relationship!”

”Because you self-sabotage and you’re destined to be alone forever.”

”Ugh, what am I gonna do?”

”Already told you, move on and fuck her roommate.”

”What?”

Harrison looked over his laptop and at Tom who was staring back at him, “What, finally decided to listen to me?”

”I’m serious!”

”Fine. You know what you should do? You should go find her, apologize and beg on your knees for her to take you back. Promise her you’ll be a better boyfriend and follow through on that promise. That is what you should do.”

”I can’t, it’ll never work,” he groaned.

Harrison sighed and shook his head, turning back to his paper.

————

“So Victoria told me she was interested in being apart of your next film,” Elizabeth told you, as she sat watching something on her laptop on top of her bed.

”Really? That’s awesome, she’s a business major right?” You asked, in the middle of some writing homework.

”Yeah, said she has a passion for acting, but her parents forced her to go the business route.

You hummed, “Well tell her I’m holding auditions next week.”

She nodded, “Of course.”

The two of you groaned upon hearing someone knock at the door, “Not it.” You quickly said, making Elizabeth have to go up and answer it.

”Whatever,” she grumbled, hopping off the bed and going to answer the door.

She swung it open to see Harrison standing in front of her, but you couldn’t see who it was, “Yes?” She asked.

”(Y/N) here?”

She promptly turned to you, “It’s for you,” she said before going back to her bed.

You sighed, throwing your laptop to the side and climbing off the bed, “Yea- oh hi Harrison,” you greeted upon seeing him, “How’d you get up here?”

He shook his head, “Got a friend to sign me in- look-“

”Is this about next week’s auditions?” You asked, cutting him off. Harrison was a usual in the audition room, and he had made it into a couple of your projects, “Because everything is posted in Webson Hall-“

”No, this is about Tom,” he rushed out, over you.

”Tom?” You pouted, “Then I’m not interested, see ya,” you were about to close the door when Harrison stopped it, “Whaaaat?” You groaned.

“The two of you need to talk, he’s been nothing but whining and complaining for the last week and I’m starting to lose patience with him.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why? I thought and I quote ‘I was overbearing and bitchy’.”

He scoffed, “He was obviously talking out of his ass. He’s crazy about you.”

”Not crazy enough apparently.”

”(Y/N) I’m serious. Just talk to him, you’ll see how much he misses you.”

”And if I don’t?” You quirked an eyebrow.

”Then I’ll,” he paused, “I’ll um-“

You laughed, “You’ve got nothing. See you at auditions,” you waved, before shutting the door on him.

Harrison sighed and leaned his head against your door.

And then suddenly and idea struck him.

”That’s it.”

