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dercolaris · 3 years

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Fandom: Resident Evil Village

Characters: Donna Beneviento, Salvatore Moreau, Angie

Relationship: Donna Beneviento & Salvatore Moreau (Friendship)

Genre: Friendship, Hurt and Comfort

Word length: 2123

Warnings: No warnings

Status: Complete

Short Summary: The Cadou sometimes demands very high sacrifices from its host.

A loud humming sound echoed through the long corridors of the old mine, filling the otherwise desolate place with a breath of life. Salvatore eagerly set the little table with the few dishes he still had and placed a carafe with water in the middle of this setting. His eyes studied his work extensively. It was almost perfect, but a small piece was missing. The doctor turned slowly and smiled at the flickering television in the corner. One of his favourite series was currently on airtime, but at the moment he lacked the peace and quiet to enjoy it as usual. He would have a visitor tonight, and until everything was prepared, the man couldn't take a break. Salvatore strolled to the remaining cupboard in his possession and meticulously searched the individual compartments. He frowned. Nothing. The Lord stopped humming for a moment and thought hard about where he had last put the item he was looking for. Actually, there weren't that many ways in which his little kingdom could stow things safely. The doctor scratched his balding head in confusion. Groaning, he got down on his knees and rummaged through the lower part of the clunky closet. The man accidentally discovered a little mouse, which began to squeak loudly out of fear of the grotesque figure in front of it. Salvatore smiled gently and reached out his hand to the scared animal, closing his bulging fingers around the small rodent. This wriggled wildly in the unexpected clutch, sniffed excitedly or better afraid in the air. The successful hunter lifted the mammal closer to his face and spoke reassuringly to the tiny creature: “It's okay, my little furry friend. I'm not going to hurt you.” He carried the mouse carefully to the table and sat down on one of the three chairs. Finally he carefully placed the rodent on the plate with the fresh fruit. The animal made a little jump in pure shock, but then seemed grateful to pounce on the food that was offered. The mouse was terribly thin and looked frail. She had probably been sitting helplessly in the closet for some time. Salvatore watched his new friend eat with a small smile on his lips and took a sip of his water. At least the animals in his territory weren't really afraid of him.

The doctor lost himself in his thoughts for a moment until he realized in panic that he wasn't finished with his preparations. He casually apologized to the rodent and rose cautiously, then knelt again in front of the cupboard. His hand took out one object at a time. After a while, his fingers suddenly touched the cool porcelain he was looking for. The man took out the brightly decorated plate and blew once across the smooth surface. A little pile of dust swirled in the air. The Lord was kind of happy about his success in his short journey of finding old treasures and carried the missing dishes to the table. There the mouse was still busy eating. Salvatore placed the children's plate on the ramshackle wood and carefully examined his work. Wonderful. He sat down on the chair again and reached for his glass, draining the rest of the water in one big gulp. The doctor looked at the rodent again with a hint of satisfaction and very slowly stretched out his hand to the animal. This time the mouse wasn't frightened at all. He gently stroked his new friend's thin fur with one finger and whispered softly: “You poor little thing. How long did you have to sit in that dark closet? I'm terribly sorry.” There was a loud rustling. Apparently the reception of the TV got worse again. The man shrugged his shoulders slightly and concentrated on the petite animal on the plate. At least he was well entertained for the moment. Salvatore continued to stroke the rodent tenderly and listened to the usual noises of the mine. He probably wouldn't hear his guest coming. The Lord peered at the wooden board with the sliced cheese and frowned.

It was looking extremely tasty. He shook his head slightly and turned back to the mouse. Sometimes he had to exercise self-control. The animal suddenly looked up, stuck its nose in the air. The doctor leaned closer to the furry rodent and whispered calmly: “Well, did you hear something? Maybe this is our special guest. Shall I have a look?” The man swayed slightly and was about to leave for the entrance of the mine when he recognized a familiar shadow on the stonewall. In the next moment Donna strolled slowly around the corner, in her arms she held her dearly loved doll Angie. Salvatore looked at his visitor in surprise. She did not wear a mourning veil that evening. The doctor began to smile nervously and greeted the mysterious doll maker: “Good evening, Ms. Beneviento. It is always a pleasure to welcome you to my humble home. Come on, come on. The table is well set.” The woman did not reply to this euphoric request. Instead, the little doll in her arms spoke for her: “That's great. We're really hungry, Moreau.” The Lord laughed in relief and waved his guests inside. He went to the table and pulled back one of the chairs, motioning Donna to sit down. The black-haired woman sat down elegantly and stared at the man with empty eyes. He also adjusted the second chair, put a few empty boxes on the seat and finally asked, visibly excited: “I have prepared a seat for you this time too, Angie. Would you like to sit here today?” The doll turned her head to her creator and opened her mouth over and over again without an audible word. Presumably the two talked animatedly. Salvatore had learned in the meantime not to disturb his visitors during these silent conversations and looked around for the mouse. It was nowhere to be found.

The rodent was probably gone with a piece of sweet pear. The voice of the doll tore the doctor out of his thoughts: "I will gladly accept the offer, Moreau. Can you help me?" The person addressed chuckled happily and carefully held his hands in front of Angie. He did not dare to touch the wooden figure without the permission of her creator. Donna hesitated for a moment, but finally handed the doll to the trustworthy host. He took her almost tenderly and carefully sat her on the prepared chair. Angie looked around happily, fidgeting a little. She squeaked loudly: “Look here, Donna. I have my very own seat this time.” The doll maker actually managed a small smile at this statement. The Lord walked back to his chair and took a seat opposite the quiet woman. He picked up the loaf and divided it into evenly sized pieces. While Salvatore was passing the bread around, he spoke calmly: “Help yourself to everything that seems tasty to you or that invites you to dine with pleasure. Don't be too humble.” Together they began to eat without any hurry. Small conversations with Angie, who had a lot to talk about that evening in particular, continued to arise. Apparently the own seat for the lively doll had been a grandiose idea. The man really enjoyed their company. Usually the loneliness in his territory slowly ate him up and rotten his mind. Donna cleaned her mouth elegantly with a napkin, then placed her cutlery on the lower right of the plate. So she had already finished eating. In general, the doll maker was not a particularly good eater and had occasional dizziness attacks caused by hypoglycaemia. Angie chuckled softly. She had placed her cutlery in the same way as her creator and turned to the host who was still dining: “Donna has thought about your last visit to our house and decided to help you. That's why we brought you something today, Moreau.” The doctor stopped eating for a moment and stared at the doll in confusion. He gently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, removing most of the loose breadcrumbs on and around his mouth. The Lord asked curiously: “You have brought something for me? What?” The doll maker leaned to one side of her chair and rummaged through an inconspicuous cloth bag, which the man hadn't really noticed before. After a quick search, Donna pulled out a small leather book.

Angie hastily explained: “You told us that you forgot a lot because of the Cadou. Especially how to read. You looked very sad and we decided to teach you how to read again. Then you don't just have to watch TV all day, you can for example continue to write on your research or read a nice novel!” The doctor became a little smaller in his chair. He was clearly embarrassed to have slowly lost this ability. The parasites in his body were taking too much of a toll. Salvatore played with his fingers in embarrassment and stuttered: “You two really want to help me to read again? You won't laugh at me either if I can't pronounce the letters correctly and make endless mistakes?” Both Angie and Donna shook their heads leisurely. The Lords eyes began to shine. He finally nodded in the affirmative and put the cutlery aside his almost empty plate. The doll maker rose from her chair and took it carefully with her as she walked around the table. She sat down next to her kind host. He looked hopefully at the woman, pushed the plate out of the way and waited patiently. Donna put the little book in the empty space and opened it at a leisurely pace, turning without haste to the first chapter. Angie laughed happily and climbed onto the table. She carefully sat down on the wood and looked down at the written page. Then something happened that Salvatore hadn't seen coming. The doll maker put a forefinger on the first line and began to read very slowly and clearly: "Long ago, a young girl went with her mother to pick berries for her father who was hard at work." The man frowned. He looked at the individual letters, tried to process and reproduce what he had heard. Donna smiled gently, read the sentence out loud again for the Lord. The doctor put a few fingers to his forehead and leaned lower to see the sentence better. His voice trembled when he hesitantly began to read: "Lon. Long. Long ago. A gir. A girl."

The woman would occasionally help him pronounce a word when he got too stuck. It took Salvatore almost six minutes to read the first line of the book almost fluently. He blinked slightly and looked up. Probably the two would now start to laugh at him for his stupidity. Angie actually laughed, but her words debilitated the man's suspicions: “That was great, Moreau! You haven't forgotten everything, and that's why you will soon be able to read the whole book without any problems!” He blushed a little at this unusual praise, but could no longer suppress a proud grin. The Lord looked back in the book and tried the next sentence. The doll nodded eagerly to him at this endeavour. Donna accompanied him patiently, and also helped him when he didn't know how to pronounce a word or was unsure. Salvatore was gradually losing his fear and becoming bolder with every correct word. It didn't seem that difficult any more. The doctor finished the second sentence of the fairy tale and laughed happily: “I'm reading, Donna. I'm actually reading!” The doll maker smiled at this statement, but remained silent as usual. Angie, on the other hand, laughed with him and cried out: “You can do it, Moreau! Just don't give up now and keep going! I love this story even more if you read it to me.” The man now seemed to have completely lost his shyness. So after a good twenty minutes he managed to read the first page of the book completely – albeit with occasional errors. He couldn't believe it. The Lord said happily: “I would never have dreamed that I would ever be able to read anything again.” The woman next to him nodded slowly and put her hands on her lap. Her doll replied for her again: “Donna says you can keep the book until you have finished reading it. Then she wants you to give it back to her.” Salvatore was speechless for a moment. He blinked away the emerging tears and replied emotionally: “Ms. Beneviento. How am I ever supposed to thank you for that?” The doll maker said nothing, just put her fragile fingers gently on the bulging back of the doctor's hand.

#Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil Village #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #Cadou #Angie #Doll Maker #Doctor #Books #Friendship #Hurt and Comfort

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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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The frequent attacks from the beast known as "Vish'El" left the world in chaos. Despite all technology we had created, all the weaponry we built and hoarded, we were powerless to stop it. We let loose enough firepower to last three wars, but the creature hardly seemed to flinch. At times it would act like we hurt it, but then when we stopped to observe or swooped in to take advantage, it would let out that weird shout and send us all flying. Nothing marred its impenetrable skin, so all we could guess was that it was playing pretend in order to trick us. No clue why that is necessary, as it could carve through our armies in seconds without suffering a scratch. All we could do is keep running to the drawing board and try to think up of some new strategy or weapon that could take it out. Until we found its weakness, humanity just had to accept the fact that our cities were just open season to a sudden monster drop in. No surprise so many people fled to the countryside once they figured out their governments couldn't stop the thing. Everything became a nightmare, and we were all lost on what to do. So imagine our reaction when another one of those wretched things suddenly appeared. It showed up a little after Vish'El dropped in and started stomping an empty city, arriving in the same bizarre manner. It was obviously a different creature, no doubt some other cosmic species of titan, but there were some odd things we immediately noticed. This one moved a bit more fluidly, though still had a bit of an awkward gait and pace. Its mouth seemed to function more than Vish'El's, so much so it seemed to constantly be flapping open and closed like a chattering crocodile. This beast too seemed like a noisy one, as it liked to roar just as much as Vish'El, though it was a bit different. While Vish'El's were strange variations of the same sound, this fellow seemed to have only one noise that it could duplicate perfectly. That strange metallic howl just over and over, constantly repeating in a deafening loop. It was bizarre. When it arrived, our hearts stopped. Another monstrosity just entered the ring, what hope did we have now? The appearance of this intruder seemed to upset Vish'El as well, as it stomped and screamed in a furious tantrum. Without warning, the two launched themselves at each other and fought. They slammed together with incredible force, shaking the earth with the impact. Neither seemed too fazed by the collision, as they backed up and did again. And again. It was a strange fight to behold, as they just rammed into one another again and again. They would roar and scream, sometimes stumbling or getting their limbs locked, but they would eventually regain this position and continue to bash their heads together. Once in a while, one would hit the other with an awkward tail swipe, sending the opponent tumbling, but then they would just get back up and charge in. We watched the brawl closely, hoping that it would reveal some secrets to us. Despite the ferocity of the fight, the two didn't seem to be getting hurt. But just as our disappointment began to grow, we saw a glorious sight. Vish'El did a tail swipe and suddenly tore a chunk of flesh from the other's shoulder. The meaty hunk slammed to the ground and the intruder trembled and howled. We cheered when we saw it, as it meant that these beasts could be hurt. We looked for any clues on why this attack caused damage, but failed to find any answers. The odd thing was that the stranger did not seem to bleed, despite the grievous injury. It appears these creatures do not possess blood as we know it, or they can easily staunch the flow in these situations. Empowered by this mutilation, the new beast lunged in and seized Vish'El's leg in its jaw. Chomping down hard, it suddenly launched itself into the air, dragging its opponent with them. There was a struggle, but Vish'El could do nothing as its foe spun wildly about. High in the heavens, it flipped around and aimed Vish'El towards the ground. Like a meteor, it drove the duo straight towards the earth, spinning wildly like a crazed ballerina. The impact was devastating, as it slammed Vish'El into the ground. The whole city practically exploded, the plume of dust and debris blotting out the sun. When things started to settle, we saw the aftermath. Vish'El lay on the ground, whole but unmoving. The other beast lurched onto its hind limbs and let out another roar. The victor had been decided. Before we knew it, the two were gone. Vish'El and its destroyer zipped into the heavens and vanished. The whole event caused another uproar, as we scrambled to find meaning and information from this legendary brawl. Vish'El had been soundly defeated, so there had to be hope. The other beast was shown to be mortal, seeing that it could be wounded. Surely we could find something from all these observations to help create a weapon and put an end to this new beast. We hoped that Vish'El's state meant that it would be gone for good, as any animal will flee its territory once a stronger creature appears. The other foe suffered a terrible injury, so perhaps it would slink off for a bit to heal, giving us time to gather and plan. Despite the fact that another titan had appeared, we felt motivated from it. We would get new ideas and new data, and eventually humanity would win. Those dreams ended just as quickly as they started once the dueling duo appeared the following week. They dropped into another city, and we braced for another fight. It seemed Vish'El did not wallow in defeat for long, and the other creature had healed its wound quite quickly. We all were glued to our screens, hoping to glimpse another hint on how these things lived and died. The two squared up and lurched towards each other. Then with a bump of limbs, they turned towards the city and started wrecking. They stomped and smashed with glee, crushing the streets and knocking over buildings. The animosity they held was suddenly gone, as they did not trade a single blow or bite. They just demolished the city side-by-side, occasionally working together to really give it a skyscraper. Once everything was mashed to paste, they returned to the heavens. The world was filled with dread, the two beasts were now allies. Or were they? Two weeks later, they showed up and duked it out again. This time, the beast we dubbed "Mant'Tal" fell, after Vish'El tore a chunk out of its shoulder and shouted it into the ground. They left and returned a few days later, with Mant'Tal winning the day despite having its shoulder wounded in the harsh duel. This victory was secured by spinning its body like a tornado and ramming into Vish'El. Not long after that, the two joined forces to smash another city, only to turn on one another a week later. The friendship was seemingly over after Vish'El gouged Mant'Tel's shoulder and bashed them with a weird flying/sliding dropkick. What relationship these two had was a mystery, but the end result of every meeting was another destroyed city. We couldn't figure anything out, we had no idea what to do next. Things became even more muddled after a video popped up of the two beasts somewhere in the countryside. What we saw was baffling, its purpose known only to these crazed titans. The first bizarre thing was that the two were not in a city, instead out in the wilderness amongst the trees and fields. Their lust for destruction and death seemed to be gone at the moment, as they moved more slowly and methodically. They did not stomp or screech, they did something far strange. Mant'Tal stood in a forest, their huge bulk jutting from the pathetic trees. With bizarre movements, it somehow was tearing up the trees and placing them in a pile, occasionally stopping to add trees to a different pile and then kind of mix them around. It did this while it grumbled an odd noise, something more organic and melodic than is previous roars. Vish'El was not with Mant'Tal, rather the beast was out in the fields, kind of just standing their motionlessly. Eventually it seemed to snap awake and slowly trot its way over to Mant'Tal's forest. When it reached the tree line, it stopped, spun ninety degrees, spun back and then stepped forward. Once in the trees, it turned all the way around, let out a loud noise and then turned back forward. The noise attracted Man'Tal's attention, and they abandoned their various piles of trees to greet the other titan. They growled and roared in odd tones, bouncing in place as they did. Eventually the two moved toward the tree piles and sat by them. They jammed the torn plants into their maws, shoveling them in at a constant pace, despite the fact they kept tumbling out of their open maws. When the piles were scattered at their feet, the two strolled deeper into the forest and then lay on the ground. Once on their sides, all movements ceased. Moments later, they were gone. What this video showed was brand new behavior, but we didn't understand a lick of it. It felt like a dream, especially when the two went back to fighting and smashing weeks later, with no sign of them acknowledging this strange behavior. There is something more to this, beyond mere destruction. We don't know what they are playing at, but its critical we find out what that is. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ah crap, Kaijune is wrapping up and I am hurrying to post the last few scraps! No kaiju is complete without a trusty sidekick/arch-nemesis/friend/something! Complete with battle damage!

#monster #creature #kaiju #kaijune #art #drawing #alien

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btsslowburnfic · 3 years

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Chthonic Love Ch. 16

Series Summary: A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone. Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi

Previous Chapter here

Sidenote: Someone at BH reading this FF? This is literally Lord Yoongi. Just imagine some black sand.

You thought you would have difficulty finding people given how unpopulated the castle usually felt. However, the tremors had roused most of the servants who were milling about nervously in the hallways and in the Great Hall.

As you entered the Hall, Lethe came running over. “Lady Persephone. Thank goodness. I went to your room right after the Earthquake and you weren’t there. We can’t find Penthos or Lord Yoongi either.”

“It’s alright,” You reassured her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. You looked around and saw the same concerns etched on the faces of the other servants. “Help me gather everyone in here and I’ll explain what I can.” You pressed your lips together into a firm line and went out in the hallway to gather people. Once you returned to the Hall you walked over to the front of the room and stepped up onto the small dais. You waited a few minutes for people to file into the room and to collect your thoughts. Once it seemed like people were ready to listen, you began.

“Thank you everyone for gathering here. I understand you are concerned about the Earthquake. Earlier this evening there was a small cave-in in the tunnels beneath the palace. Lord Yoongi and Penthos are investigating. At this time, there is no reason to worry. If these tremors happen again, please remain calm. We have evacuated the tunnels for the time being and several of the creatures who lived there are seeking refuge in the older part of the castle. They are subterranean and require dirt. I need help carrying sand from the desert into the abandoned throne room. Once it is there, I can transform it. Thank you.” You stepped down and walked over to Lethe. “Was that ok?”

She laughed, “I don’t think anyone has ever addressed the staff of this castle ever. You did great. Let me show you where we keep the buckets and barrels.”

The two of you led the way to get containers for the sand. Before long, there was an assembly line throughout the castle from the desert to the abandoned throne room as you and several servants began to spill black sand onto the ground.

“Watch out little babies,” You cood to the spiderlings who had come over to see what all the noise was about. “It’s not dirt yet, but I’m sure we can do something with it. The repetitive task went on for hours. Your bandaged hands ached and your back was beginning to hurt as well. Finally, when most of the floor was covered in three inches of dirt, you told the staff to go rest for the remainder of the day.

You had removed as much clothing as was appropriate as you took a seat on the stairs. You heard Lethe sit down next to you.

“I am so sweaty.” You said. She laughed and handed you a glass of water. “Thanks.”

“You did a great job earlier, rallying the troops. Took me back to my Athenien days.” She said, dusting sand off her hands and onto her apron.

“Yeah, thanks. I just hope this works and that Lord Yoongi is ok.” You started to remove the bandages from your hands. You picked up a jar you had saved and stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“What can I do to help?” Lethe asked.

“I’ll probably need a stiff cup of tea when I’m done. And a bath. I stink.” You wrinkled your nose.

“I’ll get the tea started and come back. Be careful. Don’t push yourself, your hands are still wounded.”

“Too late.” You sighed looking at the lacerations. “Thank you.” You were truly grateful for Lethe.

You walked down the steps and into the tunnels. You knew that Yoongi had told you to stay out, but you needed a sample of the soil so you could try to replicate its composition. Without Yoongi’s powers to illuminate the steps, it was slow going as you felt your way through the darkness. You hoped he was alright.

