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wonlouvre · 3 years

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pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 4.1k WARNINGS: orphanage, mentions of abandonment and lost of parents

author’s note: just a little filler chapter as we continue reading on the progress of their relationship! thank you so much for waiting! i hope you enjoy reading

six: hustle and bustle | masterlist

When Wonwoo went to college, he moved out from the Royal Residences and rented an apartment with Soonyoung and two other friends of different majors. That period of his life where he was swamped with school works and other official duties, had given him the smallest of chances to go home and sleep for more than two nights in the bedroom he had since he was a teen. From then on, he managed to handle most of his activities on his own. He was assigned a staff that would help him navigate through his busy lifestyle and that was about it.

Their Majesties were not bothered at all by their son’s independence although, oftentimes they felt terrible because of how busy they were, they lacked the time to spend with their only child.

It was a challenge for the Royal Family to apply the definition of “family” in their own context, but in the end, they made it work. The kingdom was flourishing meanwhile the family is loved and supported more than ever.

Their Majesties knew of their son’s wishes to marry his past girlfriend and they were more than ready to support him. But then again, he was young and when they heard their decision to go their separate ways, they were also there, ready as they will ever be, to support him.

Wonwoo wasn’t impatient to find love again. Most especially when he landed a job at the Royal Hospital of the neighboring kingdom. If he was driven to excel as a student, he was more than driven to be the best that he can be when he worked full-time.

Occasionally, your arrangement with him crosses his mind. He likes you. He really does. He likes how you message or call him. He likes how you smile and talk to him. He likes seeing you and having you around. And just recently, he likes holding and kissing you.

He’s just worried that maybe because of this whole arranged marriage thing, the two of you are moving too fast. Or that maybe, this is just an infatuation that may vanish anytime soon.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of such thoughts so early in the morning when you’re here with him but he can’t help it.

Wonwoo was the first one to wake up and the sight of your back greeted him. An elated smile is drawn on his face when he remembers the night before. He still remembers the feel of your lips and breath against his. It makes him wonder if he’d get to feel them again today. He yawns and reaches his hand out to your back, gently running it against the t-shirt you borrowed from him. A low chuckle then escapes his lips as he tries to figure out how you even got on the edge of his bed when he clearly remembers how he locked you in his arms last night.

After a moment of just listlessly playing with your hair and back, he finally scoots over and completely wraps his arm around your waist. He tugs you close to the middle because he’s sure one more movement in the wrong direction, you’re going to fall over.

His action caused you to wake up. Wonwoo meets your bleary eyes and he’s immediately apologizing with a guilty grin.

“Sorry. You can go back to sleep,” he says and fixes the hairs that’s covering your face.

You sigh and close your eyes again before sinking further back on the pillow. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know either,” he answers sheepishly. “But, it’s early. Too early to leave the bed.”

You give him a look of disbelief before pulling yourself up, much to his dismay. A few stretches of your neck and arms helped get rid of your drowsiness. As you stand up to go to the bathroom, the Prince remains sprawled out on the bed with arms now behind his neck, just watching you fondly.

“Have you been awake all this time?” You ask while gathering your dress from the rack, contemplating if you should wear it again instead of being seen with the Prince’s clothes. “You looked like you’ve been creepily staring at me.”

Wonwoo scoffs at your remark and finally stands and follows to where you are. He finds you standing in front of the sink and fixing your hair. With crossed arms, he leans his broad shoulder against the doorframe. His mind goes blank again with thoughts filled by you only.

“You didn’t deny it,” you say and pick up the toothbrush you used last night. “And you’re doing it again.”

Wonwoo snaps out of it and rolls his eyes. “I think you’re liking it though.”

You tried to fight against his claims but your mouth was muffled by the foam of the toothpaste. Wonwoo laughs at your struggle and walks towards the sink as well to mirror what you’re doing. Your playful glare was returned by Wonwoo with a wink. You fake a disgusted gag and the two of you just laugh altogether.

Wonwoo’s concerns earlier were thrown out the window the moment his eyes saw your smile and ears heard your laughter. He’s confident on how his heart fluttered at the thought of sharing every morning like this with you. A few banters or bickering here and there but if it ends up with a warm hug and breathtaking kiss then he won’t complain.

“I have to go back to my room,” you say as you wipe your face with a towel. “For real this time.”

Wonwoo pouts and holds your waist. “I told you it’s still early.”

“Wonwoo, it’s already seven thirty in the morning,” you tell him after giving the clock on the wall a quick glance.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent and wraps his arms around you. “And? Don’t people sleep in while they’re on vacation?”

“Let’s just meet at breakfast,” you dodge his question and untangle his arms from your body, to which he protests against. “Wonwoo.”

He doesn’t let you go as you walk towards the door. You’re dragging a six foot tall baby giant and you don’t even know if you can actually reach the door at this rate.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Wonwoo, please—”

“Aha!” The door suddenly opens and to your dread, it’s the Queen. “I knew I’d find you here!”

What ensued in the early hours of the morning is something you wish to not be spoken about as you and Wonwoo carried on with breakfast. The Prince still insists that he locked his door and you are a witness of that, in spite of getting lost in each other’s heated kisses last night. But then again, his mother is the Queen and it’s no question that she’d have keys to every single room of the Royal Residences.

Plus, Her Majesty was more than pleased to see the two of you getting along so well that you even share a room and bed together. You apologized profusely at the breakfast table but all you remember is her dropping it by saying how welcome you are to stay at Wonwoo’s bedroom from now on and if you wish, she’ll have your luggage moved right this instant.

Wonwoo was embarrassed, but he doesn’t disagree with his mother’s suggestion. He knows she’s joking so he played along even though it earned him a painful pinching on his thigh under the table.

His Majesty already left by seven sharp for his scheduled meeting with the cabinet members hence the absence at breakfast.

After a hearty breakfast and relentless teasing, you and Wonwoo proceed with the agenda for the day. The Queen gave a short briefing on what the day has in store for the two of you. She regretfully informs you on how long and tiring it might get, but assured you that it will be only for today and afterwards the two of you can have the freedom to explore and do whatever you want for the coming days.

You and Wonwoo have had similar busy days even before you got engaged so this is something you’re already used to. It’s just that this time it’s a different load because you’re doing it together as a couple. You must say it’s nerve wracking, but Wonwoo is here and he will be with you every step of the way.

The Queen excused herself a little while later, leaving you and Wonwoo remained seated to wait for the staff to finish preparations for your departure.

As you look around the pristine garden, Wonwoo catches you by surprise with a kiss on your shoulder. You could barely feel it from the button up you’re wearing, but let him be nonetheless. He leans his forehead on said shoulder and you do the same to the top of his head.

“Still sleepy?” You ask and you can feel him nod.

“I can already see myself falling asleep in the car.”

You snort at his dramatics and lightly tap his cheek.

Wonwoo then abruptly lifts his head up and juts his lips in a pout. “We should have slept in.”

“Her Majesty will not hesitate to wake us up,” you remind him while shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

“No she won’t!” He insists and holds your hand. “She’d think “poor babies, I should let them sleep.””

You let out an uncontrollable giggle. “That’s not how it works Wonwoo. For one, we’re literal adults in adult bodies and second, we can’t escape this whether we like it or not.”

Wonwoo couldn’t argue with you anymore so he opted to narrow his eyes at you instead. He attempted but Jeongyeon’s arrival cut him off. She happily announces that the car is already at the front and that you’re good to go. Wonwoo mumbles “we’ll talk about this later” to you when he stands up and takes your hand.

You just nod your head to let the baby in him win.

Timely enough, Wonwoo’s alma mater is celebrating its founding anniversary and they invited the “Royal Couple” - as they call the two of you these days - to say a few words of motivation to the student body, most especially those who are about to graduate.

It was only supposed to be Wonwoo, but when the news of you joining the Prince for his homecoming spread, they didn’t think twice to invite you as well. You were more than okay to just let Wonwoo do his thing and watch from the sidelines or through a livestream, but you considered that it’s only right and polite to introduce yourself properly to your future husband’s people.

So far, the people from yours and his have been very welcoming and supportive of your union. However, you can’t be complacent because a minor slip up by public figures like the two of you will not be tolerated by the people who have the potential to be cruel.

The university’s biggest auditorium was booming and vibrating from the loud cheers and claps of every student and school official present when your arrival was announced. Men and women alike cheered specifically for their Prince and senior who returned the enthusiasm welcome with a strong wave and bright smile.

You do the same beside him until you both reach the designated chairs near the stage. A bouquet of flowers was presented for you by some students to which you gladly accept. Wonwoo keeps your hand clasped with his, only letting go to shake hands with his previous professors.

Shortly after, the crowd quiets down and the president of the university stands at the podium and officially opens the program.

You’re nervous. That’s the least you can say out of all the emotions that’s running through you at the moment. You think you look awfully awkward and stiff with your posture and you’re afraid that this could be on the front page of every newspaper the next morning. Your appearance should be the least of your worries right now, but you can’t help but feel conscious.

Wonwoo must have noticed because he took hold of your hand that’s placed on the arm rest, giving it gentle squeezes and a quick kiss. This is him letting you know that he’s right here and that you’re okay. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been holding your breath all this time. You exhale and squeeze his hand back. It makes you wonder if he felt as nervous as you are now when he made similar appearances back at your kingdom.

“Thank you, your Highness, for accepting our invitation,” the dean of the Medical and Health Sciences department, who took the microphone after the president’s opening, says and claps at your direction.

You and Wonwoo stand up to wave once again to the clapping crowd, their energy not dying anytime soon.

Wonwoo is then invited to go up the stage to grace the students who have been waiting to hear his voice since the program started. He takes the microphone from the dean after he shakes his hand.

“The last time I was here, I was about to graduate,” he starts and the expecting crowd listens. “I was younger and you know, really excited and relieved that school is finally over and I’m free!”

The students laugh and so do you.

Wonwoo continues, “It didn’t cross my mind that I’ll be standing here again and be embraced by your kindness. I will make this short as I’m sure that you’d much rather prefer the festivities outside instead of being here,” he tries to humor and the students disagree with him.

“The people first,” he emphasizes and points his forefinger up, “As someone who is delegated to do various activities responsibly, I do it not for my image or the cabinet or even my family. I do it because of the people, because of you,” he says and gestures his hand to them.

“Likewise, as a doctor, I do my job responsibly with the people I’m serving in mind. I do it for their well-being, safety and overall survival. That’s my purpose and I hope that as you have yours, you remember to be selfless because that’s what we need the most. I congratulate you in advance, for those who have only started and for those who are about to cross the finish line. Congratulations because I know and I believe that you’ll do well and even better. Just hang in there a little bit more and take breaks if you need to. I hope to see you around someday, wherever it may be.”

You don’t know if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you, but Wonwoo seems to be dashing and blinding as ever. The way he stood and spoke gracefully made him shine as if he’s the only light that’s being illuminated inside this auditorium.

Wonwoo ends his speech with a sincere thank you and a polite bow. The crowd claps and cheers for him (for the nth time). The school officials went to the stage and gave him flowers as well, to his surprise, before proceeding to have their pictures taken to commemorate the event.

You clap just like everyone else and watch Wonwoo with your smile never disappearing. It didn’t take long for the Prince to search for you and meet your eyes. With a wide smile, you give him two thumbs up. In response, he charmingly winks at you.

You can’t believe you like this guy.

I like him, you realized.

You’re just realizing that now after doing almost everything with him. Holding hands, sharing kisses here and there, hugging each other’s warm bodies and even spending the night together.

Yeah, I like him.

Lunch had to be short because you have one more place to visit. Jeongyeon mentioned that the drive could last approximately forty minutes to an hour. If you want to get back to the residences before it gets too dark, you need to get moving. You just grabbed a honey bread, which was Wonwoo’s recommendation since it’s his favorite and it’s the kingdom’s famous delicacy. You accompanied it with a cup of tea meanwhile Wonwoo got himself a cup of coffee.

The two of you ate your quick bites inside the moving vehicle and it was a stretch to not spill your beverages. The driver had to slow down every once in a while, but you and Wonwoo just giggled like some teenagers out on their first date.

Twenty minutes in the drive, Wonwoo is already passed out with his head laid on your shoulder while his fingers are interlaced with yours. You’re not sure if Wonwoo is tired or if he’s just really a sleepyhead by how much he’s been sleeping since the two of you arrived. Well, it’s only your second day. But you clearly remember how he slept on your way here, then today on the way to the university and now to your next destination.

Nonetheless, you let him be because this will last for two weeks only and after that, he’ll be back to his hospital duty schedule. And you won’t deny, he is definitely cute with his mouth ajar.

You have been to an orphanage several times before. Usually it’s with your parents as an official duty and other times, it’s just you. After witnessing various cases involving children at your internship at the Supreme Court, a purpose arose.

Children in your kingdom, like in any other kingdom, are beyond valued and laws are enacted to emphasize that value. Any crime committed against children is corresponded by punishments, regardless of who and what you are.

You haven’t handled a case firsthand and you hope to never do so.

This visit is nothing new to you and Wonwoo. But the heartbreak each time you step foot at such a place is something you’ll never get used to.

The children of the orphanage were nothing but full of joy when you and Wonwoo stepped out of the car. Their smiles and waves were enough to put a smile on your faces and lift the heavy burden of today’s affairs. Some of the kids ran to the two of you and handed flowers and small trinkets as gifts. One of them proudly said that they made it during their arts and crafts classes. While the others agreed saying how they made it just for you.

You and Wonwoo have your hearts swelling in adoration.

Hand in hand, you and Wonwoo followed the head caretaker as he toured you around. The facilities were of great condition, making it a healthy environment for the children as they play, study and grow. Right now, the orphanage only offers elementary education as there is only a small number of orphaned teenagers. But that doesn’t mean that they are taken care of any less.

A lot of changes and improvements have been made as the kingdom made an effort to protect the welfare of children in the country. According to the caretaker, there has been a spike of abandoned children on the streets from the previous year and to say that they are alarmed is an understatement. Volunteers, mostly teachers from elementary schools, protested and appealed to the kingdom’s cabinet members to do something and accordingly enough, they did.

It was a gradual process and it still is. But to them slow is better than unmoving.

After the program where the children presented a play of the turtle and the hare and the older brothers and sisters performed a dance number, you and Wonwoo were led by the caretaker to the gallery where photos that dated back to the establishment of the orphanage were displayed.

The photos hold memories of past volunteers and children who used to live here. Some stories of the children before were saddening. They didn’t only lose their real parents, oftentimes they also lose the second chance of having one. Some do get adopted meanwhile some grow old here, considering the orphanage as their sole family. It was difficult and eventually, the orphanage faced trials that almost caused its closure.

But the perseverance and sacrifices of the people here fought against those trials that helped the orphanage’s service to continue to this day.

“These are the children who got adopted this year,” the caretaker shows you a framed photo while the Prince spoke with the volunteer doctor about the health and wellness of the children.

The kids in the photo donned innocent smiles as if they were smiling directly at you. You touch the glass of the frame and try to embed their faces on your mind just like how you did to those you have met today.

You pray that they get to be happy forever.

You don’t get to see the sunset as much. The sunrise, maybe. But sunsets are a rare sight for you because of how late you stay at your office every day. So when Wonwoo suggested to stop by the nearest beachside and watch as the sun sets, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Wonwoo is the opposite. The sunset is closer to his heart because that’s usually the time where he catches a break. He’s go-to place to take in the majestic view is at the hospital’s rooftop. Sometimes Soonyoung accompanies him with dinner and sometimes he’s all by himself with a warm cup of coffee.

It’s a bit cold as you walk barefoot on the sand. It’s a relief that you’re wearing the pants that Jeongyeon prepared for you among the other options.

Wonwoo’s holding your one hand while you’re using the other to carry the heels you wore today. Security is lurking around as they give you the space and free time that you need. Today has been eventful but fun. And ending it with a peaceful walk on the beach only comforts you further.

“You were cool today,” you speak up against the sound of the waves and bump your shoulder to his. “Earlier at the university.”

Wonwoo smirks, but hangs his head low. “I’m always cool.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

After a few hundreds of steps, Wonwoo pulls you down to sit. He keeps his hands locked with yours as you take the last minutes of the ablaze color of the sky which is also reflected on the water.

“What do you think of going to my family’s vacation home tomorrow?” He asks while smiling at you.

You pretend to think for a second. “I really can’t say no to that, can I?”

Wonwoo purses his lips. “No, not really.”

“Well then, I think it would be lovely,” you finally answer.

Wonwoo took advantage of you facing him and stole a kiss from your lips. Your eyes widen with the fleeting contact while your cheeks burn in spite of the cold breeze coming from the ocean. The Prince laughs at your reaction and pulls you closer to him with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“From my memory of last night, you kissed me first.”

You threw daggers at him with your glare and hit his arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” He acts hurt and clutches the middle of his chest. “I’m hurt, Princess.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter under your breath and Wonwoo grins in victory.

“You started it so you’re gonna have to keep your end of the deal,” he whispers as he snuggles his face to your neck. “You’re marrying me after all.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wonwoo suddenly draws back and gazes into your eyes.

“What?” You ask, confused.

“Kiss me.”

You push him away and stand up. “You know what, it’s getting cold. I want to go back to the car.”

“No!” Wonwoo holds onto your calf to prevent you from escaping. “You have to kiss me first!”

He seems to have forgotten that you’re not the only people enjoying the beach by how he’s acting and it’s starting to get embarrassing. He doesn’t seem to care as well because he remains persistent, hugging your leg and whining against it.

“Okay, okay!” You appease him and secure your hand on his cheeks. “Just one and we’re leaving.”

Wonwoo promises with a nod and stands up. He wraps his arms around your waist again, hugging you close to his chest. You rest your hands on them and stand on your toes to finally reach his expecting lips.

You give him a quick close-mouthed peck and that’s it.

“You call that a kiss?” Wonwoo teases, tightly holding you because he’s not taking any chances of you escaping him again.

“I’m starting to dislike you,” you say while pouting.

“Not if I do this,” he refutes and pulls your chin up so that he can lean down to kiss you fully.

Just like that, Wonwoo steals your breath again and you don’t even know anymore if it’s doing your heart good or not.

You’re guessing it’s the former.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #fic: ifliys

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veryreallyfuckinbad · 3 years

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FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 1

You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep sprinting. All you were able to hear were the ghostly, haunting wails of the dead. They were a sound that you’ve grown accustomed to, but they never failed to make you uneasy, no matter how many times you’ve heard them. You never thought it would end like this, torn to shreds by walkers. But what were you expecting? Dying as a hero? Dying to a human, when they were so few and far between? Hell, dying of starvation was better than sharing the fate of the dead people walking. Anything was better than ending up like the group of walkers chasing you down the street.

The scorching heat definitely didn’t help. You were never fond of the Georgian heat and despite having grown up here, you simply disliked how uncomfortable and sticky everything felt. But today, you were convinced that if you cracked a raw egg on the street, it would easily cook. The road was surrounded by greenery, a forest nearby. It was oddly beautiful, the grass growing out of the cracks in the concrete, the flowers blooming around you.

Your legs were starting to give out. You knew that if you didn’t figure something out, and quick, you were as good as dead. Your knife was tucked in its sheath, but once you heard snarls and growls of a nearby walker that wandered from the opposite side of the street, you unsheathed it and threw the knife straight into the dead man’s head, cracking his skull open and sending it flying down on the hot concrete. Despite how tired you were, you felt a smirk creep up on your face- even when running for your life, almost collapsing out of sheer exhaustion, your skills with a blade didn’t let you down. Quickly bending down to retrieve your trusty knife, you pulled it out of the walker’s skull with a slight grunt and grimaced as some blood hit your face. Shit. Not only were you sweaty, you were also covered in walker blood just because you pulled your knife out too quickly.

You were about to quickly curse the dead man for making you even dirtier than you already were, but your head shot up when you heard a loud, consistent noise. A car alarm went off. This was your only chance, you thought. You didn’t take time to wonder why the alarm was blaring, maybe one of the dead bumped into an abandoned car. Frankly, you didn’t care. You looked around and nearly gasped when you saw it- an opening to the forest. You felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and made a run for it, praying to every deity that the dead were too distracted with the loud noise of the alarm to notice you slip away.

Your prayers were answered. You managed to slip into the lush forest unnoticed. Deciding to walk deeper into the woodland, you sheathed your knife and gave it a gentle pat, as if thanking it for saving your life.