With that, he was running down the hall back to his frat house.

~~~~~~~

You stretched in your seat. Audition day had finally showed up.

Honestly you were never a huge fan of watching a million auditions every time (your work had been getting more and more popular around campus, so auditions tended to be a pretty big turn out). A lot of the time they were mentally exhausting, you’d be surprised by the amount of actors that chose dramatic monologues over comedic.

But now you were already 15 auditions in with 5 more to go, and you were pretty sure you already had your cast now but you still needed to see the others.

“Alright, send them in!” Alyssa shouted, to Eric who had been letting in the actors.

Alyssa and Eric were always crew members on your projects and usually helped you decide cast members.

You had been scribbling something down when the next actor stood by the chair that was provided for each audition in front of you two.

”Go ahead,” Alyssa said, and you finally looked up.

Your eyes widened.

What the fuck?

“Tom, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked in annoyance, shaking your head.

He stared at you like a deer in the headlights, “Um... auditioning?”

”Did Harrison put you up to this?”

”...Maybe?”

You rolled your eyes again, “Whatever, you can leave.”

”No,” he stated more firmly, “I want to audition.”

You looked over at Alyssa who just shrugged her shoulders.

”Fine,” you said with a wave of your hand, “Go ahead.”

He cleared his voice, “My name is Tom Holland and I will be performing a monologue that I wrote. I will be reading for the character uh- Tim who is apologizing to his ex-girlfriend for something stupid he did.”

”Oh my god,” you hissed, sinking into your seat, already cringing.

He cleared his throat again, “Okay look, you know I’m bad with words so I’m just gonna come out and say it. I fucked up... but you already know that. For years I’ve been living in this bubble where I had my own views on dating and now I realize how warped they really are. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend— and there’s a really good chance I’ll have trouble figuring it out, but.... what I do know, is that if you decide to take me back I will try my fucking hardest to be the best goddamn boyfriend you will ever have, even if that means I have to drop my asshole friends— who really were never that great so I don’t know why I ever chose them over you. But I like you so fucking much and that’s something that has never ever happened for me, so it kills me every single day knowing I screwed up a relationship with the only girl I ever really liked. You are one of the most talented and passionate people I have ever met, and I think you are absolutely gorgeous inside and out. So it would mean the world to me if you even as much as considered taking me back, and if you do, I promise I will do everything I can to make you happy. And if it means anything, I wasn’t lying when I said I never cheated on you and even after we broke up I couldn’t even think about another girl, also...... I don’t think you’re overbearing or bitchy.”

Silence filled the room before you spoke, “Y’know, with these auditions you’re usually expected to act.”

”Yeah I was wondering if you were gonna catch that,” he tried to joke, but kept bouncing on the balls of his feet, showing how nervous he was.

You ran a hand through your hair and sighed.

You figured if he was this willing to do something as silly as this, that maybe he really was willing to change.

You placed your clipboard aside and stood up. You walked over to him until you stood right in front of him.

”You gonna start answering my texts?”

His eyes immediately lit up, “Yes! Yes, of course.”

”You really gonna stop hanging out with those jerks? Except for Harrison, he’s the only one I like.”

”Yeah, he’s honestly the only one I like too.”

You nodded, “Then, can we go to that movie we planned a couple weeks ago?”

He grinned so big, you were sure it probably hurt, but you weren’t able to fight the smile off your face either.

Tom suddenly pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you, “Of course darling, anything for you.”

You hugged him back tightly, “Good. Then stay here for the rest of the auditions.”

”Alright,” he agreed, pulling back. “By the way... did you really sleep with Aaron?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I paid him to hide in his room for a half hour to make everyone think I did.”

“Sneaky,” He laughed, shaking his head at you, “But thank god, because from here on out, you’re mine.”

——————————————

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johobi · 5 years ago

Text

When You Least Expect It | 12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, angsty-angst, dramaTIC ANGST, anxiety, depression, fear of going mad. i swear it’s not all that bad though!!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: thanks, as ever, for all your encouragement, love and patience. i truly treasure you.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

"Need to get my⁠—mmm⁠—keys."

Taehyung's argument was solid, but your lip-lock took precedence. "Nuh-uh," you murmured to his saliva-slick lips, eager to taste from them again. "Do it blind."

Your lover fished futilely for his keys, eyes closed for kissing. His body angled away when you only wanted it flush. Selfishly you clung to him, arms fast around his neck, compelling him closer. Oh, but you needed more. Needed his touch. It was painfully absent. Taehyung’s long-fingered hands trawled the depths of his pockets when they should have been defiling you.

He snorted through the meagre space between your faces. "I can't find⁠—mmgh⁠—find them."

"Here," you offered in devilish whisper, plunging a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Shamelessly grasping a little too close to his left-leaning dick.

"Ah⁠—"

Your fingertips grazed metal. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It will be."

It was your turn to scoff. Right into his hot, nasty mouth.

Despite Taehyung's ineptitude at locating his own keys, it was spellcraft how easily he unlocked the door, with his back to it and his tongue thrust far past your lips. As the lock gave way, you threw yourself into his freshly-freed arms, urging he embrace your touch-starved body. But Taehyung was already around you, on you, fondling the breadth of your thinly-clothed ass. He broke away to whine: “God, you drive me crazy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

You stumbled into his apartment as a mass of roving hands. "You’re gonna get it again, noona," Taehyung hummed around your earlobe. Tugged it between his teeth. Whispered obscenities while his hard cock pressed close. “You feel that, babe? You want it?”

Breath tumbled out. “Y-Ye⁠s—”

"It certainly sounds like she does," a wicked voice sang. It was high-pitched and heavy on the dialect and its source unmistakeable. You wished you were mistaken. "Whatever it is. I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's⁠—"

The two of you repelled like magnets.

"Oh, fuck. Jimin, why are you still here?" Taehyung made no attempt to smother his exasperation. His erection, on the other hand, he smothered actively, obscuring it with the hem of his shirt..

"Good night without me?" the redhead side-stepped. Consistent with his character, the conversation became depraved, and all about him. You found yourself on the receiving end of an unwelcome eyebrow waggle. "I was only one phone call away."

Taehyung's hand flew to his face. Dragged down his features. "I told you I didn't know when I'd be back. If at all. Couldn't you have gone home, dude? What did you even do all night?"

As Jimin dithered and whined, you surveyed the damage the bachelor had inflicted upon Taehyung's usually immaculate apartment. Takeout trays, beer bottles and indiscernible spills surrounded the little imp. Insult to injury was his occupation of your beloved red slanket. It coupled his hair so garishly he resembled something of an angry pimple. You glared at Jimin from behind his 5'11" handler.

"I thought you were coming back!" Jimin finally exasperated. His wrists emerged from the slanket-holes when he gestured to his nest of trash. "I had to eat twice the amount of food. And I got drunk alone. You know how sad that is?"

"Got a glimpse of your future, did you, Jimin?" The snicker that shot from you almost took the contents of your nostrils with it. To say you were a little sniffly this morning was to minimise it. It took all your nasal strength to prevent a flood. Probably all that rain yesterday.

No, don't think about yesterday.

Luckily, your dignity remained intact for discard another day. Jimin's however, had long been abandoned. Tact, too. "So—" He watched, beady-eyed, as you busied yourself in the undoing of his mess. When you reached for a pizza box: "You guys having an affair? Or is this some kinda friends-with-benefits deal?" The slanket rode up his offensively nude thighs as he leaned toward your stooping form. "Any chance of making this a three-person thing? Or four, if that Jungkook guy is still in the picture."

It was like an icicle through your poor, hollowed heart. You froze, bent at the hinges, pizza grease becoming palm sweat. "W-What?"

“Actually, was he even real? I never saw him.”

Was he even real?

Taehyung was quick. Was there in a second, striding to your side, affixing a hand to your lower back. His fingertips, too, were quick. Quick to find that sliver of exposed skin where your jeans and shirt met. To give you the warmth of reassurance that came only with his touch. "Jesus, Jimin. I know this is your shtick, but no-one's in the mood for your bullshit today. Just go home dude, I'll text you later."

An expression you'd never encountered warped Jimin's delicate features. Hurt. "What the fuck?" he grumbled, complying despite his injured feelings. Coming to a stand, he stuffed himself into his night-before skinny jeans, plump lips pursed. "What got into you? She peg you or something?" Jimin’s hmphs continued, punctuating his impromptu Get Ready With Me throughout. Without the care it warranted, he slung off the slanket and began turning out the couch.

“Very funny. What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Taehyung offered, placidity masking his vexation incredibly well. Antagonising Jimin would only prolong his being there, after all, and the scenario was already unbearably awkward. Especially now, when he was flaunting a good inch of his ass-crack in the hunt for some misplaced possession.

"My wallet. Y’know, the pot leaf one. Where did I put the damn thing?"

In that gaping crevice, maybe? It wasn’t aloud.

"Okay, look⁠—" Taehyung, too, looked to have had his fill of his friend's butt-cleft. "I'll bring your wallet 'round your place later. You got your phone and keys, yeah?" The outline in the redhead's jeans confirmed it. "Go home, sleep off the rest of the booze, we'll talk this evening."

Despite his grievances, Jimin suddenly brightened. He never was one to hold a grudge. He was a Pisces, after all. "You're gonna come over? Cool! I'll get more beer in." The fact he'd consumed a dozen only two hours prior didn’t appear to deter him. "You coming, ____? We gonna have another game of Never Have I Ever?"

The sincere sparkle of his eyes threw you a little. "Uh, I don't think so. Not today. Sorry, Jimin. Next time, okay? I've got some things to sort out later. Plus, I think I’m getting sick." A sniffle for illustration.

"That's cool." He hummed, shrugged on his signature varsity jacket. The world would burn before he conceded college was over. "See you later, Tae. Happy smashing," was his parting comment as he sashayed out the door, mildly uncoordinated. Taehyung was charitable enough to relieve his friend of the quandry of closing it.

And when it was closed, your lover turned back. Had a pensive purse to his lips. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

"Don’t apologise, I’m the one that disrupted your plans in the first place, Tae. But yeah, I’m good."

Taehyung couldn’t see the extent of that untruth. Not when you averted your eyes so swiftly. Pinned them to your busy hands as you continued to collect up Jimin's litter. Why had it been so easy for him to speak his name? Like it was nothing but breath? Just two syllables, plucked from an alphabet of indifference?

When it was sand and salt on open sores?

When it was woe so heavy it rasped the soul?

"Alright." It wasn't, but what mattered was that Taehyung knew it. Knew it, and didn't pursue it. Instead, he fluffed a trashbag for you in which to deposit your greasy collection. "He's always like this. A mangy raccoon." The comparison hit humorously enough to curtail your anguish. Momentarily, at least. A genuine laugh came from you. At that, Taehyung looked up. Caught your smile. "He's always like this. Always leaves me to clean up. His metaphorical and literal messes."

Trash collected, you straightened. Inelegantly, and with a groan. You'd have to scrape together the pennies for some sweet chiropractic adjustment. "Yeah? That doesn't surprise me," you smirk, prodding at the knots in the small of your back. "All I know is he's a gross, unashamed pervert that could be a good guy if he grew up a little. You haven't really told me too much about him. I guess you'll—" the reality of your and Taehyung's changed relationship hit you, then. It had transfigured into something far more intense. Far more beautiful. Potentially volatile. "—you'll have to tell me more. About him. Your other friends I don't see much. And about you, stuff I didn't get to know until we—well. You know."

Taehyung's head came to a tilt. His downy locks strayed into his eyes, softening them into a squint. "It's weird, isn't it? Being like this. Good weird—" he added with haste. Had he been suddenly struck by the revelation, too? Your two combined brain cells continued to surf one wavelength. It was uncanny. "You're standing there, I'm standing here. We look the same. But it's all different. I look at you different." A contemplative pause. The trash-bag knocked noisily at his knees as he rocked. "And all I know is I want to learn about you. Again. Inside and out."

"Yeah. I'd like that very much. I'm hardly a treasure trove of alluring secrets, but I'm sure I have a wild story or two from my college years. Ugh—" The ache that'd been no more than a dull tapping at your skull suddenly came to the fore. Your head throbbed like a blunt force concussion.

"You okay?" The trashbag left Taehyung's hands and crumpled to the floor. You felt them on you shortly after, palpating your oddly sensitive forearms. "What's up?"

"Headache. Think I was bent over for too long, or something." But then came a torrent of sneezing. And it was also then that Taehyung's proximity was suddenly, intolerably stifling. "Ugh. Maybe not. I’m definitely getting sick. Sick-sick."

A satiny palm left your shoulder and found your forehead. Your vantage saw only Taehyung's mouth. It opened into an O. "Oh, shit. Yeah, you're burning up, noona. We should get you into bed."

"No, no. That won't be necessary." You waved away his clammied hand and instead peeled off your - his - jacket. The last thing you wanted, on a day as emotionally strenuous as this one, was to find yourself physically compromised, too. "I'll be okay. I just need to cool down a bit. It's probably just a cold, and I can soldier through those. Uh—I'm a little hungry, though?"

"Aha! Want some French toast or something?" Taehyung leapt at the opportunity to tend to you. Like Yoongi, you shied away from showing weakness and instead showed a reluctance to lean on others. It must’ve been frustrating for Taehyung, an unashamed empath who wanted nothing more than to accompany and comfort you during your times of adversity. But he understood that it could not be the case with you. That less was more. That the key to helping you was when you asked for it. Yes, even when it was something so small as the common cold.

And when it wasn’t just the sniffles, but world-ending woe, Taehyung embraced your diversions from the difficult topics. Didn’t push it. Best friends never pushed. Yes, he was still your best friend. Something more, now, too, but forever your gentlest, most attuned of friends. "Don’t you like French toast? I could make something else?" He prompted, peering into your faraway face with those precious eyes of his.

"You can make French toast?"

"Of course I can. I can make you anything, within reason. I've been practicing. Takeout's giving me a belly." In illustration, Taehyung molded his hands to his mildly rounded flesh. Strained it out further, like an expecting mother.

"I like your little belly." Your hands fell to his, pressing his stomach back to flat.

"Yeah?" An errant quirk of his eyebrow. "It likes you, too."

You smiled so, so wide. And then you became certain:

Last night had been the right decision. One made in a swell of volatile emotion, yes. But this day - this moment - in which it was still possible to smile, proved that. Taehyung conjured it to your face with so little effort. It took so little effort to be with him. To just be.

And that was indeed a feat.

Because inside your mind, there was no reprieve. Barbed words and self-abuse clattered about your brain, painting you unworthy of Jungkook. Worse yet; deserving of his treatment.

Every second since your waking hour you’d been assailed by volleys of it. But your self-loathing didn’t end its assault there. In your darkest seconds, it even dared to suggest that you proclaimed your love for Taehyung too hastily.

That you instead yearned for that other man.

By some mercy, you were already adept in handling intrusive thoughts. Because that was all they were: Intrusive. Unwelcome and unwanted. There could be no truth to the doubt or longing.

Not when your new horizon stood before you, a sunshine smile dawning across his cheeks. Taehyung. The once boy, now man, you'd forever coveted.

He was yours. Your desperate words a night ago sealed it.

Puzzlement mingled adorably with Taehyung's bright features. "Babe?"

Yeah. It was the right choice.

"Sorry, Tae." In spite of your climbing fever, you intertwined your idling fingers. Looked down at the union with a contented smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit. I didn't want to go back to my apartment yet." The reason why remained unspoken. "I know I can't avoid it forever, but for a little while at least, I just wanna not think."

Soft, familiar lips were on your forehead. Spoke against the skin. "You stay here as long as you need. My apartment and I are at your disposal." It was Taehyung's turn to loose himself from your febrile embrace. Your perspiration lacquered his fingers. "We're getting you some painkillers for that fever, at the very least. You don't have to stay in bed, but I want you on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you while I do some marking."

"Okay, dad."

Taehyung’s tongue danced over the tips of his teeth. "That's daddy to you, noona. Get those damp clothes off and get some of my pyjamas on, there's a set on the bed."

----

Your sentencing to the sofa had initially been met with resistance. Especially when Taehyung hovered, ever-watching, an eye on his papers and the other on your recalcitrant form. Your every attempt at productivity - even a surreptitious attempt to fold his laundry - had been met with soft but stern eyes and an escort back to your cologne-saturated prison. Jimin's stank had ingratiated itself with the fibres of Taehyung's cushions. No amount of deodorizer could reduce its cling. It did nothing but intensify the thudding behind your eyes.

And at first, you attributed your worsening nausea to that silly little redhead. But the lightheadedness followed swiftly after, and then the chills, and then that horrid, off feeling encroached, like your soul lagged behind every of your body's movements.

In the end, you begged for the bed. Taehyung's memory foam mattress and sweet-smelling pillows. Only, the sweet made you sick, and the memory foam only exacerbated all your indistinct aches. By early afternoon, despite his dutiful nursing of you, you tapped out of your brave-facing. Practically begged him to return you to your apartment, where all your remedies resided.

If there was something that united the men of your world, it was their haphazard approach to health crises. Taehyung possessed a pitiful two (2) painkillers. The nasty, round, chalky type that got you gagging. Expiry date: Last year. No hot water bottle, no frozen goods to improvise a cold compress. When questioned about his unreadiness in the face of illness, his reasoning was ridiculous. Sound, but ridiculous. 'I never get sick, so I don't need it.’ The painkillers were Jimin’s.

Hoseok and Yoongi were much the same. The former would simply turn up on your doorstep and check-in to your veritable inpatient clinic and expect private-tier care. For the latter, you'd have to make a house visit, because he never got sick, and he didn't need you fussing over him so. And yet he was the one that fell ill the most. The one that needed the most tender of care.

Sigh.

Today, you required it. And that was how you now found yourself back home, a day earlier than you would have preferred. You tottered out of Taehyung's car in your royal red slanket, pyjama pants dragging on wet asphalt. It took what waning stamina you possessed to gaze upward at the same balconies Jungkook strode yesterday. It was like looking on an untouched crime scene; as gloomily lit and ominous as it had been then.

Taehyung came to your side, and then a little in front, surveying that same sight. "Looks like he's gone, noona."

The relief that surged was medicine in itself. "Thank God. Let's go in, quickly." Your teeth chattered animatedly during the climb, even though you burned like the sun incarnate. Taehyung's arm was fast about your waist, steadying you on each of your Everestian steps. Collapse felt close at times, but when your vision began to fail it was the image of Jungkook's guilt-ridden face that rallied you onward. To fall, here, was to expose yourself to the risk of seeing it again.

And that could not happen.

"Do you have the keys—"

"Got 'em." Taehyung was ahead of you in every sense. With the dexterity he was inhibited from displaying earlier, he had your door open before you could reach him. "In you go, babe."

"Thanks." You loped past, unsteady. Unready to climb the flight of stairs immediately within. "Why do I have a maisonette?" The question was to no-one, or God.

Taehyung answered anyway. “Because you’re a woman of discerning taste.” Large hands found your blanketed backside, lending you their support. “Plus, when the bedroom’s upstairs, the neighbours can’t hear.”

“A valid point,” you ceded, beginning your ascent. Even with Taehyung - quite literally - bringing up the rear, your legs felt like those of an unpractised infant. It was astonishing just how quickly the virus had incapacitated you.

Still. The higher you climbed, the handsier Taehyung became. He stole squeezes of your rump with every step. Said it was incentive to keep going.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

After much of his unscrupulous groping, the laughter finally broke free. "Oh my God, you're being so shameless right now." Another shaky step. "I wish I had a stairmaster."

He wasn't done being outrageous. "Sit back and I'll stairmaster you all the way up, babe."

The giggling became painful. Welcome, but painful. "Stop."

At the top of the staircase, you stopped to compose your failing limbs. It was alarming just how vital you'd been this morning. This afternoon, you felt one laboured breath from death. "One sec."

"I knew this was a bad idea. You shouldn't be going anywhere in your condition." His two, warm hands stabilised you from the back, preventing an inevitable tumble. "I coulda just bought more painkillers and whatever else you needed."

"It's alright, Tae. I had to come back at some point soon, anyway. My keys for the cafe are here and I'm opening tomorrow." Blotting the sweat from your brow, you advanced on unstable legs to the sofa and immediately crumpled onto its familiar comfort. "Plus, when I'm sick, I like to be sick at home."

"I don't think you'll be going into work tomorrow." By the time it took you to maneuver yourself onto your stomach, Taehyung was stood over you, hands emphatically on hips. "Look at you. Can't even get comfortable without exhausting yourself."