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Yoongi stood with his hands on his hips, assessing the rock pile that had collapsed. While he had remained calm earlier, his mind was now racing. You could have died. What would he have done? He knew he cared for you but he hadn’t realized how much until the moment he threw his body on top of yours, terrified you would be crushed by the dirt collapse. What would he do if you were gone? But weren’t you going to leave anyway. No. He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t going to let that happen, he resolved.

He heard footsteps approaching and recognized the footfalls as Penthos’. Centuries together could do that to people. He turned slowly.

“My Lord.” He bowed slightly, “What happened down here?”

“There is something out there. On the other side of the mountain.” Yoongi gestured towards the wall Penthos had resealed just yesterday. “Lady Persephone says it’s something big. But we don’t know what it’s purpose is.”

Arachne and the other adult spiders continued to dig through the rubble. The path to the golems had been cut off. Yoongi was trying not to worry about it, but he was beginning to feel extremely vulnerable. He turned around to face Penthos.

“How on earth would she know that?” Penthos scoffed.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, “Because she can read life forces and she detected something behind that wall. You seem to forget that Lady Persephone is an Earth Goddess.”

Penthos noticed the gash on Yoongi’s head, “My Lord, you’re bleeding.”

Yoongi waved his hand, annoyed. “It’s nothing. It will heal soon anyways. I need your ideas. The path to the golems is cut off. There’s a mysterious something on the other side of this rock and I can’t leave to investigate it or else corpses will pile up on the beach.” He let his irritation with the situation show.

“My lord, we could always appeal for another God to travel there. Jungkook travels through the sky all day, every day. Ask him to gaze upon that part of the underworld.”

“No.” Yoongi almost snarled. “I will not be indebted to any of those Gods.” Yoongi quickly dismissed the idea. He hated ingratiating himself to anybody.

Penthos sighed. “I could travel there my Lord if you wished it. I do not like leaving the castle unguarded, especially with how things have been lately.”

That last sentence was a mistake. Yoongi didn’t miss a thing when people spoke. Being a God who chose his own words so carefully, he appreciated and noticed the nuances with which people spoke. “Lately.” Yoongi paused for effect. “Lately? Now what is that supposed to mean exactly?”

Penthos grew slightly rigid. “I would be happy to travel to the other side of the Mountain my lord, if it pleases you.” He looked down.

Yoongi clicked his tongue and wrestled with himself about if he wanted to push the issue or not. “Yes. You will travel and investigate.”

“Yes my Lord. Thank you.” He seemed to know he had avoided a severe tongue lashing.

“But you should know,” Yoongi’s voice grew dark, “don’t return unless you are willing to pledge yourself to Lady Persephone as Queen.”

Penthos eyes snapped up, “Lord Yoongi you barely know..”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Yoongi closed the distance between them. He grabbed Penthos’ face, holding his chin in his hand and squeezing his cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. . “Do you understand?” He applied minor pressure.

Penthos nodded his head, “Yss Yss.”

Yoongi held on for a few more seconds and then pushed back, causing Penthos to stagger. “Good. Seal the tunnels again. You will leave tomorrow.” Yoongi gave him one last look before heading back to the main antechamber. His jaw was clenched still in irritation. Penthos was lucky he had so many years of service under his belt, Yoongi thought, or else he would be in charge of guarding Tartarus. He felt himself growing angry once again as he rounded the corner to the main room.

His gaze and thoughts immediately softened when he saw you, crouched down on the ground, gathering dirt into a jar. Your hair was haphazardly cascading out of a loose bun, you were covered in sand, and you looked sweaty. He had never seen you look so beautiful.

He felt his anger towards Penthos ease momentarily as he thought back to a few minutes ago. He didn’t just say what he did to threaten Penthos; he would make you his Queen if you would have him. He cleared his throat, "I thought I told you to stay out of here."

You turned suddenly, surprise you let out a small cry at first. "Oh it's you. I was so worried." You stood up, holding out your jar of dirt . "Sorry. I know you said to stay away but I've been busy and I need a dirt sample so I can finally finish and take a bath."

Yoongi sighed, there was really no telling you what to do. He walked over and took the jar of dirt. "Fascinating. Tell me more."

You smiled, "it's more of a showing thing. But you'll see soon enough. Are you done down here?”

“Yes. For now. Let’s go.” He illuminated the sconces lining the stairs. The two of you made your way back to the old throne room. Yoongi abruptly stopped at the top and turned to look at you. "Is there any sand left in the desert?" he asked, his eyes bugging out slightly.

You cackled, removing the jar from his hands You pushed past him, "Don't worry, your precious desert is safe. Be careful not to step on the babies."

Yoongi looked down and noticed a bunch of the spiderlings had come to see what the commotion was about.

You dumped the jar of dirt into the middle of the room and took a deep breath. You placed your hands on top of it and began to concentrate. You felt the durst react to your touch as you focused. Be dirt be dirt be dirt.

"Hey. Your hands are still injure,d stop it." Yoongi said, his voice filled with concern.

You looked up at him defiantly and pressed your hands down further into the soil and sand.

"Dammit Y/N.” He cursed and walked over to you. For a moment you thought he was going to yank your hands off the dirt, but instead he placed them gently on top of yours. You felt your powers become amplified as the dirt began to root into the sand. Sand turned to dirt. Slowly, the transmutation worked. Once every grain had been converted you stopped pressing your hands down. You felt so weak between carrying sand and using your magic. You started to sway..

"Come here," Yoongi sat down next to you. You let yourself fall against him.

"Sorry. I just want them to feel safe." you whispered.

Yoongi moved some of your hair out of your face. "I know. You're a good person.You felt him press a kiss into your hair and all you could think was how much you needed a bath.

Lethe walked in. It was quite the sight. The lord of the castle sitting in a pile of dirt with a filthy lady half-collapsed on him. Oh dear.

"My lord are you ok? Is she OK?" she asked from the stairs.

Yoongi normally would feel embarrassed being seen so casually, but at this moment, you were his most pressing concern. He stood up and then crouched down to pick you up.

"Yoongi, that's not necessary," you quietly protested against his chest.

"By the time you walk to your room I'll be late for my reaping." He teased.

“Lady Persephone needs to rest.” He walked over to the stairs.

“And a bath.” You said.

“And a bath. And her hands redressed.” Yoongi added as Lethe carried the tea back towards your room with Yoongi following her.

You tried to keep your breathing calm as you were pressed against Yoongi’s firm chest. You could hear his heartbeat racing. IT had been quite the day. Your mind traveled back to the kissing from earlier. You had been so busy you hadn’t thought of it since then but now...your face grew red. The three of you arrived at your room.

Lethe sat down the tea and excused herself to draw your bath. Yoongi sat you down on your bed. Your face was still red, you were sure of it.

“Are you ok?” Yoongi asked, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Did you find anything in the tunnels?”

“No. Penthos is leaving tomorrow to investigate.”

“Is that safe? For him to go alone”

“Are you worried about him? I thought you two didn’t like each other?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t like him, but I assume since he’s been your Steward he must have some redeeming qualities.”

Yoongi pushed some stray hairs behind your ear. “You really are too kind.” You saw a brief look of sadness cross his face. Before you could ask, it was gone.

“I have a reaping to attend to.” He stood up. “I’ll see you later.Make sure you rest up.”

“Ok, thank you.”You responded quietly.

Yoongi exited your room feeling his heart beating in his ears. You were too kind for the underworld. For him. You deserved to be on Earth where it was warm, and happy, and full of good things. But you had kissed him earlier. That had definitely happened. So maybe you wanted to stay. He should have asked you about it, he chastised himself, but you were so tired. He resolved to talk to you about it the next time he saw you. NEXT CHAPTER

#BTS suga #bts yoongi #bts writing #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #suga x you #suga x reader #bts suga x reader #bts suga x you #suga x y/n

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tired-college-student-writing · 4 years

Text

Tim’s Secret Weapon pt. 11

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1

Part 10

Part 11(HERE)

Part 12

____________________________________________

“How can they be gone?” Tim whispered into the silence, trying to focus on anything other than the blank spaces and the stabbing pain behind his eyes.

His numbers, the one thing that had stuck by him through everything. They had allowed him to understand the world around him as he was left behind and abandoned, time and time again. The ability that gave him the freedom of the world, the confidence to face the Batman down and demand to be allowed to fight at his side. The power that allowed him to find a family when every other person in his life had decided that he wasn’t worth the effort.

And now they were gone.

His family was frozen around him, fear and confusion pouring off of them. They didn’t know his attachment to his power, didn’t understand the depth of how ingrained his power was to him but they had each experienced the loss of a sense before, or a limb. It was jarring and painful and there wasn’t a lot they could do to help.

“Take it off,” Damian said, already going to pull off the choker he wore, having not given the transformation phrase yet, “The miraculous, the transformation must have done something. Get it off now.”

His hand shook as he tried to grasp the edge of the glasses, only for a firm hand to wrap around his wrist and pull it away.

“Wait,” Marinette broke in, kneeling down in front of him, “Tim can you get us back to the hotel, you need to open a portal. Picture the hotel, and call for Voyage.”

Tim blinked away the spots starting to form in his vision, what was happening, “Voy…age?”

Max appeared in his line of sight, fear swimming behind the firm determination set in his face “Voyage, picture the hotel, picture Alfred and the sitting room, if coordinates would help you then we can get them for you. You’re the only one that can get us back right now. Can you do that for us?”

He tried to nod but only groaned as the world spun, “Okay. I think I can… Think I can do it…Voyage!”

The magic swirling around him as he thought back to the hotel made him nearly double over as the pain spiked, his stomach churning from the intense pressure.

“Point at a wall,” Max soothed, “It will be over soon. We need to get you back to the hotel.”

The world tilts as he lifts his arm and suddenly Alfred appears in his vision, surrounded by a blue light that seemed to pulse in sync with the pain in his skull.

His vision swam.

“Get him to the bathroom now,” Marinette orders Bruce and Tim felt himself being lifted and carried, clutching the front of his father figure’s suit like he was an itty bitty Robin again, hurt enough to make Bruce fuss over them, or merely having dozed off on a stake off again. He’d been embarrassed to be carried like this again in front of his brothers if his skull didn’t feel like it had been caved in by Harley’s mallet, and injected with a bad batch of Poison Ivy’s latest experiment.

He’s removed from Bruce’s chest, and he can vaguely hear the man protesting as he’s pulled away.

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Someone tells him, even if it sounds like it’s from a mile away through a damp sewer, before the glasses are pulled from his face and he’s lurching forward to bury his face in the toilet he had apparently been set in front of, stomach finally losing the battle to keep his dinner down.

Slowly his stomach calmed down and the pounding dulled down to an ache. He was able to stop dry heaving and became aware of the pair of hands rubbing his back. Taking some calming breaths to calm down how much his body was trembling he glanced to see Ladybug, still suited up, kneeling to his left, and to his left was Nightwing in full gear, worry and concern edged deep into his features.

“Oh thank god,” Tim breathed, resting his temple against the cool porcelain. Over Dick’s head was the ever familiar royal blue 10.

“Powers back online?” Marinette asked worry etched on her face only to sigh in relief when he gave a slight nod, “I hoped so. I’m so sorry Tim.”

“What the hell was that?” He heard Dick hiss.

He could almost feel Marinette grimace, “Some people have a negative reaction to certain miraculous, but that’s usually only if they have a strong connection to one of the other miraculous that is incompatible with the one they’re trying on, such as the Bee attempting to wield the Snake or the Fox taking up the Monkey. None of you had a strong connection with any of the miraculous in the box though so I wasn’t expecting this, maybe a mild one if you chose a miraculous not suited for you, but nothing like this! I’ve never seen a reaction this bad… I guess I didn’t take Tim’s power into consideration. ”

“I hate magic,” Tim groaned but took the glass of water Damian offered, and sipped it lightly, before allowing Dick to pull him to his feet.

“That’s fair,” Chloe called from the main room, “But can any of you convince your dad to use my power so I can have Pollen back.”

“Bruce?” Tim asked with a scrunched brow as he leaned out of the bathroom, fearing that his stomach might try a second rebellion.

The man was clearly uncomfortable, standing stiffly against the wall next to the door, though his jaw unclenched when he saw Tim reappear, “The bee power allows the user to completely freeze voluntary movements of the victim for an indefinite amount of time.”

A shiver went up the Bats spine, Damien especially had an uncomfortable look on his face as they realized why this would bother Bruce so much. No matter how much the boy loved his mother, the matters of his creation were inexcusable.

“It’ll keep the target immobilized until you detransform,” Chloe offered, eyes softening slightly, “So sting someone and then use the detransformation phrase, ‘Pollen Buzz Off’. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Bruce nodded stiffly, even though his breathing became overly controlled as the energy pulsed off of the stinger. He was gentle as he nudged the needle into Chloe’s bared arm but seemed to stop breathing as the girl froze.

“Pollen Buzz off,” Bruce rushes out letting the power fall away and doesn’t relax until Chloe unfreezes.

“See,” She offered, holding out a hand for her kwami to rest on, “Everything is fine.”

“You were right,” He relented, removing the comb from his cowl, “I apologize for-”

The blonde shook her head, “Don’t be ridiculous. You obviously have some reason to hate my power and I don’t blame you. Any miraculous power in the wrong hands is frightening, after all. I’m terrified of the Peacock but I doubt you’d ever fear for your life against Alfred, with or without the power to create sentient life from nothing. Don’t share your trauma with us over that.”

The man merely nodded, pulling off his cowl to give her a soft, respecting smile.

“Jason next,” Adrien offered, “Luckily Cataclysm is a bit more versatile.”

Jason grimaced glancing down at his poisonous looking claws, “Destroy anything I touch?”

“Try not to think about it too much,” The blond grimaced, “Call for Cataclysm and the first thing you touch with the energy will be destroyed. It can be... overwhelming if you think about too much.”

The man scowled at the claws, but it’s Damien that voices the thought bouncing around the Bats’ heads “Cloaked in black, a weapon that can shrink until easily hidden away from sight, and the power to destroy anything or anyone but leave no evidence behind. The Black Cat was designed to be the assassin of the miraculous.”

Adrien winced, “Probably... but we don’t kill. I prefer to play the knight role to my Lady’s strategizer. Plagg did say that there have been more than a few Black Cat assassins through the years.”

Jason huffed a sigh as he summoned the dark energy around his fist, “Let’s get this over with, what am I breaking?”

Alix picked up the mini writing pad from next to the hotel phone, “Catch!”

The paper withered the second it touched his hand, crumbling and disintegrating into ash.

“Complete entropy,” Tim commented, eyeing the tiny pile of dust left behind.

“Geek out later, replacement,” Jason snapped with an eye roll, still holding his hand out as to not touch anything even now that the power was spent, “Plagg Claws In,”

“Oh come on,” Tim groaned after the lights had faded. The others looked at him curiously but he just stared.

Because while detransformation had let Bruce’s number fall back to his normal 11, though it still was rich honey in color, Jason’s didn’t.

Jason’s neon green 10 was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a scarily familiar 15.

____________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum @rougemme @dur55 @phantommeow12 @kand-roo @silvergold-swirl @officiallyathiana @completelypeccable @redhoodsdoll @nataladriana9 @mariae2900 @northernbluetongue @sturchling @thesunanditsangel @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @bobothyross @taoiichii @magnitude101999 @magicalfirebird @nataladriana9 @panda3506 @aquariusrunes @woodland-queer @sayarock121 @mindfulmagics @magic-miraculous @my-name-is-michell @naoryllis @slytherinqueen2432 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @captainartsypants @nanakeid @legendaryneckjudgestudent @smolplantmum @the-real-ginakid @nyaabinch @elmokingkong @gentlemanoftimetravel @whitennerdiest@imbrium-mare @tired-butterfly @corabeth11 @aestheticnpoetic @amirahevens @sassakitty @letterlust

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Slumber (Male Sandman, pt. 1)

A huge shoutout to @delldarling! Her awesome stories featuring Spiros brought to mind this mythical being and the idea behind this. Be sure to check out her blog! Female Reader (POV) x Male Monster [Part 2]

It’s the twelfth night you’ve gone without sleep, and you’re on the verge of tearing your hair out. The issue hasn’t been consecutive, but it’s starting to grate on your shot nerves, like nails on a chalkboard. Biting your bottom lip, you turn onto your side in your bed and think back to how this whole mess started.

One random night without sleep became two, then three, until you could only sleep two days out of the whole week. With time, your performance at work began to suffer due to lack of energy. And worse, you started snapping at your co-workers, who only questioned you out of concern. It got to the point where your boss had to intervene, flat out telling you to go home.

Near tears, you came home to your apartment and to your best friend. Robin was quick to notice your growing distress. And without a complaint, they drove you to the doctor’s office and stayed by your side during the entire visit. You can still remember the calming warmth of their light brown hand as it held yours.

It helped, especially when you were diagnosed with acute insomnia. It had to be stress-related, the doctor said. But your life so far had been worry-free. Paid bills, a normal workload, a regular diet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Which is probably why your doctor prescribed patience and time, to see if the issue would resolve itself.

But here you are, coming up on a month since your insomnia began. You’ve done everything the doctor suggested: lighter dinners before bed and no caffeine at all. Hell, you’ve even bought a set of blackout curtains and began charging your phone on the opposite side of your bedroom. Just so you wouldn’t be tempted to check it.

All of that, and still nothing.

The wooden floorboards of the hallway creak and your bedroom door slowly opens. The dim light of the hallway washes over part of your room. But it doesn’t reach your bed due to a long, stretching shadow obscuring most of the glow. It belongs to Robin, who’s wearing their most comfortable pair of pajama pants, an oversized t-shirt, and their slippers. They look at you with a sympathetic expression.

“What time is it?” you rasp.

“Almost one.” They stifle a yawn, but their wide nose still flairs out. “The chamomile tea didn’t help?”

You slowly shake your head, knowing you look as miserable as you feel. But Robin blows away a stray, natural curl from their face and musters up a small smile.

“Then we’ll try something else,” they say in a soothing voice.

“No,” you say, tone sharper than intended. You wince, muttering an apology to them. “The art exhibit is in two days and you should be at your best to showcase your work. You need to rest.”

“So do you,” they say.

Because you both know you can’t keep going without sleep. Because your sick leave hours are running out. Because Robin has taken on your portion of the rent and utility bill, which is more than they can handle. But as much as you both wish it, there’s nothing they can do to help.

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “We can head back to the clinic once the month is up.”

When my acute insomnia goes full-blown chronic, you think.

“If you’re sure...” Robin hedges, rubbing their knuckles against their short beard.

You nod your head and tuck yourself deeper under the covers.

“I am. Have a good night, Robin. Sweet dreams.”

They frown, but turn away from the doorway and close the door behind them with a soft click.

Leaving you alone with the silence of your room and your wet, burning eyes.

You curl in on yourself, silently begging for some sort of relief. Anything to rid you of your insomnia so your life can return to normal. Soon enough, your eyes have no more tears to shed and your soft crying subsides.

That’s when you hear the hissing.

It’s not like the sound any animal or person would make. It’s constant, like a steady flow. Something pelting against the floor, getting closer and closer.

Until it’s right beside your bed.

You don’t react as quickly as you should. You can’t find the energy to scream for Robin or move away. All you can do is screw your eyes shut, wait, and hope.

The source of the noise gently caresses your damp, trembling cheek with a warm touch. Then your eyelids. A sudden heaviness settles onto them. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t open your eyes.

“Sleep.”

The deep, smooth voice follows you down into the dark as your body stills and your mind falls silent.

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

A high-pitched alarm wrenches you awake. Blessedly, Robin is quick to turn it off, having always been an early riser. The noise silenced, you shift and snuggle deeper into your bed to keep sleeping...

You jackknife into a sitting position, eyes wide. You were sleeping. But how? Absolutely nothing you had tried worked so far. Not Robin’s home remedies or the doctor’s suggestions. What made last night different from all the rest? You think back to then, to your tossing and turning in bed, to Robin checking on you and then—

“Sleep.”

Your fingertips touch your cheek as your skin recalls a warm, gentle caress. And the soothing, masculine voice that provided you some much needed relief. You would allow yourself to admire the warm cadence of the voice if the reality of a late-night break-in didn’t suddenly slam into you.

You scramble out of bed and yank back your curtains. You squint against the sunlight, but soon find what it reveals. All of your belongings are in their place and nothing has been touched. Not a break-in then. But there’s something new that doesn’t belong. Swirling trails of black, glistening dirt are pooled before your door. The dirt extends from its source, crossing the wooden floor of your room and ending beside your bed.