The forest was serene and quiet. The trees gave you shade and cooled you down a little. Looking up, you saw a bird fly up to its nest. Despite you being in grave danger, practically at all times, life went on for other creatures. Moss grew over stones and tree trunks, the occasional mushroom could be found here and there. Instead of the growls of the dead, all you could hear now was the calm rustling of the trees and the sounds of woodland creatures, mainly the quiet chirping of birds. For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt at peace.

Suddenly, the sound of rushing water could be heard. There must have been a river nearby. Hurrying over to find the source of the sound, you almost tripped over a root that was sticking out of the ground, barely managing to get hold of a tree before you could fall. You couldn’t help your excitement; you were dehydrated, sweaty and tired- any body of water would be a blessing.

“Oh, fuck yes” was all you said under your breath when you saw it- a beautiful, small creek and a tiny pond connected to it. Rocks were scattered across the river bank, moss covering most of them. Trees were growing out of the edge of the bank, one bending right over the pond. Green ferns surrounded the other side of the lake, gently rustling with every gust of wind. You noticed a big weeping willow and decided to lay your backpack underneath it. Your knife was still attached to your pants- it wasn’t a good idea to leave it on the bank. ‘Better safe than sorry’ you thought.

You contemplated for a second, wondering whether you should take your clothes off but decided against it- you might need to get up and run any second and running through a forest naked, possibly being chased by walkers didn’t sound like much fun. Not that running from them fully clothed was a blast.

You quickly kicked off your boots and splashed some water on your face, allowing it to drip from your lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smile and sigh, finally able to relax and rest. The water was clear- you could see the rocks on the bottom of the lake and some stray leaves that fell in. You could also see your reflection- your hair was matted, some knots forming in it and your face sunken down, dark bags under your eyes from staying awake and alert at all times. You sighed and let yourself submerge in the water- it wasn’t nearly as good as a shower, but you knew that a shower is a luxury that was far out of your reach.

Sitting under the willow, hair and clothes wet, you played with your knife in your hands. The dark brown, wooden handle was wrapped in a bandage for easier grip- that way it never slipped out of your hand. You smiled when you remembered receiving the knife. Your previous group was like family to you- they taught you everything you know. Everything from sharpening knives to killing walkers or skinning squirrels. You owed your life to them, but you will forever remember one of them- Jake. He was a tall guy, middle aged you would guess, not that it mattered anymore. His hair was a dirty blonde color and his face was speckled with freckles. He was like a father to you, he was the one who gave you your knife, and he came up with its nickname- Artemis. During one of the rare, calm and starry nights he sat on top of his truck with you while the rest of your group was asleep. He explained why he named your knife Artemis- he said it’s the name of a Greek goddess, patron of nature and hunts. You were never big on mythology, only knowing a few of the most popular myths.

“So, you named her after the goddess of nature for me to shamelessly murder innocent woodland critters with it?” You joked, “Don’t think she would be too happy about that”

He laughed and playfully punched your shoulder, making you swat at him with your hand

“Nah, I’m sure she would understand. Hunting was her thing” Jake said, sighing and gave you a small smile.

You shook your head, not even trying to understand. You felt at peace, safe even. He treated you like his daughter more than a fellow survivor. He saved your life when you almost starved to death and took you in. Ever since then, he took it upon himself to keep you safe. He said you reminded him of his daughter, but you never asked him to elaborate, as his eyes always darkened when he spoke about her. Jake made you feel like as long as he was around, nothing would ever happen to you.

And then everything went to shit.

When you were all asleep peacefully, a herd passed through your camp. They must’ve seen your campfire or heard you speak from afar. You saw your entire group get mauled and torn apart, right before your eyes. You saw Jake die. Before he met his end, he managed to say one last thing.

“Run”

You quickly shook your head and stood up, stretching. The leaves hanging from the willow above you swayed in the wind, one of them tickling your neck and almost making you jump out of your skin, you held Artemis out and turned around, sighing.

You had to admit, you were paranoid. But you didn’t think it was a bad thing- it was either being careful or being dead.

Your head whipped back to the pond, hearing rustling and the snapping of branches coming from the ferns opposite of you. If it was one walker, you could handle it. It would probably fall in the pond anyway, making your job easier.

You almost gasped when you saw a flash of reddish-brown come out from between the greenery- you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head. It was just a fox who had come to the pond to drink some water.

You examined the animal- he looked unhealthy, but still beautiful. His fur was matted and he looked malnourished. You noticed the nick in one of his black ears and wondered how he got it. His fur looked like a flame, contrasting against the green grass and moss. He had ears that looked like they were too big for his head. Deciding to watch from afar as not to startle the animal, you sat cross legged by the shore of the lake. Your eyes shot up when you noticed the blood dripping down one of his hind legs- he had a massive cut on his leg. It went all the way from his hip to his paw, coloring his fur crimson. As soon as he tried to swallow the water, he began heaving and choking, his breathing became shallow. Eventually, he collapsed on his side.

You couldn’t just sit back and watch this poor animal die. You didn’t have the heart not to help him, and you had to admit it- you were lonely as hell. Anything would do, even the company of a wild animal in need. You jumped up from the grass you sat on and ran into the water, trying your best not to slip on any of the rocks that littered the bottom of the lake, which was shallow enough for you to cross without needing to swim.

You ran up to the fox, contemplating what to do. His leg was bleeding badly, you needed to stop it or he wouldn’t make it until morning. It looked at you, terrified.

“Fuck, shit, what the hell do I do?” You tried not to panic but couldn’t help the string of curses escaping your mouth.

Suddenly, you got an idea. You remembered that your knife’s handle was wrapped in bandages, and even though you hated the idea of sacrificing the comfort of having the handle wrapped in them, you decided that he needed them more. You weren’t sure whether to bring your backpack and knife to the other side of the pond or take the animal to your makeshift camp under the willow.

You decided on the latter, picking the fox up as gently as you could and walked into the water, holding him up so he didn’t get wet. As soon as you made it to the other side you carefully laid him down on the grass, making sure not to touch his injured leg. You quickly grabbed Artemis and unwrapped the bandages from the handle.

“You better be grateful” you said, half to the fox, half to yourself. If Jake could see you right now, he would be so mad. He would tell you not to waste resources on a dying animal that will run away or die anyway. Maybe he was right, but you couldn’t help yourself. You saw a lot of yourself in the fox, scared, tired of running away, afraid of anything and everything.

You sighed and grabbed the bandages, ripping them in half.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’m trying to help” you whispered under your breath and gently stroked his head. He didn’t flinch or bite you, probably because he didn’t have enough strength to do so. You took a deep breath and grabbed one half of the bandages and pressed them against his wound, flinching when the animal shrieked due to the sudden pressure on his wounded leg. You knew you were helping but couldn’t help but feel bad. You noticed it was getting dark, looking around with your hands still firmly pressed against his wound. You sighed, knowing you’ll need to light a campfire soon.

Once his bleeding seemed to lessen, you let go of his leg and looked at your hands. They were covered in blood, but it was nothing new. ‘Better than walker blood, I guess’ you thought to yourself as you made your way over to the pond to wash the blood off and quickly returned to the animal.

“Now, this won’t hurt as much but I’ll need you to stay still” you looked him in the eyes and stroked his head, between his comically big ears. He seemed to calm down, looking at you with less terror and more confusion.

Taking the other half of the bandages, you kneeled next to him and gently lifted his leg, trying to cause him as little pain as possible. He didn’t make a sound this time and let you wrap the bandage around his leg. You couldn’t help but think that he must know you’re helping. You knew it was a stupid thought, but something in his eyes and the way he calmed down whenever you stroked his flame-colored fur told you he trusted you.

“I will be right back, I promise. I just need to get a fire going because someone forced me to get into the pond again and I need to dry off.” You explained, smirking, noticing how good it felt to finally have someone to talk to- even if it was a confused, wounded fox.

Once you gathered all the wood and branches you could find, you laid them down in a pile and surrounded it with rocks so the fire wouldn’t spread. Grabbing your backpack, you pulled out a lighter and looked at the smoldering branches. Poking the wood a with a stick a few times, you finally sat down next to the fox again and watched the flame grow.

Then, you remembered- you had a water bottle and a package of dried jerky in your backpack. Smiling, you pulled them out and took a sip of water and opened the jerky. The foxes ears shot up when he heard the rustle of the plastic wrapping. He looked at you and licked his snout, giving you puppy eyes.

“Oh, come on man. This is my last food! I literally don’t have any more.” You whined, hoping that the animal could somehow understand you. Sadly, he couldn’t. His gaze flickered from the piece of jerky to your face. You sighed and gave in when he flipped over, so he was laying on his stomach, his tail moving gently, kind of like a dog wagging its tail when it sees its owner.

“There you go” you dipped your head, handing him the piece of meat, the fox gently taking it from your hand, as if afraid to graze you with its sharp teeth “But if I starve, it’s on you” you pointed your finger at him, once again hoping he understood.

The fox ended up eating all of your food, but the second his head pushed against your hand, shuffling over so his head was on your lap, you knew it was worth it.

“Feeling better, huh?” you gave his head a pat with a smile, “I know you’ll be gone in the morning, it’s okay. Go when you want to” you were surprised by yourself, by how much you missed speaking to another living creature.

You heard a branch snap on the other side of the pond and your head shot up, just like the foxes ears. You both looked at the source of the sound, but couldn’t make anything out- it was too dark. You lifted the animal’s head off your lap as gently as you could and grabbing your knife, made your way to the shore of the lake. Feeling bold, you sheathed the blade and grabbed two big rocks, banging them against each other.

“Come on, you dead fuck! Come up here so I can get this over with and sleep in peace!” you screamed, trying to lure the walker out, but nothing came out. Not even a single undead moan. You stood by the shore for a while, making sure that it really was nothing before coming back to sit with the fox, the animal once again put his head on your lap.

You looked over at him and ran your hands through his fur “What do you think? Was it just an animal?” you genuinely hoped that the fox would tell you, all you wanted to do was relax for a few hours, maybe get some shut eye. He just looked up at you and moved his head into your hand, wanting to be pet some more. After making sure you would keep petting him, he laid his head in your lap.

“So that’s what I am? A pillow, huh?” You whispered gently, loving the feeling of a wild, elusive animal trusting you.

You opened your eyes and rubbed them, sighing. You haven’t slept this well in a long time. No noises woke you up, you didn’t even have a nightmare.

You expected the fox to be gone, back in the wild, tearing your bandage off with its teeth, but you were wrong. He was sitting curled up beside you, awake, as if keeping watch. You grinned and ruffled his fur lovingly, holding yourself back from kissing his head- you had to admit it, he was the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“So, since you insist on staying, what’s your name, huh?” you looked at him, still stroking his fire-colored pelt. “Floppy? ‘Cause you know, the ears.” You grimaced and shook your head, “Nah, you need a more badass name. Like… like the most badass person I know. Jake. You like that?” he squeaked, resembling a bark but more high pitched. He suddenly stood up and you glanced at his leg. He was standing on all four legs, not even a limp. You guessed the wound wasn’t as deep as you thought. He trotted over to something and came back to you, looking up at you and walking back to whatever he wanted to share with you.

“What is it, huh?” Curiously, you went over to where Jake was standing. He was sniffing something, looking at what he found and then flicking his gaze back to you.

Kneeling down, you were surprised to see a small bag. It wasn’t there yesterday. Concerned, you opened it and saw a water bottle, a bag of dried jerky, a dead squirrel and some bandages.

“What the—“ you couldn’t finish as you saw Jake put his snout inside the bag, getting stuck. You laughed a bit and pulled it off his head. He shook his head, sneezed and licked his nose. Reaching into the bag again, you saw one more thing. A note.

“SQUIRREL FOR THE FOX”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead daryl

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 1: Hand in My Pocket

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter's not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he'd always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn't want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

—-

The red glare of the setting sun set the City That Never Sleeps in a persistent glow as the last of the golden rays disappeared behind the pillars of the city, outlining every shadow. There was the silhouette of buildings, of cars racing along the road, of people stalking down the street in the usual New York bustle, and there was the shadow of Spider-Man as he swung overhead. Not that it was really his shadow.

Where there should have been a perfect replica of the boy clinging to a web as he dipped low (one that outlined his lumpy goggles and rumpled suit) there was instead the poofiness of fluffed up hair and sharp slacks. The movements of the shadow replicated the boy, like they were supposed to, but nothing else indicated that this shadow belonged to the vigilante swinging through the street.

And Peter liked it that way.

Observing the difference between people's shadow had always been a game to the boy, to watch a thin woman walk around while a curvy figure followed her, or too see a little boy being tracked by the silhouette of a tutu and puffy hair. Until very recently, the teenager had loved to stare at his Aunt and Uncle's shadows whenever he could, always fascinated by the way they reflected each other with a broad smile on his face.

Now, though, neither of them had shadows, and Peter didn't smile as often. He didn't feel like there was much reason to. It had been his fault, after all. His fault they'd never get to see flashes of each other when their shadows disappeared in the dark, his fault they'd never walk under the sun with their shadows in line with the other. It was his fault they'd bled out in an alley so dark their shadows hadn't even been there to comfort them as they left.

Spider-Man rattled an anxious, forced breath through his tight lungs as he propelled himself upwards on his webs. He instinctively looked for the taped together watch he kept on his webshooter to catch the time, though he knew he had plenty. Still, after his last time missing curfew at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, he wasn't anxious to repeat the experience. And he did have to swing across the bridge to make his way back to Queens since he'd branched out to Manhattan for the night.

The cracked watch read that it was barely seven, though, so Peter still had a few hours before he had to be back. Mr. Fowler didn't care much what they did as long as they were back before ten, unless it was one of his "days," which really just meant he was as drunk as a skunk and completely willing to smack a few boys upside their head and be unreasonably dickish about the rules. But other than that, Peter was usually left to his own devices to patrol around the streets of his city and try everything in his power to make up for what had happened barely six months ago.

But it would never be enough.

Peter stopped on top of a billboard that clung to the side of a building, landing clumsily and only barely managing to slip his fingers around the poster for a new movie. His world swam--just a little bit--as he regained his bearings. He shook his head at the dizziness that had become a constant ever since moving to live at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but it wasn't like it was their fault. All the boys were reasonably well-cared for, with regular mealtimes, a generous curfew, and easy access to schools, but they weren't really equipped to deal with Peter.

The teenager held back a sigh as his stomach grumbled painfully. He'd eaten the last of his stash of granola bars that he'd bought after a tourist he'd helped had forced a few bills on him. He didn't like taking money, but he couldn't deny that those bars had helped for the two weeks that he'd made them stretch.

Forcing down a hungry grumble of annoyance, Peter turned to survey his shadow instead, the one that had always been the same. Ever since he could remember. Even when he'd been in kindergarten, there'd been the tall and protective shadow of his soulmate behind him. Despite everything, and despite how selfish it felt, it was comforting to look down and see that familiar crop of hair. He reached a hand up to touch his head, never quite used to the way his fingers brushed up against cloth but the shadow underneath him swept through fluffed up tufts.

His soulmate's hair today was messy, not as poofed up as it usually was. Today must be a casual day for him or something, which weren't very often, but when they did occur they often lasted for days. Other days he could make out the outline of glasses and the sharp angles of clothing that made him think of a business suit, though he couldn't be sure. They were only a shadow after all. Peter wondered what his soulmate thought about his own shadow, if he'd noticed anything odd, but, then again, Peter's shadow probably just looked like he was wearing a hoodie all the time, and maybe what could pass as some pretty obnoxious glasses. He'd used to have those anyway.

Peter tilted his head, enjoying the way the hair on the sidewalk underneath him flopped with him. For some reason, Peter found it very amusing when one had hair showing and the other didn't. It just looked a little ridiculous. Recently, it had been the teenager who had been donning the hoodie over his head, but Peter assumed that his soulmate was usually wearing something too. More often than not, he'd look down to see the hair gone, covered by a sharp outline that really had him questioning his soulmate's fashion sense.

The thought brought a snicker to his lips. He nestled more comfortably atop the billboard. There hadn't been any good action in a while anyway.

"Where do you think we should go next?" he asked aloud, and he didn't know if he was asking himself or the shadow of his soulmate underneath. He didn't know why, but he'd always felt like they'd give really good advice. "There hasn't really been much going on, and I haven't seen any of those alien-weapon guys since the knock-off Avengers robbed that bank. Maybe we could try and find out whoever you are again. That'd be kind of fun."

'Kind of fun.' Yeah, right. It was the only thing Peter looked forward to anymore.

Before, he'd always been excited to graduate, to go through college and apply to Stark Industries, his Aunt and Uncle's smiles egging him on the entire way. He'd looked forward to band and robotics and, while he'd stayed, decathlon too. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, but Ned was still there. Liz too. They were nice, and it was good to see their smiles and hear their occasional pitying encouragement that usually only pissed him off (not that he'd ever let them know, they were just trying to help after all), but they weren't what Peter was looking for.

Then again, Peter wasn't 100% he knew what he was looking for either.

He was pretty sure his soulmate was something to look forward to. Ben and May had always described what it felt like to find your soulmate, to be able to stare at shadows your entire life until you found who you were looking for. You would touch their hand and your shadows would switch, and when you let go, the shadow remained to your universe approved bond again. The satisfaction of finally piecing together the flashes you got whenever both shadows disappeared into the darkness. It was something Aunt May and Uncle Ben had always enticed him about, always encouraged.

Maybe if he could find his soulmate, everything would be better. Everything would be perfect, like May and Ben had always proclaimed.

But that was childish, and Peter knew it. Soulmates didn't fix everything, and meeting his soulmate certainly wouldn't improve his situation. They were a regular person with a regular life. He was a second-rate vigilante that had been orphaned twice. Besides, nothing could really help Peter. Not that he needed help. He just needed to grow out of the system so he could make something that actually felt like life rather than the scraping by that it had become.

By the time Peter moved from his spot, it was because his shadow had dimmed with the entrance of New York darkness. He stood up, barely able to make out the faintness of his soulmate, and flicked his wrist out. He still had a little bit before he had to be back at the group home, so he reckoned he'd be fine. He'd be back in time that Mr. Fowler wouldn't give him another strike and he could still eat dinner. He'd do his homework, go to bed, and the next day would be the same horrible numbness of before.

"Any ideas on where the best crime is, Matey?" he asked his shadow, "Maybe superpowers can leech over to soulmates. That'd be really cool actually. Soulologists haven't been able to prove anything other than memory flashes. We could break that entire field of study if that were true."

His soulmate, of course, didn't answer. But the scuffle of a fight and a warped sound unlike anything the teenager had ever heard, did.

---

Tony glanced around his emptying lab, a tired glint in his eyes as he did. Large portions of the tower had been emptied and organized into large crates as they anticipated the move from the tower to the compound. Most of his lab had stayed the same throughout the process, as staff weren't allowed up here, leaving it mostly up to the billionaire himself to pack up his things. Glancing around at the piles of disheveled work and unfinished projects, he might have to get some help anyway. Or, if he started packing now, he'd have plenty of time to do it by himself.

He turned back to the suit he was working on.

The horribly challenging nanoparticles as part of his newest suit were barely coming together. It was incredibly difficult, which made it the most fun thing he'd worked on in a while, which also meant he'd been working on it for two days straight. It was a good thing Pepper was working in another country at the moment and wasn't there to make him go to bed or take a break or anything worthless like that. Then again, he guessed Pepper wasn't the only one with the power to do that.

"Sir," Friday started, "You are approaching your extent of working without a break. I suggest you go to sleep."

"I'm almost done, girl," he replied at the same moment the gauntlet he was working on sparked. He hissed in pain as he withdrew his newly burnt fingers, his vision swimming slightly. He blinked furiously to clear the dark spots from his sight. "Okay, maybe a break isn't such a bad idea."

"Great choice, sir."

"Don't patronize me," he scolded, grabbing a nearby jacket to throw over his stained shirt and a pair of sunglasses despite the late hour, "I'm taking a break, not going to sleep. Keep the lab running for me, I'm gonna go grab a coffee."

"Might I suggest a calming tea instead?"

"You most certainly may not."

Tony stepped into the brightly lit elevator, staring down at his shadow as he usually did when he was alone. The sight of the usual hoodie brought a smile to his face. His soulmate must have a hoodie addiction as strong as his coffee one, though he usually preferred whenever he could see the kid's curly hair before it was eventually tamed down by what he guessed was a godly amount of hair gel.

His soulmate had turned fifteen recently, he knew. August tenth was the first day he'd had a shadow, one of a tiny baby curled up at his feet. He remembered fondly what it had felt like to look down one random morning and see the dark blob at his feet, the confusion and the joy as he'd realized it moved with him. After thirty-one years, a soulmate of his very own.