"I don't wanna let Hoseok down." Nor did you want to enlighten him to your current romantic quandry, though. Ugh. "But I do feel terrible. If I’m no better later, I might text him."

"Wow, I thought for sure it would take far more convincing than that," Taehyung snickered, eyes round with mock shock. He'd accumulated a number of dirty dishes from your coffee table in his hands. "Glad you're prepared to rest. Stay there and let me get whatever it is you need. I'll clean your place up a little as well, so don't stress about it."

"No—Tae—"

"Hush. Get the pyjama bottoms off, too, they're wet on the bottom."

You'd been shouldering so much discomfort that your freezing wet ankles had eluded you. A glance down. "Oh. Yeah. I don't know if I can, though." You flopped your feeble arms. "Too far to reach." Plus, Taehyung could undress you now. To disrobe in any other way was to squander the opportunity.

His mouth curved villainously. "Okay." Clap. "Let's see if I can do this in one swift move. Like a magician pulling a table cloth."

Before his proposition had entirely processed, he pinched the hems of your sodden pyjama bottoms and snatched them from your legs. "Wh—"

"Open sesame!"

Wheezy giggling filled the air. "Oh, it hurts to laugh. Fuck." Being semi-naked and comically incapacitated only heightened the hilarity. Taehyung straddled your legs, twirling the wet pants in triumph— "Oww. Oh my God, stop, I can’t—” More rasping laughter. “What even goes on in your head? Also, magicians don't shout open sesame when they do that shit."

"I do. That's why other magicians suck. They say the wrong words." He spoke it like he believed it, and for a moment he was again the boy from childhood, proclaiming the weirdest - but sincerest - of things. And now he was your loveable oddball. "Daddy's gonna get you some dry ones."

And there was the gross-ass man he'd grown into.

Nevermind.

"Okay, you're taking that in a direction I don't want to go in, Tae," you protested, flimsily, through persistent laughs. With a half-hearted kick, you nudged him toward your bedroom. "Hurry up, my ass is getting cold."

“A cold ass will do you good,” was his nonsensical retort. He wriggled out of his own, damp jeans as he went, gifting you the sight of his luscious ass in curve-hugging cotton.

You were appallingly close to catcalling take the boxers off too!, but in your current state you could barely lift a pinky, let alone give him the vigorous fucking he deserved.

---

A little channel-hopping later, Taehyung returned. Armed, coincidentally, with your favourite flannel bottoms. Yes, it was likely just coincidence, but the romantic in you posited destiny. "Legs up," he commanded. You did try, but the attempt was laughable. Taehyung's sigh hit the back of your thighs. "Listen here, lazy," he crooned, turning your body with the care one would an undercooked omelette. Pyjama pants in hand, he glowered down at your defiant face, brandishing them like a threat. "You gonna co-operate?"

"Nope." You turned your attention to the TV to stifle further laughter. Why you were hindering his attempts to help with your misbehaviour was anyone's guess. There was something irresistible about making trouble for him, though. Probably because Taehyung, too, was an unrepenting rascal.

"Okay then," was his equivocal response. You scrutinised him through narrowed eyes, waiting on his next, underhanded move.

Which was to tickle your feet. Underhanded indeed.

"Oh, God, no!" you yelped, cried, rasped for breath. Flailed your legs like a fawn on skates.

"Thought you couldn't move, huh? Huh?" Taehyung caught your ankles amidst their thrashing and pulled them through freshly-laundered flannel.

Once the pyjamas reached your knees, you relented in your nonsense and shot him a buoyant smile. "Thanks."

"Hips up."

This time, you were obedient.

And Taehyung was thankful. A fine smile shone back at you as he settled the waistband around your hips. Your smile, however, drifted. Awe replaced it as you stole glances at his beautifully-hewn features. He truly was sublime. The bridge of his nose was high and strong, its tip hosting the most precious of moles. Beneath his bottom lip there was another. These little details, of course, hadn’t escaped you before, but it was something to see them so close now. With time, you would kiss each and every of his chaotically placed moles.

When you recalled your gaze upward, Taehyung was watching you. The chocolate of his eyes was molten with feeling. Love and warmth irradiated him. "Can't believe you're mine now."

It was crucial that you kiss him.

You moved to do so. His lips were only a breath away. But then—

Three, distinct knocks.

You traded looks. Yours, petrified. His, outraged.

"Wait—"

But Taehyung's weight had already left you. An intimidating energy lingered in his wake as he strode toward the staircase, fists clenched. "I'll get that."

"Tae, no—"

The difficulty with which it took you to extricate yourself from your slanket was all the more frustrating for the urgency of the situation. You staggered, almost toppled, to catch him, but he'd already descended the steps by the time you reached the top. Damn those lovely, long legs of his. All you could do now was brace yourself on either bannister to prevent a gruesome fall. Because no amount of honeyed pleading was going to stop him. You peered, lightly nauseous, down the expanse of stair as Taehyung slung open the door.

It came as no surprise that it was Jungkook stood there, his doe-eyes wide.

It eviscerated your guts, nonetheless, to see him.

“Noona!”

At first, he lit up in elation. Perhaps he thought the door-answerer to be you. When Taehyung’s identity became clear, however, that elation morphed. First, to shock. Your long-legged lover wasn’t wearing pants, after all. But when Jungkook spied you at the back all shy, sadness again descended upon him. It was a sadistic hope that your sickly appearance intensified that upset. That it fueled his guilt for having decimated you. With every, shredded fibre of your being, you wished Jungkook hurt.

“Thank you for answering the door,” he began with an earnest bow, as though he didn’t know just how much you abhorred him. “H—”

"I answered the door. What do you want?" Taehyung straddled the doorframe, asserting his dominance over the territory. Jungkook's every attempt to look past him was foiled. The lissom man angled himself obstructively, and yet you sought Jungkook's face, too. Wanted to glimpse the heartbreaker for yourself, like he was some loathsome thing of legend. Like it was hard to believe you'd looked into that face just yesterday and seen the world. "Don't you ever give up?" he added, his patience sounding pencil-thin.

After several, weighty seconds of silence, Jungkook eventually acknowledged Taehyung's existence. Addressed him earnestly. "I know I'm not welcome here. I just want a couple of minutes with ____ to explain what she saw—" A derisive snort threatened to cut him off, so he continued hastily, and louder— "—Not for my benefit. For hers. I don't want her to—to—" Choked with frustration, Jungkook thrust himself into your sightline. Implored you with large, gleaming eyes. "I don't want you to blame yourself in any way."

You despised how pregnable you were under his gaze. Like imminent, avoidable death, it became impossible to look away. The void called. There, in his desolate eyes. He wanted you to join him.

No, Jungkook didn’t need you anymore. What he wanted was absolution. At great personal cost to you. But whatever he wished, no matter how detrimental, you would likely grant.

Because as much as you hated him, you loved him.

“I—”

But you loved Taehyung, too.

“____?” And he was there, soft voice enticing you back toward the light. Back toward his pretty face and tender-hearted intentions. There was no hurt to be had with Taehyung.

"I don't,” you spat, clear-minded once more. “I don’t blame myself, Jungkook. Only you.”

But you did blame yourself. Every second since, in fact.

Too fat, too boring, too ugly, too old, too much baggage—

It mustn't have been too convincing an outburst. Jungkook's mouth remained a thin, grim line. And those fucking eyes of his were so fucking ridiculously big and sad and—fuck!

It was all too much.

Mercifully, Taehyung was composed enough to mediate. You, however, were on the brink of emotional - and physical - collapse. "You heard her." Again, he filled out the doorframe. Stood provocatively close to the man in front. "You fucked up majorly. Actually—" Taehyung leaned in. His baritone dived lower. "You're lucky we're not alone right now."

Jungkook did not recoil an inch. Neither did he square up, though. He just stood, toe-to-toe with Taehyung, receiving the vitriol.

"You've imparted your message. You’re too late. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Are you finally going to go?"

At that, something bubbled within Jungkook. It shook his frame, balled his fists. Blinking came more rapidly. And then— "I know all that, dude. Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I appreciate what you’re doing, and that you’re protecting her, but I just—I need to talk to noona—to ___ a little longer. Privately. I just need a little more time. Please. Let me get the words out."

Taehyung bore impossibly close. "You don't need more time."

Jungkook’s mouth opened, combatively downturned. But whatever he meant to launch next was stymied when you took one, noodly step down the stairs. Taehyung turned toward the movement, and Jungkook peered past. It was then that he clocked just how arduous it was for you to move. “Noona? Are you okay?”

Dizzyness crowded your peripheral vision. But Jungkook was front and centre, and so painfully clear, that the influenza quietened. "I don't want to see you, Jungkook. I’m pretty sure I got that across yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? What if I don’t even want to hear your damn sob story?"

He fell mute when your words reached him. Like he could scarcely believe you'd deigned him worthy of directly addressing. Palms pressed together and with his mouth agape, he looked the picture of a supplicant.

But he was unworthy.

No, I am.

You hung your head again. It was strenuous on your neck; weighing like a cannonball. "I don't want to stand here all day, Jungkook. Fucking say something. Why did you come here if—"

"Because I love you!” he gasped. “I love you, and—"

"Bullshit you do!"

It came from Taehyung, not you. He'd turned back, teeth bared, no longer saying but growling. There he was. Your guard dog. The leash was straining. "You don't love someone and hide a fucking fiancee, you piece of shit." Jungkook flinched at Taehyung's ferocity, but remained stalwart on his spot. Curled his lip instead. "You blew it. Now go."

Jungkook shook his head suddenly, violently. Flung rain from his hair and onto the walls. "This has nothing to do with you!" The bridge of his nose scrunched tight and bared not bunny teeth, but fangs.

Taehyung swatted away the finger poised aggressively at his chest. Stepped closer, but didn't stop. No, he bumped him back toward the threshold with his chest. "It does now. Read between the lines, dumbass."

Jungkook was ineffably innocent. “What do you mean?” He stared into Taehyung’s narrowed eyes to glean more meaning.

And then he gulped.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to Taehyung’s immodestly nude legs, and clarity began to dawn. It astounded you how little reaction Taehyung’s state of undress had initially garnered from Jungkook. But now he was giving the situation its due attention.

A few, unmoving moments later, he gulped again. Harder this time, like something tangibly obstructed his speech. “N-Noona?” It was a mere rasp.

When Jungkook looked back, eyes glossy with devastation, your heart tore again. Right along its freshly-stitched seams. You tried desperately to avert your gaze, but the void shimmering back at you was dense. His voice reached for you again. "____?"

Your name, alien in tone, was what finally closed your eyes. Fresh tears ran down established tracks. You turned away, grip on the bannisters dubious.

"You and—him?" Jungkook gasped, so quietly, so pained, it was like agonal breath.

You crumpled as if stomped on. Your chest was ablaze, and you wanted so desperately to clutch at it. To smother it. To cradle your torso as it caved once more. But you were too impaired to move. Instead, you stood there, frozen and hunched, crying uglier than you could remember ever letting anyone see. Staring at your toes as the carpet caught your tears.

But why? You should be overjoyed to shatter him as he had you.

"Get it? Now go." Taehyung sighed, all the fight siphoning from him. He backed up from Jungkook and went monotone. "You've upset ___. Again. This is your last warning. Get going."

Predictably, Jungkook didn't budge. In the ensuing silence, however, he didn't plead his case as he once would have done. No, something about him was changed. An aggrieved aura hugged him, expanded, until— "Last warning? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes, once brimming with tears, now seared with a fury. Even Taehyung looked taken aback. The outburst came sharp despite its gentle source. Again, Jungkook thrust forward an accusing finger. "Don't pretend you're better than me. You're selfish. I knew you couldn't wait to get your dick in her. I knew it ever since we saw you at the movies and you looked so fucking jealous—"

The gasp that exited you was so heavy with outrage it almost took you with it. You gripped the bannisters tighter, wobbled down two further steps. You had to de-escalate this. Somehow. "Jungkook!"

He granted you a brief, guilt-ridden side-glance before once again affixing his target with a glare. "You were just waiting for your moment, weren't you? Didn't want her 'til I had her. Couldn't bear the thought of your closest friend not being one of your conquests."

“Shut the fuck up!”

You didn't make it in time. Not before Taehyung wound back his elbow and snapped it forward, a hard, coiled fist on its end. It landed, brutal and blunt, on Jungkook's jaw. A dull, fleshy thud resounded, but to you it was like a gunshot. And so was the way his head and body whipped away, spiralling until his knees buffered his fall.

"Oh my G—Jungkook!"

The younger man, crouched away as he was, breathed deep, coppery air. Smeared his mouth along his sleeve, leaving red where it touched. And then, standing, he glared hatred at Taehyung. His shoulders shuddered with untethered anger. "You—"

"It's more than that for me. I can't say the same for you," Taehyung cut in, surveying his reddened knuckles. He flexed his fingers for feeling. "Fucking cheater."

Distracted, Taehyung was unprepared for the solid hunk of human that caught him around his midsection. Jungkook tackled him without caution, throwing his entire, intimidating mass into Taehyung's lankier frame. The two surged into the ground, clawing and grappling at the other's limbs, eyes wild, lips stretched back from teeth.

"Stop!"

"Oh my God, stop it!"

Neither listened. They were feral. Both heard only the rush of blood.

Knowing you must intervene, you manipulated your ragdollish limbs into descending the last half dozen steps. It was then, after an elongated struggle, Jungkook clambered atop Taehyung and fisted the collar of his shirt, glaring daggers enough to maim him.

“You’re so fucking smug—”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who fucked up!” Taehyung crowed from beneath, maniacal. He taunted Jungkook with an angular grin, like he wasn’t the one at disadvantage.

“Shut up!”

Once your feet met ground, you crumbled to your knees, Taehyung's head of hair between them. The sneer he brandished fell when he caught sight of your sweat-soaked face. Pitifully you pressed against Jungkook's shoulders, dissuading him from further violence. You felt like a toreador pushing on 1800lbs of charging bull. Jungkook didn't even so much as register your attempts until you wheezed out, "P-Please stop."

He did. He went rigid, in fact. Trembled, when he became aware of your touch. His rage evaporated and the boy that sat there was no longer a bull but a meek little kit. Trepidation rolled from Jungkook in waves, and he would not meet your eyes.

Why?

Was he now repulsed by you?

How could he judge you for your indiscretion when he—he—!

No. It wasn't an indiscretion. What you did with Taehyung held no moral ambiguity.

It occurred to you, then, that the pair of you hadn't been so close since the last time you were intimate. And happy. Though damp, Jungkook's familiar, and once comforting scent, brushed your nostrils. Perhaps your proximity was what flustered him.

When he finally met your gaze, you knew it to be true. He didn't look upon you with the anger nor revulsion you expected. Not anything obvious, anyway. Instead it was the wide-eyed wonder from your first date. The shyness. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to revisit it.

But then his brows drooped low in remorse. "Noona," he called to you like you were far away. Pined for you. Taehyung's shirt fell from his clutches, and you found his hands on your elbows instead, propping up your drooping form.

Feverish before, you were positively boiling now. To have his gentle palms on you again, no matter the circumstance, was a threat to your hastily-cobbled retreat. His fingertips told you, as they caressed your inner elbow, that any other man's hands would never do. And yet - you squirmed feebly, recalling it - those hands had been on, been in some other woman's body. And that would never do. "Don't touch me, J-Jungkook. Not with those hands."

But it was his hands that stirred your heart into uproar.

No. It was simply the flu. Nothing more. It influenced your body in the oddest ways.

And there was someone that had pumped your blood for far longer.

You cast your eyes to where Taehyung lay, honey hair a halo about his head and eyes only for you. Love bloomed fiercely in the bowels of your heart. “You really don’t look very good.” He made to push Jungkook off, but the younger man was already up on his knees, scanning your wan complexion.

"Are you burning up?" Jungkook murmured, his lips a line of concern. "You feel hot." Again he clasped your elbows, testing along their length for temperature. When he reached your upper arms, he was bold enough to advance on your neck, thumbs either side the line of your jaw. To your great shame, though you attributed it in most part to the fever, you enjoyed Jungkook's handling. "Your glands are out. And—" he pressed a cool, clammy palm to your clammier forehead. Spellbound, your eyes closed. "Yeah, you're even hotter up here, noona."

"No shit, dumbass," Taehyung growled from above. When you opened your eyes, he was no longer supine but towering over the two of you, fingers twitching by his sides. You foresaw Jungkook's imminent scalping if you weren't quick to intervene. "You chased her into torrential rain. She's sick, asshole, and it's your fault."

But there was no need to intervene. Jungkook didn't anger again. Nor did he stare down the man spitting insults. His focus remained fixed on you. On the damage he'd done. The deadened, bloodshot eyes, the pallid skin, the absence of joy. Of understanding. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could think to say? Again?

Desperate, you implored him for more with forlorn eyes. Begged him for sense. Practically mouthed the word please. It would be nothing you wanted to hear, but perhaps hearing it could bring closure. Some semblance of peace, eventually, in some far-off year.

Jungkook stared back, ruminating, and you knew there was no sense to be found. None that you wanted, anyway. Jungkook was a liar, an adulterer, a manipulator—

"Alright, you said sorry again. Time to go." Taehyung hauled him up by his underarms and, hopefully, away from you forever. It was a credit to him for tolerating Jungkook’s presence for so long. Especially when all he did was regurgitate the same, tired shit. "Don't come here again, or I'll call the cops," he snarled to Jungkook's ear, spittle flying. With a grip on the scruff of Jungkook's jacket, he whirled him toward the door.

"She's not my fiancee!"

Taehyung paused. As did you, in your agonised ascent into standing.

"She's not my fiancee," Jungkook repeated over his shoulder, looking for you over his gathering jacket. "I wanted to talk to you about it calmly, and in private. It's not simple, and it’s hard to believe."

"Don't lie to me n-now, Jungkook." The finger with which you jabbed at him, trembled. "I asked you that. You said she was."

Taehyung's expression darkened by the second. It would devolve into another brawl at this rate, and you didn't want that. Not because you didn't want to see Jungkook get served, but because you didn't want him in your presence another gut-wrenching moment.

Brazenly, Jungkook yanked himself from Taehyung's grip and turned, palms up and pacifying. He inched back toward the door; a gesture of his intent to finally leave. "Look. It's because technically she is, but it's not real—I'm going, asshole!—" Jungkook waved his arms demonstratively at the nearing door. Having appeased Taehyung, he pinned you again with fervent eyes. "What you saw wasn't the truth. If you won't hear me out entirely, at least hear that.”

“No-one believes you. Everything you say is a fucking contradiction.” Taehyung was red and riled again.

Jungkook ignored him, his time short. “I won't text you anymore, I won't come here anymore. What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I know that. I should never have lied. But—" The lamp outside illuminated his bedraggled hair. The tip of his nose when he turned. "You know my number if you do want to hear me out. I'll be around for a bit longer.”

A bit longer?

You granted him the minutest of nods.

It was enough. Nodding back, Jungkook turned on his heel and flew around the corner. And though he was gone, his silhouette stayed seared into your retinas, haunting your every blink. It was only when Taehyung replaced him in the doorway that Jungkook faded. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you back on the sofa.”

Wow, he was tall.

Oh.

Somehow, you were on the floor again. You squinted up at him with sore, watering eyes, overwhelmed by it all. You reached for him like an infant would its parent, too vulnerable to move, and too stupid to know better. “Okay.”

"It’s been a shitty day, but I’m gonna try and make it better. Why don’t we have a Netflix nostalgiafest?" Taehyung cooed into your sodden hair, no minding the sweat. He wound your arms around his neck, legs about his waist and chauffered you up the stairs, grunting by the step. Exaggerating the effort by comedic amounts in order to provoke you.

“Sure.”

But you were far, far away. Hidden behind your glazed eyes, the encounter replayed on loop. Lingered on Jungkook's Disney eyes and big buck teeth. The ones you loved back when he deserved to be loved. The nonsense he spouted toward the end was of particular interest in your mental re-runs, even though it should have immediately been dismissed.

'What you saw wasn't the truth.'

But neither was his relationship with you. Not when he kept such weighty secrets as sport.

'I'll be around for a bit longer.'

And that? Another of his manipulative tactics? Was he really leaving, or merely dangling the threat of it?

But why would it be a threat? You wanted nothing more than him to be gone.

Oh, it was all so bad. Everything was bad. Everything was too much, and, oh, even being in your body was too much, let alone your mind. You were drowning in affliction. Assailed from all sides with nothing for defense.

"Babe."

All went black, and then you opened your eyes. Taehyung stood over you, mouth downturned. Cotton caressed your naked skin, and you knew these were your sheets. This was your bed. Your lover had stripped you of your oppressive pyjamas. You stared at the mole on his nose, the one under his bottom lip. One, two. You could count to two.

"Are you doing okay? Your fever really spiked there. Should I call a doctor?"

“No, no.”