You walk over towards the mess and squat down. Reaching out, you rub the dirt between your fingers and note the very fine consistency.

It’s not dirt, you realize. It’s sand. But there’s something else: a black, brittle feather sits on the floor near the headboard of your bed. When you touch it, it disintegrates, transforming into the same black sand that’s sprinkled in your room.

And you realize it all belongs to the one who gave you a night’s reprieve.

That leaves a number of questions whirling around in your head, but three push themselves toward the forefront of your mind. Who was the figure? How did he get inside your apartment? And how did he relieve your insomnia?

The answer to this mystery, you realize, lies in the strange mess on your floor. You purse your lips and stand up. First things first.

You sidestep the proof of intrusion and tiptoe towards your door. Once it’s open far enough, you slip out into the hallway. The scent of breakfast, savory and sweet, drifts through the air and pulls a growl from deep within your stomach. But you ignore your hunger and turn towards the laundry room.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to locate the broom and dustpan as they’re leaning near the washing machine, where they were last left. With both gripped tightly in hand, you stride towards your room.

You don’t stop sweeping until all traces of last night are piled in the dustpan. Even then, you look around the room and check it over. It’s still your room, but somehow it feels different. Less foreign and more familiar. All because you were able to sleep.

Your feet lead to you to the shared dining room and kitchen, where Robin stands before the stove with a spatula in their hand. They turn to greet you, but stop short when they spot the filled dustpan you hold.

“Something…happened last night.” You say. “I managed to fall asleep.”

Their mouth twists into a confused but happy smile. “That’s great! But why do you have…”

Robin points their chin towards the black sand.

“Yeah, about that.”

You explain everything that happened. What you heard and felt; what you couldn’t see. The mess in your room after waking up, including the strange feather. Robin places a steaming plate of homemade breakfast and a fork in front of you with a contemplative hum.

“I know I locked the front door and balcony door last night,” they say. “And I didn’t hear anything after going back to bed.”

“I’m glad you believe me,” you say. Your hands ball into fists against your thighs. “Because I still can’t believe what I saw.”

Robin pushes your plate closer to you; you don’t need to be told twice. You scoop up a sizable mouthful of food with your fork and blow on it to cool it down. Between bites, Robin walks over to the dustpan and gathers a bit of sand in their hand.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Your fork clinks against an empty spot on your plate. Against all logic, you want to say yes. Going further, you want him to return. Because of the deep relief he brought you when you were close to losing hope. Robin, who’s been by your side since both of you were toddlers, gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t think he’s dangerous,” you say, thinking of the soft touch against your cheek. “He almost sounded relieved when he spoke. Like he was finally in the right place at the right time.”

“Guess that settles it then.”

Robin dusts off their hands then turns on their heel to face you.

“We should get ready to welcome your mystery visitor again tonight.” They grin. “But first, how about a trip to your favorite bakery? Like a mini day out on the town.”

“Don’t you mean ‘night’?” you say.

“Besides your sandy savior, do you really want anything to do with nighttime after everything that’s happened so far?”

You huff out a laugh and agree with them, turning your attention back to your plate.

With Robin’s help, you know you’ll get to the bottom of things.

#monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster/human #exophilia #sandman boyfriend #reader insert #a bit of mystery before the reveal #fem reader #female reader

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monofpoke4life · 3 years

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Datr Week, Day Four: Fixing the Ship

Dib sighed in frustration as he readjusted his headlamp for what felt like the millionth time, trying a new angle that wouldn't let the strap feel so tight upon his head. To make matters worse, his back felt itchy from lying on his skateboard for so long, and his presence beneath the crawl space of the ship made it feel claustrophobic.

A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face and towards the back of his neck, running along the side underside of the uncomfortable strap. He huffed and growled again as he ran his thumb under the strap for the billionth time. Lousy, crumby head lamp! If only his head wasn't so- he bit his tongue as a familiar phrase wanted to instinctively escape his lips. He just knew, someone, somewhere was thinking it; which made it all the more tempting to protest the idea.

Not wanting to let masses' fascination of his head get to his, well, head, Dib took a calming breath as he reached above his head to grab and rest his hand on a piece of dark purple Irken metal.

No need to let himself get worked up over nothing, especially when he was underneath an alien spaceship.

He shuddered at the prickling feeling at the back of his head. Another drop of sweat rolled from the tip of his head to the back of his neck in the most uncomfortable way. In a huff he removed the headlamp by it's sweat soaked strap, throwing it into his lap, and flopping back down from his curled, crunch-like position. Why did he have to be the one working on the engine while she got to work on the outer body?

He was stuck underneath this hulking piece of alien ingenuity, with all its stuffiness and heat, while she got to work outside within the nice, mild yet crisp November air! It was unfair!

As Dib flopped back once more, the hand with the wrench in it rested on his torso. Meanwhile, he forgot to let go of his left hand, the one hand gripping the Irken metal, causing him to jerk upwards as it briefly supported his weight. Well, supported him for about 0.2 seconds, before there was a loud, scraping-snap noise, and the metal tube busted.

Dib grunted as his back met the grit skateboard harshly, his mouth opened ajar from his escaping air, but this only made it susceptible to filling with whatever mysterious liquid had been inside the tube. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

"What was that?" Tak's oddly accented voice snapped harshly at the sound of the metal tube clanking against the garage floor, a splattering of liquid, and the sounds of him sputtering profusely meeting her antennae. He could practically feel her criticizing, annoyed glare through the layers of metal, wires, and electronics as he scrambled to stop the flow of green liquid from the tube, staunching it with the grease rag that was in his lap.

"If you broke something on my ship I will-"

He didn't give her a chance to finish as he clumsily and abruptly rolled out from under the dark blue ship, as he called back "Or what?" Once out from under the ship, Dib blindly reached for another grease rag to clean off his entire face and glasses.

Once the slimey, scum feeling material was vacant from his clenched shut eyes and his glasses cleaned, Dib turned to his side to send the Irken female a small glare. Although, it did little to deter her as she hovered above him, hanging ominously by her pak's metal legs like fuming, angry, green spider.

A very feminine, amethyst eyed, and cute green spider without all of the nasty spider bits.

He shook his head. Focus Dib!

Despite her mouth poised to retort, he cut her off once more, as he continued, "If you thought I would break something, why let me help you at all?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at the retaliation, and her jaw momentarily dropped. However, he didn't get much time to process this, nor the darkening of her cheeks as she quickly turned her head away.

"I don't have to explain my decisions to you. Now get back to work."

Dib rolled his eyes as she looked away like she always did, frowning as he wiped the rest of the gunk off, especially around his mouth.

His eyes narrowed at her busy form, pak glinting in the pale yellow, florescent lighting of the lone garage light. Did he see what he...no it couldn't be. Dib shook his head to dispel the foolish, hopeful, boy-child thoughts. Those years were long gone by now, yet a few stray thoughts remained. Particularly, his once-upon-a-time crush.

Well…

Leaning his elbows on his bent knees, he looked over at her once more to see her bent over the pile of slabs of metal. A particularly, and surprisingly, round part of her backside anatomy caught his eye.

Okay...maybe his boyhood crush wasn't as far gone as he would like himself to believe, but that didn't change the fact that she probably didn't feel the same.

He pouted and glanced away, shutting off and tossing the head lamp to the side.

"You..." She started, causing him to swivel his head back to her instantly. She seemed a bit perturbed, hesitating, as his warm, brown eyes met hers, before quickly regaining her composure as she quietly continued, "You didn't get anything in your mouth, right?"

Dib gawked at her a moment, stunned. Maybe...maybe it wasn't so impossible. Maybe she-

His thought process wasn't allowed to go any further as she scowled, arms crossed beneath and unintentionally pushing up her "growths" as she called them.

Unintentionally noticing that, the once cool, autumn air turned scorching, like he was back under the ship again, surrounded him. Trying to lead attention to his hand and away from the heat he felt in his cheeks, Dib missed entirely what she said.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

At this she huffed at him, hands moving to rest on her hips, as she snapped, "I said because you better not die on me! Do you know how hard that would be to explain medically; not to mention legally!"

Plucking a small, old flashlight from a pile of junk, Dib rolled his eyes. A storm cloud of thoughts tumbled through his mind, before he realized she was on her pak legs again. Tak loomed closer now. Just to the right of him as she placed a few slabs of metal plating in a row across the ship's right flank.

He sighed once more and simply put the tiny flashlight between his teeth. With a few unintelligible mutterings, Dib rolled back beneath the ship, wrench in hand.

Meanwhile, with Tak, she grumbled to herself about fools and their carelessness as she started to weld the plates in place. With careful, practiced grace, her pak legs moved her over to her right a step or two. The only sound of her movement being the barely discernible tinking noises. Something that was easy to miss within the comfortable silence that enveloped them; not to mention, easy to miss while underneath an Irken Spittle Runner while wrenching things.

"Oh shit! I forgot to grab the Irken insta-soddering tape for the tube," Dib exclaimed as he suddenly shot himself out from under the ship.

Dib barely had time to register in his mind that he fucked up when he felt his long, gangly legs abruptly smack into a set of silvery, metal ones.

For the second time that night, Dib found the wind knocked out of his lungs, but this time accompanied by a surprised and brief screech. His eyes clenched shut partially from the sudden impact of a weight onto his chest, but also from the fear of what was to come next.

However, after a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Finding this odd, Dib carefully opened his eyes to find Tak glaring, stunned, and holding the front of her tunic down. That last part was just a tad strange, almost as strange as the dark emerald color dusting across her cheeks. Although, it wasn't that strange if you considered the fact that she landed practically right in front of his face!

Her knees were crammed underneath his armpits, shoving his arms above his head. If he were to sit up at any slight amount and or leaned his head forward, she would probably feel his breath ghost across the white-knuckled grip.

In that moment, Dib stared up at her, and she stared back, as his mind completely blanked. Well, blank on anything that wasn't her literally on top of him, being so close, and the reflection in the garage window of his absolutely crimson face.

Suddenly, his brain caught up with the situation, and did the appropriate, instinctual thing to do.

Panic.

"Holy smokes! Tak I'm so-" Dib exclaimed as he abruptly shot up without almost a second thought. Almost because his thoughts finally started to catch up with him as he saw Tak flung from his chest into his lap. Her momentum kept her going, and her upper body would've smacked into the floor between his legs. However, two important things happened that sent electricity throughout the both of them.

The first being Dib's instinct to reach out to her, hooking his hand onto her lower hip to steady her. Unfortunately, this didn't fully stop the momentum of the upper body, but fortunately she wasn't as surprised this time as she slightly twisted and caught herself with a hand placed upon his right thigh. Her hand was placed somewhat behind her, so she was left to lean back, and both of her legs were sprawled on either side of his hips.

Dib cursed himself for his clumsy recklessness, but a part of him was fine with this. Didn't mind the sight of her flushed and sprawled like this on top of him in a position more innocent than the last, even if it was an accident, but also a bit more...vulnerable? No that wasn't the word. Open?

Yeah that seemed more appropriate.

Not that he had more time to dwell on it because with Tak's sudden shift in weight towards him, he remembered why he didn't listen to this part of himself because it clearly had a death wish.

However, as Tak moved forward, fist moved back, twisting his shirt as she pulled him forward, he felt something as she shifted her hips and legs.

Something shifted beneath the fabric of her tunic in a way that caught him off guard. Completely blind to the danger at hand, so preoccupied with what this shift in fabric, and in some parts lack thereof, beneath his thumb pad meant, all thoughts on common sense left the building as he quizzically blurted in disbelief.

"Thigh highs?"

He hadn't meant anything by it. It was just so strange to him, especially when he never noticed before! Had they always been there? Were they something new? But why wear them here of all places? Here, wear they could easily get stained, torn, ruined?

Oh well, he pouted as he rubbed his, now, sore cheek from where she slapped him.

He watched her retreating, holographic form from the garage entrance as she marched across the backyard towards their backdoor. He expected her to keep going and going and not stop until she reached her base.

However, as she reached the backdoor she started to lose momentum. By the time she reached it, hand upon the door knob, she came to a gradual halt. Slowly, she glanced back at the garage, at him, again. The blush upon her cheeks still present. In fact, it got darker as her eyes widened ever so slightly, as if she hadn't expected him to be there, watching her leave.

For a moment, he watched her composure slip for the briefest of seconds as she suddenly grew flustered. Although, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished and her all-too-familiar glare returned.

With would-be-nose pointed in the air, she swiftly turned away with a hmph, and left through the door. Shortly afterwards he heard the front door open and slam shut, and with that she was gone. It took a few moments for Dib to comprehend what he just saw, but slowly, a knowing grin spread across his face as he shut the garage for the night, and headed into the house for bed.

#Datr #Datr week #Day Four: Fixing the ship #Invader Zim #IZ #Dib Membrane #Tak #Invader Tak #Tak's Ship

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

wild flower, chapter two (shalaska) 2/10 - freyja

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support chapter one got! Thank you so, so much to frey (aka Thorpe) for betaing!! This wouldn’t be where it is without her. I also thought I would share the playlist I made to listen to for inspiration!

Anyway, chapter two: in which Alaska realizes she is a little more than stuck with Sharon.

🌸

“I have acted fearless and independent and I never will regret my course. I would rather be politically buried than be hypocritically immortalized.”

— Davy Crockett

🌸

They ride for what could be minutes or hours in silence, Alaska never taking her eyes off of the horizon even long after the orange blaze surrounding her uncle’s mansion is gone. She barely registers the blessedly cool wind against her face, or how hard she’s gripping the horse’s saddle, deep in thought and very confused.

She’s not scared.

She knows she will be, once she has the time to really comprehend what happened, but for now all she can feel is guilt. Guilt, because her reaction to her uncle’s house burning, after the initial horror, was relief. How could she? Her uncle’s livelihood is gone, her uncle is gone and likely in danger, she’s been kidnapped - likely in order to be tortured for information - and all she can fucking think about is that she doesn’t have to find a husband anymore.

Sharon flicks the reins, and her horse suddenly jerks into a higher speed, forcing Alaska to grab onto Sharon’s waist in fear of falling off and breaking her neck. Sharon cackles at her, and Alaska flushes, embarrassed and suddenly feeling heated. It makes her angry.

Anger feels a hell of a lot better than guilt, and she gives into it without hesitation.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, right into Sharon’s ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Sharon shouts, voice nearly whipped away by the wind. “‘Thank you?’”

It is entirely plausible, maybe even likely, that Sharon hadn’t heard her. But the presumption - the fucking nerve–

You can’t hear me? Alaska thinks viciously, glaring at the sharp angles of Sharon’s cheekbones. How about now?

She sucks in a deep breath, and she screams straight into Sharon’s ear.

It’s childish, but Alaska has never been afraid of being childish, especially when it gives her such great results.

Sharon jumps, cringing away violently, jerking the reigns and making her horse jerk along with them. For a second, Alaska allows herself to hope that they would slow enough for her to safely jump off of the horse, but Sharon corrects him too quickly for her to even have a second of the time she’d need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sharon snaps, her tone a startling contrast to the gentle way she pats the horse’s neck. “What the fuck?”

“Can you hear me now?” Alaska asks, sneering. She relishes in the anger on Sharon’s face, gratified by her ability to take the other woman down a peg, but it fades away too quickly for her liking. Instead, Sharon’s pressed lips turn into a smirk, and she doesn’t even grant Alaska a glance when she says,

“Surprised you didn’t do that back at the house - the lawmen might have heard you in time to help.”

Alaska looks at Sharon incredulously. “Town is three miles from – oh, fuck you!” she grits out, the realization dawning with Sharon’s laughter.

“Don’t you mean thank you?” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska desperately wants to hit her, rage nearly overwhelming her.

“Why - how would I ever thank you?” she snarls. The apathy in Sharon’s expression only makes her blood boil more. She tears her eyes away from the other woman, instead staring stubbornly out at the Rockies. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she curses them. She needs to be strong for this. “You - you kidnapped me, you burned my home, you killed-”

“Your home?” Sharon says sharply.

“Does it matter?” Alaska spits.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly. “That wasn’t your fucking home. Don’t accuse me of that. That was the last place you wanted to be - I could see it in your eyes. You were at the stable for a reason.”

Alaska flushes at the reminder of their first meeting, suddenly aware of the way their bodies are pressed together - the way Sharon’s waist feels firm under her arms. She almost pulls away, but her sense of balance forces her to remain attached.

As if reading her mind, Sharon places a hand on Alaska’s wrist, which rests against her ribcage. “Got a good grip?” she says lowly, and Alaska jerks her wrist away, cheeks burning. Sharon laughs, letting go easily, and Alaska replaces her arm with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“I loved it there,” Alaska says petulantly. Sharon ignores her point, hand returning to the reins.

“I saw something else in your eyes as well,” Sharon continues softly, and her tone sparks an uncomfortable squirming in Alaska’s belly, the places she’s touching Sharon too warm. “You want something more.”

“Don’t presume to know what I want,” Alaska says, voice shakier than she would like it to be. She feels seen - exposed.

“You want more than a man, but a man is all a woman’s good for in society,” Sharon says, and a new bitterness colors her normally gleeful laugh. Alaska frowns at it.

“A man is what I need,” Alaska tells her, trying to work her anger back up and failing. She’s falling into Sharon’s intrigue again, fascinated by the mystery of her.

“Not out here,” Sharon says, and her voice is softer than Alaska’s ever heard it. It startles her; frightens her, even.

“I’m not like you,” she says quickly. She resents how close they are.

“Oh,” Sharon says idly. Alaska can just see the edge of her brow quirked up from the angle she’s at. “You’re wrong. I’d say stop lying to me, but I think you’d have to stop lying to yourself first.”

Alaska lapses into silence, unsure of how to respond. She feels raw and vulnerable in a way she didn’t expect to feel in the presence of a bandit.

Sharon doesn’t scare her the way Alaska thinks she should, and she hates her for it.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

🌼

Alaska uses the silence to plan her escape, and by the time they start slowing down, sliding off of Sharon’s horse - “Cerrone”, she’d heard Sharon call him - and running immediately upon arrival is out of the question.

They’re over four hours away from Coady, at least half an hour more from the house, and she has no idea where she is. They hadn’t passed any signs, or at least Alaska hadn’t seen them in the dark, and they’ve been weaving through thick pine trees for longer than Alaska could keep track.

She suspects Sharon had avoided roads, or at least stuck to those less traveled, and the fact that she has no real way of knowing is terrifying.

She’d end up lost in the woods if she took off on foot, and probably dead because of it.

The only other option would be escaping on horseback, and that takes a little more forethought than leaping off of Cerrone and running as fast as she can. She needs the time to figure it out, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Stories of the tortures people go through when kidnapped by bandits crowd her thoughts, the tales concerning women even worse, and she’s just beginning to work herself up back into a panic when Sharon speaks suddenly, snapping Alaska out of her spiral.

“Welcome,” she says, voice warmer than Alaska expects it to be, “to Silverbar Overlook.”

They round a curve in the dirt path to reveal a small camp of about six tents and wagons, a decent fire lit up in the center of it. Women fill the space with talk and hoots of loud laughter, and Alaska can’t help but stare at them as Sharon pulls Cerrone to a stop by some crooked posts. Where are the men?

Sharon swings down with ease, taking Cerrone’s reins and tying him to one of the posts. She smirks at Alaska as she does so, making no attempt to prevent her from running right then and there. Alaska hates that she doesn’t need to.

“Like it?” Sharon says, dusting off her hands. Alaska sneers at her, fear and fury a fire in her stomach.

“No,” she says shortly.

Sharon seems unaffected. “Time makes the heart grow fonder,” she says, holding out a hand for Alaska to take, “and you’ll certainly be spending a lot of it right here.”

Alaska resists the urge to slap the hand away, remembering just in time that Sharon has a gun and the quickest draw she’s ever seen. Instead, she ignores it in favor of sliding down herself, relieved when she lands solidly on both feet.

Sharon grabs her arm none too gently as soon as she’s on the ground, even her arrogance not so hubristic to leave Alaska with both arms free. Even so, she gives Alaska an appreciative glance.

Alaska flushes under her gaze, keeping her eyes stubbornly ahead.

“Went to the stables often?” Sharon questions, and Alaska presses her lips together at the insinuation.

“Fuck off,” she says sharply, and Sharon laughs.

“Jinkx Monsoon!” she calls, not bothering to respond to Alaska. An old affection colors her tone, and a red-headed woman by the fire stands up, grinning.

“Fresh meat?” she asks, approaching them. She’s pale, with sad eyes and a crooked smile. Her hair is down, tangled like Alaska’s gets if she leaves it down for more than two seconds, and she sports loose pants that bunch up where they meet her boots.