He'd loved to watch them grow through their shadows, though his favorite was the little snippets he'd get of their life. Like for everyone else, they were very rare, especially in the bright cities he was accustomed to living in. There was always just a little bit of light somewhere in New York, but he remembered vividly the little snatches he'd managed to get from his soulmate's life when both of their shadows faded into a shade of the dark completely.

A deeply nerdy room with Star Wars posters. The bustling streets of a city. And, more recently, dark alleyways that had made him more than a little nervous. His soulmate was only a kid after all, but it was a bit hypocritical for him to be any kind of judgmental after his own teenage years, and it wasn't like he could do anything.

Other than what he was doing now.

The flashes of the streets he'd seen in his soulmate visions had reminded him deeply of New York (though they could just as easily have been from another city in the States), so Tony had made the effort to go out more whenever he could. Usually he couldn't stay for long, he was pretty busy after all. Still, local coffee shops and street vendors had become frequented by Tony Stark as he'd searched. He knew it was a little ridiculous to parade around the streets of New York City in the hopes that he would stumble upon his soulmate, but after everything that had happened with the team, he could at least try to throw in a little optimism.

The mechanic blinked out thoughts of the broken team as the elevator opened on the empty bottom floor, making his way through the darkly lit lobby and out the door into the streets. Street lamps were lit brightly, and, coupled by the headlight of cars and the alternating colors of traffic light, his soulmate was able to walk alongside Tony as he crossed the road and began down the sidewalk.

"Any recommendations for a good coffee shop, my little shadow?" Tony asked his soulmate. The people on the street paid him no mind, not that it was unusual for people to talk to their shadows. "If you do live around here, you must have at least a few recommendations. Well, I guess you are a kid, but I drank plenty of caffeine when I was your age, so."

He shrugged to himself, stopping at a street corner and pursing his lips as he thought. He'd really only explored Manhattan when looking for his soulmate, but walking across the bridge into Brooklyn and Queens would take much too long. He did want to get back to his project after all.

Tony made a turn, resolving to just find whatever new café he could. Maybe he'd explore Brooklyn or Harlem after the move. Or maybe Queens, he had been wanting to try and meet that Spider-Kid for a while anyway. He'd thought he'd had an opportunity when Rogers and his merry band had taken Barnes and left in Germany, but everything had gone by just too quick and he didn't even know the guy's identity. Not for lack of trying. The guy was pretty good at avoiding cameras, it almost made Tony jealous.

The billionaire walked for about fifteen minutes, passing by every coffee shop he'd already been to in search of a new one. There were plenty in Manhattan, but Tony had been to so many at this point it was a little ridiculous. He stopped, ready to pull out his phone and see where the nearest one he could find was, when he caught sight of a man out of the corner of his eye.

He frowned. How long had that man been following him? A few blocks at least, he recognized that green jacket from when he'd passed by Beany Business.

The light turned from an orange hand to a white silhouette, and Tony hurried across the street. He hadn't brought any kind of weapons with him, and he really wasn't in the mood to cause some kind of scene. If he was quick, he could probably lose this guy and still get to his coffee shop without some kind of annoying disturbance.

Tony allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd of late-goers, moving with them quickly. He let that crowd trickle by and joined another, and then joined one more of a drunk afterparty before finally slipping down an alleyway when he could no longer see the green jacket. He blinked in surprise as he caught sight of a coffee shop just across the street, bright red letters reading 'The Coffee Club.'

He smiled. Perfect.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the alleyway towards the cheap looking café. And then a figure stepped in the entrance, blocking the view from across the street and slapping Tony's easygoing smile off of his face.

The billionaire immediately tensed as his eyes roamed over the green jacket, the covered face, and finally the gun pointed towards him. His eyebrow raised as his gaze rested on the weapon that wasn't really a gun. It was splayed out like a robotic arm, shiny and just a little bit clunky but clearly dangerous.

"Hands in the air, Stark," the man ordered. Slowly, he followed the man's orders. "Phone and glasses on the floor. Now."

"I'm gonna have to move my hands for that," Tony snarked. The man gave him a slight snarl.

"Just do it. Slowly. And throw them over here."

"Sure," he agreed, fishing his phone out of his pocket and taking his glasses off of his face before letting them clatter to the ground. The man kept the robotic gun trained on him as he grabbed the devices, placing them in a pocket in the thick of his jacket. Tony frowned. "So, what is this? A kidnapping? Taking my wallet? Genuinely interested."

"I've been watching you for a while, Stark," the man said, "You go out at night a lot. I knew it'd only be a matter of time before I could get what I want from you."

"And I would love to know what that is. As well as where you got that neat little arm-gun there. Is that Sokovian?"

"Shut up, Stark. I don't need your snark, just some information, and I'll take your wallet too."

"Mind leaving me enough cash for a coffee?"

The gun cocked. "What did I just say?"

"Hmm, I forgot."

"Very funny."

"Thanks, I thought so too," Tony joked. "Anyway, back on topic of what this is all about."

The gun whined and then quickly shot, whizzing past Tony to burn the wall just behind him. Tony turned his head to glance at the large ring of smoke before facing the man in the green jacket again.

"Shut up," he ordered again. "No more words from you unless they're the password into the DODC."

"There's more than just one password. You got a pen? This could take a while."

"No, you're coming with me."

"Oh, so this is a kidnapping."

"I can't have you changing the passwords and alerting anyone of this," the man answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Tony could already count five thousand ways this could go wrong for Green Jacket Guy. One being that Tony wasn't up for being kidnapped at this moment in particular, and he definitely wasn't going to let this schmuck take him while he was just trying to get a decent coffee. "Keep your hands in the air and don't move, or else I'm hitting you with this."

When he gestured to the gun, Tony just gave him a bored look. "You know you're not getting any passwords or anything if you kill me, right?"

The man flicked a switch on the gun. "It's set to stun. It won't kill you, but it will definitely knock you out for a few hours."

"Good to know."

Green Jacket Guy approached, a pair of cuffs poised to slip around his outstretched hands. The man's steps were jauntily hesitant, but clear apprehension didn't stop the man from grabbing his hand and forcing the first cuff around him. He moved to click it around the billionaire's other wrist, but was met with a snapping punch to the face.

Green Jacket Guy stumbled back, a hand pressed against his newly bloody nose in a grunt of clear pain. Tony dove when the man quickly gathered himself and raised his gun, forcing himself behind a trash can as it whined and then fired. The trashcan forced itself against Tony, slapping the mechanic against the wall with a shouted groan, his shoulder barely breaking his fall. That was going to bruise in the morning.

Forced to his knees, Tony scrambled back up only to be faced with the robot-arm-gun pointed directly in his face. It charged up in its now annoyingly familiar warped whine, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped and he was not excited to be blasted by this thing and if he got kidnapped again Happy was going to have a heart attack, he might as well--

"Hey! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" called a squeaky voice. Tony and Green Jacket Guy both turned as a red blur shot into the alleyway, a thwip! knocking the gun from the man's hand and the red blur knocking into him. The man was barreled to the ground with a pained groan before he was covered in a flurry of webs, the Spider Guy standing over him. "Pointing guns at people is illegal y'know! Sorry to be a party pooper, but I will be calling the police."

Tony blinked, forcing himself to his feet fully as the vigilante turned around, the lenses of his goofy goggles widening in comical shock.

"Oh, whoa."

---

"Oh, whoa," Peter breathed as he caught sight of literally Tony-freaking-Stark dusting off his pants as he stood up. His eyes instinctively fluttered to the man's shadow, expecting the long hair and slim figure of Pepper Potts but catching sight of a short and rumpled man instead. Huh.

"Whoa yourself, kid," Mr. Stark responded, stepping over to where the man was knocked out cold and webbed to the ground. He dug through the man's exposed green jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses and a sleek phone, but Peter's eyes were locked onto the strange gun on the ground. His eyes narrowed at how similar it looked to the ones at the bank. "What're you doing out here? You're a Queens guy aren't you?"

"Oh, uh, yes-yes, sir. Usually, but I was just, uhh, I was just around and I heard the fight and, and yeah..."

Mr. Stark turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion as he glanced over Peter's ratty superhero suit. He shuffled on his feet nervously, trying desperately to keep himself still and untense his shoulders, not that it had much affect. The teenager choked down agitation, trying his best to not glance at his watch. It was getting late and, while Iron Man was his second favorite Avenger, the last thing he needed was Tony Stark finding out his secret identity.

"What's your name?" Mr. Stark asked.

"Spider-Man."

"And your real name?"

Peter paused. "Spider-Man. On my birth certificate and everything."

Mr. Stark frowned, and Peter thought he was going to demand a legitimate answer, when he shrugged and stepped away from the guy on the ground. "Fine. You helped me out, I won't bother you about it. For now."

Peter let out a low sigh, muttering, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"I am going to bother you about other things though," Mr. Stark said, "I've been meaning to talk to you, and no time like the present."

"Oh, uhh, I kinda have to--"

Peter was interrupted by the painful rumble of his stomach. His face turned as red as his mask, and he was thankful the man couldn't see his embarrassment, not that that stopped the superhero's teasing smirk. With a wave, the man stepped out of the alleyway. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go--go where?"

"Coffee. I came to get a good black coffee and I refuse to leave without one."

Peter glanced down at the guy he'd webbed. "What about him?"

"My AI already called the police. They'll be here soon. Now, c'mon. I'm not gonna ask you twice."

"Yeah, yeah. Ah, okay, Mr. Stark."

---

Peter shuffled his feet nervously, his arms crossed and constantly turning so that he could peer at the time on his watch. Twenty minutes. Not looking great, but it wasn't like Peter could really leave while Mr. Stark ordered his coffee. That would be rude, and plus it was Iron Man, so, overall a bad idea.

He glanced over from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the coffee shop to stare at the clear door. Like a final answer to his prayers, the billionaire stepped out, a drink carrier in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. The man didn't look exactly like he'd thought he would. Tony Stark had always been almost hilariously imposing in his mind, with a sharp suit and a sharper goatee, but this man was softer. Rougher.

His clothes were stained, his leather jacket rumpled, his hair messy and his face worn with the lines of memories. He seemed almost familiar somehow, and it unnerved Peter just as much as it comforted him.

"Here ya go, kid. Black coffee for me, hot chocolate and a snickerdoodle for you," Mr. Stark said once he'd walked over. Peter blinked in surprise, but managed to accept the drink and the bag with stumbling fingers.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Mr. Stark, but you really didn't have to."

"Billionaire here, Spider-Kid. I can afford a cookie and a drink."

Peter thanked him again and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled his mask up to just above his nose, starting on the cookie. It was almost impossible to not fork it down immediately with how starved he felt. Mr. Stark waited patiently until he was finished with his snickerdoodle to start speaking, and Peter's ears burned.

"So," Mr. Stark started, "New York's benevolent vigilante that directs tourists and saves kittens from trees. Doesn't seem like a very exciting gig."

Peter narrowed his eyes, shuffling on his feet again nervously. What was his game?

He shrugged, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before answering, "It doesn't have to be exciting. I'm just trying to help out."

"Why?"

"Why--why help?"

"Exactly," Mr. Stark pointed, and suddenly he wasn't strangely familiar, he filled up the whole street. "Very few people help just to help, and even fewer dress themselves up in something that embarrassing just to help a few old ladies across the street. Why are you doing this? I gotta know. What's your MO? What gets you out of your apartment and into that onesie in the morning?"

"It's not a onesie," he muttered. Peter forced his fingers not to grip around the cup as images of a bloody street and dying shadows filled his head, instead redirecting the agitation into the scrunch of his face. He imagined he had his usual and embarrassing puppy scowl right now. He tried to release it with a sigh, but he didn't feel much better as he answered. "Because...because I've been me my whole life, and I've had these powers six months..."

Mr. Stark hummed in confirmation, goading Peter on. He swallowed down sick at the image of his aunt's brown hair drenched in blood before he continued. "I...I tried to move on at first. Just, hey! I have powers and I'm just gonna ignore it and showboat it. But...when you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen..." He took a deep breath as Mr. Stark leaned in closer. "They happen because of you."

"So you wanna look out for the little guy? You wanna do your part? Make the world a better place, all that, right?"

Peter nodded fervently. "Yeah, yeah just looking out for the little guy. That's--that's what it is."

Mr. Stark nodded, his eyes glanced Peter up and down quickly before he asked softly, "And what about looking out for you?"

Peter startled, glaring at the man defensively. Did he just look like shit that much?

"What are you talking about? I'm doing fine."

"You reek of someone who hasn't been taking care of themselves, kid."

"I'm not a kid," he muttered, "And I'm fine."

"Yeah? Your arm's shaking."

Peter glanced down to see that, yes, his arm clutched around the hot chocolate was indeed shaking. Peter switched the drink to his other hand before shoving his arm in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just tired."

"It's barely ten."

"And I've been patrolling for--did you say ten?"

Mr. Stark seemed perturbed by his sudden shift, but Peter couldn't be bothered at the way his voice had lowered and shaken with slight fear or the way his entire self had tensed. Peter tore his hand out of his pocket to glare at the watch on his wrist. 9:57. Shit.

"Shit--fuck!" Peter exclaimed, pulling his mask back down. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Mr. Stark, I gotta go. Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, sir!"

"Kid, wait--"

He flicked out a wrist onto a nearby building, bending to leap when Mr. Stark's hand wrapped around his wrist.

Peter blinked at the odd sensation, holding back a flinch at the unexpected touch and tensing as his vision seemed to leap just a foot to the left before fizzing back to what it had been before. It left him dizzy and disoriented, but he only had a minute to get all the way from Manhattan to Queens. Maybe if he made it home within ten minutes he could get away with it or--

"Oh, my God..."

Peter turned at Mr. Stark's voice, realizing the man's hand was still gripping his wrist. He followed the billionaire's horribly stricken gaze to stare at whatever had left him dumb. Peter's jaw dropped as he caught sight of his shadow. It was his shadow.

The fluffy hair of his soulmate was suddenly gone and, instead, Peter's masked silhouette stood in its place. He glanced down at Mr. Stark's shadow, actions slow and jerky as he caught sight of it perfectly reflecting his own perked up jacket collar and outline of glasses. Carefully, Mr. Stark let go of his hand in a motion that felt like he was testing the waters. The shadows switched. The hooded figure shadowed Mr. Stark while the fluffy hair stood where Peter's shadow once had.

"What the..." Peter trailed off. His breaths felt lighter all the sudden. Fast. Too fast. The street was closing in, the cars passing nearby too loud and too bright and oh God his soulmate was Tony Stark. He swallowed painfully, tears biting at his eyes as he struggled for a breath.

His soulmate wasn't supposed to be Tony Stark. Peter couldn't--Peter couldn't live up to that! Mr. Stark had saved the world and he was an Avenger and he was the smartest man in the world and Peter was just some useless kid who got bullied and had a curfew and Jesus Christ he was going to be so late Mr. Fowler was going to be so mad and--

"Kid?" Mr. Stark asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched and ducked away, the cup he'd been holding clattering from his hands as he stood opposite the man. Defensive. A shadow flashed against the man's face.

Peter read it as disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. He shot a web and leaped away, but he could never escape his shadow.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #spiderman #Iron Man #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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woogyu · 3 years

Text

A World Tinted Gold | Mingyu; Chapter Four

Kalon; beauty that is more than skin-deep

streamer!y/n x werewolf!mingyu

notes; werewolf au

word count; 2402

previous | next | masterlist

summary; The only werewolves you encountered were the ones living inside your video games. They were nothing more to you than mythical creatures you often had to kill in order to complete objectives. You had a good thing going with your online gaming setup. Your supporters were kind and usually tipped well during streams. Sure it meant you had to deal with the occasional creep sliding into your DMs, but it was worth it. Playing games online was putting you through college. Little did you know your quiet life was about to be turned upside down at the hands of someone you didn’t think existed outside of the virtual world.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, squinting as bright light flooded your vision. You didn’t remember falling asleep, hell you weren’t even sure what day it was. Flashes of wolves and fangs came back, your eyes flying open as your body woke up. It took you a second to take in your surroundings, you were inside and in bed, but it wasn’t your bed.

“Awake, are you?” a voice asked, your eyes snapped up to a male in the corner of the room. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair falling slightly over his eyes. You had no idea who he was or where you were... what happened to the wolves that saved you? A million questions flashed through your mind as you starred wearily at the man. You clenched and unclenched your fists, maybe you would be able to outrun him.

“I wouldn’t try a grand escape if I were you. You’ll re-open your wound and I don’t really want to stop the bleeding again” he admitted, smirking when your eyes widened in surprise at his correct guess. He moved toward you, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. Your eyes flashed down to your leg... right the wolf had left you wish a nasty gift. Soft white gauze was wrapped around the appendage. You were surprised to find that it didn’t hurt much when you flexed the muscles. This guy had taken care of it. Why would he do that?

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and we will do our best to answer them” he promised, he seemed tired just thinking about it. You blinked a few times, eyes moving back up to focus on him as you tried to sort out your thoughts.

“Where am I and how did I get here? Who are you?” you asked, surprised when your voice came out gravely and uneven. He gestured to the glass of water on the nightstand next to you, which you gladly took and gulped down. You figured if he wanted you dead, he would have just let you bleed out.

“My name’s Soonyoung. You are at, er, my friends and I and live in this house. It’s just outside the city” he began, chewing on his lip nervously as he dodged the one part of your question that was important.

“How did I get here?” you asked again, this time more forceful. When he didn’t immediately answer you let out a sigh. “Last thing I remember is these wolves that saved me from this other other wolf” you explained further, eyebrows drawn together as you tried to piece together this situation on your own.

“Mingyu, she just woke up, you can’t just...” a voice called from outside before the door to the room you were in was thrown open, a tall male with sandy brown hair standing in the doorway. His body seemed to visibly relax when he saw you, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re okay… thank god” he breathed, leaning heavily on the doorway. You could see traces of blood along his shoulder and a mark that seemed to resemble a wolf bite. Maybe he had been attacked by the black wolf as well…

“Okay, who the hell are you and why am I even here?” you demanded, patience short as you starred down the three males within your view. They obviously didn’t seem to be a threat to you, but it confused you more as to why they seemed to actually care about your safety. The brown-haired boy, you assumed his name was Mingyu, seemed confused by your question, his head tilting to the side like an overgrown puppy. You had to admit, it was a little bit cute.

“What do you mean? I’m the one that saved you” he said like it was totally obvious.

“Hey! You would have been another wolfs snack if Seungkwan and I hadn’t heard the growling” a different auburn-haired boy chimed in, hitting the, Mingyu, on the back of the head.

“Idiots” Soonyoung grumbled, turning to glare at the others standing outside of the room. “I hadn’t exactly gotten around to explaining everything yet” he said through clenched teeth, the 3 males outside shut their mouths and averted their eyes awkwardly.

“What do you mean saved me? It was a wolf…” you trailed off, your eyes narrowing as you inspected the taller boy. That hair… you could have sworn… No, nope, there was no way, you must have hit your head on something because obviously you weren’t thinking clearly.

“Yeah so you see…” Soonyoung started, turning around to look at you with a tight-lipped smile. He clasped his hands together before letting out a nervous laugh. “We are kind of like werewolves… well the full moon stuff is all a myth and we can shape-shift whenever we want. Really, we are more just like overgrown dogs” he tried to make it sound better, less scary for you, but it wasn’t really working.

Okay so maybe you had hit your head harder than you thought and this was all just some weird fever dream. You smiled and nodded along, maybe if you pretended to believe them, they would let you go.

“Oh yeah, totally, that’s so interesting” you said in a fake sweet voice, moving the blankets to the side as you started to get up. “You know I’m really late to this thing I have to go to, so I do really need to be getting home now” you said with mock sympathy. Your path through the house was blocked, but maybe the window would be a good escape option. It was obvious that whoever these men were, they had a few screws loose and you weren’t eager to figure out their motive for having you here.

“You think we’re making this up, which you know, is really valid” Soonyoung admitted, pursing his lips, seemingly thinking about something. “If Seungcheol was here he would probably have a better way of breaking this down for you, but I think the fastest way would just be to show you” he decided with a bright grin. Your fingers played with your clothing uneasily, unsure of how you felt about this idea.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…” Mingyu spoke up, it seemed like he could almost sense how you felt about all of this. The more you starred at him the more you found similarity between the boy and the wolf that saved you. The strange feeling you felt when you looked into the wolfs eyes were echoed when you looked at Mingyu. Every time you forced yourself to look away, your eyes found their way back to him; it was almost magnetic.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine…” Soonyoung said, you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince the rest of you or himself. “We don’t really have a choice here… If we leave her with questions, there will just be more problems later. Better to just explain it all upfront” he continued; well you did want answers. There must be some logical explanation to all of this, men couldn’t just magically transform into wolves, that only happened in video games.