Perhaps you'd simply hallucinated the entire encounter. Perhaps it was your mind's exercise in catharsis. Or perhaps Jungkook had never existed to begin with, and his betrayal was the product of a detailed fever dream. Taehyung was real, though, and here he was still. Your forever best friend. Your secret love. You had not yet confessed your love to this real Taehyung. But now you were awake, you would seize the chance. Because if there was one thing your prolonged nightmare had taught you, it was that you should have just done it to begin with. On the porch those years ago, when the stars weighed heavy over his head and dared you to kiss him.

"I love you," you rasped, sounding like Death's next call.

And just like it should have happened then, Taehyung lowered his face to yours. "I love you too, noona," he murmured through a joyous smile, brushing together your noses first, lips second. "But it's time for your next dose of painkillers. We gotta get this in you ‘cause your fever’s really mounting. Pretty sure you’ve been hallucinating. It’s worrying me. I’m this close—” he pinched together his fingers— “to calling a doctor. I don't think that asshole turning up did you much good."

Brainless, you repeated. "No doctor. Asshole?"

"Yeah, Jungkook." A tray of painkillers dangled from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth while he poured water. "Lying douchebag. Who, by the way, will not be working at the school anymore. Not if I have something to say about it."

The words went in, but floated right back out. The ceiling swirled.

"Oh." He was real.

Of course, you knew that. Even in the murk of fever it was apparent. Still, it’d been nice to pretend for a while.

The sound of preparation ceased and the mattress dipped. Taehyung extended your next dose and a glass of water to you. His expression was no longer so sunny, but clouded with disquiet. "Talk to me, ____. I know you're sick, but that's not all that's going on in that muddled head of yours. It might help to talk. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to be afraid. Just try it."

It was a credit to your weakened state that you were so loose-lipped. You downed the pills and curled around Taehyung's seated position, molding to his lap. "I'm just—I don't know." Your cheek was hot against his thigh. His Calvin Klein waistband stared back at you. "I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm so, so sad. It's unbearable. I can't handle much as it is. It doesn't take a lot to drag me down, but this, this—" Tears welled. Taehyung's slender fingers were there to catch them. "This feels almost too much. Even with you here. It's like I'm locked in a mental prison."

"I know, babe," he whispered, stroking your face free of limpid hair. "It's gonna take a while to feel better, like it does with any big change. What he did to you was villain material. Of course you're going to be devastated." For once, you listened. "You don't owe him forgiveness, though he tried his damned best to get it. For his own selfish satisfaction, I'm sure. And you don't owe him anything else, either, not even the thoughts in your brain. Though I know that's gonna take a while, too. I'm sure it's all you can think about." You nodded, snuffled into your blanket until it was wet. A sob felt ripe for eruption. "The flu won't make things easier, either. You're not losing your mind. You just need rest. And when you're not resting, distraction. I'm on hand for the latter." All that he said was all that you craved to hear. A tremulous smile - of relief, of gratitude - wobbled into place. Taehyung must have seen. "That's it, babe. It won't always be this bad, okay?"

You nodded, marring his exemplary thighs with a variety of unpleasant excretions. "Ugh. Sorry." You’d been intimate just one day with Taehyung and you were already establishing yourself as a repellent bog monster. Usually that happens at least 3 years in.

Taehyung merely chuckled. Kept the tissue box out of reach when you moved for it, thinking himself funny. It was only upon your panicked pleas of oh my god, snot’s gonna go in my mouth, that he finally indulged you. By wiping your nose for you, cooing all the while. "That better, little baby?"

Your face spelt vexation. But inwardly, yes, yes, it was better.

Taehyung made you so.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook angst #taehyung angst #jungkook scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #bts scenarios #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #wylei

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

🎂 To Myself (Arashi Fukada)

[art by Lushia on deviantart]

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Birthday

Word Count: 1,655

Pairing: Reader x TYL! Arashi Fukada

World: Katekyo Hitman Reborn (11^ Famiglia)

Prompt: Valentine’s Day #4 by thefakeredhead

Author’s Note: I think this is the first time I’ve ever written for someone else’s original character, but it was super fun! This was written for @zeno290’s birthday featuring the original character, Arashi Fukada, created by @kiralushia! Arashi is from the 11^ Famiglia webcomic, which I highly recommend you read (webtoons | @the11thfamily).

Thank you for giving me the chance to write for one of your wonderful characters, I hope I did her justice! ^~^)/ I also feel the need to mention that I’m only on chapter eight, I believe, so I’m going by what I currently know!

━━━━━━༻ 🎂 ༺━━━━━━

You stood in front of the mirror, readjusting the outfit that you were wearing to make sure you looked presentable. Today was your birthday and your boss was taking you and the rest of the family to a nice restaurant in order to celebrate.

You glanced at the clock. The reservation is set for eight o’clock and it was only just now turning seven, but you were feeling a bit worried because your girlfriend was currently in a meeting. The eleventh family was meeting up with a rival family so that their boss, Nozomi, could try and create peace between the two families. They had been at it for an hour already and something told you that they were no closer to finding a resolution.

Arashi was going to be late for dinner, you just knew it.

Your cell phone chimed from its position on the dresser, the familiar tone letting you know who was calling without having to check the ID. A smile came to your lips as you answered it, the cool glass against your ear. “Hey, Arashi. How’s the meeting going?”

“I want to shoot them all,” she huffed in annoyance. “These guys have zero respect for Nozomi!”

You chuckled as you pictured the face she must be making. “Just don’t get blood on your clothing. The reservation is for eight so you probably won’t have time to get changed.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t!” she laughed, the sound like music to your ears. “I love you for enabling me.”

“I love you, too,” you responded softly.

“Ugh, the break is over, we have to get back in.” She clicked her tongue, clearly not looking forward to rejoining the meeting. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N!”

“Okay,” you ended the call, sliding the phone back into your pocket. With one final look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and left the apartment that you shared with the red-head.

━━━━━━༻ 🎂 ༺━━━━━━

You stepped into the restaurant, taking in the quiet atmosphere. From what you could see, there didn’t seem to be any others inside and you briefly wondered if your boss had rented out the entire restaurant for the night. It was definitely something she would do for her beloved family.

The waiter smiled at you. “Hello! May I have your name, please?”

Upon giving him the information, his back straightened and his smile widened.

“Ah, the guest of honor! Please follow me.”

You stepped around the wooden podium into the dining room, eyes scanning the empty booths and tables. Candles lit up the room, their flames dancing across the walls like people at a club. Situated at the very back of the room to the right was a large round table where most of your family had already made themselves comfortable.

Boss was the first to notice you, hopping up from her chair and throwing her arms around you. “Happy birthday, Y/N!”

You couldn’t help smiling as you returned the hug. “Thank you, big sister.”

You settled down beside her as the others exchanged happy birthdays with you, asking how you were feeling and if your day had been kind to you. It had, of course. Any day that you got to spend just lazing around with Arashi was a good day, after all, but you spared them the details, simply letting them know that yes, your day had gone well.

When the last of the family had arrived, boss sent you a weary smile as the waiter approached to take the group’s order. “Do you want to wait on Arashi?”

You kept your lips in a firm line as you glanced at your phone. No messages or missed calls. “No, she will be a while.”

She didn’t seem happy about this but she nodded, offering you a smile and a pat to the shoulder. “I’m sure she will get here as soon as she can!”

“Is everyone ready to order?” The waiter questioned with a polite smile, pulling out a pad of paper and clicking the pen. Being the guest of honor, you were allowed to order first, choosing your favorite dish and drink before passing it on to the boss, who did the same. The waiter nodded once everyone had given their orders. “It will be out soon, I’ll be back with your drinks in just a moment.”

You tried to focus on the strange conversation that your family was having, but you found yourself staring out the window at the darkening sky, dotted with glittering stars against the dark velvet. Despite trying to keep yourself in good spirits, you felt a bit down. It was your birthday, after all, and yet the person you loved most was MIA.

You knew how much she loved Nozomi and the eleventh family, her loyalty unshaken no matter what happened and, while you would never make her choose between your love and the family, you still wished that she had decided to stay with you rather than running to her family. She didn’t technically need to be there for the meeting, Nozomi had said so herself, but Arashi had insisted.

The night wore on and your boss did the best she could to keep your mind off of your missing girlfriend by engaging you in conversation about various items. She tried to avoid family matters, no wanting to impose such things on your birthday, but it usually ended up back there in the end, not that you minded. You loved your family and wanted to do what you could to help your boss succeed.

In that respect, you could understand where Arashi was coming from and you briefly wondered if you would leave her on her birthday or not. So far, your boss had made sure not to bother you on Arashi’s birthday, so the situation had never presented itself to you. You couldn’t honestly say whether you would leave or not and that bothered you.

“The food was delicious!”

“Top tier, for sure~”

“I’m stuffed and ready for a nap.”

“Same here.”

As the boss pulled out her wallet to pay for the bill, which several of the members tried to dissuade her from doing to no avail, she sent you a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sure she has a good reason for not showing up.”

You nodded, not commenting on the subject. “Thank you dinner, big sister.” And then you turned your gaze to the rest of the table, where your beloved family sat, sending you smiles of love and respect. “Thank you all for coming, I appreciate you being here.”

“Of course!”

“We’re happy to be here, happy birthday again!”

“We got free food, too – ow! Why’d you smack me?”

“Idiot~ Happy birthday, Y/N!”

“Rude. I mean, it’s true, but rude.”

You chuckled as the two started to bicker back and forth playfully, your woes temporarily forgotten as they bumped into the table, tipping off the jug of water and creating a panic among the other members as they tried to stop it before it could run off the table.

━━━━━━༻ 🎂 ༺━━━━━━

The apartment was dark when you pushed open the door, kicking your shoes off by the door. You were certain that you had left the hall light on so you wouldn’t come home to darkness, but perhaps it had slipped your mind. You used your phone to light up the hall, hand fumbling for the light switch.

It clicked as you flicked it on, but no light flooded the hall. With a frown, you flicked the switch a few times, but nothing happened. Had the light blown out? Wrinkling your nose, you decided you would fix it tomorrow, too tired to care at the current moment.

You feet padded across the wooden floor as you headed for the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothing, but when you opened the door, you felt your body freeze up. The room was bathed in the flickering of candlelight, daffodil petals scattered across the floor. Movement from the corner of your eye had your gaze shifting to the side where Arashi was standing up from the wingback chair.

You felt your heart pick up speed at the sight of her silhouetted in the soft light, her dress fitting her body perfectly as her red locks contrasted against the black. She looked like a goddess in your eyes, but she always did no matter what she was wearing. Even after dating for so long, she was still able to take your breath away.

Arashi smiled sheepishly, her cheeks painted with a soft pink hue. “I’m really sorry I missed dinner. Can you forgive me?”

The sour mood you had felt quickly dissipated at the sight of your beautiful girlfriend, a smile slipping onto your lips as you crossed the distance between you. “It’s okay, I understand.”

“The truth is…” she shifted, turning her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t want to go there with your family. I wanted you all to myself…”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” you questioned softly, resting your hand on her warm cheek, forcing her brown eyes to meet yours.

“Because,” she pouted, tugging on the end of your shirt. “I knew you’d stay home if I said something! And after your boss went through the trouble of reserving the restaurant…”

“You knew about that?”

“She told me she was going to.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her waist protectively, lips finding her cheek as her hands clenched around your shirt. “You’re right, I would have stayed home with you. Big sister would have understood, you know. Next time, it will be just the two of us, okay?”

Arashi’s face lit up and she nodded. “Okay!”

With a smile, you brought your lips to hers, loving the way her arms wrapped around the back of your neck, his fingers clutching the base of your neck to deepen the kiss.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all~

━━━━━━༻ 🎂 ༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Storybrooke Noir

AU-gust Day Twenty-Four: Private Detectives AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: None (with rumbelle in the background)

Rated: T

Summary: In Prohibition Era Storybrooke, private investigator Graham Humbert receives an interesting new case.

Note: This is one of the first ideas I ever had for OUAT fanfic. Small parts of the story are told in noir-detective-style first person from Graham’s POV, most of it is third person.

Storybrooke Noir

As soon as I saw the identity of my visitor, I knew that my next case was going to be an interesting one. Regina Mills, it’s safe to say, runs Storybrooke. Nothing happens here without her say. If she was coming to me for help, then I knew that the situation was very delicate indeed.

Graham could see that Regina Mills was the person behind his office door. Her outline was very distinctive. She was a fan of interestingly-shaped hats, and this one was definitely the most interesting that he had seen.

He opened the door and ushered her inside.

“What can I do for you, Miss Mills?”

“I need your skills, Mr Humbert.” She placed the brown envelope that she was carrying down onto the desk. “I have a case for you, and if you solve it to my satisfaction then I can promise you a very lucrative reward.”

“I have a standard rate, Miss Mills.”

“I know.” Regina’s smile was hungry and leonine, and it made Graham want to take a step back. Whilst he didn’t know what was in the envelope, he received the distinct impression that Regina was on the hunt, and whoever her target was, she was going to employ Graham to do the hunting. “But I’m certain that I can make any extra effort that you go to worth your while.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. Regina must be desperate if she was coming to him for help in the first place, and even more so if she was trying to sweet talk him like this.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Mills. What’s the nature of the job?” He took the envelope and opened it. A grainy photograph fell out; he recognised it as the work of Sidney Glass, Storybrooke’s local newshound. The picture showed a young woman with light hair standing on Storybrooke’s main street.

“I don’t like it when new people arrive in Storybrooke unannounced and start snooping around,” Regina said. “Her name is Emma Swan and she arrived in furtive circumstances in the middle of the night. I want to know who she is, where she’s from, why she’s here and what she intends to do now she’s got here. More importantly, I want to know when she’s leaving. If she can leave any sooner than that, then again, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

Graham nodded. Whilst he was not usually in the business of scaring people out of town – Regina had more than enough people at her beck and call to be able to do that herself – he would certainly look into the case. He wasn’t picky when it came to his earnings and who he took them from.

With his fee negotiated, Graham sat back, looking at the photograph that Regina had left with him and beginning to make notes.

It was time for a trip to the Spinning Wheel.

The Spinning Wheel Speakeasy is a good place to come for information. It’s owned, as most places in Storybrooke are, by Mr Gold. No-one knows his first name, and some people have speculated that he doesn’t actually have one. Gold knows everything that happens in the town, including the things that Regina doesn’t know about, and he’s always willing to share - for a price, of course. He’s the only person in town who can go toe to toe with Regina and be confident of victory, and I’m glad I’m on the right side of him.

If he couldn’t be persuaded to part with his knowledge of Emma Swan, maybe his girl Belle could help.

The Spinning Wheel was located in the basement of Storybrooke library, and Graham had to admit that being surrounded by old books and dusty periodicals gave the place an air of class that most establishments of its ilk couldn’t boast.

Belle was sitting behind the library issue desk when Graham entered, although he knew full well that she was not expecting any patrons to be checking out books at this hour. She had been Gold’s doorkeeper for as long as anyone could remember, preferring the quiet of the library to the noise down below. They made for an odd couple, the bookish librarian and the menacing landlord and moonshiner of the shadows, but no-one who saw them together could deny that Gold was completely devoted to her and vice versa. Woe betide anyone who tried to use Belle as leverage to get to Gold. He could be very creative with that cane of his when he wanted to be, and Graham had seen him in action more than once. Keith Nottingham had learned to stay away after that beating.

“Hello Mr Humbert.” Belle greeted him with a smile as he came into the dimly lit building. “Are you here for business or pleasure tonight?”

“Business, I’m afraid. Is Gold in tonight? I’m hoping that he can help me with my latest case.”

Belle nodded, coming out from behind the issue desk and going over to unlock the rickety elevator in the corner. Graham followed her.

“He’s in, but I don’t know that he’s feeling all that altruistic. You’d better be prepared to dig deep.”

“I’m sure he’ll be interested when I tell him it’s an opportunity to get one over on Her Majesty.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Things must be serious if she’s seeking independent help. I’d noticed that she seemed a little jumpier these past few days. What’s got into her?”

“Scared of losing her crown as always.” Graham thought it would be best to play his cards close to his chest for the moment. If this Swan character was dangerous, then it really wouldn’t do to be putting Belle in harm’s way.

She came down the elevator with him, and the doors opened onto the Spinning Wheel. It was doing good trade tonight, with most of its small tables occupied. Graham recognised David Nolan by the little stage, gazing moon-eyed at the singer. His soft spot for Mary Margaret Blanchard was an open secret in the town - much to Mrs Nolan’s chagrin.

Belle led the way across the smoky room to where Gold was sitting with one of his associates. Jefferson Milliner was considered eccentric at best and downright insane at worst, but he and Gold got on like a house on fire. Graham wasn’t sure what the implications were for Gold’s own mental state as a result.

Gold smiled warmly as Belle approached, his entire demeanour softening with her mere presence. He held out a hand to her and kissed her knuckles when she took it.

“Who have we here, sweetheart? I see that the great detective has decided to pay us a visit.”

“Evening Mr Gold, Mr Milliner. I’m looking for some information about a recent new arrival in Storybrooke. I know that nothing in town goes unnoticed here.”

Gold grinned. “Let me guess. Her Majesty wants you to dig up any dirt you can on her so that she can be safe in the knowledge that she’s under no threat from Bostonian interlopers on secret missions.”

Graham laughed. “So, you know she’s from Boston and she’s here on a secret mission, which is more than me.”

“Aye. Any more will cost you.”

“How much?”

Gold gave the matter some thought.

“I’m feeling generous tonight with the news of Regina’s discomfiture. Get yourself a drink and sit down with us, and I’ll tell you what I know. Will you join us, my dear?”

Belle declined, returning to the library above, and with liquor procured, Graham took a seat. He had to admit, Gold sold the good stuff; there was none of your bathtub rotgut at the Spinning Wheel.

“So,” Gold began. “What do you already know?”

“Her name is Emma Swan and she arrived two days ago in the small hours. That’s as much as Regina knows and as much as I know.”

“She’s boarding at Widow Lucas’s and she’s intending to stay a week. She seems the transient type. Looking for something, I would imagine, although I can’t say what just yet. She was in here last night; it seems that Ruby Lucas clued her in. Belle judged her to be safe, and I trust Belle’s judgement.” Gold paused. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that she was one of your lot. Private eye.”

Graham shrugged. “It’s possible.”

He drained his drink and thanked Gold, going back over to the elevator. It was time to start digging.

Gold had given me a good lead, and what he had said about Swan possibly being a PI like myself was interesting. I wondered what she could be investigating here in Storybrooke; we don’t get many people coming in and out.

Widow Lucas was my next point of call. She takes in the few boarders who come to Storybrooke, some of whom stay permanently. It’s not exactly a vacation destination. She’s known to most as Granny, and she takes no nonsense from anyone.

“I know why you’re here.” Graham had barely got through the door of the inn before Granny had sized him up. He wasn’t exactly surprised. She had a sixth sense for things like that.

“I’m sure that you do, Widow Lucas.”

“She’s in the parlour,” Granny continued. “I think she’s expecting you as much as I am.”

Graham made his way through to the parlour, and sure enough, Miss Swan was sitting there.

“Evening, Miss.”

“Good evening. Widow Lucas told me to expect you. Apparently Miss Mills isn’t too keen on outsiders coming into her domain.”

Graham had to laugh at the succinct summation of the situation. “Indeed not.”

Miss Swan indicated for him to take a seat opposite her as Granny bustled in with some coffee.

“It’s all right, Mr Humbert. I’m not staying long. My interest in Storybrooke is purely professional. In much the same way as yours, in fact.”

“Yes. Mr Gold thought that it might be.”

“He’s a shrewd man. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but he’s definitely clever, I’ll give him that much, and he’s got good liquor.”