“Not quite,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska a little to emphasize her point. “More of a hostage.”

Jinkx frowns, clearly taken aback. “Hostage?” she asks, examining Alaska closely, squinting in the dim light cast over them from the fire. Alaska glares back, meeting her gaze as defiantly as she can muster. Jinkx raises an eyebrow in response. “She’s in with Solomon? She’s in a brand new dress.”

“I am not with him,” Alaska snaps, disturbed at the very idea. “I hate him.”

“Enough to give us the information you have?” Sharon leads, and Alaska presses her lips together.

As much as she hates Solomon, she hates Sharon that much more.

Both of Jinkx’s eyebrows are up, now. “Want me to tie her to the post?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach drops somewhere around her ankles. Jinkx jerks her head back to a post at the edge of the clearing, where a pile of ropes and a poker in a bucket of water sit. Alaska freezes up at the sight.

“No,” Sharon says, but her eyes don’t leave the post for another moment longer.

“So she is a new recruit,” Jinkx says, and the suggestion sparks the fear in Alaska’s chest into anger.

“I’d rather be tied to the post than a new recruit,” she spits out, and Sharon’s grip tightens around her bicep. She stills, heart pounding.

“No,” Sharon clarifies, ignoring Alaska. Her silent warning is frightening enough, and Alaska has no desire to see how it might escalate. “I don’t tie civilians to the post.”

“She needs to sleep somewhere,” Jinkx says. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want her unguarded.”

There’s a brief pause. “She’ll have to sleep in a tent,” Sharon says, and Alaska just barely keeps a protest from escaping her lips. Jinkx voices one, anyway.

“In a tent?” Jinkx asks incredulously. “Where people sleep? Where they’re most vulnerable?”

Sharon snaps her fingers, seemingly ignoring Jinkx. “Detox and Roxxxy,” she says.

Jinkx gives her a skeptical look.

“Alaska isn’t a threat,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the sound of her name. She hates the false intimacy that the use creates, and she never wants to hear it said again. Her skin crawls at the idea of Sharon knowing enough about her to use her Christian name. “Detox could break her in half if she wanted to.”

Alaska very much does not want to sleep in Detox and Roxxxy’s tent.

“Why not the post?” Jinkx asks again. She looks worried, and it’s clearly getting on Sharon’s nerves.

“Because I created this camp, and I said so,” she says, an edge creeping in on her tone.

Jinkx is unmoved.

“Jinkxie,” Sharon says, and Alaska glances at her for an expression, unable to read her tone. She seems urgent, pleading, maybe, but it’s hard to decipher.

No matter the expression, however, a silent exchange clearly occurs between the two, and Jinkx’s expression softens. She looks at Alaska, who sneers.

“I’ll take her to their tent,” Jinkx says after a moment. She looks back at Sharon. “Willam wants to see you. Something about a letter?”

“Shit,” Sharon swears, and she lets go of Alaska’s arm. Alaska nearly takes off immediately, but she stops herself, eyes catching on the gun slung at Jinkx’s hip and thoughts returning to Sharon’s own. She’d have to be patient, even though she’s never been good at it.

“I completely forgot about that,” Sharon continues, although it sounds like it’s more to herself than the other two. She looks somewhere to their right, and Alaska follows her gaze, spotting a young blonde woman in a low cut dress giving Sharon the finger, leaning against the post of one of the tents. Sharon looks back at Alaska, lips pressed together, and Alaska quirks an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise. She pointedly glances at Alaska’s arm, where she had been holding her.

“I do,” she says, and Alaska flushes. She grits her teeth, frustrated with the way Sharon can render her speechless. Sharon’s smug smirk isn’t helping matters.

“Alright, take her to Detox and Roxxxy. Make sure they know what’s going on,” a thoughtful look at Alaska, “and make sure they know they need to be on watch.”

Alaska tries and fails not to be flattered that she warrants a watch, even though it makes her plans for escape that much more difficult.

“Got it,” Jinkx says, and with a nod - Sharon leaves, heading towards who must be Willam with a sheepish grin on her face. The expression would be endearing, if she hadn’t just kidnapped Alaska after destroying her uncle’s life.

“So,” Jinkx says, smiling startlingly sweetly at Alaska. Alaska doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden change of pace. “What do you think of the camp?”

Alaska gives her a deadpan stare. “It’s dirty,” she drawls, feeling more confident with Sharon’s absence. She feels above this woman, with her short stature and sweet smile, and it’s easy to let that leak into her tone. “Small.”

Jinkx’s smile shrinks, fading into something that screams ‘unimpressed’. “You’d think a wealthy woman would have better manners,” she says, and Alaska blushes a little.

“Ladies don’t initiate,” she says, willing the blush to go down. “They reciprocate.”

Jinkx is quiet for a moment, expression sympathetic. “Jesus. I’m glad I’m away from that.”

Alaska falls silent, something like shame turning over in her gut. She’s thought the same thing before, but only in her fantasies, and not for a long time. The reminder of her own lack of freedom, compared to these women’s abundance of it, is startling - it’s something that she hasn’t thought about in years. The disparity is embarrassing, and for a moment, Alaska wonders what right she has to feel superior to these women. What is money when compared to freedom?

She tries to scrape the idea away from her mind, reminding herself that the law is powerful, that it isn’t freedom when you’re being chased, but the thought sticks like glue.

“Come on,” Jinkx says after a few moments, frowning at Alaska. “It’s just over here.”

Alaska follows her quietly, still a little shaken, and Jinkx looks back at her with a strange expression on her face. “Alright,” she says. “Maybe Sharon has a reason for treating you special.”

“You mean she doesn’t do this often?” Alaska asks. Jinkx laughs, a soft sound that fits strangely on someone deemed a criminal. They come to a stop in front of a tent, but Alaska hardly notices, she’s so wrapped up in the conversation.

“Let’s just say, she must like you. Sharon’s had no trouble tying people to that post, even in the middle of winter.”

“No,” Alaska says, rejecting the idea with a vehemence that surprises even her. “She’s trying to entice the information out of me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“The day Sharon Needles chooses enticement over violence is the day pigs fly,” a new voice says, and Alaska immediately tenses up, phantom aches blossoming along her arms where they’d been held back.

Detox emerges from her tent, an amused quirk to her mouth, and the blonde woman who’d slid in through the window during the ambush comes out after her. This must be Roxxxy, but Alaska is far more concerned with Detox.

“Guess you’d better get your binoculars ready,” Jinkx says dryly. “Because they’ll be taking to the skies any second now.”

Detox looks at her, confused. “What?”

Jinkx lets out an exasperated breath, placing a hand on Alaska’s back in a reassuring manner. It doesn’t work, and Alaska shrugs it off as quickly as she can. “She’s sleeping in your tent tonight. Please don’t ask me why.”

Detox looks even more bewildered, but she doesn’t protest, which Alaska supposes is a good thing. Or maybe not - maybe she could have ended up in someone else’s tent if Detox had thrown a fit, someone with warmer eyes. That, or someone much worse.

Most things, Alaska is realizing, are going to be a game of roulette. She’s just going to have to roll with the punches, because gambling has never been her strong suit, and now is certainly not the time to be practicing.

“Alright,” Detox says slowly, and Jinkx relaxes into a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes darting to Roxxxy, “for not being difficult.”

The expression on Roxxxy’s face suggests she spoke too soon.

“Why not the post?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can hear the suppressed frustration and exhaustion in her voice. “Sharon doesn’t like to share, and despite popular belief, I can’t actually read her mind.”

“Try,” Roxxxy shoots back. “You know her better than anyone else here.” She makes no attempt to hide the bitterness underlying the words. Detox shoots her a look, but Roxxxy appears not to notice.

Alaska finds herself wanting Jinkx to come back just as quickly, to put up a fight, but the slump of Jinkx’s shoulders tells her that she’d rather avoid it. “Maybe she wants to try enticement and see if it works better.”

“Sharon’s never needed to cajole anything out of anyone.”

“Jesus,” Alaska blurts out, frustrated and defensive. “Maybe she just isn’t up for beating the shit out of anyone today. It must be exhausting work.”

All three women stare at her, and she shrinks down, suddenly afraid. Years in society have taught her to only speak when spoken to, and while she’s always chafed under that rule, the potential consequence for breaking it has never been quite so high. She shouldn’t be snapping at bandits like this - especially in the company of three, all with loaded pistols.

Detox’s delayed scream of a laugh makes her jump three feet into the air.

“Jesus Christ!” she says, and the other two women crack smiles as well. “She’s got nerve for a hostage!”

“A hostage sleeping like she’s one of us,” Roxxxy corrects, a tinge of the argument still there, despite the smile on her face.

“She’s sleeping here,” Jinkx says. She’s looking at Alaska thoughtfully, something twinkling in her eyes, and Alaska relaxes despite it. She’s still in the clear, somehow. “But just so you know, Ms. Needles usually waits a few days before really going in on ‘em.”

“She’s patient,” Detox agrees. It’s lighthearted, but Alaska still spares a glance at the post, eyes lingering on the poker stick. Clearly, Sharon’s patience runs out. She doesn’t know if the fact that she’s patient at all is really that comforting.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Jinkx says. “Sharon wants you two to take turns watching her.” Detox nods. Jinkx turns to leave, giving Alaska a reassuring smile. “Have fun,” she says, ominous, and she starts off towards Sharon and Willam, who can be seen just inside of the tent Willam had been waiting in.

Alaska is sorry to watch her leave, not quite understanding the comfort she’d provided until she was gone.

“I think you should lie between us,” Detox says, glancing at Roxxxy, who only looks slightly less sullen from her argument with Jinkx. “Makes watching you easier.”

Alaska nods, heart sinking at the idea. She feels like all of her confidence left with Jinkx, and her plan to escape feels impossible to execute. With each of them taking watch, and having to sneak out from between them, it seems improbable that she can leave the tent without detection. And if she was caught - she knows how strong Detox is, and Roxxxy certainly hasn’t proved herself to be friendly.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Roxxxy says, ducking into the tent. Detox motions for Alaska to follow, and she does, after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not tired yet.”

As Alaska lays down, she steels herself. She has to make an attempt, all of the risks be damned. She owes it to her uncle.

She owes it to herself.

🌸

Roxxxy falls asleep two hours after they all lie down, and it’s like the universe is telling Alaska to get the hell out of there.

It’s been a struggle not to do the same herself - it has to be around three in the morning by now, give or take a few, and she is exhausted.

She takes a moment to just stare at the roof of the tent, feeling all of the aches and pains of the night throb. Her first meeting with Sharon feels like it was weeks ago, not hours, and Cassidy’s visit to her uncle even further away. She almost doesn’t want to get up, heart and head heavy with exhaustion.

But she has to.

She understands fully well that this is, truly, her only shot at getting out of this unscathed. By some miracle, Sharon had been foolish enough to leave her loose, taking her lack of physical strength as a sign of weakness, as a sign that she wouldn’t run. But Alaska has always been wily, and she can snake her way out of most things.

Most things were usually balls and formal dinners with suitors, but she’s pretty sure she can get out of being the hostage of bandits just as easily.

Again: she has to.

Detox is snoring, so Alaska’s watching Roxxxy’s face for any signs of wakefulness as she slowly gets into a crouch, listening for a change in Detox’s breathing. She’s careful not to knock aside Detox’s pistol, which lies in her loosened grip.

She has no doubts that Detox would be glad to shoot her the moment an excuse was given, and the thought only pumps more adrenaline into her veins. She’s shaky with nerves, and she takes a moment to breathe in and out, eyes on the tent flap not three feet away. She can do this.

Alaska steps daintily over Roxxxy, holding her breath. She freezes once she’s over her, cringing at the light sound her boot makes when it lands.

She waits.

She lets out a long breath after ten seconds pass with no movement, and she takes the last step forward, carefully curling her fingers around the canvas of the tent flap. She lifts it painfully slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and the moment there’s enough room, she shoots out of the tent, exhaling harshly as soon as she’s out.

For a moment, she feels a sort of giddy relief. She made it. She snuck past the guards. For a moment, she fancies herself able to escape from federal prison, but one thought of being in a chain gang brings her back down to Earth.

It’s not like she’ll ever be in a position to escape from federal prison, anyway.

She looks around, looking for the horses and at every single tent, watching for activity. The fire is now just a few glowing embers, so she relies on the Moon to tell her. She doesn’t see anyone, and she allows herself a moment to admonish herself for jumping out of the tent without looking, before she starts towards the horses, which are hitched near the mouth of the path into the camp.

Maybe she’ll even ride away on Cerrone, and take something from Sharon in her escape. Convinced of this plan, her heart starts beating with anticipation, and she’s about halfway to the first of the horses when a voice makes her heart stop in her chest, and the rest of her freezes along with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Alaska says, and without thinking, she starts to run towards the horses, all thoughts of Cerrone flying off the table and the first horse she can grab her only destination.

She barely makes it two steps before Sharon jerks her back by the bustle of her dress, and Alaska realizes just how strong the other woman is. It would be frightening, except she’s more used to Sharon than she has any right to be in this amount of time, and she has just heard a ripping sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alaska hisses, jerking away from Sharon and turning to face her. She backs up a few steps, drinking in Sharon’s surprise. “This dress is pink satin. Do you understand what that means?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I had to stop you somehow,” she says. “The information you have is a little more valuable to me than pink satin.”

“Well, now that you’ve ripped it, sure,” Alaska sniffs, fingering the fabric. “It was my favorite, too.”

“It’s a dress,” Sharon says, exasperated, and something in Alaska snaps.

“It’s the only thing I have left!” she cries out, clenching her hands in her skirt, arms stiff at her sides. She feels a strange sense of loss over the dress, even though the skirt is still functional and, in all likelihood - easily mendable. It feels like Sharon’s just ruined the last thing tying her to her home, her life, and it’s maddening.

“Fine,” Sharon says, voice now quiet. “Fine. But the information is still more important.”

“Two more of these dresses and I guarantee they’d be worth more than Solomon’s entire operation,” Alaska shoots back. “You could have had more if you hadn’t burned the rest.”

“It’s more personal than money,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns.

“What’s the point of ‘personal’ if there’s no money in it?”

Sharon laughs again. “You are so goddamn suited for this!” she says, and Alaska feels her chest warm at the praise before she shuts it down, confused at the feeling.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “I’m meant for a life worth living.”

“What?” Sharon says dryly. “Like marrying a man you feel nothing for and spending the rest of your life kept somewhere you don’t want to be? You want to die having accomplished nothing other than a couple of kids?”

It’s like she’s been stripped naked, all of her thoughts and feelings seen by someone she doesn’t trust, and it makes anger well up inside her like a balloon. “Don’t act like you know what my life is like,” Alaska snarls. “Don’t act like–”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska deflates.

“Of course I don’t want that,” she admits, and it’s simultaneously a relief and an effort. Baring herself to a criminal is hard, but letting her feelings out into the open is so incredibly freeing. It’s addictive, and she finds herself sharing more, nearly tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I’ve never wanted that. But it’s necessary. My father - he needs me. His newspaper is struggling. We need money.”

“And marriage is the only way to get it,” Sharon finishes, and Alaska stares at her, fighting back the lump of tears that has lodged itself in her throat.

“He needs me to do this,” Alaska says, Sharon’s sympathy giving her hope of release, but Sharon’s expression hardens.

“He can get himself out of his own mess.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Being a daughter has nothing to do with it,” Sharon sneers, and Alaska stiffens defensively.

“Being a daughter has plenty to do with it,” she snaps. “I have duties I need to uphold. I don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t you see?” Sharon says, eyes earnest. It’s attractive, and despite herself, Alaska finds herself listening rapturously to the passion in her voice. “You don’t need to do anything. This is a choice.” She spreads her arms at the camp, at herself. “Be here, with us. We don’t - society hates us. Society favors white men, and the rest of us are just there to make life better for them. We can be who we want out here. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t want to. You don’t have to be with a man at all.”

Alaska hesitates, allowing herself a second to imagine a world without responsibilities, without rules or eyes that watch her every move. It’s a dream.

It doesn’t exist.

Sharon is lying. To make it seem like an easy option isn’t fair - to be ‘free’ comes with a cost, and Alaska isn’t willing to pay it. Not when it involves taking money, taking lives.

“Fuck you,” Alaska says venomously, and she spits on the ground. “You’re full of shit, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Clearly, this is the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says coldly, expression suddenly closed off. The reaction knocks Alaska off balance - she had expected another smart comment, somewhere on the edge of playfulness, but Sharon had clearly taken Alaska’s words to heart. Alaska knows she should be glad that her words have finally had an effect, but all she can feel is guilt. It’s not something she wants to be feeling, but her emotions have never bothered to listen to her.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says again, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s still shorter than Alaska by a good few inches, but she still manages to look intimidating, with her long black coat and mean expression. “But I think you should take a turn first.”

“What?” Alaska asks, and then suddenly Sharon has both of her arms twisted behind her back in an iron grip, frog marching her clear to the other side of camp. Alaska stumbles with the forcefulness of it, startled into silence up until she catches sight of the post, a coil of rope waiting innocuously beside it.

“Fuck,” she says, trying and failing to struggle out of Sharon’s grip as they reach their destination. Sharon slams her against the pole, pulling her arms to the other side of it, but Alaska can’t help but notice that it’s not nearly as violent as she’s sure Sharon is capable of. “Sharon–”

“You want to be the unwilling hostage?” Sharon asks, tone heated. “Here you go. Now you can tell everyone how evil we were, and you won’t even have to lie about it.” She finishes tying Alaska’s hands with the rope, tightening it aggressively. She rounds the post to look Alaska in the face, lips pressed tightly together. Alaska glares back.

“Thanks,” she drawls, giving her wrists an experimental tug. “I won’t even have to fake the rope burns.”

Sharon’s expression falters, looking vaguely concerned, before the wall goes up again. Alaska wants to poke at it, intrigued, but Sharon suddenly leans forward, resting her hand against the post just above Alaska’s shoulder. It puts their faces far too close together, and Alaska’s heart starts beating a little faster.

Sharon doesn’t hesitate to look Alaska straight in the eyes, and Alaska glares back, refusing to back down.

“Give me the information, and I’ll let you go,” Sharon says, and Alaska keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, staring definitely into Sharon’s eyes. She does not think about how blue they look in the moonlight.

Sharon presses her lips together in annoyance. “Have a nice night,” she says coolly, turning to walk away and disappearing into the tent nearest the post.

Alaska sinks down into a sitting position, all of the tension in her body leaving along with Sharon. She gives the ropes one more tug before sighing, defeated. At least it’s a pleasant night, she thinks, staring up at the stars.

She feels her face crumple, exhaustion and fear catching up to her all at once, and she lets out a sob before stopping herself from crying any more, concerned that Sharon might hear her. She has to toughen up if she wants to get through this. Crying isn’t going to help her.

She needs a plan. She can’t outsmart Sharon, and that means she can’t escape. She’s going to have to give them the information she has at some point, before things escalate more than they have. Sharon has proven herself to be somewhat volatile, and capable of treating Alaska as less than a civilian, despite her previous reluctance. Alaska doesn’t want to push her into treating her as an enemy.

The thing is, if she gives away her information, she gives away her only protection. She doesn’t trust the welcoming hand Sharon had extended her before - she doesn’t even know if it’s still extended. The situation feels hopeless.

She’s going to have to think of something, though.

The thought is an exhausting one, and she decides that she’ll think of it in the morning, after a few hours of rest. She doubts anything she comes up with in this state will be viable, anyway.

She wills herself into an uneasy, much needed sleep, the pole hard against her back, and the mud soaking into her skirts. She tries not to mind - the dress is already ruined. It’s better than sleeping next to Detox and Roxxxy, at any rate.

She never thought she’d long for her uncle’s mansion, but there’s a first time for everything.

#rpdr fanfiction #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #jinkx monsoon #detox icunt #roxxxy andrews #shalaska #western au #lesbian au #cowboy au #wild flower #freyja #tw violence #tw kidnapping #tw guns

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

Measure of Love

A mysterious card spans the years, until it is opened, and the words inside are tattooed upon a heart.

This is a story born from a photo of a greeting card that seemed very Mulder and Scully... ish.

The plain white envelope sat on the desk, a name not written upon it. Scully’s eyes were drawn to it, wondering why it was there and who it was for. It was standard greeting card size, but it was not her birthday, nor was it Mulder’s either. Of course that did not matter, as he very rarely remembered it was hers and hated to celebrate his own, and so it intrigued her.