“Normally we have a rule not to expose ourselves to humans, for our protection mainly, but since you’re Mingyu’s ma-“ Soonyoung continued speaking, seemingly without thought until Mingyu roughly cut him off.

“Since I saved you, that rule can be bent a little bit” Mingyu quickly finished, flashing Soonyoung a pointed look. You weren’t sure exactly what was going on anymore… but honestly this was far from the weirdest thing they’ve said since walking into the room. Your eyes widened when you caught a flash of gold in Mingyu’s eyes. It must have just been the lighting.

Mingyu walked over and helped you up, supporting most of your weight along his shoulder as he led you outside. Well at least now you had a better chance if you did want to run. As Mingyu set you down on one of the front steps your fingers brushed along the back of his neck. You could have sworn you felt a spark when your bare skin met his. You didn’t have much time to think about it, as Soonyoung pulled your attention back to him.

“Okay, try not to be too amazed okay” he said, his hands emphasizing his words and a cocky grin on his lips. You rolled your eyes and leaned against the railing, Mingyu standing to your right but slightly in front of you. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was taking a protective stance. A few of the other men in the house filtered in behind you, their names either unknown to you or forgotten.

You watched Soonyoung as his body began to tremble, and then right before your eyes you watched a man turn into a beautiful silvery wolf. Paling, your eyes bulged… no there had to be some sort of trick going on… this wasn’t real. You watched as the wolf, Soonyoung? Trotted over to you, seemingly proud to prove you wrong. You didn’t really care about being wrong right now, whatever this was you wanted nothing to do with it.

“I want to go home” you announced, voice shaky as you stepped away from the wolf and men surrounding the house. You wanted to run, get as far away from these people as you could, but you knew your leg would never allow that. Your eyes shifted around nervously, prepared for one of them to stop you, to grab you and lock you away somewhere. Mingyu’s eyebrows drew together in concern and you watched as he took a step toward you.

“I can take you home” he promised, sincerity in his voice. “Just don’t put too much weight on that leg” Mingyu begged, his eyes flickering down from your face to your injury. You nodded a little bit, shifting your weight onto your good foot as you leaned away from him.

“Now… I want to go home now, please” you spoke, the words directed to him. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you were scared. You didn’t know what was going on and no matter how hard you tried to find an answer you came up with nothing. You were eager to put all of this behind you and move on. Never think about wolves or these men ever again.

“My car is just over there” he pointed toward a white SUV along the side of the house. Before you could start to walk toward it, he came up next to you.

“Here, let me help” he all but whined. You didn’t have the heart to deny the aid, your leg already starting to throb from being over exerted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The drive back was quiet. Mingyu didn’t try and explain things further which you were grateful for. Your brain was pretty much maxed out on weirdness today. You spoke up only to give him directions back to your apartment.

As Mingyu pulled up next to the building he paused, his hand reaching out to wrap around your wrist before you could step out. When his flesh met yours you nearly recoiled due to the warmth that radiated off of him. It wasn’t painful, but the comfort that accompanied it startled you.

“This has the address of the pack house and my phone number written on it… and y/n… please… don’t tell anyone about what happened” Mingyu pleaded, pressing a piece of paper into your palm. You wanted to throw it away but to avoid offending him you stuffed it into your pocket. You nodded numbly at him, pulling your wrist away from his clutch before you could get too comfortable with whatever feeling rising up within you. He didn’t have to worry about you telling anyone anything… you didn’t ever want to think about it again.

“Thanks for driving me home” you mumbled, stepping out of the car and closing the door. You didn’t spare him another glance before turning and limping into the safety of your apartment. Your feet were sluggish as they struggled to carry you up to your room.

Only when you were within the safety of the familiar walls did you allow yourself to fully relax, the day’s events crashing heavily upon you. What the hell had you gotten yourself involved in? No, if you started asking questions like this then you were admitting to yourself that whatever you saw out there had been real. You weren’t ready to face that. You needed to move on, forget about whatever magic tricks those men could perform and get back to your life.

Shit… Ciri had been expecting a call from you and your phone was likely in a wolf’s stomach. You pulled your laptop off of your desk and situated it into your lap. Ciri answered on the first ring, her features laced heavily with worry.

“Oh my god y/n, I was two hours away from calling the cops to do a search party” she breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing your face. You managed to force a small smile, stretching your legs out in front of you.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like shit” she winced, leaning back in her chair and gave you a concerned look. You didn’t even know how to go about creating a fake story for what happened. Maybe if you just kept it vague enough, she wouldn’t ask questions.

“Got hurt while I was filming… broke my camera too… I lost the footage, I’m sorry” you explained, voice impossibly small as exhaustion weighed heavily on you.

“I don’t give a damn about the footage, you are okay, right?” she asked, biting his bottom lip as she watched you, obviously not satisfied with your story.

“I’m fine, I promise” you said, forcing an unconvincing smile. “Hey, I think I’m going to head to bed, still a bit tired from it all” you explained, trying your best to maintain a tone that wouldn’t raise further suspicion.

“A… alright” she conceded, frowning at you through the camera. “Just… let me know if you need help with anything… yeah?” she moved closer to the camera and offered you a small wave.

“I will” you promised her, returning the gesture before closing your computer. Maybe if you slept for long enough this really would turn out to just be some incredibly realistic dream.

#seventeen werewolf #werewolf!seventeen #werewolf!mingyu #seventeen x reader #ultkpop #seventeen fanfic #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu #mingyu fanfic #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #Werewolf!AU #werewolf!svt #mingyu x reader #seventeen mingyu

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ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

You'll Outlive Her-Thorin Oakenshield x Reader x Company

(GIF credit to @riepu10)

Requested by anonymous: ‘hiii. a thorin x the company x fem!reader (21 years old). the reader tells the company about humans’ short life span (75-85 years old) and they freak out telling her they’re going to protect her and all that. very fluffy please & thank you!!’

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (platonic), Bilbo Baggins x Reader (platonic), all of the company x Reader (platonic), Gandalf x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, but a majority is fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N) could feel how sore her body was as the company continued riding, having done so for a whole day already. They had travelled far today, making good process. She had never imagined herself on a quest such as this, especially with dwarves. Although she was a human, (Y/N) had been surprisingly welcomed to the company, but not without slight disdain from Thorin; she could understand his feelings, she was not of their kind, she didn’t know what it was like to lose a home like that. Gandalf had recruited her (and she was a vast contrast to Bilbo) because of her skills in fighting, and the fact that her family had been nomads helped with journeys such as this.

The dwarves were kind to her. There had been no prejudice against her being a woman, and she had learnt that a lot of their women were fierce like her, it was a dwarfish custom. It was easy to joke with them, there had been banter amongst the group about Bilbo when he joined, and once he loosened up, he could be fun at times too. Naturally, the other thing that separated (Y/N) from the company (excluding Gandalf), was her height. (Y/N) wasn’t a tall girl per say, but the men were all smaller than her, giving (Y/N) the upper hand when they started teasing her about something; it always shut them up.

“I spy with my little eye...” Ori called out, followed by a round of groans from everyone else.

“Do you not tire of this game?” Bofur moaned.

“There’s nothing else to do!”

“We’re on a quest lad, what did you think we would be doing?”

“Go on, Ori,” (Y/N) smirked, knowing that it would annoy everyone else,“what do you see?”

“OK, I spy with my little eye, something beginning with...G!”

“Is it grass?”

When he didn’t reply, she looked back over my shoulder, giggling when she saw his head hanging low.“Don’t worry Ori, there’s not a lot to spot out here.”

Ori smiled slightly, mesmerised by (Y/N)’s own smile before she faced the front again. Dori noticed his brother’s blushing cheeks, leaning over as much as he could whilst staying on his pony.

“Stop that! She’s a human, you’re a dwarf.” he simply said.

“I wasn’t thinking of anything!” Ori defended himself.

The sounds around them were peaceful, it brought tranquility to their minds. They were riding through a forest, the gentle wind making the leaves above them rustle, the occasional chirping of birds joined, and the horses hooves were muffled against the worn out path they were riding on. Despite the company being relatively calm, (Y/N) noticed Bilbo’s expression, and how silent he had been.

“Are you alright, Bilbo?” (Y/N) asked, her voice quieter.

“Hm?” he had been broken out of a trance.“Oh, um, yes, yes, um, I’m fine.”

She sadly smiled at him.“You’re missing home, aren’t you?”

He sighed.“A little. It would have been the easy choice to stay at home and carry on doing the same thing everyday. But something made me choose to accompany Thorin on his quest. And I hope I made the right choice.”

“You’ll figure that out for yourself, soon enough.”

“We need to find somewhere to sleep for the night.” Thorin announced.“Everyone be on the lookout for a good place to shelter.”

Once they had found a safe enough place to stay, the company began dismounting their ponies/horses, and setting up their camp. Food was being prepared, makeshift beds were being made, and those sent out to patrol the area had already left. They were situated in a tiny clearing in the woods, with enough trees and bushes to conceal them. The fire was lit, and everyone instinctively huddled closer, feeling the chill that the evening brought as the sun set.

(Y/N) thanked Nori as he handed her a bowl of stew, and she sat on her bed, pulling a blanket tighter around her. The bowl provided more heat to her cold hands, the smell of food causing her stomach to rumble loudly. As she ate, she glanced around, smiling at the sight. These men were so determined to complete this quest, it made her feel motivated to help them. She thought back to one of the first nights they all had together, when Balin had recited the story of how the leader of the company became Thorin Oakenshield. (Y/N) had never met someone with a royal background, but had heard that they were snobs, and turned up their nose at anyone they deemed less than them. Despite Thorin’s first impression, (Y/N) had a feeling it wasn’t him. For someone to be like that, they would have had to have gone through something traumatic; she knew his story now, and it made him seem stronger, powerful, a true leader.

“Where’s Thorin?” (Y/N) asked Bombur who was sat beside her.

He shrugged before diving into his bowl. She scoffed a laugh, shaking her head as she finished off her own meal. Her eyes scanned around the camp, subconsciously counting the dwarves, making sure they were all there. Fili and Kili had just come back from patrol, almost racing towards the food as they reported that they hadn’t seen anything. (Y/N) almost wanted to ask if they knew where Thorin was, but didn’t.

“You know what,” Bofur said, getting everyone’s attention,“we still don’t know that much about you (Y/N).”

“Well, I suppose I have heard everything I can about all of you. What is it that you wish to know?”

“Where were you born? What were you like growing up? Why did you like to fight?”

(Y/N) laughed as he continued asking questions.“You know, come to think of it, I’ve lived a pretty simple life up until now.”

“A simple life? Really?” Balin said.

“Yes. I actually don’t know where I was born. My family never stayed in one place, they were completely free spirits, and when mother gave birth to me, we were travelling in the back of a caravan, with my father helping her, and my auntie and uncle riding up front. So they never really knew where we were when I was born."

There were a few chuckles from the group. She grinned and continued.

"All my family taught me how to fight, each of them with a specific skill. They said it was to keep me safe, that if we all knew how to fight, we could defend each other. Not that anything actually happened."

"Have you ever been in a fight?" Kili asked.

"Yes, a few times, but I was never the one to start them. I was always looking out for someone."

"That seems very like you lass." Bofur added.

"Although I was travelling, I haven't seen a lot in my life. We circled sometimes, meeting up with old friends. But as I myself grew older, I noticed how my parents didn't want to move as much. They rested more frequently. And I realised that I was the one in my prime, I was the one who had to be the leader. And I guess...I guess when I became the only one left of my family, I seeked new adventures. Something that would make them proud."

"How old were they? When they died?" Bilbo was careful how he said it.

"Hm, they all must have been in their eighties. I think father reached ninety-four actually!"

Everyone's eyes were wide, mouths agape as they stared at her. She felt uncomfortable with the attention, wondering why they all looked so shocked.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You poor thing." Nori breathed out.

"Th-thank you?"

"Losing your parents at such a young age...If you don't mind me asking, was it natural or...?" Dori said.

"Yes, it was natural. They were healthy for the most age. Old age caught up to them. Why is everyone looking at me like that?"

"My dear friends," Gandalf spoke up, smoking from his pipe,"you must understand that unfortunately humans have a much shorter lifespan that dwarves do."

"So, how old do you live to?" Fili asked.

(Y/N) thought for a moment."Usually eighty to ninety years old if you're healthy. I have heard of some people miraculously living to the age of one hundred!"

The company shared a concerned look with each other, worrying (Y/N). Why was this such a big deal?

"Do you know how long dwarves live for?" Thorin suddenly appeared, making everyone whip their heads towards him.

(Y/N) nodded."You can live up to two hundred and fifty years old, sometimes older."

"Doesn't that frighten you?" Ori asked.

"Well, no. It's just how life works. I suppose it would be great to live for that long, but at the same time, you age the same as I, though in different ways...that made more sense in my head." she quickly laughed, though no one else joined.

"And...how old are you now?" Kili's voice was quieter.

"I'm twenty-one."

"Twnety one?!" multiple people exclaimed, fussing over how young (Y/N) was.

Her head was running wild, trying to take everything in. They were all asking her so many questions, some she could not answer. She spotted Bilbo attempting to calm them down, but he was too quiet.

"Let me put this into perspective, for all of you!" Gandalf snapped, causing silence."Dwarves are thought to reach maturity at the age of forty, for humans that is twenty. They live the same lives as many of us, just in a shorter time, which is why they always seem to be in a rush with everything."

"You need to be more careful lass." Dwalin announced.

"Yes, we really should be taking better care of you." Bofur agreed.

"I'll protect you (Y/N), I'm not scared!" Ori puffed out his chest.

This was followed by everyone's proclaimations of chivalry, all protesting over what they could do to make her feel safer. Instead of being offended or made to feel weak, she felt loved. She hadn't had many friends since her family died, and had been apprehensive to join a group of strangers. All of this was just too much, it was an emotional moment.

"You don't all have to worry about me. You know I can handle things myself." (Y/N) gushed.

"Doesn't mean you have to." Thorin said, though there was no warm expression on his face."Don't think you have to prove yourself and get you or someone else killed."

He slumped off after he spoke, leaving the company in silence once again. The conversation slowly built back up, the attention still on (Y/N), but Bilbo saw how she was getting upset. Gandalf smiled to himself as he watched the hobbit steer the topic of conversation away from her, glad to have someone with a level head.

Elsewhere, Thorin was leaning against a tree, his hands on his sword as a precaution. He heard footsteps, slow and heavy ones, and he only had to peak his head around the tree to spot Balin. The older dwarf sadly smiled, placing a hand on a tree to steady himself.

"You know, it's not wise to storm off by yourself." Balin half joked.

"I did not storm off."

"I think others might say different Thorin."

Thorin didn't reply.

"They might see it as your usual self. But I can see that look in your eye."

"And what look would that be?"

"You will deny it as soon as I speak it."

"I promise, I shall listen."

Balin raised an eyebrow at him, sighing before he spoke."You have grown fond of the girl. She's a fighter, she's kind and she's smart; (Y/N) didn't come on this quest for her own glory, she came to help us return home."

Thorin did stay silent, because he knew that Balin was right.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you can't let yourself fall for her. For one, you cannot be distracted whilst on this quest, two, she is a human and three...well, being a dwarf, you'll easily outlive her. We all will unfortunately."

"I won't."

"What?"

"I won't fall for her. I haven't been falling for her in the first place."

Balin knew this was the response he would receive. Even though Thorin was denying it, Balin could tell that in his head, he was still thinking about her. And that was a problem.

"You've been through enough pain Thorin. Don't bring more onto yourself." Balin left him with that, making his way back to the camp.

Although Thorin had removed himself from the camp to also remove a certain girl from his thoughts. They weren't sexual, or anything to do with love. He cared for her like a younger sister. Of course, he had been taken back by his beauty (dwarvish women could almost be mistaken for the men), but that wasn't important to him at the time. What Balin said about her was true. She was a selfless human, which was more than he could say about the rest of her kind. He hadn't known how short their lives were, and he wondered why she had chosen to live hers like this, with them. She could be exploring new places by herself, with no one to stop her. Perhaps she would meet another traveller on the way and fall in love, start her own family and move around the world just as her parents did. Though he wouldn't gain any answers like this, he wanted to ensure that she survived this journey, that she was there forbthe glory. She deserved as much as the dwarves this, and with that thought, he solemnly sweared to keep her alive.

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spectrumed · 3 years

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7. identity

The aesthetic of suffering, the allure of victimhood, it’s important to acknowledge that to many people, the idea of struggling with mental illness is hot. A common trope in teen dramas is the existence of the sexy bad boy haunted by demons of depression or addiction or some other psychological malady. Women with mental illness tend to be sexualised, less, but then again, women are most typically always sexualised, no matter the state of their mental health. But it’s not just a case of some people finding mental illness to be attractive in others, many see mental illness in themselves as something to take pride in, to celebrate and nurture. To seek out a diagnosis, to infiltrate communities that exist to provide support to those in need, and to declare themselves as being special. Fakers, you could call them. Yes, we’re going to be entering into dangerous grounds here, talking about a potentially incendiary topic that might feed the flames of controversy, but it’s a topic worth discussing. Self-diagnosis. Is self-diagnosis valid or not? Should one self-diagnose? Is it ableism to be against self-diagnosis? Is it ableism to be for self-diagnosis? Is it ableism itself ableist? I don’t know, sweetheart, you are asking a whole bunch of questions and I am hungover… But let’s go on rambling about what it means to be labelled neurodivergent.

Do you have an identity? Do you root for a particular sports team? Do you like a particular kind of music? Do you dance a lot? Are you a dancer? What are you? Simply stating that you’re just “a human” probably won’t do. Sure, it’s correct, but I am also a human, and we could be two very different kinds of people. Your identity should be that certain something that makes you stand apart from the rest, that distinguishes you from the squirming mass of flesh that is the whole of humanity. There are plenty of things about you that do figure in your identity, even though you wish it didn’t. You’re black, you don’t wish to always be “that black guy over there,” but you’ve come to realise that’s just how society views you. Maybe you are a transwoman, and you very eagerly want your friend to stop introducing you as her “trans bestie.” You’re just a woman, you don’t need her to keep labelling you as trans, even though that's what you are. There are many ways we can change our identity through direct personal action. Maybe you could start wearing a hat, and be known as “that hat guy” to the people you work with. Maybe you could embrace a punk aesthetic, looking like young Johnny Rotten stepped into a time machine and got transported to the current day. Actions like these can have a big or small impact on how others see you, but it feels good to be able to make a decision like that and get a response. This is me, this is what I am. I’m the guy who wears bow-ties, don’t I look cool? If only shaping your sense of self always came down to personal decisions like that. You don’t always have a choice.

I’ve lately been watching some Conan O’Brien (American TV talk show host who’s recently decided not to be a TV talk show host) clips. I am sure I don’t need to explain who Conan O’Brien is to my readers, but just in case this is being read by aliens ten-thousand years from now, what I can tell you is that Conan O’Brien is well known for being freakishly tall. Like, really tall. He’s an elongated leprechaun. He’s turned being tall into one of his trademarks. Like many comedians, he’s come to use his corporeal form as a source for levity and fun. While, naturally, the man did not choose to grow as tall as he did, he’s come around to use his height not as a hindrance to success, but rather as an asset. He’s “that tall irish guy on the TV,” and he’s been that person for nearly thirty years. It pays to have some distinguishing feature if you wish to be distinguished. Mr. Joe Average might be perfectly funny and charming, but being an average-looking guy can be wholly detrimental in making a career for yourself as a funnyman. At least get yourself some weird voice, or something. Maybe pretend to be some foreigner and put on a fake accent. As a comedian your job is to be exploited, you wish to be made into a commodity to be sold. People will want to watch your special because of that funny face you pull in the thumbnail. To be different can be financially lucrative.