They drank their coffee in silence for a while, and Graham studied Miss Swan, pondering her reasons and motives, and what a private investigator was doing coming to Storybrooke.

“What brings you to our town, then, Miss Swan?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Miss Swan just laughed. “Well, I think that’s for me to know and you to find out, Mr Humbert. That’s what you’re being paid to do, after all.”

Graham couldn’t fault her logic, and he smiled. The next few days whilst Miss Swan was in town were going to be very interesting indeed…

#OUAT fanfiction #OUAT fic #Graham Humbert #Mr Gold #Belle French #Emma Swan #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #Private Detectives AU #Noir AU #Fic: Storybrooke Noir

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goingsllightlymad · 5 years ago

Text

Baby It’s You - Part 2.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader, Brian May x reader

Summary: The year is 1981 and Roger Taylor is pretty sure he has made it. With the Game Tour stretching out before him and the band more successful than ever, he doesn’t think that anything can mess up the perfect picture that is his life. That is, until he receives a letter from an astrophysics PhD student studying abroad, and finds himself sucked into her world of secrets and mistaken identities. Roger Taylor is about to find out that his life is a lot more complicated than he ever thought.

Wordcount: 2392 (getting longer!).

Warnings: I just love Roger Taylor a lot, okay?

________________________________________________________________

An hour after Brian had left, Roger was still finishing up. Bags all around him on the bottom step of the never-ending flight of stairs that lead down from their apartment, he was making sure he took as much time as he could. He was late already, so he might as well be later. It annoyed Brian and he knew it - all those threats and empty promises of kicking Roger out of the band if he wasn't get to the tour bus on time weren't entirely lost on him, just had the wrong effect.

With that last thought of Brian's agitated face in mind, and the wonderful mental image of him pacing to and fro in front of the bus the way he probably was right now, Roger dropped off the last of his bags by the door, and made his way over to the little metal letter-boxes with the apartment numbers on the front. He had never really done this kind of dull domestic thing before, truth be told, and it took him a moment to pick out their box from the rows and rows stacked on top of each other. Brian was much more domestic than he had ever been, and on a nicer day he might have admitted that he could not live without him. But this was not that kind of day, and Roger Taylor was not in that kind of mood.

There were the usual parcels and notices - a wedding invitation from one of Brian's friends, a just-saying-hi letter from Tim Staffell like there was every week (Roger never read them but he knew that Brian did), a couple of bills and an advertisement for a recording studio nearby. He kept that one, put it in his pocket to show the others if he ever decided to show up at the bus as he knew he had to soon. And then at the bottom another envelope, small and neat. He picked it up, looked a little closer at the name written on the front in neat cursive script. The right house number, absolutely not the right name. Some guy called Ben, probably someone who lived somewhere downstairs. Probably the new guy, but Roger had no idea which number he was. He cast a momentary glance at all the letter-boxes in front of him, wondered whether he had the time or the patience to go through each one and look for names. True to his character and to the extraordinary number he saw, he did not.

There was a moment or two when he had to stand and think things through. The letter had been sent to the wrong address. But what to do when you had nowhere to send it to? Leave it on the side and hope for the best? Probably not a good idea - he had had a suspicion people were stealing Queen's mail for a while now, best not to put the idea to the test when this wasn't even his letter. Find Ben? God knows how many Ben's there must be in this building, and Roger was finally coming around to the idea that sooner or later he really had to get to the bus or else they might send Brian back to drag him there by brute force. What a comically horrifying thought.

So it was without much internal conflict that Roger slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat, with the advert for the studio, and locked up the letter-box once again. He could always open it and find out who had written it, maybe write back to the address it was sent from, just to explain. He figured they ought to know, at least. And it didn't seem like there were a lot of better options opening themselves up before him. Yes, he would read it as soon as they set off, get something back quickly and have no more to do about it. Or at least, so he resolved as he found his bags again, the thought already fading into the chaos of his mind, the prospect of the tour bleeding through in its place until he had almost forgotten about the letter entirely, standing by the worn front door.

With a final sigh and a grunt as he hoisted his bags onto his back once more, Roger left the building through the front door and made his way finally to the tour bus. It had to leave soon, and he was very very late.

________________________________________________________________________________

It was only that night, with the sun long since set and the others recently gone to bed, that Roger remembered the letter. He cursed quietly in the silence of the bed at the back of the tour bus, muttering something about the scrabble they had been playing all afternoon while the bus drove on to god knows where, and tried once more to close his eyes and fall asleep. Once more he was unsuccessful. Eyes closed and breathing slowed, the thought of the address came flooding back into his mind, insidious and unshakeable as a curse. He really had to read it now, because he was getting the idea that he could not sleep if he didn't.

He sat up, pressing his shaking hands against his thighs to steady them as he shivered in the cool night air. For the life of him he could not remember when July had got so cold. Groping around in the moonlight for his coat, he took out the letter from the pocket, straightened it out. Such pretty handwriting for someone who didn't know how a fucking address worked.

Dear Ben...

The silence in the tour bus lasted an eternity while he read, his lips moving gently as he murmured the words back to himself. From time to time he looked up from the page, lips quirking up into a soft half-smile as the words pulled him into their funny little world that he knew nothing about. And yet he had never felt as though he knew someone so well. It was almost too intimate, for a moment he had to stop and wonder if he was really doing the right thing. This was a moment when the curtain was ripped aside momentarily, and through the gap he caught a glimpse of someone else living a life that was so different to his own. He felt as though he were walking into a cinema halfway through a film, picking up a character from all the scraps of words they let him see. He could not look away if he tried.

When at last the words ran out at the bottom of the page, he blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that seemed to have wrapped itself around him while he was unaware. How to tell this girl, (Y/N), that he wanted to, needed to, know more. There was something so addictive about this boring little life she lead, where the pigeons outside her window got more action than her. Roger could never understand what that was like.

Making sure not to wake the others as they sprawled out on the beds along the bus, Roger found the little scrabble table, the pencils and paper they used to score. He took a clean sheet and tried to write.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

I must preface this letter with the sincere apology that I am not, in fact, Ben. Not through some lack of effort of yours, I am sure, this letter was addressed to entirely the wrong person, and has reached myself instead of whoever it was intended to go to. Which is fine - I certainly enjoyed reading your letter, and in fact I should hate to leave this here. You seem to lead such a more exciting life than I do!

I wish I could understand your PhD woes, really, but it is my primary flaw that I was never the most academic of all my friends. If I could do what you are doing, I would, but the problem is I just can't. I fear I would die of boredom and stress from the very get-go, and that would be a rather unfortunate situation for everyone involved, I fear. Still, I have no doubt that, whatever it is you are studying, you are coping brilliantly (albeit complainingly!). It seems I must rely upon you to live out vicariously my dreams of doing anything vaguely intellectual successfully; I hope you do not mind!

You've made me quite frantic just reading about your late night habits, my love! He's probably right, you know - you really ought to get some sleep. One of my mates keeps going on about something like that ("self care" apparently, which sounds a lot like bullshit but it seems I'll be preaching it now like the utter hypocrite that I am) to me, which of course I have never listened to because I have a horrible habit of never actually listening to my mates, but I think you need some of that. Not that you're going to listen to me. Not that you should listen to me. My advice is terrible. Just ignore me, I'm having an internal crisis here.

New York is indeed very... different to what we are used to. I used to hate it there because all I could associate it with was travelling and being away from home, but now I suppose I don't mind as much. I'm more used to travelling now. Not that that's an especially bad thing. New York does have nicer diners, and the accent makes me laugh more than I really ought to. I lose my shit every time someone orders a coffee like that. Good on your pigeons though - maybe not so good on you but good on them all the same. At least they're having a nice time. Well, at least the male pigeon is. And they say romance is dead.

How must you live without a radio? I think I would keel over and die immediately without my music. I wouldn't tell it to my friends (they'd call me a right wuss and I fear I haven't the stability of ego to withstand such a low blow) but I sometimes think my soul is made of music. That band thing sounds interesting! Maybe you should go along just in case - see if you like them. I hear they're fantastic.

Roger didn't comment on the last half of that paragraph. Something in it made him feel like he was standing in someone else's place, reading something he was never meant to see. Something he would never share, because no one had ever said those kind of things to him before. He wondered if that was love, and hoped it wasn't. He'd like to think that he had been loved before, and he knew that he had never been loved quite like this.

You know I have to ask - who on earth are Lennon and McCartney? Please god don't tell me you have half of the Beatles living in your apartment or else I really must find out who you might possibly be. Princess Bride with the Beatles... what a thought. I've never seen it - I think I should have but I haven't. Nothing personal, not really, I've just never been the sort for sappy romance films. All that nonsense about "true love" and "happily ever after", I'd feel like a 9-year-old girl with a crush. It's all just a scam, really. No way that kind of thing isn't all made up. No way at all.

A wedding? Wow, sounds nice. Sorry, I'm just not used to that kind of thing. What do you even say to it? Congratulations on not having broken up by now? Good luck doing the same things you were doing before you got married but with extra legal bindings? I can't wait until you have kids and our friendship becomes second to them? Not for me, no sir. Not for anyone like me either. Just not ideal exactly in this line of work. Think I'll have to stick with being forever alone, eh? But congratulations (or something like that) to your brother and his... spouse.

Thank you again for brightening up my boring little day, and I hope you write again "as you wish",

Anon.

He didn't sign his name at the bottom - he thought perhaps it might be better to let her form her own opinions of him in her own time, instead of telling her straight away. It wouldn't let out his address, he promised himself as he slumped forwards against the table, head in his hands. Now that that was done, he suddenly felt so dreadfully tired, and he knew his sleep would only be plagued by thoughts of this mystery girl. For there was that smaller part of him, deep down in the pit of his chest where he thought his heart must be, that whispered to him that he did not want her to know who he was because for the first time in his life he had found someone who might like him for something other than that name. He found something that might stick around.

There were no envelopes in the van, and he made a quick promise to find one at the hotel the next morning, and send it out straight away, so she got the letter as quickly as possible. To send something to her boyfriend, he thought. And then, to send something to me. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he tucked the letter away in the pocket of his jeans, sleeping in his clothes as he had taken to doing on tour, and picked his way silently back to his bed.

________________________________________________________________

It was not hard to see that Roger Taylor had something to hide. Not when he broke away from the rest of the band the minute they had arrived at the hotel, not when he begged for half an hour in his room before they went out to check out the venue, and definitely not when out of the window John caught a glimpse of their drummer rushing off to the letter-box on the corner of the street, in his hand an envelope and in the envelope god knows what.

Taglist:

@rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

#roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #rogertaylorxreader #brianmayxreader #roger taylor #brian may #queen #queen band #queen x reader #queen fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert

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ofravensandgenesis · 5 years ago

Note

For John, maybe?: “You’re holding back.”

A/N: Characters/Verse-Setting: John Seed and Deputy Declan Rook, set in the Walk Away AU, in the Between Silence And Quiet verse. Minor mentions of Mary May Fairgrave and Deputy Joey Hudson.Summary: John tries to orchestrate a chance meeting to talk to that strange Deputy who chose to walk away. You’re holding back and John as a prompt from Chyrstis! :D Thank you for the prompt Chyrstis!! :D ♥Content includes: Cult content, John being John, manipulation, mild violence, etc.Ao3 link here, to avoid tumblr disaster formatting on mobile.————————————

“You’re holding back, Deputy.” John observed, his steps slow and methodical as he circled around from behind the other man where he stood.Not even a twitch. Not a look, a breath, or a word.Just silence. Silence broken by the pitiful little groans of pain from the crumpled heaps of booze-soaked trouble-makers surrounding the Deputy’s feet. Not even a broken bone among them, pff. Weak, as Jacob would so aptly call them. Foolish too, as John would term it. Too eager to vent their spleen and their wrath on any easy target—easy to target because it wasn’t mentally challenging to pick out who wasn’t a regular alcoholic here at the Spread Eagle, that was. The thought almost had John smirking. Almost. Had the drunken sops actually gotten to the point of swinging, well…it would’ve benefited the Project for John to take a punch for the team if only to be able to start the chain of actions to staple a battery charge on the lot. Then it was just a matter of slowly picking them apart until they were handing over the keys and deeds to their houses and lands to get out of the growing mountain of scandal and misfortune that would follow them from that point onward. Too foolish to step out of the noose they’d made, and too foolish to realize they’d woven the rope and tied it themselves—like shooting fish in a barrel.That was if he took a punch. They didn’t need trash like this in the Project, and their lands weren’t anything important. These souls were small fry, unworthy and uninteresting. Poor fighters, too. John had already known he could take them—and break them—in a fight.They hadn’t known that though. They’d assumed because he was some “fancy shmancy ass lawyer,” that he didn’t know how to raise a fist and fight. That he didn’t know pain.Oh, but did he know pain in far more intimate and detailed ways that they didn’t—and he could show it to them,—but no. They weren’t worthy of that revelation, that understanding of the power of YES.But Deputy Rook?Deputy Declan Rook.Deputy XiuYing Declan Rook.That was a soul who could understand. The silence surrounding him was too heavy with knowing, with something, with promise, to go unremarked on.The Deputy had kept his silence in the church too, then, on that fateful night.He’d listened to Joseph, strangely enough.Or. Joseph said the Deputy had.John disagreed. Jacob disagreed.There had been something in the Deputy’s face…that had been so very far away.The feeling of a soul that is disassociated from its surroundings and the going-ons of the moment.They all knew that feeling well.Joseph had dismissed it.But John? John couldn’t let well enough alone.That was why he was here now, slinking about the Spread Eagle on a Saturday night. He’d had good intel from his people about town that the Deputy had made an appearance at the bar, god forsaken well of poison that it was.That meant dealing with Mary May Fairgrave, however. As much fun as it was to rile her up, that was unfortunately an animosity he’d have to take a rain check on for another time. A crisp twenty dollar bill was enough to buy a few minutes of tolerance from her, when accompanied with a smile and a promise from John that he wasn’t here to cause trouble, simply to check on an acquaintance of his, and then he’d be out of her hair. That was a lie…but a good enough one that no one would hold him to it without looking unreasonable and biased. Not that being unreasonable and biased was unusual in this particular venue, sadly, but that was a well known, common effect of alcohol. One the two of them were both aware of. Mary May had scoffed, warned him not to linger longer than he had to, but had pocketed the cash. They’d done this before—and she knew well enough that he wasn’t interested in being served a beer for his money. All the more She’d consider that a victory, a few worthless dollars taken from Eden’s Gate and in her pocket instead. Typical greedHis on-going issues with Mary May not withstanding…John had not come in under the paper-thin guise of intending to drink. No, he’d had a much more reasonable excuse of seeking out another potential member-to-be, who had not officially joined the Project yet. All the man had to do was play a part: drinking away his woes, his depression, his awareness in its entirety—a common enough ailment with a common enough response: poison them into submission until they thanked you for it, paid for it as a privilege. No one would question it.And no one would question John coming in to apparently try to reel the so-called “vulnerable” man in, hook, line, and sinker. All the sinners saw was the fact that the man had money, land, wealth. That was all they saw. That was all they assumed John saw too. Assumed that was what he was after, trying to “coax” the man further into joining the Project At Eden’s Gate. That of course had been more than enough to stir the ire of some of the locals. And with an off-duty Deputy on the scene? John had harbored no doubts it would lead to an opportunity to talk. Talk to this Deputy who had walked away…instead of breaking the first seal. Instead of heralding the Collapse.Joseph had been expecting the Collapse. Had been expecting the sinners to try to take him, the way that barking Marshal had.But the Deputy had refused.How interesting. Even more interesting was how swift the Deputy’s response had been, interposing himself between John and the rabble-rousers as quickly and naturally as falling rain. John had found himself staring at the back of the other man’s head, black hair trimmed close and neat, his silhouette a stark-edged shadow of a man imposing and broad shouldered, wrapped in a thin, grey cotton tee and denim blue jeans. It’d made him seem so strangely ordinary, like he was blending in when he should have been standing out, should have registered as a threat. Because he was a threat, no doubt about that.The drunkards had completely missed it. Unsurprising, the buffoons. They’d been startled, and then predictably mad, redirecting their anger to the obstacle that stood in the way of them indulging in their sins.It’d been the first time John had heard the Deputy speak.“Stand down.” Two words, quiet enough to be missed if the bar had been noisy at the time.Quiet…but not meek. Not weak. It was the quiet of knowing. Knowing just what one’s own self was capable of. The lack of fear that came with power…and clarity.The Deputy had found some revelation of his own at some point then, John was certain.The sinners obviously had not stood down, and had, predictably, taken the first swing at Deputy Rook, as John had expected of them, based on what he’d known of their character.He had not expected Deputy Rook to put all three men down with such quick and clean efficiency. No wounding or serious injury, just enough force to subdue, just enough pain to quiet.Beautiful. That had been a beautiful display of skill. Of violence, so pinpoint and precise, it’d been almost gentle. The Deputy had been moving so smoothly and gracefully, he’d almost seemed to slow down, moving just fast enough to anticipate the men flailing around him like they were extras in a slapstick comedy.It’d been too easy. Too smooth. Too pretty.The Deputy wasn’t even challenged by this.He was holding back.That interested John immensely.The Deputy’s head turned, just enough to catch John in his peripheral vision as John circled to one side. The moment was long, before the tension was snipped as easily as the Fates cutting a thread, and the Deputy looked away towards where Mary May was moving towards them with a scowl half a mile long. The Deputy pointed to the phone, and Mary May stopped, her glower fading somewhat as understanding trickled in. She gave a sharp nod, unhappy about all this not because of the brawl, but because it involved John Seed as all present company could tell from the dirty look she shot him before she turned to call the Sheriff’s Department.“Deputy.”The Deputy didn’t look at John, only barely moving his head again to draw John back into the periphery of his gaze, never looking at him directly, head canting a tiny bit to one side as if listening, as if to say go ahead, I’m listening.