She picked it up, and finding it sealed, she knew she could not open it without arousing suspicion, especially if it was not for her. He would tease her mercilessly, feigning shock that she would open something meant for him. Setting it back down, she stepped away from his desk and left the room to meet him for lunch, her mind continuing to wonder.

__________

Lying naked in his bed, his arm wrapped around her waist and his head at her breast as he breathed deeply, she sighed and closed her eyes. These moments with him, as few as they have had, were the ones when she felt whole and complete. Since the first time, it had felt right, exactly as it should have been.

He shifted and sighed in his sleep, pulling her closer, murmuring her name. She smiled, feeling utterly and wholefully loved by him. Not simply as she had been by his kiss, his touch, and the joining of their bodies, but because she always had. Even from the beginning, when it was small and quiet, it was there. Coming together, in more ways than one, had been a natural progression. Slow as it may have been, it was their journey, and she would not have altered a step.

“Sleep, Scully,” he whispered and she smiled again. “Stop thinking so loudly.”

“Not thinking exactly, just…”

“Hmmm,” he answered, turning and pulling her in, limbs tangled and breaths intermingling. She fell silent, breathing in his scent, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the way it felt against her cheek. His leg brushed hers and he hummed. “You’re so goddamn soft, Scully. How is it possible for skin to feel like silk?”

She hummed and chuckled, suddenly exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep in his arms, to stay in the warm bed forever. “Sleep, Mulder,” she breathed and he laughed quietly. He ran his fingers up and down her back so softly, she could not know for certain if he was truly touching her.

His breathing slowed and his fingers ceased to move. Snuggling in closer, she matched her breaths to his, drowning in the sensory overload of Mulder all around her.

_____________

The white envelope was on his dining room table, almost as though it was thrown down as an afterthought and with no concern. Standing there without him, the shower running in the bathroom, she was tempted to take it and then open it when she was home alone. She could find another envelope to replace it. Hell, she probably had one amid the drawers of Christmas cards she bought, fully intending to send, but never did.

As she reached to take it, he called her name and she was powerless to ignore it, her hands already reaching to lift her shirt, well his shirt really, over her head to join him in the shower. She dropped it on the floor, her panties following, as she went to surrender herself to his touch once more.

__________

Sobbing, her heart feeling as though it truly might break or had already broken, she could no longer differentiate between the feeling, she lay once more in his bed.

Alone.

It had been days of fruitless searching and hot dry winds. She had been thrown around, left with cuts and bruises, and breaking down in front of her new and unwanted “partner.”

She hated leaving and coming home without him, sure they were close but knowing she had to think of herself and the baby.

The apartment was smelling stale, the air thick and warm, but she did not want to open the windows. Logic no longer prevailed as she thought that the air she was currently gulping in, was the air Mulder had breathed. The last air they had breathed together.

Wrapping herself in the blankets, laying on his pillow, she placed her hand on her still flat stomach, crying softly.

“Mulder… oh Mulder…” she whispered, closing her eyes, feeling cold without his arms around her. “Please, Mulder… please.”

She cried herself to sleep and the next morning she opened the windows, eyes closed, tears on her face, imagining her cries and pleas being pulled from the apartment and reaching his ears.

Wherever he may be.

___________

She stood in his apartment, belly heavy with their child, and shook her head. Months had gone by. Mulder… gone and never coming back, and yet… she could not let go of his apartment. Not when this was his place, where they shared so much, and then… She rubbed her stomach, feeling the baby moving around, and she sighed.

The guys had been over earlier and helped her clean, not wanting it to remain a mess, regardless if Mulder would be back. Byers continually stopped her from doing too much and even though she protested, she appreciated his concern. Langly was efficient and awkward while Frohike’s sad eyes followed her everywhere.

Walking around the rooms, she could hear his laugh as she made a joke, see his anger over her not listening to his theories, and as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, she saw them learning to love each other. Physical love now expressed where it had previously been only through looks and brief touches.

“Not enough,” she whispered, tears falling down her face. “We didn’t have enough time. So much of it was wasted denying what we both wanted. God, Mulder…” Wiping her eyes, she shook her head and turned around.

She stepped over by the desk and fed the fish. As she made to leave, an envelope caught her eye and she gasped. It had been months since she had thought of it, the small square object not high on her list of priorities.

Picking it up, she knew she could not open it, not now. What if it was not for her? What if it was for Mulder from some woman she did not know and…? But, what if it was for her and seeing what was inside broke her heart anew?

She set the envelope down, her heart and body heavy, the ache for him so intense she knew it would never abate. Looking around again, she sighed. It was now too clean, and it made her uneasy, needing to get away from the unfamiliar apartment.

As she closed the door, she looked at the room one more time, the dust floating and settling in the late afternoon light. She saw him there, his hands wide as he excitedly explained a theory, a smile on his face.

“Goodbye, Mulder. I’ll be back soon. I… I love you.” Closing the door, she locked it, touching her lips and then the 42. A hand on her belly, she slowly walked down the hall, the echo of his footsteps ringing in her ears.

_______________

“I don’t remember everything that happened to me,” he whispered as he held her, the apartment once again cluttered and smelling of him, his presence larger than life.

Life. Alive.

Her hand moved to his chest, needing to feel his heart beating, despite the fact that she was held within his arms. Her protruding stomach did not allow them to be as close as before, but she did not care.

Thump thump thump.

The steady beat brought tears to her eyes, sure she would never feel it again. Moving her hand up, she grasped the back of his neck, burrowing her nose under his jaw. His face was scratchy, him too tired to shave, and her not caring if he did. She welcomed the feel of it, further tactile proof that he was there, scratchy face and all.

“I know you want to know, Mulder. But I… I don’t care what happened, I just care that you’re here. You’re alive. Mulder… watching you being put into the ground… I… there are not words to express it.” She pulled him as close as she could and he did the same, breathing her name.

“I love you,” she whispered, not caring if he said it back, not needing to hear it, but needing it to be heard.

“Oh Scully, I love you so much,” he whispered and she cried as she felt him doing the same. “I’ve been such an asshole to you, when I shouldn’t have been, and I’m sorry, I just…” She sniffed and nodded, then pulled back to look at him.

“Yes, you were,” she said, and he nodded. “But Jesus Christ, Mulder, look at what you had been through-”

“And you, Scully. Jesus…” He shook his head and she stopped him, holding his head still, her thumb grazing his rough cheek.

“You’re here, Mulder. We’re here. That’s all I need.” He stared at her and nodded. Moving her thumb to his lips, she ran it across them slowly, stopping in the middle. He kissed it, and then her lips, pulling her closer and whispering his love once again.

____________

William was asleep, the apartment quiet. Scully walked into the living room and found Mulder sitting at her desk, shutting the drawer with a sigh.

“Did you need something?” she asked and he shook his head, standing up and turning around. Smiling, he stepped close to her and looked into her eyes.

“No, my needs are met,” he said quietly, reaching for her hands.

“Mulder…” she began, so many things she wanted to say, but he shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

“It’s all we have,” she whispered, very aware of the suitcases sitting in the room, the ones he would take and the ones he would be leaving behind.

“I know,” he whispered with a nod, and those two words held meaning beyond that moment. He squeezed her hands and pulled her close, his arms around her. “I know, Scully.”

Closing her eyes, she relaxed into his embrace.

________

She knew that somewhere in her desk drawer she had stamps, but she could not find them under all the papers inside. The drawers were normally organized and clean, but with Mulder adding some of his own papers and her being tired with William, some things had taken a backseat.

Sighing, she looked once more in the top drawer, taking out the papers within and searching between them for the rogue stamps. Making a pile, she came upon an envelope; a square greeting card sized envelope that had been taped shut. Turning it over, she saw her name written on it in Mulder’s scrawl.

Her heart raced as she realized that this was the card. The card with the previously unnamed envelope that had piqued her curiosity long ago. Staring at his familiar handwriting, tears filled her eyes. She missed him so much. Sliding her finger carefully under the tape, she lifted the flap and took out the card inside.

It was a card of dark inky blue, golden stars all over it, a giant round yellow moon in the middle, a rocket ship orbiting beside it along with a small yellow heart. Laughing as she cried, she read the words written upon it.

“Love you…” It said at the top. “To the moon…” Inside the moon. “And back…” At the bottom.

“Oh, Mulder.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes.

Opening the card, she saw his handwriting covering every inch of the once blank card. The left side was dated as the day before he left and the right was over a year before it. Starting with the right hand side, her vision slightly blurry, she began to read.

Scully

I want to both give this to you privately and while I stand in front of you. I want to see your eyes roll as you read the front, knowing it seems silly and over the top, or over the moon as it were. But I am also aware that beneath the silly words and way I may behave and joke as you read this, there is an underlying truth to what this card says. I do love you, Scully. I have loved you in some capacity since the moment you listened to me and did not run for the hills, never to be seen again. You gave me credibility when others saw nothing but an alien obsessed man, his theories and approach out there among the stars. How could I be considered too crazy if you stuck by my side, my one constant in this world. If I ever do give this to you, I hope I have the nerve to do it standing face-to-face.

Mulder

Setting the card down, she sobbed into her hands, his love washing over her. It was so new then, she could understand his hesitation. But it was also not new, just as he described. He had loved her and she had loved him for so long, yet they denied themselves what they wanted most - to be together.

Wiping her eyes, she picked up the card and took a deep breath, knowing these next words would be harder to read and might possibly leave her broken beyond repair.

Scully

I sit here at your desk, listening to you feeding William, your voice soothing his small cries, reading my own words from what feels like an eternity ago. Much has changed, but not my love for you. Never that. As I packed my things, preparing to start our life together, I found this card that I bought on a whim and decided to write out my thoughts and feelings thinking I was being brave, and yet I never gave it to you. I brought it to the office, brought it home, both places I knew you would be, and yet, my nerve failed me. You were in my bed, in my heart, and yet I could not hand you a card with my words of love written within. What a coward I was, Scully, to be afraid of telling you how I feel.

I love you, Scully. To the moon and back and back again. Forever and always.

Mulder

She held the open card to her chest, wishing the ink he used could be absorbed, his love written on her heart, his love pumping in her veins. Pulling it back, she read his words again, touching the words with her fingers, the proof of his love written for eternity.

A cry cut through the silence and she gave a shaky laugh as further proof of his love called for her attention. Wiping her eyes again, she put the card back in the envelope, touched her name written across it, and placed it at the top of the papers in the drawer. Mulder put it there before he left, and there it would stay until he came home and claimed what had been his since the first day she walked into his office.

Her heart.

#fanfic #msr #angst #love #pain #separation #letters of love #hopefulness

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lealina-scarsdale · 5 years

Text

The Unexpected Scout (The Hobbit OC Story)

Chapter 01 - A quest?

Yawning, a young woman sat upon a rock, enjoying the soft rays of sunlight tickling her pale skin. Then she started playing a little with the tips of her pure white hair that she had skillfully tied up into one single long braid, which rested onto her right shoulder. In doing so, her ruby eyes wandered over the wide open fields of wilderness that lied in front of her, admiring their beauty.

Well, it would be a wonderful sight, if it wouldn't be for the disgusting bodies of dead orcs and wargs, scattered all over the ground a few meters away from her stony seat. She sighed at that. It wasn't like she could blame anyone else besides herself for that. After all, it was all her work.

The slaughtered bodies with some of them missing a few of their body parts like heads, legs, arms, et cetera, et cetera, everything had been her own doing. But she didn't feel any sense of guilt. It had been them after all who had attacked her in the first place.

Seemingly they were some scouts in search for something or someone. The young woman let go of her braid and turned up her keen nose at the abominable smell of the corpses that excruciated her. These creatures already stank like hell when they were alive. Who could have guessed that they were able to cap that by being dead?

Well, it was already time for her to move on anyway. After stretching herself pleasurably, she hopped down from her rock and adjusted the belt of the sword on her back, making sure that it wouldn't become loose during the continuation of her journey.

As she was busy doing that, her also keen ears suddenly twitched. They looked far from humanly. More like the ones of a wild wolf and had the same light color as her hair. There was a noise of someone nearing themselves from behind her.

The woman wasn't sure if it was a friend or foe, so she kept silent and continued to check on her stuff, not wanting alarm anyone in case if she had to defend herself against them and potentially slaying them down as well just as she had done with the orcs and their wargs.

The sound of snapping branches under a pair of feet became clearer and louder with every second. She still remained calm, taking deep, inconspicuous breaths, anytime ready to unsheathe her sword. Her pure white tail, that also showed a wolfish trade and was attached to her butt, was on the verge of swaying nervously, nearly giving away her tautness.

But fortunately, the self-control over her own body didn't let her down and that made her smirk in satisfaction. All these years of mental and physical training truly paid off.

As the moves suddenly came to an end, the young woman was sure that the person was standing right behind her, only a few meters distant.

She sniffed and perked up her ears a little as she held her breath for a few seconds. It helped her to identify the figure behind her without looking at them directly. As far she could tell it was a man. An old one, but still going strong. And judging from the peaceful aura he was giving off to his surroundings he didn't come to harm her.

She also noticed that there must be magic flowing through his veins, but she couldn't tell how strong it was. Either he was trying to conceal it or he wasn't that powerful after all. It must be a wizard.

She had heard some stories about them. And in everyone, they were highly praised as wise, kindhearted, and protectors of the weak and old ones. However, as nice as that all sounded, it didn't mean that she should lower her guard until she knew this person's intentions of approaching her in the first place - wizard or not.

"May I help you? Or do you want to take root and stare holes into me, Master Wizard?", she asked, not able to suppress her curiosity any longer, and turned around.

In front of her was a man, dressed in a grey cowl and a broad-brimmed hat on top of his head, a trademark to notice that he must be a wizard indeed. He had a long beard, also colored grey, and a wooden staff in one of his hands that mostly looked like to be used more like a walking pole than for casting spells.

The old man gave her a soothing smile as she looked at him skeptically. "Great ears, remarkable olfaction, and a keen sense of auras . . . The tales of the rhenuw wur speak the truth indeed.", he said, his lips still curled upwards.

The young woman raised an eyebrow at his words. He knew what she was and even named it in Wuraurh, the secret language of her kind. There weren't many people out there in Middle Earth who were capable of that. "You know about us. And you actually managed to pronounce it in our language. I'm impressed!"

Her posture relaxed and she crossed her arms as her lips slowly formed into a grin. Now, this guy had really captured her attention. "I give you credit for that. Who are you? And what do want from me? I highly doubt that some wandering wizard would just stop to address a female in the wilderness, especially after talking to her in a few words of her native tongue."

"Oh, forgive me. Where are my manners?", the wizard said and bowed at her as he started to introduce himself. "I'm Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. I heard about a young woman with wolfish features and pure bright hair from some townfolks. And that she's traveling through Middle-Earth all by herself, despite the current growing numbers of orcs."

He looked at the lifeless bodies of the creatures on the ground he had just named and couldn't help but chuckle. "But I see that they are no match for her fighting skills. The perfect requirement for our quest!" "A quest?", she asked and cocked her head. The events were getting more and more mysterious with every spoken word.

Gandalf noticed her looking at him with prying eyes, which pleased him. "Let me enlighten you.", he said and sat down onto the rock she had sat just a few minutes ago. The wolfish woman took a few steps closer to him but only to a certain degree.

He may not seem to be a threat to her, but you could never be careful enough around strangers – especially since nearly everything in Middle Earth could be deadly. First, she wanted to know more about this quest he had talked about and why he thought that she would be needed for it. Then she will decide if she would trust him or not.

The grey wizard took out a wooden pipe from his cowl and lightened it by using his own finger like a match. After he took the first few pulls of it in silence, he then finally began to tell her about his intentions.

He had talked a disregarded dwarven king into a journey to reclaim their long-lost home. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, lying far behind over the Misty Mountains. Once known as the great kingdom of the dwarfish race, filled with gold and other precious jewels.

And that had exactly been the reason for its downfall. The piles of treasure had attracted a dragon, and everyone knew how much these giant saurians loved shiny objects. It had already been predestined to be taken over by one of them one day.

After that, the dwarves had been homeless but hadn't wanted to give up on hope. They had wanted to win back the lands of Moria from the orcs but had failed and it had cost them the loss of their former king, Thror, son of Dain, son of Nain.

As his son, Thrain, had taken upon the journey to get their ardently loved mountain back a 100years ago, he had gone missing, most people assuming that he must be dead as well.

And now his own son, Thorin Oakenshield, was assigned with this quest from Gandalf. Since he was the next in the royal line, it was his destiny to go onto that mission. His right to own the mountain and its treasures, sit onto that throne, and rule his kin as it should be.

And therefore he needed assistance. It was certain that no one could rival a monstrous fire-breathing lizard on their own. Furthermore, the trip was going to be a long and exhausting one – not to forget absolutely dangerous. One wrong decision could mean the end of life.

"And that is where you will play your part.", the wizard said, blowing the smoke of his pipe away as he nodded towards the female. "Every good group has a scout among them to explore the environment, find the safest path, and warning the others from approaching enemies. With your skills, it should be easy for you to perform this duty."

She took her chin between her thumb and the knuckle of her index and lowered her gaze a little as she thought about this story. It would be a lie to say that this proposal wasn't piquing her interest.

When the dwarf kingdom had fallen, the news had rapidly spread over whole Middle Earth. Even the most isolated towns had gotten to know about it. It also had been impossible for her tribe to not to hear about the disaster.

Marching through the lands with the goal of reclaiming a long lost kingdom . . . It was really tempting, despite the possible killing encounters that were lying up ahead.

Moreover, she felt really sorry for the dwarves. No one should be robbed of their rightful home. She could understand them completely. Her heart could feel their sorrow already.

And as foolish and suicidal it may sound, deep inside of her was a voice that told her to help them. Every fiber of her body was tingling with excitement and approval.

Besides, it wasn't like she had anything better to do. She was traveling the continent without a specific destination anyway. It would be a nice change to have a purpose and some company along the way.

Looking up again right at Gandalf, who had given her time for consideration, she nodded. "Very well. You have my aid. It will be my pleasure to be at help for you."

Happy about her decision, he smiled at her as he finished smoking his pipe and hid it in his clothes again – after the ashes had gone out and had removed from inside, of course.

Using his staff to get back onto his feet again, he dusted himself off as he spoke with delight: "I'm glad to hear that. And it will be a pleasure for me as well, Miss-" Just then, all of sudden, he became silent and looked at her embarrassed. He just realized that he had seriously forgotten to ask for her name.

Here he had been speaking about a big adventure, describing the whole situation as detailed as possible, and didn't even know to whom he was actually talking to. Fortunately, the female almost immediately figured out the reason behind his abrupt hush.

She let out a small laugh and introduced herself with a bow as well: "Gwen. Just call me Gwen. At your service, Master Gandalf." After that, she raised her torso again and smiled at him. "I'm looking forward to this quest. And I hope I'll be able to become a valuable part of the company."

"Believe me, my dear Gwen. You already are.", he said, smiling along with her.

//A FEW WEEKS LATER//

The soft, pleasant night breeze tickled Gwen's skin as she walked up the hills of Hobbiton. She admired the quaint, open landscape that appeared so peaceful and carefree.

There were lanterns burning in front of the small houses, illuminating the small road that led all up to the hills. In the distance, she could hear the hobbits laughing and chattering with each other. It must come from the little tavern from the other side the small lake. Apart from that, she heard the crickets chirring and saw fireflies dancing in front of her nose.

She had heard some stories about this small town of halflings but had never actually been there herself, and she had nearly been all over Middle Earth – at some places even twice or more often already. But she had to admit to her shame that she never had come here only once. She should keep in mind to visit this place anew as soon as the opportunity arose again.

Anyway, as pretty as this town was, right now she should concentrate on finding the agreed meeting point Gandalf had spoken of when he had recruited her. He had said that he would mark the door of the chosen house of the hobbit he also wanted to attend the adventure. And here she was, wandering up the hills, and looking at every single door for a little magical sign.

As she noticed that she slowly started to reach the top, and with that the end of the road, she already thought that she had missed it, but these thoughts were proofed wrong when her wolf ears picked up some loud noises of singing, hurtling dishes, and laughing. It really sounded just like a group of dwarves as they were messing up a poor hobbit's house.

Smiling and shaking her head, Gwen followed the sounds until she arrived at the last house on the hill. At the front door, she spotted a small, blue glowing rune. Now she was absolutely sure that she had found the right place.

She noticed that the commotion from inside had died down and was replaced by muttering and serious talk, all of them male voices only – not that she would have expected another female among them in addition to her.