What’s the best approach in turning something that could be perceived as an abnormal feature into something that is beneficial to you? To make jokes about it? Certainly, if I were to meet a man with a heavily scarred face, I feel there’d likely be a tension between me and him that could be dispelled if that man with the heavily scarred face made some little joke about his appearance, some little quip. “I’m sorry, I cut myself shaving this morning,” would do. The person isn’t obliged to justify his existence to me, he does not have to go out of his way to make me feel less uncomfortable. I am the one in the wrong, certainly. I shouldn’t look at a person with a heavily scarred face and feel uncomfortable, that’s me letting prejudices get in the way, I know that. But, it is what it is. If you’re looking for a practical solution, telling people to simply get over themselves and learn to not be so awkward around folks with physical deformities won’t do. It may be the right thing, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I am sure that the man with the heavily scarred face isn’t interested in being defined by his heavily scarred face. He's probably sick and tired of that little joke, and wish he didn’t have to make it. But it does the job. Suddenly, you are not looking at something to be feared, the other, you are looking at a person, and someone with a sense of humour. The importance of humour in eradicating stigma, making it possible for the ostracised to enter in society, cannot be understated. Through humour, you can convince most everyone that you are someone worthy of inclusion, because… well, you’re just a funny guy, who doesn’t wanna hang out with you?

For those who have grown up not feeling normal, worrying that there are aspects of your character that others may perceive as unwanted, the yearning to be liked can at times become excruciating. I like to consider myself a funny person, while this blog isn’t intended to be a humorous one, occasionally small little jokes will squirm their way to the top, like worms coming up to the surface during a rainstorm. I am also a cartoonist, and produce a new cartoon every other day. My humour isn’t universal, no good humour ever is universal, but it’s done good in getting some folks to like me. Some people want to be admired, some people want to be feared. I only want to be liked. The one thing I absolutely do not want to be is pitied. I don’t want your pity, I fear your pity.

You’re probably familiar with The Sims, right? It’s a life simulation game, where you control a little digital human, known as a sim, and try to help them make the right decision through life. Each sim has a number of meters that measures their current needs. Hunger, hygiene, energy, if they need to urinate or defecate (though, frankly, the distinction between the two isn’t made in the game, so one can assume that sims are like birds and have just one cloaca that does both,) and so on. One of these meters is for social activities. If a sim hasn’t been social in a while, they go nutty. What’s interesting here, the reason why I bring it up, is that in real life, though we all (to a lesser or greater degree) crave to socialise with others, what kind of socialising you do is of a very big importance. There are a myriad of ways in which one can be social, and depending on your needs at the time, one kind of socialising may not do, whereas another kind of socialising may be just what you need. Do you want to hang out with your pals, cracking jokes and maybe drinking a couple of beers? Do you want to have a serious conversation with your partner about what you wish to accomplish together? Do you want to play with your dog? These different social situations scratch different parts of your mind, and you can’t just substitute one for the other and think that’s all alright. A person may have tonnes of friends, lots of buddies to spend their time with, but they may still desperately be yearning for another kind of social interaction, one that none of their friends can deliver. The human need for company is more complex than how it is depicted in The Sims… which, to be fair, probably shocks nobody. The Sims doesn’t pretend that it’s some highly realistic simulation of real life, it’s a game meant to be played for fun. But what’s important here is the fact that while humans do have a need to be social, how that need is fed changes dramatically on the person, and their conditions. Socialising that may bring comfort to one person, may bring discomfort to another person.

I don’t want you to pity me. I may list my diagnoses, I may tell you of the difficulties that I face in life, but I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to be entertained reading this, I don’t want to make you weep thinking about how cruel life can be. I don’t want you thinking I’m special, or different, because of my diagnoses. I want you to think I’m special and different because of my writing. Sure, this blog is about living with autism spectrum disorder, but I don’t want you reading this blog just because it’s about autism spectrum disorder. I want you to read this because, while it is about a diagnosis you are interested in learning more about, you also find what I write to be well-written and at times, mildly humorous. This blog isn’t my rabid manifesto detailing all the ways my life sucks, and what must be done by society to appease me. Nah, I’m doing relatively fine, don’t feel bad for me, please. I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want attention, I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t have an ego, or that I don’t get pleased seeing people like the things I put out there. I do have a social need, it’s just that being pitied does not do it for me. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It really makes me feel mad.

We’re finally getting around to the topic I promised I would discuss. Self-diagnosis. A principal concern people have with self-diagnosis is that people only self-diagnose in order to receive pity from others. The difference between someone like me, who’s got a proper official diagnosis, and someone who is self-diagnosed, is that I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to fetishise my diagnosis, this thing about me that I did not choose to be. I don’t want special favours just because of my diagnosis, I don’t want to be known as “that cartoonist with autism.” I am autistic, I’ve come to accept that, but I don’t want anyone to introduce me as “their friend who’s on the spectrum.” Some may accuse me of self-loathing, treating being autistic like some bad thing that I am ashamed of. But that’s not it. After all, I did start this blog to discuss what it is like. I just don’t want to be defined by this certain something that lies outside of my control. I don’t want it to be my “thing.” I don’t mind being referred to as a hairy cartoonist, because I am pretty hairy. I don’t want to cut my hair any time soon (especially with this plague going around.) No-one would pity me just because I am hairy. At most they may regard me as a good-for-nothing beatnik, and I’m okay with that. Ideally, I still want to be liked, but anything is better than being pitied. To be pitied is to be robbed of your own agency, your own potential. Sure, it gets you that attention you may be craving, but at the cost of infantilization. Autistic people often struggle with being infantilized by society, to the point where some folks don’t even realise that there are autistic grown-ups in the world. Anyone who would voluntarily seek out a diagnosis just to be pitied, well… it doesn’t sit right with me. It makes me, quite frankly, feel demoralised.

But not all people self-diagnose just to get pity from others, right? For some it’s genuinely their only option, likely living in a barely-functioning country like the United States where receiving psychiatric care is expensive and it’s just not something they can afford. It’s unfair of me to phrase self-diagnosing as just a quest to receive pity, it’s way more complicated than that. And yes, I’d have to agree. To know all the reasons why a person may self-diagnose, you have to go personally ask them. Even if it is possible to highlight a few certain trends, things that they all have in common, it’s bound to be impossible to make this one sweeping generalisation to explain everything. All I am saying is that there absolutely are those people who do self-diagnose with the explicit goal of getting pitied. Whether they are knowingly faking their condition or not, to them, being pigeonholed as a person with autism isn’t at all a negative. It’s their identity. It is how they have chosen to let the world see them. They made a choice. They chose this label. This is why many people who have official diagnoses are sceptical of those who've only got a self-diagnosis. Whether your self-diagnosis is accurate or not, in the end, you chose to identify yourself with it. You made a decision, oblivious of the fact that many people don’t get to make that kind of a decision, and they may bear resentment for how you are turning something they’ve faced ostracization for, into what is potentially on the same level as listening to a certain kind of music, or being a supporter of a sports team. A diagnosis is not something you should choose to have.

There are other things to say about self-diagnosis. First of all, it can be dangerous. Some of the diagnoses I’ve seen people give themselves are really serious, things like personality disorders or psychosis. Psychiatrists are very careful when putting these kinds of labels on people, knowing the harm that it can do. A diagnosis is meant to only be given after careful deliberation, and after long conversations with the patient. Psychiatrists know that reducing a person to a set of symptoms can have detrimental effects to that person’s sense of self. If you’re trying to cling on to a diagnosis, seeing it as a major part of your identity, then that may hamper any attempts you make to become a better person, to improve your mental health. You will feel as if you need to correspond to the exact specifications of the disorder, and you will not allow yourself to grow naturally as a complicated human being, a human being whose internal life is far too vast to be fully rounded up with some psychiatric jargon. There are plenty of things about me that do not line up with the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, and guess what, that’s quite good actually. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have autism, I very much do, but I realise that as a person, I am more than just my diagnosis. The diagnosis does not define me, I define the diagnosis. If you self-diagnose, do you comprehend all that you are getting yourself into? Are you going to find yourself in psychological traps that will only serve to worsen your mental health? It’s hard to look at yourself objectively, you could easily be misrepresenting yourself inside your own mind. You may effectively be locking parts of yourself away, making it so you are no longer able to see the full you. You will no longer be all there, you will be segmented in favour of upholding the defining marks of a diagnosis that doesn’t suit you.

Instead of self-diagnosing, try doing a self-assessment. Keep in mind that, while you may have this diagnosis, it’s too early to say for sure. You’re going to need somebody else’s input. You’ll need to sit with it for a while to see if it sticks. Keep an open mind, realise that there’s no easy way to explain exactly who you are, or what you are like. It’s very possible that you will come to realise that you are in fact autistic, or have whatever other diagnosis you may suspect describes you. I, after all, came to the conclusion that I was autistic before I got the diagnosis (though, I was going to therapy at that point, and I was on the way to undergo a neuropsychiatric evaluation.) It’s not bad to try and get to understand yourself, don’t come out of this thinking that self-reflection is only possible with a psychiatrist looming over you, telling you how to think about things. We all need to come to certain conclusions over how we self-identify, and sometimes you need to take mental leaps to explain certain things. Just don’t feel as if your best option is to put a label on yourself that can potentially negatively affect your psychological well-being. If you are truly searching for understanding, if your goal is to find out more about yourself, you should act with caution and concern for what you are doing. If all you are looking for is to have people pity you, then… well… I don’t know what to say, really…

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health #diagnosis

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acraftedmistake · 3 years

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A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 15

CHP 15!!!!! Some good times and bad times lie ahead......

Enjoy!

“Everything okay?” Jess asked. Aiden was about to leave the house but had stopped halfway out the door, turned back around, and scanned the first floor while Jess and Olivia waited for him.

“Yeah.” Aiden said slowly as he began to close the door, twisting the knob to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally lock the three of them out, “Just thought I heard something.” He walked away from the house and patted his hair down. “You two ready to go?”

“Mhm!” Olivia finished zipping up the olive green jacket Stella had lent her. She was hiding her face with the hood of the gray sweatshirt Cassie gave her the day before as well. She knew there weren’t too many people out at this hour, but better safe than sorry.

Jess was wearing the leather jacket and beanie again, but he wasn’t too concerned about hiding his face this time. Earlier, he made a minor complaint that his clothes felt rather stiff after wearing them for a few days straight, to which Aiden promised that once they got back home he would throw their clothes in the washer.

“Let’s get going!” Jess said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Originally, Jess wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of going out at this hour. Knowing there might be Awakening members roaming around, or his alternate self--who had no problem beating Radar in broad daylight--made Jess uncertain over the safety of Obsidian Town’s streets. Aiden assured him that they’d be alright, it’d be three against one, and--in his words--he ‘Wants to do somethin’ nice for Olivia after last night’.

Jess appreciated the thoughtfulness, and in the end, visiting Olivia’s grave was up to… Well, Olivia, but he’d still be ready in case a creep tried to pull something.

Jess couldn’t really blame Olivia for wanting to check out her grave. It’s her place of death. When would you ever get an opportunity to visit a place like that again? Not to mention, Jess had been wanting to get a better look at Obsidian Town rather than getting glimpses or constantly staring at the ground.

The three walked to the left and started their journey to the cemetery. Aiden and Olivia were making small talk, so Jess took this time to absorb his surroundings.

Up ahead, he could spot a tall, crooked, ivory colored tower in the distance. That must’ve been the library Olivia mentioned before. Even from all the way over here Jess could see how ruined the place was. Cracks stretched across it, it was riddled with holes, and it looked moments away from collapsing.

Jess scanned the streets. The long, thin black lamp posts on each side had thin string-lights tied to their tops that stretched across the streets in a zig-zag like manner. It’s a shame they weren’t on at the moment, they must’ve been wonderful when lit.

There were empty stalls they’d pass by occasionally. Colorful, patterned tents protected the bare tables, empty boxes, and scraps sitting underneath. Jess noticed each stall had string lights, small lanterns, or candles for light. He’d catch quick glimpses at folded signs tucked away and papers taped onto poles advertising items and prices. Seeing all of this reminded him of the farmer markets Beacon Town. Jess would always act so crabby when he woke up early for them, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get hyped up and dashing around the place until closing time.

The stalls and all were nice, but Jess couldn’t help but find Obsidian Town’s buildings to be… Underwhelming.

Many of the buildings, from what he could see, were constructed with the same materials: stone, wood, bricks, concrete, the occasional polished granite and diorite, and the rare terracotta. There were variations with the colors, but seeing the same materials got real tiring real fast.

And most structures here were just shapes. That’s all that could really be said. Squared, rectangled, plain shapes to fit the equally-plain materials. Even the sizes of the buildings felt plain. Many were one to two stories, a large handful reached three, and hardly any were four.

Jess was so used to Beacon Town’s monstrous structures, giant jungle trees sprouting from windows, walls of colored glass creating magnificent designs, and bridges stretching from roof to roof that connected the town together. The fun types of builds! It might sound chaotic but that’s what made Beacon Town feel like home. Obsidian Town was just that. A town.

‘Don’t think the people here can risk being experimental, to be fair.’ Jess told himself as he remembered how often quakes struck. He thought back to his town again. He thought about how so many homes would quickly collapse the moment a strong-enough quake would hit. Beacon Town was fun, but it wasn’t built with ‘sturdiness’ in mind, unlike Obsidian Town.

While the construction and sizes of these buildings were on the more ‘basic’ side, the way the citizens decorated the exteriors of their homes and stores was magnificent. Oh, how he loved their decorations. From markets using barrels, wagons, and carefully stacked crates to advertise their fresh fruit and flowers, to cafes that’d have their furniture with their own color schemes and accessories to make them stand out from one another. Some places had porches decorated with flowers and swinging benches, while others had balconies with tiny lights.

Jess would get a second to peer into windows they’d pass by, catching glimpses of interiors that’d tempt him to come closer and press his face against the glass to get a better look. Actually, he hadn’t noticed it right away, but so many windows in Obsidian Town were colored. They didn’t have any intricate designs--a majority of them were one solid color--unlike the stained glass back at the Order Hall, but they were still charming. He pictured in his head how vibrant the streets must be when night comes… The lights from the inside mixing with the colors of the glass must be magnificent.

One place that REALLY caught Jess’ attention was a stone gray building tucked between two larger ones. It had a simple square base, but had a noticeable tilt to it. It had a staircase that wrapped around it’s walls and led to the roof, where a smaller room sat atop, equally slanted. A wooden sign hung from above the door and had the words “Glass Art” on it. Purple, pink, and blue glass shards and chimes were held by opaque strings from the overhang; there was a large, round, beautiful stained glass window with the same colors beside the door.

The glass art reminded Jess of Ivor and his potions. Man… How is Ivor? Is he doing alright? Is he worried? Hopefully he’s not working himself to the bone trying to find a way to save him and Olivia. Jess couldn’t wait to get back home and give that old man a big ol’ hug.

Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned anything about potions while they’ve been here? He doesn’t remember Olivia’s book talking about them, nor any of Aiden’s friends bringing them up… Are there no potions here? Or maybe there’s a lack of materials? They couldn’t go to the Nether or mine without a license--which STILL boggles Jess’ mind--so that probably made gathering resources hard. How would Ivor react to this? He’d probably say: ‘Pah! A universe without potions is a miserable one. Back in my day, we’d travel hundreds of miles to find the finest ingredients for our--’

“Jess!” He heard Olivia call his name. He spun around and saw her and Aiden standing under a stone arch. Olivia had her hands on her hips.

“You done dreamin’?” Aiden asked.

Jess didn’t realize how far he had strayed from the two. He hurried over and joined them at the arch.

“Sorry, sorry, I was busy thinking.” He skidded to a halt and fixed his beanie.

“Just glad nobody saw you.” Aiden said, “I almost stopped her from calling you cause I wanted to see how far you’d walk off.”

“Could you imagine if he got caught like that?” Olivia asked, “One moment he’s strolling through the streets, and the next he’s being pounced on by guards all because he was too busy sightseeing.” Her and Aiden chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to appreciate a town now?” Jess dramatically placed his hands on his hips, mimicking Olivia’s posture.

“It's illegal for you.” Aiden said, “Now come on, there’s a shortcut through the park.”

Aiden walked through the moss-covered stone arch. On each side of the arch were thick, green hedges that boxed in the park. Olivia noticed that, unlike the buildings in this town, the hedges didn’t form an actual shape; it would jut in and out at random, creating odd angles and corners. It was strange but charming.

A path that started under the arch and looped around the area, creating a horseshoe-like shape. Aiden ignored the path and continued walking straight through the grass. Olivia saw the usual things most parks had: Benches, lampposts, a sign telling people not to litter. She also noticed leftover chalk on the sidewalk, laying right beside children’s drawings of stick figures and hopscotch.

Obsidian Town’s park was small, nice, simple, and… Honestly a little dark. The thick clouds were already blocking most of the sun’s light, but the few, tall, thick trees had branches that hid nearly every inch of the sky. Despite how dim it was, Olivia could still spot wild flowers sprinkled around the grass, along with the bugs buzzing around them.

Honestly--and Olivia felt bad thinking this--she preferred this sort of park over whatever the heck Beacon Town had going on. Yes, Beacon Town was great in it’s own way. People could build whatever they wanted, and that’s wonderful, but sometimes she’d just like to take a walk without a constant ruckus surrounding her. Sometimes she just wanted peace and quiet--

“That guy’s missing his entire head!” Jess suddenly whisper-shouted as he lightly shook Olivia. Her heart started beating frantically as she hurriedly spun her head around. Her mind was going all over the place. Was it a decapitated corpse? A strange, alternate-universe monster? Or--or--

It was a statue.

“Jess, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She sighed with relief.

“Sorry,” He took his hands off of her and pointed, “check it out though!”

Both Olivia and Aiden were looking at the statue now. It was a man frozen midrun, an axe held back--stuck in a swinging motion--while the other hand held up his battered shield, which covered his face. If he had a face, that is. It had to be The Impossible Man. Olivia wasn’t sure who else it could’ve been.

“He’s definitely seen better days.” She said under her breath. Besides his entire head missing, a majority of his body was covered in dirt, children’s chalk, and other strange stains. Cracks started from his broken neck and traveled to his chest, his armor was chipped and scratched, and a good portion of his axe had broken off as well.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple more statues around here?” Aiden mentioned as they continued walking, “They’re all in pretty bad shape. The kids like to mess with them.”

Aiden scanned the park. “There’s one,” He pointed to the upper corner on the left side of the park. A statue was placed on a podium right in front of a tree. Despite the fact one of his legs was missing, he appeared to be sitting comfortably, gazing at the tree tops peacefully.

“Annnndddd…” Aiden kept turning his head in different directions, “I’m pretty sure there was a head somewhere… Oh!” He spun around, walking backwards now as he pointed to the direction of the entrance. Jess and Olivia followed his finger, their eyes landed on a wooden bench--and right beside it was a small column with a broken bust of the man on top. Olivia couldn’t make out much of the man’s face from here, but she kept getting the eerie feeling that his fractured eyes were somehow watching her. Constantly. Unblinking. She shuddered.

“You think the quakes are the reason they’re missing some parts?” She heard Jess ask aloud.

“I find it really hard to believe they somehow stood through all of those quakes and just lost a head or a leg. They might've been stolen.” Olivia theorized.

Jess put his hand on his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, “I think I remember seeing Hadrian have a couple of statue parts at his place…”

“What? You think old people just like to steal random body parts during their free time?” She grinned.

“That’s what I’d like to do when I retire!” He chuckled. Olivia rolled her eyes playfully.

The three came to a stop in front of a wall of hedge that stood a couple inches taller than Aiden. Unlike the rest of the hedges, this one probably hasn’t been trimmed in months. The surface was extremely uneven; hundreds of tiny branches and leaves stuck out and got tangled with one another. This hedge was also covered in flowers. Tons of them. Clusters of fluffy-looking, light pink flowers were scattered throughout, and were nearly as big as Olivia’s face. The ground was covered in old petals.

Olivia made sure that every strand of hair was tucked inside her hood. There was no way she wanted to spend the rest of the day picking out the twigs, leaves, and petals that’d get stuck in there.

Aiden walked to the right, staring into the bush and running his hand over it as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where the shortcut was. Olivia and Jess awkwardly shuffled along. Aiden soon stopped, crouched down, then put his hand into the bush. He then took it out, huffed, scooched over a couple more inches, and repeated the process.

After a minute of searching, Aiden started talking to himself. “Maybe it’s on the left side? I could’ve sworn we--!” Aiden suddenly fell forward and into a large hole in the hedge.

Man, if Aiden hadn’t fell through, Olivia would’ve also thought he’d forgotten where the entrance was. The branches hid the hole well.

Jess helped Aiden to his feet. Aiden thanked him as he moved aside, motioning towards the hole.

“You guys go ahead.” Aiden said, “I’ll wait for you to go through.”

Jess and Olivia glanced at each other before Jess gave her a little bow, “After you.”

“How kind.” Olivia curtsied. She crouched and crawled through. The dirt was already making her pants a little damp.