There was a faint trace of wariness in the Deputy’s expression.He still wouldn’t look at John.That rankled most of all, and piqued John’s curiosity in equal measures.Why? Why was the Deputy acting like this? What reason did he have for these little eccentricities? Eccentricities that heretofore, had never been remarked upon? The odd stretches of silence in place of words, the select self-expression through subdued gestures and looks alone…the choices made, both then and now.John had to try something. “Declan.”That got the Deputy’s attention, enough for that pair of dark brown eyes almost darkened to black in how the light fell.John smiled, a little victory well worth the cost of this trip into a den of inequity. Nothing substantial, yet. But a foot in the door was all he needed.“Thank you for your services, Deputy, though if I might ask…why did you step in so quickly? Nothing had happened yet, and it is your night off, isn’t it?”The Deputy looked at John for a long, long, long moment…before tilting his head another inch to one side.It was vaguely infuriating in that the Deputy was clearly communicating something but John wasn’t familiar enough with the man to know what. An emotional state of being, and some form of sentiment, yes, not an indication regarding their surroundings or to draw John’s attention to some other event starting up around them.Why was he so quiet? The word from the grapevine had given no previous indication he’d been anything but an ordinary man in the day to day portraiture of his character according to John’s sources.John could hear the crunch and crackle of dirt under car tires outside—back up likely. What a short window of time that had been, the other Deputy must have been nearby when the call went out to dispatch then.He had time for one more question then. “Why didn’t you simply walk away? Just sent out a call and let your colleague pick up the job.”John already knew, it was why he’d staged this entire self-contained mess. Deputy Declan Rook was a man of duty, that much Nancy had been sure of.What he was asking, really asking, was why Deputy Declan had walked away, through the allusion of word choice buried in a seemingly innocent question.He could tell that the Deputy got it. That the other man understood, just by the minute shift in his expression as he looked at John.But still the Deputy said nothing.“Rook, you alright? Mary May called up and said you’d been in a bar fight,” Deputy Hudson said, the sound of her footsteps filling the silence in place of any answer Deputy Rook might have given.“Or rather ended one, from the looks of things,” She concluded, eying the pile of groaning men upon the floor.The Deputy’s attention was on Hudson now, shaking his head and giving her a little reassuring smile, as if to say no injuries, I’m fine, as are they, just a little banged up.How disappointing, and how strange.But the little furrow of Hudson’s brow in addition to the slight frown upon her face when she looked at Deputy Rook was more promising.

This was relatively new behavior to her as well then, not just Deputy Rook choosing to be oddly silent in the moment. She didn’t understand why the Deputy was behaving so oddly either.She most certainly was not happy upon laying eyes on John himself though. He plastered on yet another smile, knowing exactly how this conversation was going to go down, her taking a statement, and the whole matter dwindling down as to yet another weekend dust-up to write up and add to the paperwork at the Sheriff’s Department.But Deputy Rook was hiding something. Holding back, as he had in the fight earlier. Holding back even as he was now with Deputy Hudson as they sorted out the aftermath of the fight.It left John with more questions than he’d started. But he had gotten a few new answers among it all.How interesting.

#Far Cry 5 #FC5 #Walk Away AU #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #Deputy Declan Rook #John Seed #one-shot #prompt writing #prompt response #thank you for the ask!! :D ♥#chyrstis #tumblr mobile app may eat all the spacing and paragraph structure #RIP mobile

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saltpepperbeard · 6 years ago

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Not Her ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Hello everyone! *hUNGER GAMES INTENSIFIES* am I right? I’m so happy for the Re-Read that’s taking place, because not only is it getting me furiously posting about THG again, but it brought back my quite dead writing motivation! I was reading chapter two, had a, “Okay but what must have this person been experiencing” kind of thought, followed by the instant urge to write it. So here we thankfully are lol!

I’m probably a tad rusty, but I really did want to write a different take on the Reaping Day. I’ve always wondered what things would be like from a certain someone’s point of view after all! So with that being said, I hope you all like it!

And with further adoooooooo...

Not Her

It’s the day everyone in this District dreads again.

The one where families are torn apart for a sick spectator sport. The one where children are torn crying from their mothers, knowing what horrible fate awaits them. The one where loved ones are officially lost to the Capitol.

Reaping Day.

I clench and unclench my jaw, silently filing in after all the other boys my age. The tension in the air is high, as usual. We’re not a District to valiantly offer volunteers, or boast our Tributes’ strengths. We’re a group of reluctant individuals, with many being fearful, silently praying that their name, or their loved one’s name, isn’t the one to be called.

I’m in the latter half of that group. My name being plucked from the large, glass bowl wouldn’t trigger any tears, from me or my family for that matter. There’s a slight sinking in my stomach as I imagine it, yes, but ultimately it wouldn’t hurt as much as others. My family would get on. The District would get on. And maybe it’d be a sick way to spare me from my current way of life.

I’m more concerned about my brother, concerned about Rye. I wouldn’t want to see him on that stage, awaiting pain, awaiting death. I wouldn’t want to see anyone I love subjected to that. Having to helplessly watch as someone close to me suffers has to be one of my worst fears.

A heavy breath rolls out of my mouth, my attention zoning out as the typical string of events unfolds. The mayor talks about the past of Panem, the history of the Games, and the reasons we should be thankful for them. It makes me sick to my stomach, the notion of being appreciative of murder, appreciative of suffering, appreciative of torture. So naturally, my attention goes elsewhere.

It doesn’t really come back until our District’s sole-surviving Victor, or our District’s Infamous Drunk rather, makes his grand entrance on stage. I let out a sigh as he leaves a path of chaos in his wake, but I cannot deny the slight ache in my chest. That insanity could be someone’s fate today. Or worse, far worse.

Another interesting character, Effie Trinket, attempts to hurry things along, continuing to try and make this some kind of grand spectacle. It’s ladies first as usual, and despite not really having anyone close to me per say, I find that I’m holding my breath.

When the name is uttered, I’m relieved for a split second, and then utterly devastated in the next.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

My throat locks up, with my entire body to follow. I almost feel a bit woozy, my head spinning at the image of a small, frail, blonde girl reluctantly emerging from the crowd.

I know her. Almost too well for never really formally meeting her. I can see her passing by our Bakery in the morning, completely carefree and casting light as she goes. I can see the way her gaze sparkles as she eyes the displays in the window, eagerly running up to get a better look. And I can see her turning around, excitedly pointing at the various cookies and cakes to the person who’s always with her...

“Prim!”

As unfortunate as it is to say, I should be familiar with that shrill, desperate cry. The sound of a person getting their family member torn away from them at the Reaping, a haunting, eerie noise that’s something of normalcy every year.

But it’s from her. She’s in pain. Her sister is going to the Arena. And I can’t protect them, can’t comfort her.

I can feel myself shaking, small beads of sweat forming atop my skin. I don’t even know her. I don’t know either of them. But at the same time, I feel like I do. I’ve seen them both for so long. My heart has followed the one for as long as I know, which means I’m naturally protective of the other as well.

It’s almost like I can feel her anguish, like my little sister is up there.

Mentally, I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tightly and warmly as I can manage. Even if I really could, I know there wouldn’t be enough love in the world to comfort her in this. But God, would I try. I’d want nothing more than to try and keep her lifted out of the darkness the Capitol tries so desperately to inflict upon us.

“Prim!”

Tears spring into my eyes, my heart clenching something terrible. I watch as she emerges from the crowd as well, darting after her sister. I wish I could be there alongside of her too, offering all the support and help I could possibly muster. But I can’t. I’m always doomed to watch from the sidelines, doomed to watch as things unfold.

And unfold they do.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

Everything stops. My world completely stops.

My heart stutters to a grinding halt. A noise of anguish poised on my tongue gets jammed in my throat. The tears I had been fighting against have no choice but to fall.

No. Not her.

It’s my nightmare. My absolute worst nightmare come to life. I always knew there was a very small possibility of this happening, a very grim chance of this unfurling before my very eyes. But nothing could have actually prepared me for it happening. No matter how many times I see them per night, the bad dreams are nothing compared to reality.

The light goes dark, and sounds go muffled. I can see some slight, desperate movement near the stage, and hear a scuffle of activity, but I can hardly pay attention. I can hardly focus on anything other than trying not to collapse right here and now, to collapse completely in on myself.

I don’t know her. I never got to know her. I didn’t get to tell her how beautiful I think she is, how her eyes remind me of a strong, captivating summer storm. I didn’t get to tell her how I want to protect her and her family for the rest of my days, to ensure they never have to go hungry ever again.

I never got to tell her how much I utterly adore her, how much I love her to the ends of the Earth.

And when she goes on stage, when she utters her name, the reminder makes a shaky, sobbing-like breath croak from my lungs.

Katniss Everdeen.

Not her. Not her. Not her.

Somewhere in the middle of my woes, I can faintly hear Effie Trinket trying to get our solemn District excited, trying to get our District to roar with thunderous applause.

But in true fashion, much to my utmost relief and yet utter dread, they don’t. Everyone remains ghostly silent, before kissing three fingers and raising them high into the sky. It’s a gesture of complete admiration, but also a way of saying goodbye.

I can’t bring myself to do it. Because no matter how much I utterly adore her, I cannot bring myself to say goodbye. Especially without giving the slightest “hello.”

I simply hang my head, fiercely wiping the tears away, clenching both my eyes and jaw. I wish I could reveal my gaze and be free from this, be in a completely different world where I’m waking up to light, waking up to her.

But I’m not. The awful world I’m in continues on.

I can hear the loud clicking of Effie’s heels as she walks from one side of the stage to the other. I wipe the last of my tears away, sighing harshly and attempting to get myself under some semblance of control. I just hope whoever gets reaped can work together with Katniss, and protect her with his life.

The odds must be somewhat in my favor, albeit in a messed up, twisted kind of way.

Because the name that’s called, the paper that’s raised into the air, sends me through a torrent of feeling.

My first emotion, by complete instinct, is shock, my head jolting upwards and my mouth hanging agape. I can feel everyone who’s in close proximity staring at me, their faces either wearing sorrow or some kind of weird relief. And after I’ve recovered from the initial blow, the initial realization that I’m going to the Hunger Games, the thoughts that follow are what give me the strength to walk towards the stage.

Katniss.

I’m going to be with Katniss in the arena.

Not getting to know her doesn’t seem as devastating anymore. Because now I’ll get to die knowing I protected her, knowing I gave absolutely everything to keep her alive. And that’s all I could possibly want. To make sure I gave my all in ensuring her safety.

Maybe she doesn’t need me. Maybe she can get by just fine on her own. I’ve heard about the way she shoots, heard her way of fighting is silent and elegant. It’d be just one other person who wouldn’t be affected by my presence or lack of thereof; my family certainly isn’t.

But that won’t stop me from trying. That won’t stop me from giving myself to her like I’ve tried to all these years. I am hers and no one else’s. My life is insignificant next to hers.

I finally mount the stage, and in seeing her so close, in getting to properly look at her, it locks my sole purpose in these Games completely into place.

I move to stand parallel to her. Before I do though, I give myself a brief opportunity to look at her. To really look at her. To look at her how I would every day if I was blessed enough to actually be with her.

Her beauty absolutely takes my breath away. It always has. Though her face is hard, completely taut with emotion, she’s gorgeous. Her hair looks softer than the dandelion puffs dotting the District. Her eyes look shinier than the sun dancing off the lake’s surface. Her lips look plumper than the strawberries growing in the forest.

I don’t think I could ever capture such beauty in one of my paintings, or ever truly put it into words. She’s utterly exquisite.

I don’t stare, being quick to tear my gaze away and look straight ahead, out into the crowd. Now really is not the time to dote on her anyway. I can’t afford to get anymore attached than I am now. Now is the time to start planning how I’m going to keep her alive.

As the mayor talks more about the Games, my mind is aflame with possibilities, with different scenarios. I think of how I can keep others away from her, how I can potentially side with her, how I can guard her from anyone who might come near...

My thoughts are cut short by Effie yet again, though this time she actually says something significant to me for once.

“Alright you two, shake hands!”

My head turns towards Katniss as hers turns towards mine, our eyes meeting and locking for the first time in...years. Her gaze is just as mesmerizing as it was the first time I held it, just as captivating. And just like last time, I silently tell her I’m going to protect her. I silently tell her that I will take a beating for her. I silently tell her that I love her.

And to prove it, to seal the deal, I put all the warmth I can manage into our handshake, squeezing her hand tenderly with the figurative promise of never letting go.

The odds may not be fully in my favor during the Games, but hopefully now the opposite can be said for her.

And once we turn to be beckoned into the building behind us, away from our District, my life is hers.

#Everlark #Everlark fanfiction #Peeta Mellark #Katniss Everdeen #thg #Peeta's POV #also i don't think this fits the toastedthg tag but hey the re-read iS INDEED WHAT SPARKED THIS lol #Because I was reading the reaping and was like #'Lord what must have Peeta felt when Katniss voluntee-......WAIT'#Love me a good opportunity for some angst and yearning lmao #MY AESTHETIC IF YOU ASK ME #A GOOD TIME #Also Peeta's POV is a Good Time in general #Mr. Angsty Eloquent Loving Boi #lmao just when you guys thought 'hmmm jodi's really out here posting a ton of thg'#LMAO BET HERE'S A FANFIC ON TOP OF MY META AND EDITS #WE OUT HERE

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thetirisfaltheatretroupe · 6 years ago

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[Script Archive] Hellsqueal, the True Warchief’s Tale

"Hellsqueal, the "True" Warchief's Tale" <<The following is a play that has been retired from the Tirisfal Theatre’s library, and will only reoccur for private events for the foreseeable future. This script has been placed here so that those who enjoyed the play or wish to perform it themselves may do so. Credit for this comedic performance goes to the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe>> < Scroll to the bottom for trivia surrounding this place, as well as our original poster! >

CHARACTERS: Narrator, Grom (for one line), Garrosh, Thrall, Mag'har 1, Mag'har 2, Baine, Gamon, Sylvanas, Saurfang, Vol'jin, Taran Zhu, The Kor'kron with the Dictionary

[Narrator:] It was said, that when Garrosh Hellscream was born...every shaman in the Warsong Clan came together to bestow a blessing upon him for strength- No...not because he was the great Grom's child... But because the baby looked so awful and ugly they needed to make sure he would not self drown himself. To Grom, however, he was so moved that the Shaman felt a sense of importance for his baby that he took young Garrosh and rose him to the sky gave out a passionate cry the spirits!

[Grom]: Ancestors! Upon this day, my son is born! May his fate ironically be my own! <Grom leaves the scene>

[Narrator]: At the time, he had no idea what irony was, and figured it was another word for honor... Grommash later discovered the true meaning of irony, shrugged, and figured it did not matter.

[Narrator]: Ahh yes. But who can truly forget why we so “loved” our former..former...uh fooormer Warchief? Let us begin with his humble origins those many moons ago where it all began. When the Horde rediscovered the brown orc known as The Mag'har in Outlands, Nagrand..

<Mag'har 1 & 2 are chatting across from Garrosh, Garrosh is next to a basic campfire sitting down and crying>

[Garrosh]: Oh, woe is me! My father, great Grom Hellscream, is such a disgrace! The greatmother is going to die soon and there's nothing we can do about it! Life --<he dramatically approaches the audience and lays on the ground> IT IS NOT WORTH LIVING!

[Mag'har 1]: <facepalms> Great. Here he goes again, more mellowdrama.

[Mag'har 2]: Think if we tell him the greatmother died and watch his reaction, it'll be good enough to make up for the fact that he'll probably reconfigure our heads after he finds out we were lying?

[Mag'har 1]: He'll probably cry his own head off because we made fun of him. <both orcs laugh and continue jabbering, enter Thrall stage left> [Thrall]: FEAR NOT, MAG'HARI ! Thrall, son of Durotan, has returned to his people! Surely you are all hard at work defending our precious homeland... and...

</e looks between the two grunts.> What in the name of Rend Blackhand's severed head is going on here? Why are you all not ...valiantly and proudly defending our people from the demons?

[Mag'har 1]: Oh. We're um...we're on holiday.

[Mag'har 2]: We are? <#1 nudges him> Oh, right. Yeah, this is our day off. Hellscream's orders.

[Thrall]: Hellscream? Ah! You must mean the one of Grom's proud and noble line! Tell me...is he a noble, <Garrosh picks his nose> And Strong,.. <Garrosh sucks his thumb loudly> And a proud warrior who stands FEARLESSLY and defiantly against the demonic lords of the world just as Grommash did? <Garrosh scratches his butt>

[Mag'har 1]: Well, you have the defiant part down. Defiant to you, defiant to me. [Thrall]: And... And what about the demons?

[Mag'har 2]: The demons? Hrm. <he faces Mag'har 1 and shrugs> I haven't even seen him come face to face with any demons lately, have you?

[Mag'har 1]: I think he spat in one's eye just last week! Wait, no no, that was Elder Grapuul. He also ran him through - I have the head in my room along with a necklace made from his entrails if you wanna see.

[Thrall]: Ahhh no.... no-Ha ha thank you. That won't be needed! I would much rather speak to brave Hellscream. So please...keep all that to yourself.

[Mag'har 1]: You sure? The entrail necklace is far more interesting. If you listen closely, you can still hear the demon screaming "PLEASE ANYTHING BUT THAT!".

</e grows tired of this> [Thrall]: Look. Can you point me to PROUD and NOBLE Hellscream or not? <both Mag'har shrug and point at Garrosh>

<Thrall leaves their company and the two walk away snickering> [Mag'har 2]: <to Mag'har 1> Did you really save the entrails?

[Mag'har 1]: Of course! Wait, you don't? <Thrall waits as the two leave, and then turns to the moping Garrosh>

[Thrall]: Young Hellscream, the Warchief of the Horde... stands before you. Surely you know of our presence here in Garadar.

[Garrosh]: Leave me alone! I'm busy suckling my thumb. I was suckling on the right one earlier, but it became swollen, so I'm working on the other one.

[Thrall]: That's... </e scratches the side of his beard.> -fascinating. So you're Grom's boy...

[Garrosh]: <stands up and becomes completely over the top, irrationally angry> DO NOT DARE MENTION MY FATHER'S NAME! I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM SO MUCH I COULD... I COULD... <Garrosh breaks down for about 30 seconds crying, throwing a fit - add chosen creative styles of improv here, ending with him sitting with his back turned to the audience and crying more, Thrall moving in to place a hand on his shoulder> [Thrall]: There there. You uh...you want a nap?

[Garrosh]: Uh-uh.

[Thrall]: You...want a snaaack?

[Garrosh]: No. </e perks up. Idea!>

[Thrall]: Yooou want a belly rub?

[Garrosh]: <abruptly> What?

[Thrall]: NOTHING! Nothing at all. Juuuust going through a list of things I do to get my worg to calm down! Good ol' snack , nap and belly rub...Uh Alright look, the run-time for this production isn't going to let us run this gag forever so HERE YOU GO! BEHOLD!

A VISION OF THE FIGHT BETWEEN YOUR FATHER, GROMMASH HELLSCREAM, AND THE DEMON LORD MANNOROTH!

<Both Garrosh and Thrall's actors pretend he is watching Grom gut Mannoroth pausing for a few seconds between lines> [Garrosh]: WOW!

[Thrall]: Yeah!

[Garrosh]: Sheesh!

[Thrall]: I know, right?

[Garrosh]: That's a lot of blood!

[Thrall:] So you see young Hellscream... your father, Grommash Hellscream, was not a disgrace like you thought. He was a hero to our people, because he gave his -life- to undo the curse that bound our rage.

[Garrosh]: Forget that, he's not a disgrace because he made that Pit Lord axeplode!

[Thrall]: He did the what now.

[Garrosh]: Didn't you see it? It exploded into fel sparks or whatever after it dumped about fifty gallons of blood! It's right there, rewind it!

[Thrall]: Oookay.. </e puts his hand out and starts to spin it. Que rewinding noises as he sifts through the vision like a tape.> [Thrall]: Right there?

[Garrosh]: Yeah, now pause!

[Thrall]: I do not really think the Ancestors would approve this abuse of of-

[Garrosh]: <VERY ANGRILY> I said PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUSE!

[Thrall]: </ exhales.> Alright, fine. FINE! You whiny little little son of a...-there.- </e opens his hand, palm out. Symbolizing that he has stopped or “paused” the vision.>

[Garrosh]: Ooohoo..yeah. That's the stuff. Look at all that gore. I think I see a chunk of his liver flying off to the side.

[Thrall]: Actually, I think that might be his glubok....

[Garrosh]: What's a glubock?

[Thrall]: You're out here fighting demons and know nothing about their anatomy? Look, right there. That is his plumbos, and that right there is well-...ah ha you'll know when you're older.

[Garrosh]: Think you can copy this to a powder or something so I can watch it anytime I want?

[Thrall]: <insert lightning effect – Akunda's firesticks behind the actor works> ENOUGH! Hellscream, join my Horde! Fight alongside me, and together, we will make a prosperous future for our people!

[Garrosh]: And then can I have a copy?

[Thrall]: <facepalms> Why do I get the feeling I invited a baboon to hold a high rank over my people? <The Narrator pipes in> [Narrator]: And so it was that Garrosh, son of Grom, wiffer of bad odors and obsessive compulsive gore fanatic, joined the Horde. Before long, Garrosh had been introduced to the tauren, orcs, trolls, elves, and undead that made up the Horde at the time. But to what avail did introducing a warrior based on his lineage into the ranks of the Horde lead? While this narrator questions the decision, we ALL know he was just so amazing in Northrend. <Enter Saurfang and Garrosh, both reading maps> [Saurfang]: Alright, you remember the plan, right?

[Garrosh]: Yeah.

[Saurfang]: And you're going to stick to it this time, right?

[Garrosh]: Mhm.

[Saurfang]: No more of that funny business from earlier?

[Garrosh]: Not even.

[Saurfang]: <sighs heavily> Alright. Maps closed. <Saurfang closes his map, Garrosh keeps his open>

[Saurfang]: Closed!

[Garrosh]: Oh, uh, right. <closes his map> Alright, so I understand the plan, and I know what my part in it is. But just in case, I'll need you to go over the entire thing again. Just so we're clear.