Knocking at the door, everything inside became silent, probably wondering who might be outside. Then she heard the familiar voice of the wizard. He was chuckling and telling the others that the last member had finally been able to reach the town as well.

Someone was cursing under their breath because of that. Gwen guessed it was most likely the hobbit. Then there were footsteps and soon after the round door opened for her.

A pair of eyes looked at her dumbfounded from below. Judging from the small figure and big, hairy feet it must be the owner of the house – the hobbit in person.

To ease up the tension the atmosphere bore, she showed him a gentle smile. "I'm really sorry for the bother and my late arrival. I'm Gwen. At your service." She bowed at the still confused hobbit in front of her, who wasn't able to say one single word.

He just stared at her. Looked like he really hadn't expected a woman to show up in front of his doorstep. But before the situation could get any more awkward for him, the calm voice of the wizard sounded from behind him. "Gwen, my dear. It is good to see you again. I hope your trip here flew smoothly."

Happy to see him as well, she laughed softly: "It's good to see you too, Gandalf. I hope you guys didn't have to wait too long for me." He shook his head and urged her inside, ignoring the still bewildered host. "Not at all, my friend. The leader himself just appeared a few minutes ago. Now come on, let's go meet the others."

A little excited about that, she took off her coat and left it together with her weapons on one of the cabinets in the hallway right beside the door. She followed Gandalf through the house to the dining room, the hobbit following close behind them, who was still overstrained with the current events that were happening around him.

As they reached their destination, Gwen saw a big table in the middle of the room with 13 dwarves sitting around it. They were squeezed together because of the lack of space this room offered. They all looked as surprised as the Hobbit before when they saw her enter with their wizard. Dead silence. No one dared to say a word. They all just stared doubtfully.

Grunting at their rude behavior, Gandalf took the liberty and introduced her to them as their future scout. Looks were exchanged between the dwarves, then they shared their thoughts about it with each other – all at the same time of course.

It was hard to make out what they all were talking about due to the jumble of their voices. Even Gwen was able to catch up only a few phrases.

"A lass among us? This journey gets better and better.", a young dwarf with blond hair and braided mustache uttered and nudged another dwarf with dark hair beside him, who nodded in agreement. He also seemed young and had only stubbles on his face, which was really unlike for his kin. Both stared at her, their eyes sparkling with curiosity and interest.

A bald, rough looking dwarf just snorted: "That's not going to work. She will be dead before we even reach Bree." He eyed her with a raised eyebrow, clearly not thinking much of her.

"She is pretty . . .", another dwarf on the right side at the end of the table whispered sheepishly, appearing to be even younger as well like the other two from the beginning. He looked at her with big eyes, fascinated by her form, especially her eyes, ears, tail, and hair seemed to be the things which he took the greatest interest in.

The grey-haired dwarf right beside him looked a little taken aback, while another one with brown and complex braided hair just laughed at this shy behavior, shooting him some knowing glances.

All in all, there were mixed opinions. Not that Gwen had expected anything else. She sighed at their reactions and crossed her arms as she waited for them to calm down again. That was the moment when she noticed someone examining her very strictly.

Her eyes traveled over the table until they landed onto one specific dwarf right in front of her, who was giving her a stare. Magnificent blue eyes were peering at her dazzling rubies.

His black beard was a lot shorter compared to the others and his also black hair was long and wavy with one braid on each side, dangling over his collarbones. Only a few grey strands revealed his advanced age.

Gwen sensed the superior aura that was enveloping him. He must be the leader of this whole project – Thorin Oakenshield, rightful heir of the throne of Erebor. There were a lot of stories about him, but Gwen had never thought that she would ever be able to meet him in person. She had to admit, it was an honor for her.

But he also didn't look really stoked about this whole thing. After a long time of gazing and quietness, he finally tore his eyes away from her and turned to Gandalf. "What is the meaning of this? Why do you think a woman could be useful? She looks like she would break her bones as soon as she stumbles over a rock or a root.", he stated, referring at her delicate figure.

Gwen looked at him silently, showing no huffy reaction because of that. She was used to treatments like this. No one ever took her seriously and doubted her skills until she proved them wrong. Getting easily upset about it was something she already stopped a long time ago.

Instead, she always looked forward to seeing the shocked and unbelievingly facial expressions she earned as soon as they had gotten to see her fighting.

Oh, how much she was going to love to see that on this dwarf's face as well. She smirked at her own thoughts and peered at Gandalf, who was surprised that she didn't seem offended by the harsh words.

Then he turned to Thorin, smiling benignly at him for his statement. "I advise you not to underestimate her. Miss Gwen travels through Middle Earth for a long time already, and all by herself. She has been at far more places than all of you had ever been in total, so she potentially knows a few more paths which are not marked on a map. And if she would really be so frail as you think, then she would have never been able to reach Hobbiton in one piece. After all, the last time I saw her was very close to the northern mountain range of the Misty Mountains."

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Chapter 02 >>

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pillowfluffs · 5 years

Text

Soulmate!Wonho // Chapter 11

Pairing: Wonho X Reader (female)

Genre: Soulmate!AU, College!AU, fluff, fantasy, slight angst, mystery?

Author’s note: Miss me? I'm back readerssss! and I will be writing significantly moreeeee! It feels so good to have this weight lifted off my chest and I’m so happy to be back! Thank you for waiting patiently! I love you guys so so much!! Hopefully, my works will be better compared to before my hiatus.. if not, oops... And as always, I will be posting a new chapter on Saturday’s 5:30pm Eastern Standard Time (U.S. Time) ((4:00pm Central Time // 2:00pm Pacific Standard Time)) Feedback is greatly appreciated and please look forward to more future works ;)

**But before reading: here’s summaries of all the chapters if you need a refresher! Read it here!**

Kihyun sat before your unconscious body, his cold eyes staring at the paper as he continued to draw you from another angle if your eyes were open. He had a small pile of drawings of you. Drawing, felt very familiar to him, something he was already good at, but he couldn’t figure out what was off. He remembers drawing someone, but not who they were.

Suddenly the headmaster walked through the door from his office making him stand to his feet immediately. “Kihyun. Be prepared tonight. Tonight is your first official test. You will be going up against two highly skilled mages; Wonho from your class and his younger brother Changkyun from the incoming class.” The headmaster never intended for Wonho and Changkyun to fight Kihyun and Y/N, but it was perfect. It was the perfect test to see whether Kihyun was worth taking with him or to leave dead.

“Yes, headmaster.” Kihyun’s voice, as well as his face, were emotionless. He stared at the headmaster with cold eyes.

“How is Y/N?” With a wave of his hand, the bubble around you which blew constant air disappeared. Your hair covered your unconscious face. An immediate rise in energy was released, making the hairs stand on its end on both of their bodies. “Oh my,” the headmaster chuckled, pushing your head back by your jaw so your face could be seen. “You, my dear, you’re gonna be the prized jewel.” He released your jaw, practically flinging your head back to its side as he walked away, knocking over the small pile of your drawings made by Kihyun. “Tsk, ah yes. I made Kihyun believe he was Y/N’s soulmate... Hm..” The headmaster recalled his decision, making Kihyun believe in something that was false, but it wasn’t uncommon in this world. There were actually broken ones who believed so strongly that they were meant to have a soulmate, they have gone to kill other people’s soulmates in order to be with them, hence why he made Kihyun believe you were his soulmate.

“Kihyun,” the headmaster sounded fatherly, though he had no children. He picked up the small pieces of paper with well-done drawings of you. “This is no time to be fooling around, especially now.” He used his demonic abilities, burning the paper with black fire, hellfire. There were no ashes, leaving nothing behind if anything was burned with hellfire.

“My apologies, headmaster,” Kihyun’s voice grew quiet, looking down at the ground, hiding the pencil in his sleeve.

The headmaster said nothing, simply standing back up, leaving, but to speak once again before leaving. “Be ready around sundown. I will be leading the two mages here.” The headmaster returned to his office.

You were in a void, a dark abyss which echoed your thoughts and screams. The feeling of hunger and thirst were amplified, making you feel like your own body was eating itself. You were no longer thrown into another parallel universe or dimension where you had to deal with death. For some reason, it was as if you were done, which truly terrified you. “What’s going to happen to me..” You thought of the possibilities of what could or would happen to you. Were you going to wake up? Would you see Wonho? Would you ever see your parents? Use your abilities? If you could cry, you would, but all you felt was numbness. Numbness from the physical and emotional pain; it overwhelmed you, but you could feel one thing; the continuous rising of your energy. You didn’t know why this was happening, especially since this had never happened before when you were younger. You pushed the reasoning behind it away though, concluding it was most likely either the lack of use of your abilities or your demonic power.

The headmaster walked through his office door, sitting at his desk. His heart pounded in excitement at the thought of what life would be like tomorrow, after the Blood Harvest Moon. He pulled out a pen and a notepad, scribbling notes down. This certainly would be the most memorable Blood Harvest Moon to him and you.

“Y/N. Ability: Mimicry. Training:” He smiled mischievously as he thought of how he would train you personally. “Puppeteering.” The headmaster, Jeremiah Voeks, was never a headmaster, not until Mapnerry opened. Mapnerry was a college, though it was cast away for decades after it was abandoned for unknown reasons before its current state. At the time, Jeremiah wasn’t even his real name; his real name was a name that’s now forgotten, now most citizens, though the authorities by now have stopped chasing him; Alfred Ross, a criminal known as The Beast.

Alfred, along with many other, sick and demented homicidii (taker), lived in a very dark, dangerous world, throwing away lives as if they were nothing. Young mages would be taken, kidnapped, forced to leave and go with them only to be used as captives, only to be “trained” to fight against other mages who were taken just like them. Alfred was known as the king in this world, undefeatable, and anyone who spoke against him would disappear sooner or later, by his hand, or someone else’s. All the mages who followed him were merciless, soulless beings. They never cared for those they took; they only cared when they brought them fame and fortune which brought them closer to Alfred, yet he was the worst of them all. He was only this powerful with a part of his living magic, the ability to bring things to life and control them. Brainwashing became a common trick he used, trapping the soul of the mage within their own body, making them on the borderline of death so just a simple glance their way could mean life or death. His magic would then come into play like a puppet master; the mage being controlled would have to defeat in order to regain their life, but as long as they couldn’t, they were subject to him for as long as he wanted, only to be killed after discovering a new mage, one that topped the last. Those who were able to leave from a merciful enough keeper would only live with the traumatizing world that they left behind, always over their heads. All the fame and fortune he had in this world was all blown down like a house of cards, knocking everything he had built for years, to nothing, making him disappear out of existence for decades.

Dust and small rocks from the desert floor blew against the car as they drove on the barren path towards one of the most isolated arenas. Alfred sat in the back seat of the car, alongside with his current mage, a "freshie" as they would call it in this world. Pawns who recently turned eighteen or were eighteen to nineteen were in a rookie phase. He flipped through the small envelop the dominus (master) would always get when an invitation was received. Everyone needed one thing and that thing was money. The way to get it could be in a civilized way which would be getting an education and working or the darker, "easier" way; gambling. Magistri (masters) were categorized into levels and could challenge whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted, but only those of the same or of a lower level than them. Or, if they really desired to challenge someone at a higher level, they would have to pay, and since Alfred was at the top, along with another, he could challenge whoever he desired at no cost. The invitation in his hand cost his opponent millions, even having to pay for the messenger to deliver the invitation. The words were written nicely in a neat cursive with a strange, unknown symbol.

There weren't many statues in the “game” of virtutis proleio (power battle) but the few were upheld strictly. The most two important was that the fighters could not fight until the age of eighteen years or older and no physical weapons could be used; only the fighting mage's ability. There were many ways the mages were taken; against their will, kidnapped, bribed. The worst way was then it was against their will; the mage would have to fight for their lives or someone or people significant for them.

The car pulled up outside the entrance of the arena. Just as they stepped out of the car, they could feel the power behind the structure of the building. Normal games were always littered with countless bettors around, filling area outside the official arenas, calling out, making small bets among each other. They would fill up the entire structure of the building, seeing which dominus would continue on to a higher level. If the proelium (battle) was good enough, an anticipated, exciting fight, bettors and watchers would even line up outside the entrance, all ready to rush in through the entrance gates to get a good enough spot to see the entire battle. Magistri would have to enter with their pawns through another entrance, one heavily guarded, especially for Alfred. It wasn’t uncommon for a pawn of his or his own life was threatened by entering through the main gate for the anticipated battle between him and another opponent. He grew fond of the big crowds, making them easier for him to puppeteer without anyone seeing, but now with it so empty, an eerie feeling filled him.

The location of this particular battle was somewhat peculiar; it was in the middle of nowhere, one of the most isolated locations out of all the arenas. Alfred walked into the arena, through the entrance gate since there were no bettors or watchers at this match, his mage following behind to the side. He was a young mage with the ability to manipulate skill of other mages. Of course, Alfred used this young mage to increase his own skills as well as his own to the best where he could simply look in the eyes of the mage he was against, diminishing their skill to the point of them not even having one. Their footsteps echoed through the spacious hallway, passing bodyguards every few yards with black glasses hiding their eyes. They were followed by two guards in front and two guards behind them.

Alfred began analyzing everything around him, from the number of exits to this arena, to how many guards they had passed. It was a common habit he developed after almost being caught once when he was first starting out. Fortunately, he lost that match purposefully, pulling him out of the light of cheating. Despite knowing he shouldn’t have this fear, that one fight still followed him, making him fear the consequences if he were ever caught. He would have to endure a lifetime of torture; a life where you were cursed to never die, though you weren’t technically alive either. They approached the elevator at the end of the hall. Alfred pushed the button, hearing a ding, signaling the doors opening. This was as far as his pawn went with him. Two of the guards followed him into the elevator as the other two stayed behind, beginning to lead the fighter to the arena. One of the guards in the elevator pressed the only button; the viewing room.

Alfred leaned against the railing, already processing a plan of attack on his opponent’s mage. However, before he could solidify an actual plan, the doors opened into the viewing room. His opponent sat on a single person couch, drinking tea.

“Welcome. I’m glad you were able to make it to today’s match. Thank you for accepting my invitation.” His opponent said without even looking at him as he walked towards another single person couch, set there for him. His opponent looked into the fighting arena through a thick glass window infused with nullification energy which stretched from the ground to the ceiling. The walls of the arena were special; they were terebris saeclus walls. Made out of rare, natural elements, the walls had the natural ability to heal at a fast pace, though over time after the first discovery, some elemental magistri were able to alter it slightly, making it heal those surrounded by it to some extent. As Alfred sat in the viewing room where magistri were supposed to be during the duration of the entire battle, it was clear what energy was being given off now.

He looked over to see his opponent, small, old. The little hair on his head was slowly graying. He drank his hot tea, focusing on his own mage who stood on her side of the arena, not even batting an eye at Alfred nor his own pawn. “Shall we begin?” He could hear the elderliness in his opponent's voice. He was taken back at the directness. Traditionally, there would be about a few minutes to let the opposing magistri get to know each other. It was the formal thing to do, however, this was the first opponent he had come across, so informal. To be offended by this, he didn’t know.

“Let’s,” Alfred’s voice was stern. He just wanted to get this over with now. Each gave a nod without even looking at each other. At their queue, the sound of a chime filled the arena. The pawns moved forward, more towards the center, facing each other at a closer distance at this sound. Alfred’s eyes glanced over to his opponent’s pawn, instantly realizing now who his opponent really was; Adrian Doxey. He was a very high leveled dominus, almost higher than Aldred himself, except he didn’t gain his levels the way Alfred did. He had increased towards the top on his own. He was able to advance with his own skill. He was the one dominus different from all the others; he didn’t forcefully take his pawns. He offered them money if he wanted them to be trained under him. Battles were simply tests and practices to see if they were improving. They received proper training and were well taken care of, unlike the other unfortunate souls fighting against their wills. After finding a new mage, in thanks to their contribution, he would grant them an option. First, stay and train, or go back home and be paid for their “service.” It was no wonder Doxey grew popular at a fast rate. He had received many requests by many mages, ages, and abilities of all sorts to be invited, only for him to rarely select any.

The two opponents faced each other in the silent, spacious battle area. Alfred looked over to Doxey’s opponent, noticing something quite particular compared to the other opponents he and his mage had faced. Doxey’s mage was a female, about four years older than his own mage. She wore a full black suit which hugged her body, making every curve visible. She had black hair with black bangs, as well as her hair tied up in a half ponytail. She stood still, her hands by her side. Her eyes were covered by a black cloth, blocking one of the most pivotal senses needed for these battles.

“Tch, a blindfold? Doxey, I thought you would have picked a more... Able mage,” Alfred scoffed as the round began. He relaxed in his seat even more, already counting how much he would gain after this win

“Don’t doubt me,” his voice was still, blank as his face. His eyes watched the two mages in the arena behind the glass.

The second sound of the chime signaled the start of the match. Before Alfred’s mage could make a move, she moved faster, pressing a heavy stomp to the ground, releasing a loud grunt, shaking the ground. The ground began to shake, cracking open, exposing the hottest magma from the planet’s core. Alfred’s mage watched frozen as he did himself from the spectator’s room. Her lips moved, though no actual enchantments could be heard. As if the lava had a life of its own, it began moving, surrounding him.

Alfred’s puppeteering had been going on long enough, his mage could move on his own, following the automatic steps drilled into his head. But this match was like no other. He had to manually control his mage. The thought of a scenario like this did pop into his head a few times, only to be brushed away since he saw it as a stupid gesture on the opponent, but this time, he was the incompetent one.

The lava flowed around her body, bending and moving at her will. She touched it as if it was water, making it seem not as hot as it was. Alfred’s mage stood, astounded on the inside, but stone-faced on the outside. Sweat made itself visible on the young mage's body. His face dripped down with the perspiration as if someone had dumped a bucket of water on him. The auto commands in his head were no longer able to guide him now. He had no eyes to look into in order to diminish power. His body froze, feeling the power, the heat behind the mage before him.

Without letting another second pass, she moved swiftly and nimble, changing gestures with her body, making the lava move at her will. It lunged towards him, towards his feet. All he could do at this moment was be on the defensive side, dodge everything the best he could. He knew even if he did get burned, the arena walls themselves would heal him, but he didn't want to go through that pain, experiencing it himself.

Although Doxey’s mage could not see, her hearing was impeccable. As soon as he landed in safety, she flicked her wrist in the blink of an eye, sending lava back his way. She didn’t need to depend on her sight; Doxey taught her and trained her this himself.

As time went on, the round began to continue longer on than normal. Alfred sat on the edge of his seat, watching with his face resting in his hands. Doxey sat to his side, not even paying attention to the match, looking as if he was sleeping. “I must do something.. This cannot go on much longer..” Alfred thought to himself as his eyes glowed red for a brief moment, the same happening to his mage in the arena. Alfred’s hands were in a perfect position, covering his mouth. He was able to silently whisper commands, making his mage move at his enchantments. “No more playing defense.” With that thought, his mage began to try to move closer, disregarding the small burns he got from earlier in the round. With Alfred now in control, his mage moved at his will. A round had never gone on this long before, especially with is mage’s ability, he was able to win the round and match in a matter of minutes. Alfred could feel the resistance his mage still tried to fight with, even though it was near impossible to break free from his mind control. Now with a direct link to his mage’s mind, he was able to link any of his abilities to his mage.

Alfred’s mage began fighting back physically. This match could not be made by him with his abilities. Doxey’s mage moved fast, heaving every step, hearing everything. She dodged almost all attacks, growing tired, however. Her speed began to falter the longer he teased her with his actions. He landed a hit on her every now and then, throwing her off, disorienting her. She huffed out a few breaths, attacking back with her hot lava, just missing him with his agile movements.

She pushed herself from her defensive stance, moving back over the crack in the ground, exposing the lava from the planet’s core. The amount of energy she had was finally showing; it vibrated off of her, making the ground tremble. Alfred stopped in his mimicry, making his mage pause as well. He stood from his seat, feeling a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face as he watched the eyes of Doxey’s mage glow through her blindfold. She raised her arms suddenly, making a large wave of lava rise from the ground, circling Alfred’s mage. It moved to her will, beginning to lunge at Ross’s mage, making it seem her movements were to music no one but she could hear. But no matter how forcefully she attacked, her opponent was somehow able to dodge it.