Luckily, despite a few scratches, the crawl only lasted a few seconds.

She got up, cleaned herself off, and waited for the boys.

Jess’ head soon popped out from the hole. Leaves and tiny branches were caught in his hair. He wriggled himself out and brushed off his clothes.

“Here, let me help with your hair.” Olivia started plucking the sticks out.

“Thanks!” Jess said happily as he took off and shook the leaves off his beanie.

It was quiet for a couple of moments as they cleaned themselves up. Olivia felt her smile twitch.

“Hey, Jess,” She started slowly, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jess put his hat back on, “What for?”

“I know you don’t have the best feelings towards Aiden right now,” She stared at her feet, “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging you along.”

“What? No, no, no!” Jess exclaimed, “Look, I was real mad last night, but I wanted to go with you!”

Olivia brought her head back up to Jess, a tiny smile of relief on her face.

“And I’m sticking to my word. We’ll stick together no matter what.” Jess shoved his hands into his pockets. “And uh… We don’t really have a choice when it comes to trusting Aiden and his friends, but things aren’t gonna get better if I keep blowing up like I did yesterday--” A sudden grunt interrupted Jess and caused both of them to jump.

They turned to see Aiden struggling to get out of the bush. How much did he hear? Hopefully not too much. Hopefully.

Aiden tries to use his free arm to pull the rest of his body out, but after a few more seconds he stopped fighting and let his face fall to the ground.

“... I’m stuck again.” He could hear Olivia and Jess snicker as they grabbed his hand and began to pull. They were able to pull him out in no time.

“Thanks.” Aiden said as he shook off the dirt--and the embarrassment. “The memorials are on the other side of the cemetery. Should only take a minute to get there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When they entered the cemetery, Jess kept his eyes peeled for any familiar names on the gravestones. A few graves had rather unusual colors to them. There was a dusty red one, an uncommon shade, but not odd. Then he’d walk by a blue one; he’s never seen a grave that color before--well, Reuben’s memorial had bits of blue in it, does that count?--Then he walked by a purple grave, a green one, an orange one?

“This is… The happiest looking cemetery I’ve ever seen.” Olivia said as she beheld the rest of the graveyard.

“Is that a compliment?” Aiden asked.

Olivia kept staring at tombstones until she finally said “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen a place for the dead look so… Lively.”

Taking in the rest of the graveyard, Jess had to agree . What was usually a dark, gloomy, dreary place was so, so vibrant. Even under this cloudy, dull weather, the many colors still popped. This was more like a miniature festival than a cemetery! Many tombstone tops looked like roofs with their pointed tops and little overhangs. Their heights and widths would range from short and broad to tall and scrawny. Heck, Jess could spot a couple of graves as tall as him.

“What the heck are your cemeteries like?” Aiden glanced back at them.

“Plainer colors, I guess?” Jess shrugged, “You know, blacks, grays, browns, nothing too flashy.” The only exception Jess could think of was, once again, Reuben's memorial.

“Really?” Aiden sounded genuinely baffled by this. “We hardly got any of those. What do they mean?”

Olivia and Jess exchanged confused expressions with each other before Jess faced Aiden again, “Sadness? Loss? I don’t think there’s any real meaning behind those colors, honestly.”

“Right, we don’t typically associate bright colors with the dead.” Olivia added in, viewing the cemetery again. Scrawny trees and tiny flowers with stems that reached her knees that were peppered around the area; most were in between the graves. She thought about Aiden’s question, “I’m assuming the colors here represent something specific?”

“Yeah, buncha things. Too many for me to keep track of, but I remember the important ones.” Aiden started as they continued walking down the damp dirt path. “When a person dies, their friends and family can choose the color of their grave. It’s usually… Like… Hm. It’s supposed to show what the person was like when they were alive, ya know? Yellow for the happy people,” He explained while pointing to a shorter grave of said-color, “orange for determination, that sorta stuff. Stella’s memorized ‘em all. If you ever wanna know more, she’s the person to ask.”

As Aiden kept talking, Olivia and Jess kept taking in their surroundings. Jess had noticed something. Every single grave they passed was decorated with gems. The gems were placed close by the names and dates of those who passed, and seeing so many of them in various shapes, colors, and sizes made him curious…

“Hey, uh, what’s with the gems?” Jess spoke up, “Are they real?” He was wondering if maybe they were regular stones that were carved and painted. There was no way Obsidian Town could have an overabundance of minerals, especially since the citizens needed a mining license.

“Nah, they’re glass.” Aiden replied, “I thought they were real myself until we had to choose some gems for Lukas--” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jess and Olivia peered over and saw a lit redstone torch placed in front of a grave. Aiden plucked the torch from its place, a scowl on his face as he blew out the flame then chucked the burnt wood across the cemetery.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’?” He began walking again, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

‘What was that about?’ Jess thought to himself. It must’ve been linked to the cult, right? Why else would Aiden have done that?

“Right!” He snapped his fingers,” So the gems are basically like the colors of the graves. We had to go to this special place where the people there pulled out huge chests filled with those things. Took us forever to pick ‘em out.”

“Each color chosen means something for the person that passed…” Jess whispered to himself as Aiden’s words from earlier echoed through his mind. He was rather fond of how Obsidian Town remembered their dead. It was more uplifting than what he was used to. Maybe he could make some changes to the graveyards once they get back to Beacon Town.

Aiden was quiet for a minute before he added, “Gill took the longest. He was real worried his gem wouldn’t be good enough.” He paused. “He… he ended up crying.”

His voice got quieter, “I hated seeing him like that.”

Jess and Olivia both tried to think of what to say, what ‘s the next best thing to do, but Aiden immediately changed the subject.

“What do you guys put on your graves?” Aiden asked, he sounded ‘normal’ again, but kept facing away from the two.

Jess hesitated, “Names. Dates.”

“A description of the person who passed.” Olivia added.

“Just words? Doesn’t that get a little… Depressing?” Aiden narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you think that’s sad? We once wrote out an entire dictionary on a guy’s grave back in our universe.” Jess answered jokingly. Olivia let out a little giggle, and they even heard a chuckle out of Aiden.

That small chuckle was all Jess needed to hear to continue telling quips and share short, funny stories at Aiden’s way to try and lighten the mood. Aiden was soon sharing his own experiences mixed in with his own humor. Aiden and Jess were bouncing off of each other, making fun of their own universes while Olivia would throw in her commentary every now and then.

‘This is so weird…’ Olivia thought to herself. The three of them laughing while walking through a cemetery… it’s something that’d usually feel inappropriate to do, but here she wasn’t all that bothered.

This whole experience has been surreal. Entering a rainbow of a cemetery through a bush felt like something that’d only happen in her dreams, yet here she was. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace to not feel worried for her and her friend’s life for a moment.

She had nearly forgotten the dread she felt when she originally suggested coming here.

And then Aiden spoke up.

“Okay, okay, we’re finally--” Aiden stopped. “Here.” All happiness in his tone had left.

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. Olivia grabbed onto the string of her hoodie and began to pull on it as she slowly peered over Aiden. Standing before him were two graves. Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the shorter one. She trailed down the grave, the coral color fading into a deep shade of red until she stopped at the flowers laying beside a lit, redstone torch.

Olivia held her breath. Jess got close to her as Aiden approached the torch. He grabbed it by it’s barely-scorched base and brought it to his face to blow out the flame. Instead of throwing it away like the last one, he just placed it to the side, only a few feet away from the grave. He wore an expression neither of them have ever seen on him before. Fear? Heartache? Pain.

“We’re here.” He said again. His voice completely devoid of energy. His body was stiff as he walked to the side of the grave, with his hands curled into tight fists and placed at his sides. There was another redstone torch placed in front of the grave to the right, but Aiden didn’t say anything. Olivia took a few small steps forward and gave him a small nod.

As she knelt down in front of the grave--in front of her grave--she heard Aiden tell Jess ‘Come on’, followed by the sound of footsteps growing distant.

She sat alone at her grave.

She didn’t want to read the text. She really didn’t. Isn’t that funny? That was one of the main reasons she wanted to come here. To see if there was a chance she could read about her death, what happened to her, but now that she was here, she was terrified. She looked everywhere else but the epitaph before her. She stared at the small bouquet of flowers on the dirt--the dirt… She noticed it seemed… Messier compared to the other graves. Like someone tried digging through it. The bouquet, though! There was a mix of flowers held together by a red ribbon. Clusters of tiny, magenta flowers, a few pointed, white flowers with many petals, and a type of flower she actually knew the name of: Lilys.

She then brought her gaze up, catching a quick glimpse of her name written in gold, to observe the gems placed into the tombstone. Two orange gems, one yellow, one gold, another maroon, and the gem in the center was amber. They formed an arch around the words in the center.

‘Stop avoiding it.’ She told herself, but she didn’t listen. She turned to Lukas’ grave. She had to see his. She had to. It was right here and--and he’s her friend.

His grave was turquoise and had thin, white stripes that stretched across the top, and seven gems instead of six. Three on each side, and the last gem placed above his epitaph. He was given flowers as well.

The words engraved in the stone read: “LUKAS: Courageous and loyal. An inspiring leader and a brilliant friend.”

Short but wonderful. It was perfect. Reading it over and over again, she thought about just how lucky she and Jess were with having their friend still around. He’s done so much for them. Constantly helping Jess run Beacon Town, aiding the citizens, always visiting her and Axel whenever he got the chance… He could’ve left them during that Witherstorm. He could’ve ditched them at any moment when things got too rough, but he never did.

‘I need to give Lukas a hug when I get back.’ Olivia thought to herself. Lukas could still leave them one day without warning. He could finally get sick of them, die in a brutal fight, or--or end up being kidnapped like this Lukas--Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to get those awful thoughts out. Don’t think about that. He’s still alive. He still cares about them. He loves them.

Olivia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before finally bringing her attention back to her own grave. She forced herself to read the words written for her; “OLIVIA: An intelligent, creative, and hardworking engineer. A bright spark of joy even during the darkest of days.”

Olivia stared at her words. A weird sense of reassurance was arising. She’s never thought highly of herself. She’d sometimes convince herself that others couldn’t tolerate her, and that she was one mistake away from ruining everything. She wondered if this Olivia ever felt a similar way. Was she constantly trying to make sure she said and did the right things? Try to fix any issue immediately so her friends didn’t think she was useless? Always second guessing her own thoughts?

Did this Olivia know her friends always loved her? Or was she riddled with fears and doubts until her sudden end?

‘She died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?’ Olivia tried to recall any mention of her death from Aiden. She wasn’t certain, but whether it was a few years ago, or a few months ago, didn’t change the fact that she died so soon.

She was young.

Younger than her.

To have her life end on an abrupt note… It scared her. It scared her so much. Everything could be taken away one day.

As she sat over her body, she felt her fingers begin to dig into the dirt, like they were trying to reach in and find the other Olivia’s hand. A sick form of curiosity made her want to know more. More about this Olivia. Her life. Her mind. To have a connection with her. It was her body she was sitting over, afterall. Her corpse. Her--

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on.” Aiden gave Jess a light tap with his hand. He started walking away from Olivia. Jess hesitated. He looked at his friend for a second more before leaving with Aiden.

“We just needa give her some space.” Aiden said.

“Right, totally understand.” Jess wanted to stick around for a few minutes longer to study his friends’ graves, but that could wait. He didn’t want to make Olivia feel like he was breathing down her neck.

Jess thought back to the many instances where his friends’ lives were in danger, when they were so close to being taken away from him. He hated seeing his friends’ lives at stake more than anything; he’d go through Hell and back to protect them, and to be in a place where their deaths became a reality was so hard to wrap his head around.

Lukas left without a trace. No familiar faces to comfort him during his last moments, only enemies looming over him while he was in an unknown place. Just thinking about his fate made Jess worry sick about his Lukas back at home.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only their footsteps filled the void.

“So…” Jess started, wanting to make small talk, “What do the colors for Olivia and Lukas’ graves mean?”

“Olivia’s creativity.” Aiden replied, sounding short. “And Lukas’--” He paused and scanned the cemetery. He took a left turn and continued walking between the graves. “He’s…Don’t make fun of us, but his color stands for friendship.”

“Friendship?” Jess perked up at the word.

“I know, it’s probably super cheesy or whatever, but it fits him. It really does.” Aiden said.

“No, no, I completely agree! He’s a great friend--one of the best! If I had to recount all the times he’s been there for me, we’d be here all day.”

“Right. Same here.” They stopped at another grave with another redstone torch in front of it. This grave was short and purple, with many cool-colored gems placed in it. Jess didn’t recognize the name.

Aiden grabbed the torch and blew out the flame. Jess decided to ask another question.

“Any idea why The Awakening puts those torches there?”

“Probably for no good reason.” Aiden answered through gritted teeth as he chucked the wood as hard as he could across the cemetery.

There was something unnerving about the torches left at the grave. Their red glow would take over the colors of the graves, and their light under a thick, cloudy sky would claim your attention and make it hard to pull away. Their soft crackling would fill in the silence whenever he and Aiden didn’t talk; the occasional loud snaps from the flames would make Jess believe there was a threat following them.

Jess stopped at a tombstone and picked up a vase of flowers that had fallen aside. “The gems on their graves, what do they mean? Do you remember ‘em?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember what the gems on my own friends’ graves would mean!” Aiden snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jess held the vase tighter. “I was just--I wanted to know more about them.” Great. Now they’re both feeling terrible.

Aiden’s demeanor softened when he saw Jess’ reaction. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve been--” He hesitated, “I’ve just been thinking about someone is all.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Jess carefully placed the small vase back upright. He folded his arms and joined Aiden’s side.

“I’m uh, still interested to hear bout those gems if you’re wanting to share.” He said.

“Yeah. I can do that for ya.” Aiden answered.

“For Lukas,” Aiden began, walking through the grass. “Gill chose blue. I remember that one’s loyalty. Gold for compassion. White for safety--he’d always double check our belongings every time to make sure we were prepared.”

Aiden stopped and grabbed a torch, “It was kinda annoying, but I miss it now.” He blew it out and threw the wood.

They kept moving.

“Rose picked pink.” Aiden started running his fingers over the grave tops, “She was real embarrassed when she chose it. Kept refusing to show us cause she thought we’d laugh at her.”

“I’m guessing pink’s for love?” Jess said, trying to make sure he wouldn’t trample any flowers.

“Yeah, and--” Aiden chuckled, “Rose wanted his description to be: Pretty blond dork with a decent sense of style. All of us were actually on board with it.”

“Did you end up pulling through with it?” Jess asked.

“Nah, the guys making the grave wouldn’t allow it.” Aiden spotted a couple of gravestones with torches by them. They were already burnt out. He grabbed two of the torches while Jess grabbed the last.

“What a bunch of killjoys.” Jess joked. Aiden laughed as he prepared to throw the burnt wood. Jess mimicked each step of Aiden’s. Hold, aim, then throw. Once they lost sight of the rubbish, they followed the dirt path to the entrance of the cemetery.

The cemetery wasn’t boxed in by hedges like the park, instead, it had a stone wall.

Aiden leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like the most comfortable surface--the rocks were jagged and would probably fall apart in moments--but he seemed unaffected by it. Jess stood nearby and took a peek through the gate beside them. Unlike the rough, uneven walls, the black fence was tall, sturdy, and had a huge, elegantly curved arch.

“Olivia’s got a few similar gems,” Aiden started, putting his hands in his pocket, “Two golds, yellow… She’s got amber--Man, I always mix those three up. They sound different enough but when they’re placed by each other, they all look the same. Amber’s slightly darker than yellow, but not as dark as gold. Amber’s positivity.”

“Lotta happy ones for her.” Jess commented. He’d been staring at the decorated buildings through the gate’s bars as he listened. He could spot bits of pots filled with flowers on the other side of the wall, their colors as eye-catching as the cemetery.

“Always made us happy.” Aiden said with a shrug. “She also had… Ah…” He pressed his lips together, “Orange! She had that one too. And then there’s…” He had to stop to think again.

“It’s not… Well, it looks like red, but it’s darker… Ah, shoot.” Aiden cursed to himself.

“Carmine? Maroon?” Jess tilted his head.

Aiden snapped his fingers, “Maroon! Right! Creativity; same thing as her grave. Picked it myself.” He said rather proudly.

“You guys really cared about her.” Jess mumbled. He tilted his head towards Aiden, “And I’m sure Olivia loved you guys all the same.”

Aiden stared back at him.

A small smile spread across his face, “Thanks.”

The two became quiet and looked over the array of colorful graves before them. The clouds slowly began to part; gems glistened as the rays of sun shone down on them.

“Should we check on Olivia now?” Jess asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aiden got off the stone wall and stretched his back, “Yeah, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When the two returned to Olivia, the last thing they wanted to see was to see her in distress. The tips of her fingers were shoved into the dirt below, her eyes were stuck on the golden words in front of her, her mouth was parted--barely moving--with no voice to match. Jess couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not, but she was scared. Very scared.

Jess bit his lip and approached his friend. Aiden was right behind.

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

Olivia jumped and jerked her hands out of the dirt.

“Yes--! Yeah, no, no don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks--thank you for checking on me.” She replied frantically. She took deep breaths.

Before Jess could question anything, Olivia spoke up.

“Aiden, this uh--the substance mixed into the stone,” Her fingers trailed down the tombstone, “is it redstone dust?”

Her voice was shaky.

Aiden glanced at Jess, who was equally nervous as him, then said, “Actually, it is.”

He took a step closer to Olivia, “They don’t usually allow people to mix stuff like redstone or glowstone dust with the colors--especially cause they’re hard to find--but they made an exception for us.”

Olivia nodded along, blinking back tears.

Jess read her epitaph, “Guess all Olivia’s are just the greatest engineers out there, huh?”

“Damn right. She didn’t have a bunch of dust to work with, but she’d still crank out machine after machine like no tomorrow.” Aiden said, “Man, I remember every year for her birthday that’d be all she’d ever ask for. Not weapons, not new journals, not even a dang cake, just redstone dust. Course, the only places you could find ‘em were in caves or old shrines, right?” He asked while facing Lukas’ grave and grabbing the lit redstone torch below.

“Yup, we found a bunch of it yesterday.” Jess said, sitting besides Olivia.

“Right, and since it was so dangerous, she told us to not worry bout gettin’ it because ‘It’d be stupid to risk your life for some red powder’.” Aiden gestured with the torch, the flame getting frighteningly close to his hair.

“Well, I’d always lose track of dates and forget to get her a gift, so one of the other guys would back me up and tell Olivia we bought a gift ‘together’, and I felt so bad.” He thankfully blew out the fire after saying that.

“So then guess what I did one day?” Aiden said.

“Walked out and found a bag of redstone on the ground?” Jess asked sarcastically.

Aiden laughed, “I wish.”

Aiden began pacing, the trail of smoke whirling around him, “But I decided I’d bust into one of those dumb shrine and find some dust for her, and I didn’t tell anyone bout it besides Jesse. He was on board with the plan, he was great at findin’ stuff, plus two people finding dust was much easier than one.” Aiden fiddled with the burnt wood, “We headed off to the nearest shrine and actually found enough dust to fill up a bag and a half, but cause of the state of that dump, some rooms would collapse after you opened the door!”

“You two ended up getting hurt, didn’t you?” Olivia had her hand on her head, already concerned over the direction of this story.

“Course we did!” Aiden threw his arms up. “I swear anytime the two of us were together, things would fall apart or we’d break a bone--” Aiden stopped his talking to quickly chuck the wood away. “Anyways, anyways, we got back home right on time for Olivia’s birthday and man did we look awful. Clothes were all dirty, got some real bad scrapes on my knees, Jesse grabbed so much dust it looked like his fingers were covered in blood, and I somehow got a black eye? I think the top of a chest smacked me...”

Olivia rubbed her temples, “You two really shouldn’t have risked your lives over a birthday present--”

“That’s exactly what she said!” Aiden exclaimed, “Went through all that trouble, and you know how she reacted?”

“Panicked?” Olivia asked.

“Bet she loved it.” Jess said, giving Olivia a nudge.

“She did--but Hero did she freak out! Dropped her cake and rushed over to get us cleaned up. Olivia was wrapping up one of Jesse’s arms--” Aiden thought to himself for a second, “--I think a big rock landed on it? But she was going off on us. Raising her voice and lecturing us like she was our mom, telling us it’s a miracle we were still in one piece, and why in Hero’s name we did something so stupid.”

“I mean, it wasn’t stupid if things worked out for you.” Jess pointed out.