[Saurfang]: Thrall's balls, you're dense! Look at your map again. <both orcs open their maps simutaniously> [Saurfang]: <points to a certain location on the map> See this? That's the Trail of Bones, Southern Icecrown. Our plan is to send our flank in through there, but have the extra forces move along the path to the East while we engage the enemy.

[Garrosh]: Right.

[Saurfang]: Once the others have made their way fully around, we trap the enemy forces within our two units. Then we wait for reinforcements, and press further North until we reach the Saronite Gates blocking our entry into the overlook of the Storm Peaks. It will be an ideal spot to set up an encampment until Orgrim's Hammer is flown into Icecrown and-- ...are you paying any attention to this at all?

[Garrosh]: <pauses for a few moments> Ye--....yes. But the mountains you speak of are all to the South.

[Saurfang]: <Grabs the map, turns it around> Now?

[Garrosh]: <pauses for a few moments again> Hrm. Seems to be in order. But just in case, can you repeat that ONE more time?

[Saurfang]: <spits and crumbles his map up> I can't do this anymore. I have better battle strategies with my axe than I do with him... <exits>

[Garrosh]: <chases after him> Wait! Old one, let us discuss this over a meal of hearty pork! Wait, no no, you don't like pork. I mean ham! Ham is what I meant! <as both orcs exit, the narrator returns to the stage> [Narrator]: Yes, the war in Northrend was handled quite well by our “handsome”, “completely competent leader.” Why, it only cost the lives of several thousand young orcs, who saw him as a hero afterward. When the time came for Thrall to step down as Warchief and answer the call of the elements, he called together his greatest minds and leaders... ...To decide who should become warchief in his stead.

[Thrall]: Fate... is truly unkind, as I must now venture to hone my mastery of the elements... In my stead, however, who shall lead our people? I am ….. Conflicted.

[Garrosh]: <jumping up and down> Oh, me! Me! Pick me!

[Thrall]: Should any of you desire this very important, critical task of the Warchief's mantle, you should be capable for the task.

[Garrosh]: Pick me! Over here!

[Thrall]: Anyone? Saurfang! I thought I saw your hand up. No? How about...Ah! What about you Sylvanas?

[Sylvanas]: I'd rather chop my arms off.

[Thrall:] Okay then, I could do without the passive aggressiveness.

[Garrosh]: OVER HERE!

[Thrall]: Wellll... if no one wants it, I'll give it to Gamon! He'll save us!

[Gamon]: Actually, Gamon wishes to abstain from this discussion. Gamon isn't even sure why Gamon is here.

[Garrosh]: <Throws something at Thrall – Happy Fun Rock, Pigskin, etc. > PICK! ME!

[Thrall]: Pfgh-Alright, fine. Garrosh, do -YOU- want the mantle?

[Garrosh]: YES! <pauses> Wait, no no, I'm not worthy.

[Thrall]: <Sighs deeply> Okay... Then who else will take this--

[Garrosh]: WAIT! I change my mind!

[Thrall]: Very well ! Garrosh. Come forth and recieve--

[Garrosh]: <turns away dramatically> No, change my mind once again.

[Thrall]: By my Doomhammer, Garrosh! You're not a damn cat, are you in or out?

[Garrosh]: <pauses> I'm in. <turns to Thrall, everyone cheers> No, no wait, I'm out. <turns away, everyone facepalms/cries/etc.>

[Thrall]: Heeey Garrosh! Lookie lookie what I goooot! </e slowly pulls out the Gorehowl. From where? Who cares! He's a shaman.> Seeee it? Waaaant it? Gotta haaave it?

[Garrosh]: OOH! The axe that makes demons axe-plode!

[Thrall]: Your...your father's axe, actually. I figured this would have some significant meaning to you or something...you know..

[Garrosh]: Forget that, I have me a brand new axe! <pushes Thrall away> I'm so happy with this thing, I feel like I can Warchief now! In fact, from this day forward, I am the new Warchief of the Horde! </e looks to the others and shrugs.>

[Thrall]: Well ! Fine by me. Who wants a round of cherry grog before I leave for Nagrand? My treat. <they all leave except for Garrosh, who is flexing>

[Garrosh]: Cherry grog? OOOH! ME ME! PICK ME! <runs after them> <the narrator returns to the stage> [Narrator]: Yes, the taverns were lively that day as word of our new hero and guardian, Garrosh Hellscream, spread like wildfire on a tauren's back. No offense to any tauren in our audience, of course. In the months to follow, a great cataclysm shook the foundation of Azeroth. Cities crumbled, livestock died, and the barrens turned into a great place for a weenie roast. Garrosh Hellscream was amidst rebuilding Orgrimmar one day when he was confronted by a most difficult decision. <enter Garrosh and Vol'jin, Garrosh looking at some papers> [Garrosh]: ...I still can't read this damn map. How is that mountain up North?

[Vol'jin]: Ey mon, you said you be needin' old Vol'jin? To what end?

[Garrosh]: Oh, yeah, you. See, you know how your people are all over my city, eating my food and buying my materials off of my auction house to make their magic carpets and mechano-hogs? <Garrosh spits off to the side> [Vol'jin]: Yours? Who da hell you tink you are?

[Garrosh]: Your mother, now listen. See, that's gonna stop. Cuz I mean, it's really hard for me to run the Horde when I go to the local bar and the last of the Cherry Grog is bought out by one of your random lackeys.

Were it a tauren? Maybe I'd let it slide a bit. An orc? You bet your ass I'd let it slide. But you trolls, you...

<Garrosh turns his back and Vol'jin approaches him seemingly holding back his anger and gesturing threateningly at him, stopping when Garrosh turns around to face him after angry gestures are made> [Vol'jin]: ...we're what? Get on wit it, you speak slowa dan you look. <Garrosh turns his back again and starts rambling. As he speaks, Vol'jin begins to make taunting gestures while he is turned> [Garrosh]: ...hrm. You know, I never gave it any thought, really. You're...all a bunch...of...people...with... <he turns around and Vol'jin stops the taunting and smiles, then turns again, Vol'jin doing a number of other taunting gestures - go big or go home!> [Garrosh]: ...with blue skin and...tusks? No, that's not what bugs me. You trolls are...

[Garrosh]: So... <rinse and repeat> [Garrosh]: Uh... <And again> [Garrosh]: TWO-TOED! Yeah, you only have two toes on every foot, haha!

[Vol'jin]: And you only have two brain cells on your feet - make o'dat what you will.

[Garrosh]: <gets threatening> WHY YOU INSOLENT--

[Vol'jin]: Define eet.

[Garrosh]: Wait, what?

[Vol'jin]: De word you jus used, mon. Define 'insolent' since you like usin' it.

[Garrosh]: Don't be absurd, I'm the Warchief, of course I know what insolence is! It's what YOU'RE being right now!

[Vol'jin]: Yes, but what does eet mean? Explain to me, mah toes an' I just ain't as smart as de Warchief.

[Garrosh]: It...um...GUARD, BRING ME A DICKENER...er...DICTIONARY! <A Kor'kron comes in, kneeling before Garrosh and handing him a book>

[Garrosh]: <flips through the pages> Let's see...here it is! A pep...tide hormone produced by cells of the pancreas and is central to regulating...carboh...hydr...

THIS IS A GOBLIN MEDICAL DICKENER! UNACCEPTABLE! I'll burn you at the stake later! <the Kor'kron runs away crying> [Vol'jin]: Know dis, Garrosh. De way you runnin' da Horde? You gonna fall hard. You gonna fall fast. An' when you fall, it gonna hurt dat small head o' yours. And...something about a black arrow piercing your heart or...I dunno, what was I talkin' about?

[Garrosh]: Insulin?

[Vol'jin]: Oh, right, de meanin' o' dat word by de way is 'rude or disrespectful behavia'. See ya lata, mon.

<Vol'jin leaves> [Garrosh]: That was my SECOND guess! <Garrosh walks away, and the Narrator arrives once more on stage>

[Narrator]: In time, the Forsaken Warfront had gained a considerable advantage over the forces of Gilneas. Lady Sylvanas had a solution for the plight of her people so Garrosh came to give that plan a goooood once over... <Enter Garrosh and Sylvanas> [Garrosh]: This better be important, Sylvanas! I'm missing my goblin soaps for this-- I mean...I'm missing the chance to crush Alliance skulls between my thighs! <Garrosh flexes and Sylvanas facepalms> [Sylvanas]: Actually, I'm just here to tell you I found a solution to the Forsaken's plight, as the narrator just said. See, the Forsaken, being undead, are without the ability to reproduce, so to replenish our numbers, I--

[Garrosh]: <gets uncomfortably close to Sylvanas> I ever tell you about the time I skinned a boar with my teeth?

[Sylvanas]: ...no. I don't particularly care to hear the story either. Now as I was saying, I--

<Garrosh begins flexing as Sylvanas begins speaking and she rolls her eyes and waits for him to stop (flex three times facing different angles> [Garrosh]: Yeeeep, takes a lot of work to keep the guns in shape. Diet and exercise, and I drink plenty of juice. And if the bar ain't bending, you're just pretending. Yeeeep. [Sylvanas]: I'm sure you do all of that and more while you're listening to your radio romance dramas. Now focus on the task at hand.

[Garrosh]: You like Cherry Grog, Sylvanas? <he gets uncomfortably close again and flexes>

[Sylvanas]: I don't care to answer that. Anyway, my newly employed Valk'yr can raise the--

[Garrosh]: You...uh... ever seen a grown orc naked before, Sylvanas?

[Sylvanas]: What?!

[Garrosh]: I...said...you have that bone pork crated, Sylvanas?

[Sylvanas]: Can you focus for more than five fractions of a second? I'm trying to tell you how I plan to bolster my forces and combat the worgen packs of Gilneas!

[Garrosh]: Oh. I see how it is. <Garrosh walks away> You disappoint me, Sylvanas. You can have the alpha, yet you keep chasing the betas of the pack. Literally!

[Sylvanas]: Warchief, are you implying that I have some sick personal obsession with the enemy aside from unleashing a wholesale slaughter?

[Garrosh]: CLEVER Bitch I MIGHT be! You're grounded, no Blight!

[Sylvanas]: You're an imbecile!

[Garrosh]: And you smell! <he pauses and sniffs his pits> No, wait, that's me. I haven't bathed in at least a week. I'll go do that now. <he leaves, but pauses halfway>

[Garrosh]: ...nah, I'll do it next week. <Garrosh and Sylvanas exit the stage, and the Narrator arrives> [Narrator]: With Garrosh largely responsible for the death of the loved Cairne Bloodhoof, many of the tauren went from being only politely and slightly disgruntled with the new Warchief to actually ...frowning at him for a change. Maybe even glaring at him! However...Baine Bloodhoof, son of Cairne, took the gentle people's anger into his own hands one day... <enter Baine and Garrosh>

[Baine]: Garrosh! We must speak at once!

[Garrosh]: Go away, lunch isn't for another three hours and I'm sick of steak.

[Baine]: <points at Garrosh> No, no more 'beef' or 'steak' jokes. I get enough of those from the idle elves that come to complete tasks I give out in order to gain favor enough with my people to purchase noble kodo... ...that they will probably leave in a stable and not feed or take care of for months on end! I tolerated your actions against my father because he agreed to your terms of mortal combat, and you at least helped rid the bluff of the traitorous Grimtotem!

<Sylvanas enters from stage left and waves at the audience, points to Garrosh, and faces the audience and nods, then snickers, inching closer to Garrosh every time Baine speaks. Garrosh is none the wiser and continues to face Baine. Vol'jin is also there, snickering and giving a thumbs up to Sylvanas, emotively encouraging her to pull the prank> [Baine]: <nods at Sylvanas and clears his throat> Where was I? Oh, yes. I found THIS...on my doorstep! <Baine tosses a smouldering satchel of a foul smelling substance at Garrosh's feet> [Baine]: Explain why this sack of worg fecal matter was burning at my doorstep this morning!

[Garrosh]: What? That? I didn't do it.

[Baine]: <shows Garrosh a letter> This has "From Garrosh" written on the front of it.

[Garrosh]: That could be anyone!

[Baine]: It has your complete set of dental records and the phrase "It was totally 'm'" written inside.

[Garrosh]: Damn, I ALWAYS forget the 'e' in 'me'.

[Baine]: Aha! So you admit to this atrocity!

[Garrosh]: Admit to...? Oh, oh that, yes. Well, you see, I had to send the message to you that your people smell like burning shit somehow. Or... <he sniffs himself and shivers>

[Garrosh]: ...I still haven't taken that shower. Nevermind, but my statement still stands. <Sylvanas gently pins a sign on Garrosh's back, snickers, and runs away> [Baine]: Know this, Garrosh. The day will come when you will answer for this attrocity. And when that happens, I will be sure to have a steaming sack of kodo leavings to set ablaze with the fury of the ancestors! <he begins to walk away> Oh, and Cherry Grog tastes AWFUL! There, I said it!

[Garrosh]: <goes into a fury> YOU TAKE THAT BACK! YOU TAKE THAT RIGHT THE HELL BACK! Tauren! I'm talking to you! I'm--wait, what's this on my back? <Garrosh rips the sign off as Baine exits stage right and reads it> [Garrosh]: "Kick me, I'm an ogre headed bafoon"? What? Hrm, there's something written on the back. 'PS: Vol'jin says 'hi'. What? <Garrosh suddenly gets hit by an arrow in the back, and yanks it out, unraveling a note tied to it>

[Garrosh]: "I mean 'die', the 'h' was just a 'd' and 'i' that came out wrong." What the Thok? WHO IS SENDING THESE?! <Garrosh gets hit by another arrow to the knee and yanks it out, unraveling the note on that arrow>

[Garrosh]: ..."Your mother"? MOM! Why would you do this?!?

[Narrator]: Many moons have passed and soon the war in Pandaria was in full swing. It was the morning of Garrosh's greatest ah... “Triumph”, to him at least. In what was once a tranquil place, he arrives in The Vale of Eternal Blossoms, and sought to command powers greater than he could even possibly comprehend in that brain of his. This backfired quite a bit on him when confronted by Pandaria's most “happening” guardian.

[Garrosh]: Storm~! Black clouds fill the sky, Earth, I hear my battle cry, Fire! And thunder will bring forth DEATH from the power of MY HORDE!~ Hahaha--eh?

[Taran Zhu]: ENOUGH! You have been allowed to cause havok for far too long, Hellscream!

[Garrosh]: Eh? Oh great, not another fat guy.

[Taran Zhu]: I am Taran Zhu, lord of the Shado-Pan! I have observed your Horde since your people first brought havoc to my land and--

<pauses as Garrosh pulls out a pot labeled 'Hunny'> What...just...what are you doing?

[Garrosh]: You're a bear, aren't you? Here, I'll give you this if you let me pass by.

[Taran Zhu]: ... <throws a shuriken at the pot and breaks it> I have no patience for your inferior mind games, Hellscream!

[Garrosh]: <in a fury> YOU WRETCH! Do you realize how expensive honey is?! That does it, now you're in for it!

[Taran Zhu]: <takes a battle-ready stance> Indeed. Let us end this once and for all, no more formalities... <Garrosh narrows his eyes, then snaps his fingers>

[Garrosh]: HIT IT! <A 'chill beat' begins to play> [Taran Zhu]: What the--

[Garrosh]: Hellscream's the name, I ain't playing your game! You better give up now, but it's all the same! You'll be dead when I bust my Warchief rhymes for you, and when I'm done Gorehowl will split you up in two! You're a Shado-Pan? Big deal there buddy, I've got three frying pans in the kitchen, see! I'm a Warchef - I mean a Warchief, sorry. Been playing with that gag too much and now my mind's all tarry. [Taran Zhu]: <While Hellscream is still rapping, no pause> Tarry?

[Garrosh]: But I'm still fifty times the rhymes you are! I brought the Heart of Y'saarj up here, you can't get that far! You're too fat, it ain't muscle, don't you go lying - cuz if the bar ain't bendin' you ain't even trying!

I'm the son of Grom, you aren't on my list - the most I know about you is that you made me pissed! So give it a try and then you die, at that hands of Hellscream, I'll make you cry. <Taran Zhu blinks and awkwardly picks up the microphone that Garrosh drops at his feet>

[Taran Zhu]: I...am...unfamiliar with how this game is played, but I'll...best you at it, pay you back in spades! I am calm as a crane, the Shado-Pan my flock. Hardy as steel, earth and rock! You know so little about the powers you tempt, and so from my mercy you will be exempt! The Thunder King's forces could not stop me at all, so your divided Horde will surely fall! Like a snake in the grass I'll strike unseen, and kick your donkey - wait, ass, oh YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! None have survived a true battle with me, between my skill and cunning and mastery of chi!

Your father tempted powers beyond reckoning as well, where is he? Oh right, suckling the dirt on your family tree! <Taran Zhu drops the mic in an epic fashion, Garrosh standing speechless'>

[Garrosh]: You take that back! You...take that back! That was mean! <Garrosh begins to cry> Too far! You always have to take things too far, you're freaking mental!

[Taran Zhu]: Uh...so I win? Yes, of course I win! <gets serious again> Ahem, I knew that. Hellscream, now that I have bested you at your own game, you will answer for your crimes and... ...would you please... get off the ground and at least take this seriously? No, I would feel awful about hurting a completely vulnerable opponent, even if you are an asshole.

[Garrosh]: <begins to suck his thumb again> No YOU'RE an asshole, asshole! So mean! I think I'm just gonna lie down here now. <Taran Zhu scratches the back of his head> [Taran Zhu]: You uh...have a spider on your shoulder.

[Garrosh]: <jumps> AHHH! WHERE?! WHAT KIND?!

[Taran Zhu]: <gets in a sneak attack> IT'S A TARANZHULA! <knocks Hellscream off the stage> There. I knew he was faking it...

< begins to walk off stage, stops, then picks up the mic he dropped earlier and shrugs >

My name is Taran Zhu, and I'm here to say...oh forget it, this is TOO absurd. <tosses the mic behind him into the fountain> <the Narrator returns to the stage>

[Narrator]: Yes...Hellscream, truly, has left an everlasting impression upon the Horde one so great that during those events on the Isle of Thunder, a revolution was established. On the day of his final downfall, Garrosh stood before Thrall one final time in defiance.....

[Thrall]: Garrosh...you disappointed me.

[Garrosh]: What?

[Thrall]: You tortured the elements. You divided our people. You disgraced the Horde with your …-warmongering-!

[Garrosh]: Hey, in my defense, people LIKED the warmongering!

[Thrall]: Wha-?

[Garrosh]: Yeah! I mean, it got us land. Resources. We didn't have as many territory issues. I fed our people who were starving in the desert. I mean, yeah, the trolls were kind of oppressed, but they only have two toes so who cares?

[Thrall]: ME!! I CARE! </e points to HIMSELF>

[Garrosh]: Well what are you gonna do about it? You MADE me warchief after all. I mean, this whole thing is your fault.

[Thrall]: Y- Wait, what?

[Garrosh]: Yeah, I mean...I'm not perfect, but I did the job you gave me.

<Sylvanas, Vol'jin, and Taran Zhu approach from the side stage>

[Sylvanas]: He's got a point, Thrall.

[Vol'jin]: Ya, joo kinda dropped de ball on dat one.

[Thrall]: Now hold on a minute-!

[Garrosh]: I mean, if you hadn't made me Warchief, things would have been a bit different. I'd probably still be an obedient dog in your army instead of where I am now.

[Taran Zhu]: So it is all clear now. YOU are the problem, Thrall!

[Thrall]: Are you all listening to yourselves- WAIT-!

[Garrosh]: Yeah, it's totally him! Now uh...I'm just gonna go get some snacks for everyone so, wait right here and--<tries to tiptoe away>

[Sylvanas]: GET THEM BOTH! <all three begin to chase Thrall and Garrosh around the stage. One lap around the pavilion and then one through the audience.>

[Thrall]: Aaaaaaah! THE END, I GUESS?! <END>

TRIVIA!

Hellsqueal was the very first major production ever produced and publicly performed by the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe. It was written by Atos Sunhart as a propaganda play for the troupes of Vol’jin’s Revolution, and premiered originally in October of 2013, during the week the final wing of Siege of Orgrimmar LFR opened! The final scene was intended to be comically prophetic, as there was a lot of talk about server canon at the time that the Siege was still technically going on.

The original run of Hellsqueal, the True Warchief’s Tale was performed at the Razor Hill Barracks, and by a cast of no more than 4 people, all playing multiple roles at a time. It was written so that it could be done by a relatively small cast, with enough roles to suffice for a larger cast if need be.

Our original Sylvanas was played by a pandaren. Just a fun tidbit.

Hellsqueal, the True Warchief’s Tale, has spawned two sequels, and the Hellsqueal character himself has appeared in several other plays of ours since. Moving forward we still plan to use the character from time to time.

By the time the play was performed, the Troupe was already a formed guild for over two years. However, recruitment for it had not started until two months leading up to the play’s release. As this was our first performance as a functioning guild, Hellsqueal marked the true birth of the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe, and as such we have celebrated our anniversary on the third Friday of every October since.

There is a missing scene that was added to the play during our second year of performing. In this scene, Lorthemar confronted Garrosh about his horrible spelling errors, and how he wrote his occupation down as ‘Warchef’. This scene also involved a hozen doctor named Dr. Ook-and-Pook. This scene is missing because, well, no one can find the copy of the script anymore with said scene written. Another scene involving Gallywix was worked on, but never finished, as we believed it would bloat the runtime far too much.

#tttscripts #scriptarchive

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fantroll-purgatory · 6 years ago

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Haemir Elazra - Doctroll Extraordinaire

Planet: Alternia, minor AU/Alternate History elements

Name: Haemir Elazra Haemir: From Haem, an alternative spelling of Heme, the oxygen-carrying, iron-containing molecule in blood. Links up to his blood caste woes and his lusus.

Elazra: From Azrael, Angel of Death, and Lazarus, the man brought back to life. It fits in with his role as a healer on a planet of death and slaughter, and also to his status as the last living limeblood. An Angel of Death is also a specific kind of serial killer; a nurse that kills their own patients. Fun fact! @chaoticevilfantrolls (SA here to say that you have designed a troll that 400000% appeals to my interests. I screamed when I opened the box and saw him here!)

Age: 7.5 sweeps. He’s a youngster, compared to my other trolls.

Strife Specibus: caneKind. Not much reason behind it beyond the fact that actual IRL plague doctors would use canes to distribute treatment. Plus the Rod of Asclepius could reasonably fit under this strife spec. (If you wanted to go a bit more Black Death with it, you could weaponize some herbal medicine for poisons? Fight with some syringes?)

Fetch Modus: Quarantine. Items are stored and sterilized in little plastic bubbles. It makes cleaning his equipment a breeze! But, he can’t store anything he intends to eat, and living things have a habit of turning up dead from the storage process.

Blood color: Limeblood! The whole concept of the character revolves around a mysterious figure with strong empathy becoming a doctor to soothe the woes of others, so I figured a lone limeblood would work. He’s based heavily around the headcanon that limebloods were killed off for their empathic abilities, which lead to a rebellion in this particular setting. (We LOVE an Empath Limeblood. I have not reviewed your other trolls, so I don’t wanna poke too much into Limeblood Politics without knowing the AU, but if they’re still in hiding, I’d suggest on blood-color alone a little bit of generational trauma? A little skittishness from Literally Feeling all of the death and pain his people have gone through, and the Knowledge that that kind of feeling comes with.)