Alfred controlled him, moving him, striking back even more than before. It was obvious even to a lower level what was going on, seeing the shift in the way he moved and fought back when he was struggling to dodge. He was being reckless. Doxey’s mage, on the other hand, reacted as if nothing changed: her defenses and offense attacks were high. His opponent was like no other; she was able to move nimbly, able to dodge any attacks without even seeing. She wore a blindfold, depending on her hearing senses for this fight. There was no way for him to win this match. She was simply much more powerful than his mage. At this point, there was a rule beginners used often, though Alfred pledged never to use this, at this time, he had to: a withdrawal rule. Since the time hadn’t reached or gone past the halftime mark, fifteen minutes, the opponent withdrawing was allowed to collect only half their money back. But since he had never used it, he demanded all his money returned.

“And I demand you don’t cheat, Alfred Ross.” His opponent sat in his seat, drinking tea, not even looking at him. How he got his real name, he didn't know, but as soon as his real name rolled off his opponents tongue, it was a matter of seconds before the sounds of many guns being cocked echoed through the arena. Ross felt as if he had just woken up from his sleep in a cold sweat from a nightmare, but in this very moment, he was very well awake.

The match between the two opponents was over: it was never real. Doxey’s mage held Ross’s mage in a threatening stance, removing her blindfold. She held his body in the lava, though it didn’t burn him to a crisp, at least not yet. She watched Doxey, ready for any signal.

A cold tingling sensation went down his spine as he slowly lifted his hands in surrender, feeling the eyes of many on him. A moment he wished to never come true, came true, but of course, the beast always had a way out, a plan for the future. At this point in time, he was on the top of a wanted list by the authorities. Large quantities of police appeared out of the air as if they were invisible this entire time. All had the red lasers of their guns pointed at Ross ready to put a bullet in him if he even blinked a wrong way. A few of the heavily armored officers approached Ross with handcuffs made of trenium: a powerful element able to seal or nullify one’s abilities, no matter how powerful they are deemed. Just revealing the powerful element, modified to represent handcuffs depleted the energy of all the mages in the room even though it was just a small quantity. The power of the element itself radiated off through the room, even making some feel sick.

“You know I’ll be back.” His final words as the authorities came around, bringing his hands down for handcuffs. Before they could completely latch the clasps around his wrists, all the energy in Ross had suddenly vanished for the briefest moment before it was suddenly magnified to a degree unfathomable. The energy he released injured many, although armored, sending them to the walls. A few unfortunates even flew out the window. The building began to collapse as a black smoke surrounded him, taking him elsewhere as those inside were crushed, even his own mage.

There was no looking back at that point: it had been the first time anyone had figured out his ways. The authorities and the officials of the game would figure out what had happened here soon after he fled. Who knows what would have happened to him if he had stayed, let alone get caught. This incident began a new phase in Alfred’s life. He used his riches and began to change who he was: his face, his name, he even stopped using his puppeteering and demonic abilities in case anyone were to recognize him. Everything he had gained in his life so far was thrown away. His home, his staff, everything: the only option he had was to go into hiding which he did. In the demonic form, part of one’s soul would stray from the body, allowing the user in the demonic form to age at a slower rate of the normal being.

Alfred, now Jeremiah Voeks, had remained in his demonic form for decades to the point where his old name was no longer heard in the news, to the point where the world had moved on from Alfred Ross. All those years in hiding were spent increasing his demonic abilities, making a new name for himself in a brighter light. He learned how to educate others, changing for the better. Years later, Mapnerry Academy of the Arcane was born, accepting those who proved to be the best of the best in ability and academics.

Over the years of encountering many powerful students, temptations sparked back to life within him, but he had to settle them down, recalling the fateful day where he was almost caught. He didn’t want to return to that lifestyle, even though he bathed in riches. Yet here he was, preparing to enter a cave where he would never emerge from ever again.

The room was filled with light snores coming from Changkyun as he laid on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, sleeping away. Wonho lay on his bed, restless. Changkyun’s words echoed through his head. He had never felt so powerless before in his life after meeting you, and now you weren’t by his side, even though it had only been a couple days, however, this was a normal occurrence between people when they meet their soulmate. You were his soulmate and he couldn't imagine the pain of being a broken one and he didn't want to. Fear filled him to the brim. If anything were to happen to you within these few hours that ended with him losing you, he didn't think he would be able to live. Tears threatened to fall as they pricked at his eyes. He blinked them away, feeling an emptiness beginning to grow inside. He moved swiftly from his bed, grabbing a pen from his desk.

“I’m coming for you, Y/N.” He wrote on his wrist. Even if you couldn’t respond, he just had to show you, that is if you could even see it. It had been a while since the two of you had written on your skins. He tossed the pen back onto his desk, making way for his bed to let the sleep take over him. The headmaster was right; he was going to need every bit of energy, ability and physically wise.

A familiar tingling sensation ticked your wrist. Despite being in the middle of nowhere in darkness, you brought up your wrist to see Wonho’s handwriting. Tears pricked at your eyes out of happiness but you felt gloomy. “How..” Even if you could write in reply to him, you wouldn’t even know how to tell him where you were, where your actual body was. You were asleep.

Birds chirped and some flew overhead the abandoned place you were kept in. The sun peeked through the holes in the weathered roof, creating rays which shone on small particles of dust as they flew. Kihyun sat on the ground, leaning against the back of an old, broken couch, facing you. He felt this deep feeling for you. He wanted to call it love and affection, but he couldn’t, but it was definitely something. The way he looked at you and drew you, thought about you, he felt as if it was all wrong, but he couldn’t do anything to change it because he didn't know what or how to change it. The words which appeared on your wrist appeared on him, making him look at his own wrist. Only to look back to you with darkened eyes.