“Yeah, but still.” Aiden chuckled, “It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. But after that, she loved our present. I’d never seen her smile so much. She was working on her machinery, telling me and Jesse how everything worked while we pretended to understand.”

Aiden carefully leaned on Olivia’s grave, “Hero knows I didn’t understand a single thing she was sayin’, but seeing her so happy…” His smile grew as his voice softened, “It was great.”

“That’s all so sweet…” Olivia spoke softly. “I love it.”

She was shaking again.

Jess turned to his friend to mention something, but stopped when he saw Olivia staring at the ground, fingers picking at the dirt just like she was when they came back. That same, terrified expression on her face.

“Liv--?” Jess mumbled, but Olivia started rambling nonsense.

“I don’t know if my words mean much to you--I know I’m not her--but you’re a good friend, Aiden.” Her nails started to dig into the ground, “All of this, all that you’ve done for Olivia--you--you--Even when I just--” She kept stumbling over her words, “Even when she died one day you kept being so kind to me--”

The more she kept talking, the more concerned--the more scared--Aiden and Jess became.

“Hey, hey are you alright?” Jess reached out to hold her, but Olivia shot her head back up.

“I’m under here.” She whispered. Her voice was so unsteady.

Jess was taken aback, “What?”

“I’m under here.” She said again. “I’m so close.”

Her hand began to claw at the dirt, “I’m so close. My body’s all mangled up in that box below, and--and my hair’s so long now.” She felt sick talking about this, she felt sick thinking about it. “It’d be so easy to just dig myself up. For Aiden to see her again. Jesse--Jess, we’re so close. I could look at myself. Look at my body. I’m--”

“Olivia!” Jess shook her, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Aiden wanted to offer his support, but Olivia instantly got on her feet.

“Yes. Yes I want to leave. I want to go home.” She kept repeating that last sentence while she hugged herself, breathing heavily. She was freezing.

“Right, we need to head back anyways.” Aiden’s stomach was in knots seeing Olivia like this. His hands turned to fists, “I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken you here. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t.” Olivia cut in. “I wanted to go. You took me. I saw--I saw what I needed to. I appreciate it. Thank you.” She was stiff as a board.

Olivia took one last deep breath, “Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Damn them.

Damn them all.

Locked every damn door and window in this house. They’re hiding her, he knows they’re hiding her.

Did they really think locking themselves in would stop him? He used to live in this Hero forsaken house; he knows every nail, screw, and plank that makes up this despicable place.

He still remembers that trapdoor on the roof. He knows how to claw his way up there. He’ll pry it open with his own bare hands.

He’ll find her.

He will.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm olivia #THANK U ENORMOUS THIC THANK U TO FRIEND IVY!!!#for reading this over and helping...... appreciate it all VERY much....#HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!#will add more tags in later!!!!! in rush right now dhfgnfdgfngd

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sparrow-flies-south · 3 years

Text

Drown My Fears (Til You All Just Disappear)

Pairings: Patton & Janus Summary: When Janus gets sick, he finds that he can only speak in lies. He has ways of dealing with this - namely, be alone whenever he's ill. He assumes this time will be the same as all the others. Too bad Patton cares about him, now. Warnings: Sick fic Notes: My gift to @shadow-whisperer152 as part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I hope you like it!

Thank you @droidofmay for betaing

Masterpost Read on AO3

It had been easier since Virgil left.

Before, Janus would have to find the right balance of half-untruths and cutting remarks to keep Virgil away. Now there was only Remus left, and Remus was easier. As soon as Janus felt it coming, the first lies forcing their way out of his mouth, he’d come up with some distraction. Send Remus on an epic quest into the Imagination, or tell him that Roman needed to see him and stand back.

Which means that now Janus is free to hide out in his room the entire time he’s sick, and wait it out. Better yet, he can’t go ask someone else for help, even if he wanted to.

So when he felt the illness coming on, he suggested that Remus spend more time in the imagination, and holed himself up in his room to wait it out. The first day was fine enough, Janus had enough energy that he didn’t have to stay in bed all day. Instead, he spent his time reading, or keeping an eye on Thomas. He even managed to leave twice to get food.

On the second day, things got a lot worse.

He woke up with a fever, and just standing up made him feel dizzy. Unfortunately, standing up turned out to be necessary, as he had to run to the bathroom to throw up twice.

When he returned, he crawled under his covers, and pulled them tight around him. He was sweating for some reason, but he felt so cold. He closed his eyes, and actually managed to drift off into something close to sleep.

He was awoken by knocking at his door. Janus stared around the room, wondering what it could be, and the knock came again.

“Virgil?” Janus asked, because Virgil was always knocking on his door when sick. But that answer didn’t seem right, but Janus couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Janus?” a voice that wasn’t Virgil’s asked. “It’s Patton. Are you alright?”

Janus blinked, tried to figure out why Patton of all people would be knocking on his door. Patton didn’t even like Janus, except-

Right. The wedding, and everything that came after. Patton was his friend now, and Virgil wasn’t. Patton knocked again, and Janus managed to croak out, “I’m fine.”

Fortunately, in this sense his condition had helped. The only thing Janus wanted to do at that point was lie.

But then Patton asked, “Can I come in?” and ruined everything.

Janus didn’t answer, glad that the sickness allowed that, at least. If he stayed quiet long enough, perhaps Patton would decide he didn’t want to talk and go away. He might be upset by it, might think Janus was horribly rude, but that was still better than the alternative.

“Janus?” Patton called after a few moments.

Janus stayed silent, and soon enough there were footsteps retreating from his door. Janus sighed in relief, and fell back asleep.

Then next time he woke up, he was too hot. He threw the blankets off him and curled up on the bed, groaning. His head was killing him. You were supposed to drink water while ill, and Janus had run out.

He pushed himself out of bed, even though the action made him want to throw up. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning enough for him to stumble to his door, and pull it open.

He almost collided with Patton, who was standing outside.

“Janus?” Patton asked, eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Janus muttered, trying to pull away.

“Pretty sure that’s not true, kiddo,” Patton said, gently pushing him in the room and back to his bed. “You shouldn’t be moving around right now.”

Janus scowled, but let Patton push him down. Maybe once Patton was satisfied he wasn’t dying, he’d go away and leave him alone.

“Was there something you were trying to get?” Patton asked.

Janus didn’t answer, which apparently was the wrong choice because Patton came and sat closer to him.

“It’s okay,” Patton said gently, as if Janus was fragile. “Do you want me to get water?”

“No,” Janus said without thinking, and then, to make everything worse, Janus started crying, because he did want water, but there was no way to ask for it without Patton misunderstanding.

Patton wrapped his arms around him, and Janus let him, too tired to try and fight him off.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Patton said. “What’s wrong?”

The smart thing to do was to push Patton away, to make it so that Patton didn’t come back. But Patton was hugging him, was warm and safe and there, and Janus was nothing if not a weakling. He was the side who whispered temptations to Thomas, how could he not give in to temptations of his own?

“I don’t want water,” Janus said, “And I can totally ask for it.”

Patton’s brow pinched in confusion for a moment, before it smoothed into an expression of concern.

“Oh,” Patton said. “Of course you can have some. Wait here.”

Janus was loathe to be extracted from Patton’s arms, but he allowed it anyway. Patton picked up a blanket from the floor, where Janus must have thrown it at some point, and draped it over his shoulders.

“I’ll be right back,” Patton promised.

As soon as Patton was gone, Janus lay back down, seeing no reason to force himself to stay sitting when no one was around to see it. Keeping his eyes open felt too difficult, so he closed them. He felt so tired, his limbs felt heavy. Patton would be back soon, for now he’d just rest.

He fell asleep before Patton returned.

Thomas had been around ten, the first time he’d noticed it.

He’d gotten sick before then, they all had, but for some reason it was aged ten when Janus started changing. Perhaps it was because Thomas started seeing him differently. Perhaps it was just because they were all growing up.

Either way, it was aged ten when Virgil asked if he was sick, and Janus had answered, “No.”

Virgil had just rolled his eyes and ignored him – he must have thought Janus was being sarcastic. But Janus himself had been shocked into silence. Because what he’d meant to say, what he’d started to say, had been “yes”.

He’d retreated back to his room, after that. Locked the door and tried to whisper truths, horror growing with every lie that passed his lips.

Well, he told himself, Virgil and Remus were used to him, used to the urge to speak in lies. They would understand what he wanted, probably wouldn’t even think too hard about why he was speaking backwards all of a sudden.

So he did what they always did when they were sick; bundled himself in blankets and lay down on the sofa. Remus tried to find ways to entertain him, and Virgil provided company, occasionally fussing over if Janus was eating enough, or drinking enough, or sleeping enough. And if Janus complained less than he normally did, neither of them said anything.

It worked the next time he was sick, too. And the next.

Until suddenly, it didn’t.

He was curled up on the sofa, Virgil beside him, while Remus was doing something in the background (judging by the crashes, Janus didn’t want to know).

“I don’t need more blankets,” Janus complained – they were at an age where it was different for them to just conjure what they needed.

“There’s some in the attic,” Virgil suggested.

Ah. The attic that was very dark, and filled with spiders, and which Thomas sometimes had nightmares about.

“Well, then don’t get them for me,” Janus ordered.

Virgil tensed. “What? No way, I’m not going up there.”

Well, Janus wasn’t about to go up there either. He wondered if he could Remus into doing it for him.

“Why can’t you do it yourself?” Virgil asked.

Janus rolled his eyes. “I’m not sick,” he pointed out.

“Sick enough that you can’t get a couple of blankets?” Virgil asked, and Janus said nothing. Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “So what is it? Wait- are you scared of the attic too?”

He couldn’t deny it. Or rather, he could only deny it, and Virgil would know it was a lie. Which meant Virgil would know he was scared. He’d know how ridiculous Janus was, for being of it – not even the real attic, either, just a copy of it.

It was alright if Virgil was the one scared of things, being scared was his job. But Janus was meant to be different- he wasn’t meant to get scared of the dark like some kind of baby.

And now Virgil was staring at him, waiting for him to answer, and if Janus didn’t answer then he’d know, anyway.

A loud beeping sound came from behind them. Both of them twisted to look into the kitchen, where the microwave was suddenly on fire. Virgil leaped from his seat, swearing.

“What happened?” he shouted.

“I don’t know, it just set fire,” Remus shouted back. “It looks cool though, right?”

Virgil ran to the kitchen, and Janus took his chance to slip away. He shut himself up in his room, and sank to the floor.

That had been far too close. If Remus hadn’t distracted Virgil-

Janus liked lying. Liked the safety it gave him, the way he could hide parts of himself away, so deep the rest of the world would never be able to find them. He’d thought that being stuck in lies was nothing more than an annoyance, now he was starting to realise that perhaps it was worse than just that.

After all, if he could only lie, then he couldn’t hide the truth.

He couldn’t be around Virgil and Remus, not while he was like this. He was just glad that he never had to see the Light Sides, because the idea of them talking to him- well, it made his stomach twist in knots. Kind of like how Thomas felt, when he was standing on a balcony of a really tall building and looking down.

Well, he’d just have to stay away from them, then. Just while he was sick- that couldn’t be too hard, surely. He could bundle up in his bed, kind of like how he would bundle up on the sofa. It would be better, even. Without Virgil and Remus around, maybe he’d actually have some peace for once.

He crawled into his bed, curled up in a ball. It felt too quiet and lonely in his room, so he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

“This is better,” he mumbled to himself.

Janus woke up to a cool hand against his forehead. He blinked open his eyes, squinting at the figure above him. Patton, right.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton said, and Janus wanted to argue about the nickname but he didn’t have the energy. “I brought you that water.”

Janus pushed himself into a sitting position, Patton’s hand resting on his shoulder. Patton pressed the glass in his hands, and he drank it slowly. The water felt blessedly cool, even as his stomach twisted.

“Do you want me to get Remus?” Patton asked.

Janus gave him a withering look, not bothering to speak. Remus, really?

“Well, okay, he doesn’t seem the most… nurturing,” Patton admitted. Janus snorted. “But who do you normally have look after you?”

It was an open ended question, which were the easiest to answer without saying anything, since technically he could name any side. He had a feeling that Patton would just press him on it, though, so he said, “Oh, I absolutely have someone look after me.”

Patton looked as if Janus had just kicked a puppy in front of him, which was just ridiculous. It wasn’t like Patton was the one who was sick.

“No one?” Patton asked. “But you’re sick.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Janus muttered. “And for your information, I just love to be surrounded by people when I feel like this.”

“That doesn’t mean you should be alone,” Patton argued. “At least have somebody check in on you.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Janus hissed, “But it’s totally easy for me to talk to people right now.”

“I mean, it takes some getting used to, but I can understand you just fine.”

“That's the point,” Janus snarled.

“Well, then, what is?” Patton asked.

Janus just glared at him, because there was no way he was going to admit his weaknesses to Patton. Even if they were possibly friends, now.

“Do you want to be alone?” Patton asked.

“I already told you-”

“No, you didn’t,” Patton replied. “You told me you didn’t want to be surrounded by people, and that it’s difficult for you to talk to people. Neither of those mean you want to be alone. Besides,” Patton added. “You kind of just said you didn’t tell me.”

“Fuck,” Janus muttered, but there was a strange look on Patton’s face.

“I guess you really couldn’t have said anything else,” Patton mused. Which was technically incorrect, because Janus could have said anything else in the world, except for the truth. It was just that the truth had a nasty habit of leaving a rather large hole when omitted.

“I think I get it now,” Patton said softly. “Why you don’t want people around.”

“Congratulations,” Janus muttered, humiliation curling hot inside him. He really had just given Patton the key to learning all his secrets, hadn’t he?

“What do you want me to do?” Patton asked.

Janus scowled. “I want you to ask me that.”

“Okay,” Patton said. “I won’t.”

Janus stayed silent, and just lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he pretended to be asleep-

“Janus?” Patton asked, nudging him. Janus didn’t move.

Moments later, he heard the sound of someone standing up, and footsteps across the room. At the last minute, he lost his nerve, sitting upright so fast it made the room spin.

“Please leave,” he begged.

Patton froze, hand on the door, and for a moment Janus thought that he would actually leave – what reason did he have to stay, after all?

But Patton just crossed the room again, and sat back next to Janus. “I’m here,” he murmured, gently pushing Janus back down. And even then, Patton didn’t leave. Instead, he began to stroke Janus’ hair. “Try to get some sleep.”

If Janus cried a little, well, Patton didn’t mention it.

Staying away from the others was not as easy as Janus had thought. He didn’t last half a day before Remus was knocking on his door, demanding his attention. He tried to keep his tone as sarcastic as he could when he had to, relying on the lies he wanted to say when he could, but it did nothing to deter him.

And then, the day after, Virgil started knocking. At first, Janus was able to ward Virgil off by saying he was perfectly fine, just busy, but he could hear the suspicion in Virgil’s tone grow with each conversation.

To make matters worse, Janus’ illness did what illnesses are prone to do, and grew worse. Not bad enough for concern, but enough that the knocking on his door grew steadily more irritating.

He tried to do something, since it was clear he wasn’t going to get any rest any time soon, only to fall asleep at his desk. He woke up just in time before Virgil barged into the room.

“What the hell?” Virgil snapped. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”

“Have you been knocking?” Janus asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He was able to sound just sarcastic enough that Virgil didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you doing here?” Janus asked, questions were good, because questions couldn’t be lies or the truth.

“You’ve been in here for days! Are you sick or something?”

If Virgil knew that he was, what would he do? Probably not leave Janus alone, Virgil was annoying like that. But even if he managed to convince Virgil this time, there would always be a next time. And a time after that. And if next time felt worse- well, he might not be so lucky.

So he’d have to find a way to stop Virgil from checking in on him. And there was only one was to ensure someone as protective as Virgil would stop.

“Actually,” Janus said, “I just didn’t want to see you.”

Virgil froze, and Janus tried to focus on that, and not what it meant that he’d been able to say that.

“What?”

“Well, why would I? It’s not like we’re friends, or anything.”

Virgil’s flinch let him know he’d hit his mark, but he still needed to make the kill. He stood up, thankful that he didn’t even wobble, and stepped towards Virgil.

“Honestly, you’re just tiresome to be around.”

Virgil’s fist hit him directly in the nose, sending him staggering back, When he reached up a hand to touch it, he realised he was bleeding.

“Fuck you,” Virgil snarled, before storming off in a tangle of shadows.

Janus sighed and laid down on his bed. Finally, he was alone.

When he woke, there was a body next to his own. He twisted to see who was with him, and jostled Patton awake.

“Sorry, kiddo, I must have nodded off,” Patton said sheepishly.

“It’s not fine,” Janus replied. “I’m certain you didn’t need the rest.”

“Well, speaking of needing the rest, how are you feeling?”

Janus considered this. “Worse,” he admitted.

Patton beamed. “Oh, that’s great! Do you think you feel up to eating something?”

“Certainly not,” Janus said. He hesitated, and then asked, “Will you tell them?”

“Who, the others?”

Janus shook his head.

“If you want me to tell them, I can,” Patton answered. “But if you don’t, then I won’t.”

“I’m certain they won’t notice your absence.”

Patton shrugged. “Then I’ll tell them I was busy.”

Janus smiled. “That doesn’t sound like a lie of omission,” he pointed out.

“I don’t think lying is always bad,” Patton said.

“Oh?” Janus sat up straighter. “What other times do you consider it acceptable?”

“Well, I guess-” Patton cut himself off and pointed a finger. “Hey! No ethical debates until you’ve eaten breakfast. You need to look after yourself.”

Janus chose not to argue about that, instead he let Patton bustle out of his room. He could hear him downstairs, and wondered how Patton would manage trying to make something edible out of what was kept in the Dark Sides kitchen. Still, he was glad that he didn’t have to worry about it.

He lay back on his bed and let himself relax. Perhaps it was okay to have someone around when he was ill, just this once.

#sanders sides gift exchange 2020 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #janus sanders #tss patton #tss janus #my fic

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stinkfacestories · 4 years

Text

Strange Similarities

Bull and you sat on some rough pillows in a huge leather tent. They were alone for now. Bull was daydreaming. Looking out a tear in the tent.

"Think I can get one of those axes?" He said.

"Bull, I don't like being here, I don't really want to stick around longer to go shopping" You say back.

"Come on, Kadan." Bull said turning to you. "The Orcinar are strong, and so far neutral. If we can get even a few of them on our side well be kicking so much ass.."

The tent flap flew open and the Orcinar Delegater entered. He was nigh on twelve feet tall. All muscles. His skin a sallow tan and green. His retinue was somehow even bigger. They held axes that were so large you were sure Bull would be thinking of them for the next few rounds of sex with you. The masks they wore were made of dark blue cloth and hid their faces, all save for their mouths. Twin, or quad tusks jutted out from them. A thin river of drool running down them constantly.

"Welcome Inquisition." The Delegater said. "Let us commence trade negotiations.."

The negotiations went on for what seemed like hours. Topics ranged from food sharing, to Intel swapping. Bull was bored near to tears. Half way through someone brought in clay mugs and some sort of bean paste with bread and cheese and that seemed to perk up his spirits, but once the talking resumed he started to doze off. He wasn't the only one. You noticed the Delegaters guards also occasionally drifting off to sleep, only to snap back to attention when they realized what happened.

"It is settled then we will begin trade on the next —"

The silence was broken by a sound. A deep, almost far off sound. It was a low wet drone that seemed to grow in intensity. You and Bull looked around confused, but the Delegater knew exactly what it was. He looked back to his guards. One was trying to hold back a laugh, distancing him from the Delegater scowls. The other was Half asleep, leaning on a support post. You immediately realize what was going on with the hot and foul odor hit you: the slumbering orcinar guard had dozed off and farted.

The Delegater growled, throwing one of the clay cups at the guard.

"You fool! You dishonor these talks!" He shouted. Big ropy gobs of spit flying through the air.

"Fuuuuuuuuck" Bull says with a laugh. "That was epic. Legendary even. I thought it was a low flying dragon"

The Delegater turned and arched his brow.

"I hope this does not befoul our talks" he said to you.

Before you could respond Bull put a hand in your shoulder and squeezed you into a hug. "Oh it's foul alright, but I think that just sealed the deal"

"Bull I can—"

"Kadan here fucking loves that kinda stuff." He tussled your hair. "What was it you said when we were walking to the tent?"

You blushed a little, giving the Delegater a coy smile.