Symbol and meaning: The alchemic symbol for Alkali. Alkali are chemically basic substances used to make soap. That’s about as far as that goes for depth, haha. (Soap Troll! Soap Troll! Soap Troll!) (There’s a whole suite of Alchemic Symbols out there, but if we’re zooming in on a Soap Troll, I think this dovetails into some expansion. Let me explain:) (Soap’s a cleansing agent, both of wounds and of places. Most alkaline substances (think Lye and Quicklime) wash things away with ferocity, and can burn skin. I think you could easily expand Haemir -who already has a darker, death element to him- with a bit of vengeance? A bit of anger? Something sincere and hard to excise from himself. Someone who, at his core, wants to wash away the sins of the past and plant the seeds of tomorrow.)

Trolltag: caduceusCreed [CC] Caduceus: The staff carried by Hermes, associated with the medical profession through it’s adoption as a symbol of American military medics. The Caduceus was mistakenly chosen over the Rod of Asclepius, and thus has become a bit of a point of contention in the medical professions (for those that even give a shit, at least.) Creed: Well. I mean. Kind of a reference to the Hippocratic Oath, just in a way that fits GCAT, out of personal preference. (Basic, easy to scan, and effective. I think you could use Asclepion instead of Cadecus for a more fitting tag, though using old Traveler Man’s symbol could hint at a desire to travel, to tell, to proclaim.)

Quirk: He’s got a simple quirk going. All lowercase, with t’s turned into crosses and doubled, as well as doubled x’s to represent stitches. He otherwise uses proper punctuation, and he really capitalizes on his corny jokes to ease the stress of his patients (putting the pun in all caps). He represents his mask in his smiley faces. Which is to say, he only ever uses one smiley for all emotions ever. 8>

CC: ++he quick brown foxx jumped over ++he lazy dog. (This scans well and doesn’t seem too out of place.)

Special Abilities:Beyond having an extensive knowledge of medical practice, as well as some more traditional healing, Haemir’s most fundamental ability is that he’s a powerful empath. He’s not able to impact the emotions of others, nor can he weaponize the feelings he picks up upon. No, the danger of his power is from how it encourages him to help and heal.

Haemir is able to pick up on the emotions and feelings of near-by trolls, especially discomfort and misery. Because he’s a bit of a soft boy, and because he personally feels that discomfort himself, he feels compelled to treat that discomfort in any way he can. He’s been a doctor as much as he’s been a stand-in moirail. (I think my conflict with your vision from a review standpoint comes here. Nothing about the ability needs to change, but I think you’ve let it dominate your character’s Path, put a pin in this- we’ll talk about it further into the review.)

Lusus: You know the big snake monster from Hiveswap? The one with like, sixteen arms? Imagine that, but a horse-sized white leech with massive fangs. That’s the Leech-Lord, and Haemir’s main mode of transportation. (I find this ESPECIALLY amusing because both of my limeblood trolls have serpentine-modified lusii. Limebloods really just have that Slithery Energies.)

Personality: Haemir is… odd, and by most trolls standards an aberration. He’s a limeblood empath on a hostile world with a strong inclination to help people, even when he knows there’s no reward in it for him. This doesn’t mean he’s a fool, by any means, even if other trolls tend to confuse his compassion and conviction for cowardice.

He believes strongly in everyone’s right to live, and live well, even if another troll would see him dead for his blood color. That’s why he dresses in heavy clothes, wearing a mask at all times to hide any hint of skin or mark that could potentially betray his color. He also tends to be very flighty and anxious when people attempt to get too touchy with him, often prompting adorable squeaks of frustration. He’s perfectly capable of speech, mind, he just chooses not to most of the time. (We’re getting into it! There’s a nice undercurrent of justice, of human(troll) rights, of life and death and the societies we build to combat them. Being shaped by the society he lives in and yet wanting to change it, ignoring what’s laid before him to forge his own path…)

Interests: Medicine, biology, anatomy and physiology, and surprisingly enough, an appreciation for teen romance novels and movies. He just wishes there were less books about rainbow drinkers and lycanthropes and more about those hot, hot plague doctors. (Hshshshshshshsh I want him to have gotten into the Plague Doctor getup due to some ill-advised CW Show about Troll Black Death and he was like “that’s it! I’m gonna dress like a featherbeast!”)

(For expansions on this: I definitely think History is a solid interest, given that he dresses up like a historical profession. Reading about the Limeblood Rebellion and the flow of Alternia- he’s probably done a lot of reading on the Condesce as well- learning how to Speak Truth to Power and how a Ruler shapes the lives of people she’ll never meet and- I could be here all day.)

Title: Sylph of Heart (I will be blunt with you: This character is neither of these things. Remember my comment under Special Powers? Here’s where we take that pin out.) (You’ve built an incredibly solid character here, which makes pointing this out very, very easy. I scanned this profile once and knew immediately what I was going to recommend.) (Let’s talk about why this is ill fitting: -First, this character is no Passive character. He already has the team/community focus that a Passive class would teach him, and given that- he’s taken matters into his own hands. This is a really solid Active player. -With Creation classes (and Sylphs ESPECIALLY), you have to think: What is this character destroying? A Sylph is but a Prince reflected. With Heart, your character would be Actively Destroying Mind- breaking people’s brains and toying with their emotions. Your character FEELS their emotions biologically, he doesn’t go out of his way to take hammers to their decision making. Sylphs also LOVE to meddle, which is why healing comes naturally to them. Your character has elements of this, but not in quite the sly, background kind of way.) (Heart, is traditionally linked to Derse (similar to Time) because it’s portfolio of disguise, facade, and truth being mutable all lend themselves very well to the Dersite playstyle. Your character, while hiding his face, doesn’t deal in facades as much as your typical Heart player, nor does his path as a character seem to fortell him learning to be different people or play with their heartstrings.) (My recommendation: Maid of Life or Bard of Doom) (But SA! A doctor that’s a Life player? That’s so cliche! And yes, it would be, on a character without as many hooks as this one.) (Maids learn to rely on themselves- look at Aradia, who dies and comes back in many forms as she takes time into herself. Your character looks like a Doom Player, and yet is a healer, and grower, a shaper.) (The Life-Doom inversion is much more than Life and Death, it is also Energy and Society. Your character is a healer, an active bringer of Life, and in doing so, not only directly counters Death, but Alternian Culture too. Your character isn’t a Prince of Doom, for instance: he’s not actively challenging society, he’s changing it as a side effect of his own actions. Life-Doom is much broader than individuals.) (The Path for this character is less in changing as a person and more in reinforcing his good nature. Learning to be more open, learning what needs to be done, learning how he can be the force of good in the world that he’s already being, even if it feels small.)

Land:Land of Miasma and Malaise

Dream Planet: Prospit (I like this guy as a Prospit Dreamer. Even if he hides his face, he can’t really hide who he is- that sense of care and justice end empathy shines right on through.)

CD here with the design time at SA’s behest. The design was already pretty much perfect, just a few little tweaks. The design read a little costumey/like a human dressed up as a troll and I wanted to fix that. So as Really, Really Cute as the eyes were, I replaced them w/ more typical shiny plague doctor lenses in a still contrasty eyeball orange. I put some hair over the horns to make them feel more integrated and less tacked on, and I adjusted the outlines of the shoes to make them feel more integrated and less like the human kids’ shoes!

(This was a great troll to work through, thank you for submitting!)

#limeblood #submission #sa review #Haemir Elazra #haemir #elazra #review

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thanidiel · 6 years ago

Text

Revival

“I want to make some sort of peace before Battle. Please bring yourself and the Cards. Bread and drink to be offered.”

[A Dream settles upon Sunstrider Isle the very night before Battle. A Dream of Witches and Cards and Fate that clutches those who had beseeched to its breast.]

Plainfaced and without fantasy; just like Thanidiel. In the dreamscapes of this bred soldier is no wistfulness for places beyond what is beneath her feet, and before her eyes.

It is the same Isle that her corporal self sleeps upon. Albeit; in place of the sprawling campgrounds of the Alliance that her cavalry had penetrated with the Sunguard behind them, there is existential nothingness, with the faintest tendrils of foreboding seeping into this plane. It is like water breaking, slow and steady, through a home just abandoned. So encapsulating this scenario is of the warrior's perception of her waking world, the Duskward does not even seem to come to a realisation (yet) of where she treads.

Within her camp, Elleynah stands, almost real— she is in winter garb, solid, and soft by parts. She waits; she is still. Around her, there is more shadows than light— an early twilight to shiver within the everstill-strangeness of the Dream.

In her strained somber, the soldier brightens (somewhat) at the familiar form of Elleynah with the slightest widening of her eyes and relaxation of her jaw. Steady and resolute like always, she makes right for her in her heavy, panther-like, stride.

"I didn't think you'd actually come."

"I come when called." The voice that emerges is flat, the hands shifting to reveal; the deck of Cards, stolen from nowhere, existing for the sake of existence.

"You have need; you have the thought. I speak for fate. Ask what you will, and I shall answer."

The Oracle shifts; there is a shudder in the Dreamscape, as the creature beneath the friend-face seemed to reveal itself. Hunger is there, but not predation; the shimmering fades and the girl is once more, her eyes shining, two lights within the hood.

Thanidiel, though familiar with the Cards, has yet to witness them truly until this moment. Thus, what is earned, at first, is the predatory prick-back of her ears in what is instinctive offensive... then she processes... and thinks... and the tense cartilage begins to perk back up and relax where it will.

She approaches, but not as confident as before, when she thought herself approaching friend than eldritch entity. Still, she is not hesitant; merely adjusting her amiableness. She looks around, however, though there is truly nothing for her dreameye to focus on. Willing as her approach is, her words do not come quite so easily.

But, eventually, it all flows out with uncharacteristic honesty, and expansiveness.

"I have experienced a lifetime of what is Mine dying before my eyes, because I failed to protect such things proper.

Now, calamity consumes my life again.

I tried to part ways from Mine, but it would not sever from me so easily. Now I fear a turn of the wheel more than anything else, and the consequences that would echo in the lives of thousands beyond me and Mine should... grief take me again.

I want to know what the Cards see in the health of Bricini Lightwing in the coming weeks. Is she safer with me, or has she placed herself in danger, as I feared, by remaining at my side?"

"Worthy."

Even as the verdict is given, the Dream twists; darkness falls and rises around them, color sapped away and replaced with greyness and wither. Without moving— or, perhaps, with everything moving— the Cards and her hands quickening. They arc in strange and alien shapes, impossible for living hands to craft, and yet— they seem to whirl in both hands and all around at once, flooding the sky, wrapping around the pair like walls closing in, and yet they remain within the woman's grasp.

"Tell me when to stop."

Thanidiel, ever animal-like, and perhaps moreso within the safety of her own dreams, curls her lips in another snarl as the atmosphere shifts and twists around them.

But there is still security there, and knowledge to trust.

"Stop."

Elleynah seems to shatter as the word was uttered; the Dream was ripped asunder and torn to its base parts as the Cards grew, contorted, exploded, and became.

And as it became her reaction to this Dream, and these Cards, and that Vision no longer rung with guarded and cautious spirit.

Used to the sloughing of her own skin like an unwanted coat to take on others — She leaps into it in the way that a panther leaps across a stream that has so suddenly bubbled into her vision.

Five faces; five striking signs, that filled the world, that stretched and reached and consumed, crashing upon witch and soldier, until the world was not as it was before but instead…

Thanidiel is again a child; she is in her leathers, her face and hair threaded with dirt and leaves. She runs through a camp; it is not her camp. She races to the center, where a bonfire blazes, its smoke rising a pillar against the blue and bald sky. Yes, she is that child of past times. Yes, she is running through yet another camp, to her enemy, the brightest-of-all-things.

It is not her home; these are not her kin. Yet it is familiar. Around her, a thousand soldiers; a thousand arms and armor. She has killed some in their colours; others have been her allies. Each of soldiers elder, and wise. And... she pauses. Ever observational, ever perceptive, her dream-child-eye locks onto the masses of soldiers to catch every detail and allow her tuned memory to flare over, and over a...

...the Wheel, however, draws her in.

Within the flames, a Wheel is burning, turning, rising— broken.

Enemy.

Brightest-Of-All-Things.

Sustenance of Life; the Beginning of Consciousness and its End.

“Each turn came through great effort and skill, you were trained to be as you are. Broken to fit. Apprenticed to the forms of shattering that make strong. You struggle to let it stay dead. You have broken the wheel, but see-- it yet moves. It is more than just the remains of what was. You fuel it.”

Elleynah is nowhere to be seen, but there is black ash on the ground, and the woodland beyond the tents echoes with laughter.

Familiar, intimate laughter.

Thanidiel’s ears flick with the ache of wanting to grasp onto every beat of laughter that begins to drum through the woods, and she shifts here, and there. Animal. Not wishing to speak, failing to see its usefulness in her ancient ways of beyond-civilisation, her senses attempt to hone on something, anything, that shifts within this Dreamscape for the answer to continue its unfurling.

The laughter, that laughter.

The laughter pulls and twists the flame, and the fires roar, leaping forth to grasp and twist. From hand, to hand, Thanidiel passes. From one role to another. So easily she traverses where, and how, and who, this Vision rips her to.

It surges around, through, and into. It is explosive; it rings through her, and draws her in and suddenly she is again in the Blood and Black, and the wheel is at her back.

Unknowing of whether she would receive an answer, or be skinned yet again, and brought to a new life, her hand reaches out to the shadow of her and the cursed Wheel.

Its shadow, their shadow, shows her a body pinned to its spokes; it shows a world turned to flame. A world she knows. The shattered Silvermoon, the forest aflame. Screams and weeping.

From wildness to contained civilisation, and with it, came a sliver of the Character she had forged with the Blood Phoenix. Here, she is not content in primordial ways. The ways of Society and Government and Knights and Puppeteers have staked a new nature for this one.

Not calm, not resolved. Her hand reaches out, unsure of whether it ought to commit to its taloned curl of a fist, or open up its palm. In the meantime, it caresses the ever-present flames.

“The wheel was broken; it can be remade. Will you remake it, by choosing that was?”

The screams grow.

“War has come, and you have the chance to change what is, and was, and will be.”

The cries die down and the wheel shifts; its edge broken and the sky appears once more.

"I don't know what the world needs from me," plucked quiet from her lips right before the Wheel begins its roar yet again.

It begins to lean back, and with it, draws Thanidiel down with it.

Elleynah is drawn forth; she moves so well between these Cards, between the portends. She is swept into sunlit sheets. Her body is bare, as is that of the tawny woman next to her, whose dark hair spills over white linen. And Thanidiel is cursory to this nudity that unravels before her — so at home with the machinations of the world at itself than she is in the day-to-day of having to don skins, and masks, and clothing, and etiquette, and language — none of that was home.

Bricini smiles.

The Light returns.

Everything is warm.

“You chose this. This was what you picked, when all else was ash. When you know your history.”

It is not Bricini speaking; it is the sunlight that fills the room.

“And it chose you in return, even when you doubted. Even when you could not trust, you were given it.”

Like rain, the light drops down and showers them in white and glowing brilliance, and even Thanidiel can find laughter. And yes, she does, indeed, allow a laugh to flow with the energy rolling through her; how else could she not? All of her laughter had always been for that one, and everyone else would find the door to such a domain of Thanidiel's slammed in their face with nose broken and bleeding.

The walls fade and become pillars. The world outside written in light and sunstorm as well. The forest is gilded. The Dreamscape is quieter, now — Gods be blessed — and she is home with the forest, its weather, and the solitude of companionship.

Here, she is primordial in a different way — where there is no box of living kind's woes, and complexity, emptied into the world. Thus, her speech dies as quickly as it was drummed up.

Did she need to speak?

At all?

No, no she didn't.

This is home, afterall.

Everything meaningless, useless, and not truly her, had been left outside where the light did not shine upon them. Everything, thus far, had been a prolonged business trip that had never ended, and had never stopped consuming, and had never stopped demanding.

Now, everything is good.

It remains as Bricini pulls her closer, lips over cheeks and jaw, whispering terrible things that lend to laughter and grimaces.

“You get this. You don’t lose it,” Bricini says in her own voice, “Because, fuck you, that’s why.”

The sheets fall and they are dancing then, barefoot in a kitchen. Night swims in through a window, and there is song outside; something scratchy, from a radio. It’s terrible: raucous and goblin.

Thanidiel’s feet will not work; she keeps tripping, and pulling Bricini down with her to the floor. The mender groans, and hauls the fighter to her feet.

“Not so fast.”

It replays. It replays. It replays. Each time, she is pulled back to her feet. And, true, she trips and clumsies over, and over, and over, and over, again. Of course she would. She couldn’t calm entirely, yet. The answer isn't finished yet; she isn't assured of the safety the other would find in her.

There is no dull complacency and necessity to this new scenario around her. She is not habitually slinging on one new coat after another and acting as though she were in her element. No, there is something more natural now in the guidance that has curled its fingers around the spirit of her. This is nothing forced or obligated of her to perform and strike a role for.

The final scene is simple; the training field, where once bread was broken. Where once they spoke of simple things and domesticity, the quiet of forgotten places encompassing. Thanidiel sits, and Elleynah is there.

She was with her companion of all companions, and now she is with another. And there is no begrudging of this difference between Elleynah and Bricini; this is what she chose. Simplicity, and comfort, and home.

The girl is young and small; her hands freshly bloody, palms a basin of cuts. She looks up with two green eyes, and they are no longer young, and the two women with two ‘lost’ eyes between them meet gazes.

The soldier’s eyes, when met, is at the half-lid of ease, and its resolve is no longer fraught with fear and threat odoring the air. It is something more thunderously her and keen.

“You are not as lost as you think.

You are growing things in the cracks, where the wheel was broken. When you broke it, so too did the foundations of your inability to cope shatter. You are going to get better. You may not be better yet, but you will. Your will is strong, but your stubbornness is even more yet.

You cannot fear going forward — you cannot fear that you might lean on those who offer you their strength, while you rebuild. That’s what they are there for. Right now, the rawness is so deep you can still see where the blood oozes from the wound, but it’s scabbing. You do not wish to follow the patterns that are laid behind you, a legacy of such.

And so, you won’t.”

She listens, and she listens intently to the summation of the Cards' reading

The earth shimmers and grows with weeds and grasses; they sit for aeons as the world ages around them. And she does not blink as the world rapidly twists and shifts around her like an ever-spinning Wheel. She didn't want to shut her eyes or ignore it all as she once did, where the world was a vast sea of candles flaring in and snuffing out of existence.

Elleynah’s hands slid out, and this time… it was the young woman’s voice.

“You broke one wheel. You did it. Now, you have to make the new one.”

She smiles, and squeezes Thanidiel’s hands. In response, still knowing this was not entirely her friend, the Phoenix Guard could not help herself but to stroke her thumb down the length of the smaller girl's palm in a rarely expressed fondness.

It is enough — the Dream seems to shatter as the golden light did, save…

...in the moments between waking and not, there are the first lights of false dawn, and they make the shape of a circle across the floor; whole, and bright, and new. And that Light, and the light beyond that, calls to her...

[The first Dreamwalker wakes sweet and radiant.

Another Dreamwalker is ripped from a bleeding place in fear.

One Dreamwalker is shattered into the next life.

The last Dreamwalker is adjourned for his own good.]

First of all, huge shout-out for @jessipalooza as my roleplaying partner and as the owner of the character that has spurred my recent writings for Thanidiel as of late. I’m very glad to have the consistence of your presence and I hope there is only more opportunity to write together in the next year.

Secondly, proclaiming my love here for @stormandozone as one of the fabulous people I’ve had the joy of writing with in my time here with the Sunguard, who honored not only me, but @retributionpriest and @thepilgrimofwar, of tarot readings for our (horrible) characters. Like Jess, her character has been here for a magnificent swath of my own development with Thanidiel here in TSG. In fact, taking a couple of weeks, it’s been an entire year since my character’s last vision-reading with Elleynah and the drastic change between what was supposed to be my unredeemable hero failure and now someone with a decent fucking chance is breathtaking to absorb in its entirety. This collaborative was absolutely amazing to participate in.

Similarly, the aforementioned Lirelle and Sederis have blessed me with a whirlwind storm of not only friendship, but so much creative energy as ourselves and between each other; that I am at a lost if all of the writing we have done and will do for @thesunguardmg ‘s Phoenix Wars will suffice for all that should see light.

Thank you all.

Lirelle’s Vision: Hidden. Sederis’ Vision: The Hanged Man

#thanidiel #bricini #elleynah #the sunguard #phoenix wars #HOLY FUCK I AM SO IN LOVE WITH MEL #YALL DONT EVEN KNOW #lirelle #sederis #writing

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