“She’s mine..” his voice was callous, already knowing whoever the headmaster was bringing wouldn’t last. “Things are going to change..”

~~~~~

Chapter 1 // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Masterlist

#monsta x wonho #monsta x #mosnta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #wonho #shin wonho #wonho scenario #wonho imagines #monsta x series #wonho x reader #monsta x x reader #monsta x fantasy #pillowfluffs #soulmate!wonho

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dondake · 5 years

Text

[fugonara] quicksand

rating: k summary: when fugo realizes he’s attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively.

[=]

When the adult in the front of the room fumbles the chalk for the fifth time, asks the class to flip to the wrong page, and scowls at the board for a whole minute in silence to figure out the answer to the problem, Fugo raises his hand with the most calmness he can muster. “Teacher,” he says, fighting to keep his voice level, “perhaps I can solve this for you.” And he goes ahead and writes out every step neatly to get to the answer he had gotten in his head five minutes ago. He also goes ahead and explains why there are sign changes and variable shifts across the equals sign to his classmate that had gotten them into the stalemate in the first place. When he dusts the chalk off of his fingers and goes to return to his seat, the substitute teacher gives him a crooked smile and a, thank you, that was very helpful.

“Absolute farce,” he mutters as he slides back into his seat. “Not a hint of shame or anything. Who’s the teacher here? Who’s getting paid to teach?” Giorno, in the seat next to him, hears him because he’s got good ears; Fugo doesn’t care, he knows Giorno must be thinking the same thing but Giorno has the ability to keep his heart up his sleeve. He knows he should be accommodating; their official math instructor had suddenly gone into labor that very morning and he knew it was a scramble to find a replacement on such short notice. It was such a scramble that they had only pulled someone who usually worked in the office and whose only skill was being an eerily good hall monitor. Fugo respected Principal Bucciarati, but it was beyond him how he could have confidently hired someone as incapable and irresponsible as Narancia. Yes, Narancia was a good hall monitor, but he had no ethics and bummed the cigarettes he was obligated to confiscate.

“Isn’t it tiring being a know-it-all?” Trish asks after the bell rings and they’re collecting their things for their next class. Trish can get away with that kind of cheek because she’s the daughter of the biggest donor to the elite private school; Fugo’s had it ingrained since birth that relationships are especially important when they have power behind them. In fact, almost everyone he rubs elbows with has someone important behind him - Giorno’s mysterious about it, but they say that his fathers are some of the most influential men in the city. It helps that the kids that come from money come up from good schools, because nothing bothers Fugo more than idiocy.

“We would have been sitting there in silence for the whole period if we let him solve it himself.”

“Sure, but you can’t help yourself but correct teachers when they’re wrong. Doesn’t that bother you? That they might think you’re annoying?”

“It’s their responsibility to teach us. If they can’t do their jobs right but I can, then what’s the harm of saying so?” He looks at Giorno for support, but Giorno is staring out the classroom window. There’s gym class out on the fields, taught by the gym teacher and coach for almost every sport team the school has. It’s so ridiculous that Coach Mista has gotten a rumor that he can split himself six ways. He’s brought their soccer, basketball, and girls volleyball team to the regional championships so no one’s complaining. “Giorno? Don’t you agree?”

Giorno pulls his attention away back inside the classroom. “I have no comment,” he says diplomatically.

After Chemistry is lunch, and Fugo is called upon to return to the math classroom to pick up the stack of homework that Narancia had forgotten to take with him. The burden of being a star student is that he is summoned to do tasks for teachers. Somehow, getting good grades and knowing how to study is the same as being responsible and thus the perfect candidate for an adult’s gopher. Fugo wonders how people cannot comprehend how he has such a short temper. The papers aren’t heavy, but he practices a monologue on how to be a proper teacher, even if just for a day. Bucciarati might be too soft-hearted on his staff, so Fugo thinks he’s justified in telling Narancia how he might improve.

As he raises his hand to knock on Narancia’s office door, a tiny little broom closet in the administrative wing next to Bucciarati’s office, he hears voices inside. Like every typical teenager, he knows gossip when he hears it. “So how’s being a teacher? Not as easy as you keep saying it is, huh?”

“Shut up, Mista. You’re only a gym teacher because you’re stupid like me.”

“I take it easy, and it’s fun to run around and get paid to do it. You, on the other hand, are actually stupid. Math! You must really be having a good time.”

“It blows! I don’t remember ever learning that kind of thing when I was in school. I had that genius prodigy kid in my class and he went ahead and tried to teach the class for me.” Fugo remembers Trish’s words, hands moving to form fists and crumpling the homework sheets. Of course Narancia would be able to hide bitterness at being shown up by an uppity child. Adults were good at hiding their feelings. Just like everyone else, Narancia was thinking he was an arrogant brat, floating by just because he was blessed with brains and came from a family with means. “He really saved my ass! I almost told him to just keep going and let me leave. That kind of thing is super helpful, you know. Sometimes you just gotta let the kids do it. Hands-on teaching or whatever!”

“If you can make it through the rest of the day without getting fired, I’ll eat my whistle. Anyway, gotta go; I’ve got a counseling session with that Giovanna kid. Good luck.” Coach Mista throws open the door, blinking at Fugo staring back at him in blatant surprise. “Oh, it’s you. Go help this guy out, won’t you? He can’t even count.”

“I can so count!” Narancia beams at him and gestures at an open spot on his already messy desk. “Put the homework stuff there. Thanks a lot! You were a big help in class today too. I’m no good with numbers, but I’m learning. It must be cool to be smart.”

Adults were good at hiding their feelings, and Fugo was good at knowing when he was being mocked. But it doesn’t feel like Narancia is being disingenuous with his praise. Putting the pile of papers down, Fugo clears his throat. “Uh - it’s whatever. Anyway, as a teacher, you should be more organized. You should be reviewing the material so you can actually reference it in class. If you’ve been left notes, you should go over them, because we actually learned the content today last week. And furthermore, if you’re writing Greek letters, you should be careful to distinguish them from their similar-looking Latin counterparts, otherwise it’ll be hard for us to tell apart the different variables.” Narancia is actually writing all of it down, slowly, and with messy handwriting.

“Greek letters? I don’t know Greek...”

So his suspicion was right, and Narancia really had been just copying equations from the book and parroting the text that came along with them. Fugo feels something bubble up inside from the pit of his stomach. “You idiot. You complete imbecile,” he says. He knows he shouldn’t be saying that kind of thing to a teacher, and he knows he should resist his instincts, but his body propels him forward in spite of himself. “You’re a total moron. You don’t know anything.” The desk is tiny, so Fugo is able to grab Narancia by the face and kiss him. He kisses him clumsily, like someone with sixteen years of experience and only two years of actual kissing awareness, but he kisses him all the same. It’s really unbelievable - Narancia can barely comprehend a mathematical proof and it gets Fugo so hot under the collar.

“Uh,” Narancia says, dazed when Fugo finally stops. “I don’t think we’re allowed to do that?”

“It’s okay,” Fugo says. “I’m the student council vice president, so it’s allowed.”

“Is that right?”

Narancia is a certified dumbass, and Fugo kisses him again.

#fugonara #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #vento aureo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #do NOT @ me.........#canadino fic

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hyu-ck · 6 years

Text

*it’s two in the morning, you don’t know how to say no to a bet, you forgot your gloves outside, and there is something moving behind you.

Characters: Haechan, Reader, Mark

Pairing: Haechan/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4K

Somedays you needed to sit yourself down in front of a mirror and have a serious, personal conversation about your impulse control. Sometimes it worked out fine for you, ending with an ultimate face off with your fear of heights on a cliff edge (you didn’t even flinch on Ferris Wheels anymore) and other times it landed you in situations much like the one you were in now. The kind where you were by yourself in the middle of the night, in somewhere clearly housing a poltergeist, while your idiot friends laughed safely and decidedly not located inside an abandoned mall.

Really, you blame Mark for his stupid comments and his stupid way of knowing how to push your buttons. He always knew how to make you do something, and he was especially motivated when it would almost guarantee you being pissed or scared pissing. This was one of those times.

The worst part of it all wasn’t that you were all alone with a dim flashlight in a two-story knock-off of the Mall of America, or the cobwebs that were stuck to your elbow- no, the worst of it all was that you had left your wool gloves outside, with Mark. Your hands were cold and your jacket’s pockets offered nothing but a flimsy excuse for warmth, and you still had fifteen minutes left on your phone’s timer. The half-dozen box of donuts Mark’s wallet was going to buy you were probably warm, melting into vats of sugar after they were freshly baked.

Your stomach growled at your motivation. You couldn’t wait to get those donuts and you couldn’t wait to not share them with Mark Lee.

You walked slowly through one of the many, vast corridors, your flashlight flickering as it bumped against your thigh. The broken skylights above filtered stabs of starlight onto the dust-covered tile that used to be flooring. All of the stores were closed tightly with gates, the insides long empty and left to rot, the metallic-plastic of the black bars mattifying under the swing of your beam. A rat ran across the floor in front of you, hiding amongst a pile of long-forgotten boxes.

You really hated small rodents.

The bet was so simple, but as you travelled farther into the building you felt yourself regretting your decision more and more. The comforting skylights eventually forego into tarp covered plaster, blocking out the remnants of natural light with finality. Your skin began to crawl as the walls began to deteriorate, the feeling of small, jagged-foot ants tapping into your spine. Your foot caught the edge of a broken tile that layered over the rest, latching your boot beneath it as you pitched forward, barely regaining your balance in time.

Your shoe’s sole shuffled against the old ground, making a sound similar to a wind gush during a silent storm, calling out to ancient energies with a neon sign. Something shifted behind you.

Now frozen to the pattern of the mall, your foot caught into a cracked linoleum square, you began to list off as many curses you knew towards Mark.

Another shuffle. The sound of faint footsteps, of calculated breathing.

Maybe donuts weren’t worth a premature death.

Your own breathing had stopped, clogging in your throat like the dust bunnies in the corner, your leg molded stiff as your left knee locked. You began to pull frantically at your foot, but your shoe was stuck tight into the valley, and the weight had shifted towards your ankle. The pour of the tile was scratched from the edge, and the terrain was cutting into the skin of your tendons- but at this point your fear was so palpable it was hazing over the pain like a memory from your childhood. It was insignificant in the scheme of things when you were about to be possessed by the angry spirit of a Paris-Hilton-wannabe mall rat who had found you on their turf.

Your breathing had changed from nonexistent to a frenetic stutter, a heavy gasp coughing out of your throat as you sucked in the musk of the air. You were going to kill Mark if you ended up dead. Your ankle was starting to sting and something wet was seeping into your socks, soaking the rim like a rain puddle.

The footsteps were heavier now, close to your shivering frame. A shrill, violent screech catalyzed your own return- your scream filtering and echoing in the once-vacant mall.

“Who’s there!” a frantic yell attacked your ears as you crouched and cowered, your hands clutching the sides of your head.

The voice didn’t sound like a ghost.

But you really didn’t know what ghosts sounded like, anyway.

“I heard someone scream!” the voice whisper-yelled, “I know someone else is here!”

You muttered prayers absently as you curled in on yourself, your leg still bleeding and hammering in pain to the tune of shuffling steps. The thing was coming slower now, and you could imagine the creature crawling- it’s head rotating as it threw its voice in a false comfort. A light coaxed from behind you, the feeling of it breaking on your skin in a lukewarm whisper as you sat, grasping your arms and predicting your imminent death.

“Whoa…” the voice came again, now paces away and shocked.

Shocked?

You shuddered. “Hey… are you okay?” the voice asked.

In a cautious rotation, you leaned and tried to crane your neck around to see the source of the mysterious voice, but in vain you were met with the view of a dim yellow light. You couldn’t see past it, but the steps were only a couple paces from trampling you (or so you expected that to be their intention).

The thing was right beside you now, and the presence felt warm, like the summer afternoon and warm coffee in early autumn. You turned your head slowly again, half-expecting to see the grudge’s final form before you. The thing was close enough this time for your eyes to adjust to their figure and expression. What you didn’t expect to see was the contorted worry of a teenage boy.

A very pretty teenage boy.

“I asked if you were okay,” he restated, slowly reaching out to shake your shoulder. You were almost certain you were blushing at this point, embarrassed of your irrational fear and mental breakdown- now extremely aware that you were crouched on the molded floor. And that your ankle was hurting, burning- badly.

“Shit,” you hissed, your hands coming to place pressure on your bone and bleeding wound, but you still couldn’t reach the real injury as your ankle was still lodged under the tile.

“That’s not a usual answer to ‘if you’re okay’, but I think I can let it slide,” the boy joked, not realizing your compromising position against the ground.

“I’m not okay,” you seethed, “I feel like someone just snapped my ankle with their bare hands and then sloshed lemon juice over the places their nails had raked.”

“Violent.”

“Well, yeah,” you rolled your eyes in a testimony to his obliviousness, “I usually get creative when I’m in pain.”

“Pain-?”

Not knowing this strange boy (who was wondering around a dark, abandoned mall on his own without reason), you resisted the urge to reach out and punch his leg in the middle of your frustrations.

“Yes. Pain, P-A-I-N,” you started gesturing towards the large four by four square of thick murder that was stabbing and crushing you, “Do you mind offering a hand here, Scooby?”

He quickly washed the beam of his light over to where you were pointing, his tan face paling considerably as he dropped to his knees to help you. He curled his fingers under the ledge of the tile, his knuckles pushing up against your bare calf, before lifting with a held breath. The tile flipped over onto it’s back, letting gravity drag it pitifully into the hearth with a loud crash. You whimpered when you finally felt the realization of the full extent of your pain, observing the awkward twist of your ankle and the gash across it- still leaking wet, hot red blood into your shoe and staining the fungi-infested cement that was revealed after the tile was gone.

“Oh,” the boy commented eloquently, “That really doesn’t look good.”

“You think?” you bit back, not able to hold your tongue as shocks of misery raced up the nerves in your leg.

He reached down and lifted you upwards, his right hand coming to grasp the circumference of your biceps, the other pushing into your back as he struggled to support your wavering body. Your head felt light.

“How did you… well, I’m not sure what you did- but how did this happen?” he asked, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders as you threatened to collapse, your balance unsteady on your one good foot and blood rushing to your head.

“I was casually exploring this horrifying building,” you started. Leaning your shoulder into his broad chest, “because my friend bet me that I couldn’t last 17 minutes in here, and then suddenly my foot was trapped and you were appearing from the ashes like a poorly executed exorcism.”

“Why poorly executed?”

“Because obviously, the demon had not left.”

He scoffed, digging the pads of his finger into your body in annoyance, and you frowned as you looked up to glare at him. His face was making it minorly hard to be pissed- from his deep eyes to pouty lips, the softness that exuded from him was enough to wisp some of the steam away from your anger. But not enough for you to hold back on insulting his dimwitted approach to the stranger (you were the stranger this time) in a dark, haunting mall.

“Am I not helping you right now?” he snipped back, making obvious motions to the fact that he was the only thing helping you from getting re-acquainted with the evil flooring.

You shrugged slightly, hopping as you tried to shift your weight, letting your arm wrap around his waist as a reflexive attempt to regain stability before you pivoted forward- again. “You are helping now, but you were also giving me a heart attack three minutes ago. So, I’m sorry I’m not inclined to kiss your feet at the moment.”

“Does that mean you’ll kiss them later?” he teased and you grimaced at him, your nose scrunching up under his mischievous glance.

“Was that a poor attempt to flirt with me?”

He laughed (you decided you liked the sound), leaning into you playfully as he hefted you upwards again, righting your swaying frame. “You didn’t give me a lot of material to work with.”

“Then I’ll give you a tip.”

“Hm?”

“Try not sneaking up on girls… and avoiding lines that involve feet.”

“Noted,” he conceded, attempting to step forward and help you at the same time. You weren’t expecting the sudden movement and your other foot twisted strangely, sending you sideways and slipping from the boy’s grasp. He quickly reached out for you, his hand latching to your wrist as he spun you back towards him. You came around in a quick circle, landing before him with your forehead to his chin, your hands pressing into the soothing material of his hoodie. You cleared your throat and he took a small step back.

Now knowing what he was trying to do you were much more cooperative in moving towards an exit, taking small hops with his steps and limping back the way you had come and he had appeared from. The bottom of your jeans was now a russet color, sticking sickly to your skin- letting the cold air press into the wound.

On top of it all- your hands were still cold.

“My name isn’t Scooby, by the way,” Mall Boy told you, the sleeve of his overcoat grazing the underside of your wrist as you wobbled through the damp halls.

“I’d hope not,” you snarked, “If anyone named their kid ‘Scooby’ that would be enough to file a child abuse report.”

“What if they named them ‘Donghyuck’?” he prompted.

You smiled at him, raising your eyebrows facetiously. “Not much better in my book, but much more manageable. I’m sure a Donghyuck would only be bullied the appropriate amount through his childhood, but it may lead to weird hobbies- like sneaking around deserted shopping malls at two in the morning.”

“You can call me Haechan, then,” he stated, helping you over a rougher patch of terrain, his hand (so unbelievably warm, and so completely unfair) grasping yours to keep you standing tall.

“I guess you can call me Y/N,” you returned, slipping back into the growingly familiar stability of his arm.

“You guess?” he teased, “Are you not 100% sure about that name?”

“Well I’ve never seen my birth certificate, so…”

He hummed, pointing towards the main entrance of the building where you had come from, the lock still laying into the ground where you and Mark had popped it off earlier that week during one of your explorations.

“You might want to check up on that,” he said, referring back to your previous comment on your birth certificate, “You may be a lost princess or something equally inspirational for a Y.A. Novel.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, “I could have a huge inheritance right below my nose. I could use it to make sure no more malls get neglected and turn into horror houses.”

He agreed with you as he helped you lean against a wall, his thin fingers splayed against your hips. You dropped your head backwards, watching him carefully as he yanked the reluctant entrance door open.

He wasn’t very tall, but he was well built and proportional. He had a comfortable confidence that fell on his face (maybe a mask, maybe a truth) and his brown hair fanned across his forehead in peaceful waves. He turned his head slightly to check up on you, the soft outdoor light catching against his jawline and turning his eyes a mahogany brown. You blushed as he smirked knowingly, having caught you observing him with critical intensity.

“Enjoying the view?” he jested and you rolled your eyes even though your face was still aflame.

“It’s better than the distorted hellion I was imagining when I first heard you,” you admitted, playing through your embarrassment with purpose, trying to turn your cards back into his hands.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment… and also as your weird way for asking my number,” he said, pulling you off the wall and twisting his arm back around your waist, this time allowing his fingers to tap into your stomach through the fabric of your clothing.

“What part of ‘distorted hellion’ translated into ‘please, give me a way to contact you’?”

“English isn’t my first language.”

You laughed at that, sending his sarcastic smirk into a wide-blown grin, lighting up his face with a carelessness you enjoyed more than you should from a stranger. He watched you in wonderment, his other hand coming to hold the wrist that was covering your giggling mouth, pulling it away gently so he could see your whole face. You blushed again.

He winced slightly when your wrist had met his hand, his mind immediately taking notice of the arctic characteristics of your hand.

“God, why are your hands so cold?” he hissed, fully enveloping your bluing fingers into his warm palms, rubbing circulation back into them slowly.

“I got distracted by the thought of getting donuts after winning the bet, so I left my gloves with Mark,” you muttered, shrugging sheepishly as you both paused at the curb of the old parking lot. A flash of cold air befell onto you, reminding your distracted brain of the slow blood that pooled inside your shoe and the sting of your jagged cut.

“Mark?” Haechan asked, not noticing your hidden grimace as he maneuvered you off the raised block of cement, lifting you with ease.

“The asshole that sent me into the B-Movie horror set behind us,” you explained, falling slightly into him as you regained your faulty footing.

“Boyfriend?” he inquired sourly, a hint of disappointment clouding his focus.

You laughed. “Oh God no, I love Mark, but I saw that kid go through puberty- I could never think of him romantically.”

“Oh,” Haechan smiled, “good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, good,” he stressed as you walked across the parking lot, towards the area you had left Mark in, “it would be really hard to flirt with you if you were in a relationship.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re very forward, you know?”

“It’s not everyday I get the chance to meet a pretty girl inside a creepy ass mall, then help her hobble outside after scaring the shit out of her, so I’m taking it as a sign from God,” he told you seriously and you smirked at him, amused by his over-dramatic interpretations of your meeting.

“Fair enough.”

“So that means I get your number, right?”

“Only if you use it for good.”

“Fair enough,” he mimicked you, smiling happily as you paused under an inactive street light.

“Y/N?” a surprised voice yelled from an unknown corner, and Mark appeared from the shadows of a small grove, his face screwed into worry.

“Geez, I thought you were dead- it’s been a lot longer than seventeen minutes,” he panted, running towards you and Haechan before stopping in confusion, his thumb coming up to point at Haechan’s amused expression.

“Who is this?”

“Crazy mall boy who is trying to create a new ‘Mystery Gang’,” you replied, still holding onto Haechan.

“What’s with you and Scooby Doo references?” Haechan asked, giving you a perplexed look. You shrugged, ignoring the still confused expression on Mark’s face.

“We used to watch them religiously when we were kids,” Mark interrupted.

“Really? Cool.”

Mark nodded, his body posture screaming stand-offish, hands stuffed deep in his coat’s pockets as he flickered his eyes between yours and Haechan’s bodies. Your two still very close bodies. You flushed under Mark’s watchful gaze, prying yourself away from Haechan’s heat slightly.

“I hurt my ankle,” you blurted out as a serving to explanation, your hand pointing to your stained jeans and lifted foot.

“Oh- yikes,” Mark shuddered, “How the hell did you pull that?”

“Some dislodged tile decided to launch a surprise attack on me, and then Haechan showed up and saved my sorry ass- but only after he scared the living hell out of me.”

“I said I was sorry,” Haechan protested, his bottom lip puckering as he widened his eyes.

“You literally never said ‘sorry’,” you corrected, squinting at him.

“Well, I’m saying it now,” he whined, poking your ribs.

Mark cleared his throat before you both got lost in your sparring again. “Okay, as seriously entertaining as this is- who are you?”

“Haechan,” he said, extending the hand that wasn’t on you to Mark, clasping the older boy’s palm and shaking it loosely.

“I’m Mark.”

Haechan let a spark of recognition light on his face before turning to you. “He made the bet?”

“Yeah,” both you and Mark said, the latter scratching his neck and shifting his weight- still unsure of the situation.

“You mentioned there were donuts involved,” Haechan said.

“I did,” you replied slowly, still not catching on to what Haechan was trying to say.

Haechan wrapped you tighter in his arm, pulling your body back towards his like you were old friends and not a pair of strangers that had met at two in the morning in an empty mall. His hand pulled the edges of your coat tighter together, letting his curled fist rest on your abdomen. It felt weirdly domestic and entirely strange for this boywho you had greeted by insult ten minutes ago. But for some reason, you didn’t step away- you didn’t stop him.

“I vote we fix your ankle and then Mark gets donuts,” Haechan offered looking between the two more experienced friends.

“Why do you get donuts?” Mark asked.

“Because I had to drag your bestie through a creepy mall at two a.m. and now I really want a donut,” Haechan explained as if it made perfect since, and you shrugged while looking towards Mark- not seeing a fault in his logic. Except-

“You didn’t seem to mind ‘dragging’ me, Haechan, so I don’t know why you get a reward,” you teased, tugging on one of the strings of his hoodie.

“I second that,” Mark agreed.

“You just don’t want to buy more donuts,” Haechan said to Mark before turning to you, “And I didn’t mind dragging you, I minded the fact that I felt serial killer eyes all over me when I was walking through there.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” you conceded, turning back to face Mark as your finger lingered on Haechan’s hoodie, “he has a valid point Mark- it’s creepy as fuck in there.”

“Fine, but first you need medical attention,” Mark said, coming towards your other side and hauling your arms around his neck to help carry you- much to Haechan’s sarcastic thanks as he acted like supporting you had given him more back pain than a wheelchair ridden seventy-year-old man.

“I also want coffee,” you told Mark, leaning most of your weight into Haechan (you couldn’t help it, he was just so warm), “as compensation for my injury- either that or I pull out my lawyer.”

“I’d rather get sued than give you what you want,” Mark rolled his eyes, turning in the direction he had parked his car an hour earlier.

Haechan’s breath fanned against your ear as he leaned down. “I’ll get you a coffee,” he amended and you nodded your head with a smile as you looked at him. The pain in your foot had lessened and you could either attribute that to the comfort expanding in your stomach under Haechan’s gaze or to the spreading numbness in your ankle’s bones.

“Oh come on,” Mark’s annoyed huff let out, “I am three inches away- can you not wait to flirt when I’m not close enough to hear both of your dumb heartbeats?”

You laughed at Mark’s frustration, knowing to him it was like watching his younger sister sweet talk a boy right in front of him, but it didn’t stop you from pushing the hand wrapped around Haechan’s back into the pocket of his overcoat- finally finding a warm place for your fingers.

“Don’t be bitter just because you lost a bet, Mark,” you laughed.

“I’m not bitter,” he muttered bitterly.

“And I’m not getting a dozen donuts later- oh wait!” you said, placing a finger to your chin as if you had just remembered something.

“We agreed on half a dozen,” Mark argued, unlocking his car with his clicker before opening the backseat for you to slide in, letting you prop your foot across the bench seat.

“That was before I got hurt,” you said.

“Also I have a big appetite,” Haechan supplied, his hand slipping from around your ankle as he pulled away with Mark to enter the front seats.

“You two are going to be an insufferable duo,” Mark sighed, starting the ignition and pulling out into the faded night.

You and Haechan laughed, his eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror as they curved upwards. Small shop lights fluttered through the windows, catching on Haechan’s grin in a fluorescent haze, ghosting across his tan features like paint strokes. You decided Mark wasn’t going to get killed for sending you alone into the mall, because you wouldn’t have stumbled across this peculiar boy with mirth that dripped off his lashes like Hermes’ himself. You let your head rest against the cool window, closing your eyes with the flame of Haechan’s gaze still on you like an electric current, seeping into the quiet of the song on the late-night radio station you and Mark loved.

You had won two things from the bet that night, and both would leave a sweet taste in your mouth when the sun rose.

FIN.

read another piece of this universe here!

#nct #nct dream #nct 2018 #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fic #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan fic #haechan #fluff #this is goofy i love it #sol-peaches

445 notes · View notes

haechan-haedamn · 7 years

Text

it’s two a.m. - Haechan

*it’s two in the morning, you don’t know how to say no to a bet, you forgot your gloves outside, and there is something moving behind you.

Characters: Haechan, Reader, Mark

Pairing: Haechan/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4K

Your stomach growled at your motivation. You couldn’t wait to get those donuts and you couldn’t wait to not share them with Mark Lee.

You really hated small rodents.

Your shoe’s sole shuffled against the old ground, making a sound similar to a wind gush during a silent storm, calling out to ancient energies with a neon sign. Something shifted behind you.

Now frozen to the pattern of the mall, your foot caught into a cracked linoleum square, you began to list off as many curses you knew towards Mark.

Another shuffle. The sound of faint footsteps, of calculated breathing.

Maybe donuts weren’t worth a premature death.

The footsteps were heavier now, close to your shivering frame. A shrill, violent screech catalyzed your own return- your scream filtering and echoing in the once-vacant mall.

“Who’s there!” a frantic yell attacked your ears as you crouched and cowered, your hands clutching the sides of your head.

The voice didn’t sound like a ghost.

But you really didn’t know what ghosts sounded like, anyway.

“I heard someone scream!” the voice whisper-yelled, “I know someone else is here!”

“Whoa…” the voice came again, now paces away and shocked.

Shocked?

You shuddered. “Hey… are you okay?” the voice asked.

A very pretty teenage boy.

“Shit,” you hissed, your hands coming to place pressure on your bone and bleeding wound, but you still couldn’t reach the real injury as your ankle was still lodged under the tile.

“That’s not a usual answer to ‘if you’re okay’, but I think I can let it slide,” the boy joked, not realizing your compromising position against the ground.

“I’m not okay,” you seethed, “I feel like someone just snapped my ankle with their bare hands and then sloshed lemon juice over the places their nails had raked.”

“Violent.”

“Well, yeah,” you rolled your eyes in a testimony to his obliviousness, “I usually get creative when I’m in pain.”

“Pain-?”

Not knowing this strange boy (who was wondering around a dark, abandoned mall on his own without reason), you resisted the urge to reach out and punch his leg in the middle of your frustrations.

“Yes. Pain, P-A-I-N,” you started gesturing towards the large four by four square of thick murder that was stabbing and crushing you, “Do you mind offering a hand here, Scooby?”

“Oh,” the boy commented eloquently, “That really doesn’t look good.”

“You think?” you bit back, not able to hold your tongue as shocks of misery raced up the nerves in your leg.

“Why poorly executed?”

“Because obviously, the demon had not left.”

“Am I not helping you right now?” he snipped back, making obvious motions to the fact that he was the only thing helping you from getting re-acquainted with the evil flooring.

“Does that mean you’ll kiss them later?” he teased and you grimaced at him, your nose scrunching up under his mischievous glance.

“Was that a poor attempt to flirt with me?”

He laughed (you decided you liked the sound), leaning into you playfully as he hefted you upwards again, righting your swaying frame. “You didn’t give me a lot of material to work with.”

“Then I’ll give you a tip.”

“Hm?”

“Try not sneaking up on girls… and avoiding lines that involve feet.”

On top of it all- your hands were still cold.

“My name isn’t Scooby, by the way,” Mall Boy told you, the sleeve of his overcoat grazing the underside of your wrist as you wobbled through the damp halls.

“I’d hope not,” you snarked, “If anyone named their kid ‘Scooby’ that would be enough to file a child abuse report.”

“What if they named them ‘Donghyuck’?” he prompted.

“You can call me Haechan, then,” he stated, helping you over a rougher patch of terrain, his hand (so unbelievably warm, and so completely unfair) grasping yours to keep you standing tall.

“I guess you can call me Y/N,” you returned, slipping back into the growingly familiar stability of his arm.

“You guess?” he teased, “Are you not 100% sure about that name?”

“Well I’ve never seen my birth certificate, so…”

“You’re right,” you nodded, “I could have a huge inheritance right below my nose. I could use it to make sure no more malls get neglected and turn into horror houses.”

“Enjoying the view?” he jested and you rolled your eyes even though your face was still aflame.

“It's better than the distorted hellion I was imagining when I first heard you,” you admitted, playing through your embarrassment with purpose, trying to turn your cards back into his hands.

“I'm going to take that as a compliment… and also as your weird way for asking my number,” he said, pulling you off the wall and twisting his arm back around your waist, this time allowing his fingers to tap into your stomach through the fabric of your clothing.

“What part of ‘distorted hellion' translated into ‘please, give me a way to contact you'?”

“English isn’t my first language.”

He winced slightly when your wrist had met his hand, his mind immediately taking notice of the arctic characteristics of your hand.

“God, why are your hands so cold?” he hissed, fully enveloping your bluing fingers into his warm palms, rubbing circulation back into them slowly.

“Mark?” Haechan asked, not noticing your hidden grimace as he maneuvered you off the raised block of cement, lifting you with ease.

“The asshole that sent me into the B-Movie horror set behind us,” you explained, falling slightly into him as you regained your faulty footing.

“Boyfriend?” he inquired sourly, a hint of disappointment clouding his focus.

You laughed. “Oh God no, I love Mark, but I saw that kid go through puberty- I could never think of him romantically.”

“Oh,” Haechan smiled, “good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, good,” he stressed as you walked across the parking lot, towards the area you had left Mark in, “it would be really hard to flirt with you if you were in a relationship.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re very forward, you know?”

“It's not everyday I get the chance to meet a pretty girl inside a creepy ass mall, then help her hobble outside after scaring the shit out of her, so I'm taking it as a sign from God,” he told you seriously and you smirked at him, amused by his over-dramatic interpretations of your meeting.

“Fair enough.”

“So that means I get your number, right?”

“Only if you use it for good.”

“Fair enough,” he mimicked you, smiling happily as you paused under an inactive street light.

“Y/N?” a surprised voice yelled from an unknown corner, and Mark appeared from the shadows of a small grove, his face screwed into worry.

“Geez, I thought you were dead- it's been a lot longer than seventeen minutes,” he panted, running towards you and Haechan before stopping in confusion, his thumb coming up to point at Haechan's amused expression.

“Who is this?”

“Crazy mall boy who is trying to create a new ‘Mystery Gang’,” you replied, still holding onto Haechan.

“What’s with you and Scooby Doo references?” Haechan asked, giving you a perplexed look. You shrugged, ignoring the still confused expression on Mark’s face.

“We used to watch them religiously when we were kids,” Mark interrupted.

“Really? Cool.”

“I hurt my ankle,” you blurted out as a serving to explanation, your hand pointing to your stained jeans and lifted foot.

“Oh- yikes,” Mark shuddered, “How the hell did you pull that?”

“Some dislodged tile decided to launch a surprise attack on me, and then Haechan showed up and saved my sorry ass- but only after he scared the living hell out of me.”

“I said I was sorry,” Haechan protested, his bottom lip puckering as he widened his eyes.

“You literally never said ‘sorry’,” you corrected, squinting at him.

“Well, I’m saying it now,” he whined, poking your ribs.

Mark cleared his throat before you both got lost in your sparring again. “Okay, as seriously entertaining as this is- who are you?”

“Haechan,” he said, extending the hand that wasn’t on you to Mark, clasping the older boy’s palm and shaking it loosely.

“I’m Mark.”

Haechan let a spark of recognition light on his face before turning to you. “He made the bet?”

“Yeah,” both you and Mark said, the latter scratching his neck and shifting his weight- still unsure of the situation.

“You mentioned there were donuts involved,” Haechan said.

“I did,” you replied slowly, still not catching on to what Haechan was trying to say.

Haechan wrapped you tighter in his arm, pulling your body back towards his like you were old friends and not a pair of strangers that had met at two in the morning in an empty mall. His hand pulled the edges of your coat tighter together, letting his curled fist rest on your abdomen. It felt weirdly domestic and entirely strange for this boy who you had greeted by insult ten minutes ago. But for some reason, you didn’t step away- you didn’t stop him.

“I vote we fix your ankle and then Mark gets donuts,” Haechan offered looking between the two more experienced friends.

“Why do you get donuts?” Mark asked.

“You didn’t seem to mind ‘dragging’ me, Haechan, so I don’t know why you get a reward,” you teased, tugging on one of the strings of his hoodie.

“I second that,” Mark agreed.

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” you conceded, turning back to face Mark as your finger lingered on Haechan’s hoodie, “he has a valid point Mark- it’s creepy as fuck in there.”

“I’d rather get sued than give you what you want,” Mark rolled his eyes, turning in the direction he had parked his car an hour earlier.

“Oh come on,” Mark’s annoyed huff let out, “I am three inches away- can you not wait to flirt when I’m not close enough to hear both of your dumb heartbeats?”

“Don’t be bitter just because you lost a bet, Mark,” you laughed.

“I’m not bitter,” he muttered bitterly.

“And I’m not getting a dozen donuts later- oh wait!” you said, placing a finger to your chin as if you had just remembered something.

“We agreed on half a dozen,” Mark argued, unlocking his car with his clicker before opening the backseat for you to slide in, letting you prop your foot across the bench seat.

“That was before I got hurt,” you said.

“Also I have a big appetite,” Haechan supplied, his hand slipping from around your ankle as he pulled away with Mark to enter the front seats.

“You two are going to be an insufferable duo,” Mark sighed, starting the ignition and pulling out into the faded night.

You had won two things from the bet that night, and both would leave a sweet taste in your mouth when the sun rose.

FIN.

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