"Oh wait I remember. You spotted that big brute, the one in the Kilt and told me: Imagine being under there when a big fucking orc like that decided to rip some thunder. Fucking steam tent ya"

"Bull that's not what I said." You correct him. All eyes were on you. There was too much at stake to try and play it cool. "What I said was: I wouldn't mind being trapped under there when he ripped some thunder—like a steam tent" You turn to look at the Delegater and give a weak smile. This had gone from great to worse.

The tension was thick in the air. No one was saying anything. The masks didn't help. The Delegater’s head starts to bob. Up and down up and down. Slowly, but surely his deep and dark, low and slow laugh comes through. His guards joined in. Bull joined in. You laughed too, mostly because you had no idea what was going to happen.

“You two are funny ones.” He said. “Truth be told We are not this formal” He motioned to the drinks, the nice clothing, the general set up of the tent. “The Orcinar are a humble people; who many would consider disgusting. It seems we have more in common than we first thought”

“Thank fuck for that” Bull let out a sigh of relief. He shifted in his seat and dropped a small grenade of a fart into the cushion he was sitting on. Nothing compared to what the Orcinar guard had done, but respectfully impressive. He punched you on the shoulder. “Sorry Kadan, I wasn't thinking, I should have asked if you wanted that one. Don't worry, thanks to that bean paste they’ll be plenty more on the ride home for you to enjoy”

The Delegator got off his sitting pillow and fluffed it up. “Well,” he looked back at his guard “Either of you grunts have one in the chamber so we can give our guest a little aromatherapy?” The second guard timidly raised his hand. “Good lad, get over here” The Delegator bade you to lay down on the pillow he had just fluffed up, facing upward. You did. To your surprise Bull joined your side. “I didn't think you were much on the receiving end of things, Bull” You say.

“Normally no, but to go through it with you Kadan, that will be special. Plus look at the guy, he must be fifteen feet tall and weigh as much as 9 Aurochs. This thing is going to be epic,” he said.

The guard lumbered over to you. He set aside his axe. He placed one green foot beside your head and the other beside Bull. You were looking straight up his long kilt. The light was dim but you could tell he was not wearing anything under it. “See Kadan, plenty of room for both of us,” Bull said. “Plus look at the size of those balls. Don't you just want to bounce your head off them?” You can't help but laugh at Bull. He always had a way with pointing things out.

The Orc lowered himself to his knees. His big legs falling to either side of you. You were locked in now. They were like large fleshy tree trunks, slightly oily, thick, and near immovable. His kilt draped over you and you were put into near darkness. From the light coming in through the fabric you could make out the shape of his round yet muscular ass descending upon you. He wasn't trying to crush you-- though you feel like if he slipped he could-- but he wanted to lower himself just enough so that you could enjoy the sensation of being pressed into his flesh. His massive, hairy filled ass crack as right between you and Bull. you turned to face him. He was already looking at you.

“Having fun Bull?” You say

“These talks just got a hell of a lot better if you ask me” He said. The heat was rising. The tent of the kilt was filled with the musky odor of the orcs undercarriage. You were sweating. Bull was sweating. The Orc was sweating; large drops of salty sweat cascading down his back through the hair of his ass. One drop landed on Bulls face causing him to blink. He licked at his lips and made an interesting face. “Well, now I can say I know what Orc-ass tastes like,” He spat. You laughed. “Think that's funny Kadan?” With a great effort Bull freed his arm and dragged it through the fleshy crack. His fingers found your mouth and he rubbed the wet digits inside it. “You know you're right,” he smiled. “It is funny to see someone drink liquid orc-ass” You'd be tasting that one for weeks.

The Orc shifted, and his guts growled. He leaned forward ever so slightly before letting out a slow and moaning roar from between his ass. The temperature in the kilt-tent shot up. The rough woven fabric was thick enough to keep the thick and humid stink inside. It was a deep and reverberating-sloppy blast. The ground thrummed under your back. Your nose burned with each breath, and to try to use your mouth to breathe was to taste the foul wind. It went on for near on a full minuet. Bull was trying to say something, but the deafening roar was all you could hear in your ears. It sputtered to an end. You felt tired. You felt as if you had just marched for three days straight. All you could smell was Orcine farts. You were drenched in sweat. You huffed for air. You were still being pressed beneath the gigantic ass. You turned to Bull. He looked a little worse for wear. “Bull. You. Are you alive?” Bull was huffing and puffing as well. “Kadan. I have never. Felt. More alive”

The Orc kept you pinned long enough to enjoy the fruits of his bowels. You couldn't tell if he was enjoying it, but he at least seemed practice in the art of making people suffer his farts. When he did get up you were not in any position to leap to your feet. You and Bull just lay there in the depression in the pillow. The Orc looked happy. Impressed even. When he went back to the other guard they locked fists triumphantly.

The Delegater loomed over you. “Well then it is settled. We shall engage in trade, and I shall send one or two of our biggest, and gassiest of Orcs to be stationed at Skyhold with you. Shall that suffice?” You looked at Bull, then back to the Delegater. “We can find room for two of them” “We had prepared a bed for you in our barracks, but I'm sure you won't want to spend the night with a bunch of rowdy Orcine warriors, so I shall have them prepare your cart for your journey home immediately.” “Well” You said, standing up. “I figure you went to the trouble of preparing the bed. It would be rude to say no.” “Excellent! Then let us seal the deal in proper Orc fashion” The Delegater hoarked back and spat a massive wad of snot into his hand. He held it out for you to shake. You looked a bit hesitant. “Nasty” you heard Bull say, clearly impressed. You reached out to shake. Your hand fully submerging in the warm slime. “Mind if I get in on this?” Bull said. The Delegater nodded. Bull, more eagerly reached out and joined your hand in the snot. The Delegater closed his fist and shook both of your hands. “Now we are bound. We are allies” “Fucking Gross” Bull said as he watched the snot ooze out of the fist. “I fucking love these guys.”

#Dragon Age #Iron Bull #Inquisitor #Orcs #Giants #Stinkface #Farts

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Fortress

A request for “the reader is having a bad time mental health wise and they make a blanket fort together and just. Chill? Maybe cuddles and some reassurances?“ led to this, with some other influences. We could all use some comfort nowadays.

Mature (Dewey Finn/reader)

@thewolfisapartofmysoul @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @turtlepated @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @mimiscappinisideblog

Enjoy! `

It’d been bad. So bad. You were tired and more than that, weary. Everything was too much but still you pushed yourself through each day, because it was expected of you, because people counted on you, because there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, during these times.

You got up, went to work, came home, went to bed. On repeat. Day after day. You wanted to see Dewey--really see him--but he’d been following the stay at home orders in his apartment, so all you really had were text messages and the occasionally zoom call. Each time you saw him on the grainy video, his hair looked wilder, his beard more scraggly.

He listened to your complaining. He made appropriate noises when you told him how tired you were, and how sad you were that everything had been turned upside down. He wasn’t much into traveling, but nodded when you started crying about the fact a trip you’d been looking forward to had been canceled. He might have been bored, but he never voiced that to you. Instead, he reassured you that everything was going to be okay. You never realized how much you missed hugging him or watching him play Guitar Hero. Just being with him seemed like a luxury that you never realized until it was taken away.

The very rare occasions you mentioned maybe some sexting or even maybe possibly some mutual video sex didn’t end well due to embarrassment. Both his and yours.

Dewey Finn wasn’t a dick pic kind of guy.

So there was nothing to do but keep plodding along. Every message between you ended with, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Until one day, almost two months into this, instead of, “I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” “Come over. We haven’t actually been together for so long.” That’s what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. But now that it was officially offered, you worried. “I don’t know, Dew--you haven’t been out, if I got you sick because I’ve been working this whole time . . . I don’t want to be the reason you get sick!”

“I’m not gonna get sick.” His reassurance crashed against the rocks of your worry. “It’s not like there aren’t people around. I get Door Dash. I even go down to the lobby to get the mail.” His little brushes with the outside world were nothing like yours: you were required to work and deal with random members of the public. It was a huge component of your stress, just having to be out and around people while everything on the news was dire and worrisome. Dewey knew all that; it was one of the things you mentioned repeatedly when you spoke with him. Still, he insisted. “I miss you, baby. I want to see you again. I want to hug you again. Don’t you miss me?” That was something else you lamented to him frequently. For him to toss it back to you was a low, but effective, blow.

“Okay. I’ll come over. But I’m not taking my mask off!”

He pointedly ignored your threat. “Good! Great! Awesome! I’ll have something delivered--you want those street tacos from the place down the road? I wonder if they’d deliver a frozen margarita--” You laughed, told him you’d see him tomorrow at seven, and he blew you a kiss that you returned. Worry was still a companion, but you had to admit you were excited to see him too.

⁂

It felt weird to be out on the street and now walking up the stairs to someone else’s apartment. For two months it’d been nothing but hurrying to work and home, then a quick shower and trying to keep your low grade anxiety away until you fell asleep to do it all over again. It was that same anxiety that made you carry an extra set of clothes with you; you weren’t going anywhere near Dewey with clothes that had been out in the world, possibly contaminated. You were going to change the second you got in the door before he had a chance to hug you.

At his door, you knocked, heard a muffled, “Come in!” and actually sighed in relief that he wasn’t opening the door for you. That’d give you a chance to put on your spare clothing.

Opening his door and stepping inside the short hallway that served as an entry into the apartment, you were confronted with a barrier only a two, maybe three feet away--basically just enough for the door to swing inward. Dewey had created a wall of cardboard that blocked the hallway completely. Although there was a small entrance at the bottom, near the floor, you couldn’t see into the rest of his apartment at all.

“Dewey, what the hell . . .” “Come on in, baby!” he called from somewhere deeper in, his voice almost as muffled as before. “There’s some hand sanitizer if you want!”

No lie; he’d left a pump bottle of sanitizer near the hole at the floor. This was weird but oddly intriguing. With a sigh, you quickly shed your outerwear and your street clothes, doused your hands in sanitizer, and slipped into the soft pants and tee shirt you’d brought along for what you’d thought would be an evening of just lounging with Dewey. You hadn’t expected any of what you’d seen so far.

“Okay. I’m coming in!” you said loudly, crouching to look into the hole.

It was dark in there. What the heck had Dewey done? “Okay, baby! Can’t wait to see you!”

Keeping your phone clenched in your hand for some light, feeling a little like Alice going into a rabbit hole, you awkwardly started to crawl on your hands and knees into the entrance.

Dewey had created some kind of cardboard tunnel. Where he’d gotten all the cardboard and duct tape was beyond you, let alone figuring out how he’d even come up with something like this. He’d never mentioned anything like it to you in any of your conversations.

Scooting along, it was longer than you expected, with a couple of switchbacks and one place tall enough you could stand in, although you had to turn sideways to squeeze along the corridor he’d created. Occasionally he’d call out to you, saying you were doing great, that it was just a little further; that he couldn’t wait to see you.

It almost sounded like he’d put cameras up and was watching your progress, but you hadn’t seen any. The shaking of the structure as you made your way through it must have been advertising where you were enough.

Finally, after crawling on his floors through an semi-creepy cardboard tunnel for what seemed like too long for the size of his apartment, you saw a light up ahead.

After one more corner, you found that, although still enclosed in a dome of cardboard, it opened up to a larger--for lack of a better word--cavern. A pile of blankets and pillows filled the space. A lamp, with its electrical cord snaking out to somewhere that wasn’t inside this cave, lit the area. Sitting in the middle of all of it, was Dewey on his mattress, grinning like a fool. He wore no mask, and you saw he’d trimmed his beard.

“You made it!” he greeted you, holding his hand out for yours. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in. You crawled out of the tunnel and next to him, sitting up. For a moment, all you could do was hug and then you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, so you ditched the mask you insisted you would wear. It made your heart pound to feel how strongly he returned the affection. Finally though, after kissing him so long your lips tingled, you had to pull back and ask, “Dewey, what is all this?”

He shrugged. “Just something I did for you, baby. We can’t travel anywhere, so this was the best I could do like an adventure. Here--I got those tacos.” He reached to his side and grabbed a paper bag. “Contactless delivery,” he assured you as he pulled individually boxed food out.

With a smile, you accepted one. While the two of you shared the messy meal, he told you about how he’d planned out this whole thing: a vague outline of how he wanted it to be, collecting cardboard from the neighbors and bodega around the corner, ordering <i>so</i> much duct tape. The construction had taken some time, and he’d given up living space to create the structure. You let him talk, happy to hear about something that was creative and unique. It was nice to focus him and what he’d done for you, instead of the anxiety that threatened to drag you under.

Finally, full of tacos and still so happy to just be with him, you lay back on his mattress. After shoving all the garbage back into the bag it’d arrived in, Dewey joined you. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “One more thing!”

You expected that to lead to another kiss, but were wrong. Dewey stretched around and fumbled with the switch for the lamp, Managing to turn it off, the small space was plunged into darkness. Reaching for him to help settle him beside you, you said, “Dewey, what--”

“Shhh. Just look.” Faintly, as your eyes adjusted, luminous specks became clear on the cardboard above and around you. There was no pattern to them; it was like he’d flicked a brush of paint randomly at the cardboard. But here and there were actual stars of varying sizes, drawn in the little-kid way of one line crossing over itself to make the five points.

In the absolute dark, the pale green-white of the paint gave a passable impression of a starry sky.

Dewey settled snuggly beside you. It was comfortable in this nest of blankets, with him so close.

“I wanted this to be a safe space for you. Something far away from out there,” he whispered. “Just you and me and a galaxy above us.”

Lucky for you it was dark, because then he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. You were pretty sure he knew anyway, as you buried your face in his shoulder and neck and made them both wet, but he didn’t say anything of it. You managed to give him a whispered thanks in return, and spent the rest of the night pressed against him, sheltered in a cardboard cave. fin

The inspiration for this came not only from the prompt, but from Will Blum’s self-made quarantine project: “Floyd Collins”. Check it out (and the ‘making of’ documentary called “Through the Mountain”, also available on YouTube); it is amazing and truly a labor of love.

#writing #fanfiction #Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader #School of Rock

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quillingyousoftly · 3 years

Text

life is far away from fair

Written for Day 1 of Rumrollins Week! The prompts are: Deception/”The sooner we forget what happened, the better.” "Deception" is only there if you squint 😛

AO3 link for tags and whatnot.

Jack quickly became one of the patrons Brock had learned to recognize from far away. Tall and wide-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and deep green eyes, he was rather memorable. He first came to The Hydra on last year's Halloween with a group of friends, and Brock immediately noticed him. After that, he would show up every week, alone, take a seat at the bar, and ask for a scotch.

What Brock didn't immediately notice was his scent: herbal and fresh, delicate and clearly omega. It was rare for an omega to not smell like a flower garden or a bakery, but looking at Jack, who appeared so much like an alpha he passed the selection at the alpha-only club, it fit him. Still, it was annoying whenever another patron smelled him, looked around, and then gave Brock a suspicious look. It sucked to be mistaken for an omega with the actual omega sitting nearby, clueless. It didn't bother Brock enough to kick Jack out, though; his job was tending to the bar, not selection. As long as Jack didn't cause any trouble, Brock had no reason to call security.

Despite Jack showing up consistently for a year and spending a night at the other side of the bar, sipping casually on his blended scotch, Brock didn't get much more than his name, approximate age (early thirties) and line of work (IT). Brock had a handful more patrons he knew better though shorter. People tended to open up to strangers about their problems. Jack was the opposite; most of the time, he'd sit turned away from Brock, people-watching. He'd also look at the stage whenever they had exotic dancers over, and Brock decided perhaps Jack preferred other omegas--which still didn't explain what he was doing, drinking in an alpha-only club. It wasn't like he was going to pick up an omega here.

Brock spent months pretending he wasn't curious about Jack, but even when he finally admitted to himself--and his various friends--he was fascinated by his person, it still wasn't enough to actually ask. At the end of the night, all that mattered was he paid for the drinks he ordered. The loud EBM filling the club didn't make it easy to converse anyway.

Things changed one Friday before Christmas; the club would close early, and Brock expected it to be a quiet night. The DJ wasn't in, a softer music seeped from the speakers, and the lights were on. Brock liked those kinds of nights the most, when he could just relax behind the bar and occasionally pause Netflix and take out one AirPod to pour someone a drink.

Only a handful of people came, and Brock wasn't sure if he should expect Jack, but he saw his tall figure soon after opening. He poured him a scotch before he even reached the bar and sat down, ready to go back to watching Prison Break when he heard, "The cheapest bourbon you have."

Brock paused, looked at Jack, his unusually unruly hair, reddened and circled eyes and five o-clock shadow, then at the glass he'd already poured him.

"If it's simply about money, we can pretend this is the cheapest bourbon I have. Just this once," he said, sliding the glass closer to him.

Jack nodded in an awkward thanks and sat down.

"Money's tight before the holiday, huh?" Brock asked, taking advantage of the music being quiet for once. "Want me to open your tab as usual?"

"Yeah, but I have only like, fifty bucks." Jack opened his wallet and gave him the bill. "Here. Pour me all the bourbon you have for fifty bucks."

Brock raised his eyebrows at that; Jack used to leave much more in his cash-box on a night. He tried to convince himself it was more amusing than concerning.

"Wow, you must be a generous Santa," he joked.

Jack snorted mirthlessly. "Quite the opposite; I was fired."

Brock winced in sympathy. "Damn. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jack leaned back with his drink, shrugging. "It happens all the time to omegas in the typically alpha lines of work. I thought it would be a good idea to call someone out on their inappropriate behavior, then was blamed for it and dismissed on disciplinary grounds." He scowled, downed his scotch in one go, then set it down on the bar, hard. "Another."

Brock looked around to see if anyone heard Jack's admission to being an omega, but the only people nearby were the group playing poker at a round table next to the bar. They had already caught on who Jack was and didn't have a problem with it.

Brock took a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and refilled his glass. "You were blamed for someone's inappropriate behavior?" he asked, leaning in so less people heard.

Jack scoffed. "An alpha's inappropriate behavior is always an omega's fault. Don't act like I need to explain it to you."

Brock shrugged. "Sorry if my question was insensitive. I don't really hang out with omegas."

"Yeah." Jack looked around meaningfully. "Could guess as much. No omega to come home to either?"

"Nah," Brock replied and with that their uneasy conversation came to its natural end. Jack turned away to watch the other patrons play poker and Brock went back to watching Prison Break, occasionally pausing to make someone a drink or to refill Jack's glass.

They didn't talk again until two hours before closing when Jack's fifty bucks ran out.

"That was the last one," Brock said, taking Jack's empty glass away.

"Fuck." Jack dug out his wallet, his hands sloppier from the booze in his system, and looked inside. He pulled out another fifty. "Make me another."

Brock eyed the bill and Jack's now empty wallet. "Is that all you have left?"

Jack shrugged and shoved the bill farther in Brock's direction.

"What will you eat tomorrow?" Brock pressed, leaning away.

Jack scoffed. "Fuck tomorrow. Pour me another bourbon."

There were glances thrown at them from the poker table, and Brock finally took the bill. In the end, his job wasn't to worry about his patrons’ personal lives, his job was to pour them drinks and collect the pay. He set the bill down behind the bar, took a clean glass, and filled it with ice. Pleased, Jack leaned back in his stool and greedily cradled the full glass once Brock slid it to him.

They haven't talked again until the closing. The poker club left first, and that was Brock's cue to poke Jack's arm. He was leaning on the bar, his bleary eyes fixed on the empty poker table, the hand that wasn't supporting his tired, drunk face cradling his empty tumbler glass close to his chest.

"I'm closing."

Jack hummed in acknowledgement but didn't move.

"Want me to call you a cab?" Brock asked just before realizing Jack couldn't afford a cab because he'd just drunk all his money. He sighed to himself. "Fuck it. I'll give you a lift."

It wasn't something he'd ever done before for any of his drunk patrons. But then, neither had ever drunk all of their money, and Brock felt partially responsible.

And neither had been an omega.

Brock tried not to think about it, but he wasn't so much in denial not to acknowledge it played a part in making that decision. Jack stirred at his words, and gave him a prejudiced look like he was very much aware of it as well. Or maybe Brock just imagined it.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What a Good Samaritan you are."

"You're welcome to take a walk," Brock shot back, shrugging. "But do so right now. As I said, I'm closing."

Jack stretched his long body and covered a yawn with a back of his hand. His shirt rode up his stomach, uncovering a stripe of tanned skin, and Brock turned away from the sight to lock the cash-box. He would just be giving him a lift. He'd known the guy for a year and he wanted to make sure he'd get home safe. That was all there was.

"Fine," Jack said finally, sliding from his stool and putting his leather jacket on. "I live on 542 Freedom Lane."

Brock nodded, grabbing his jacket as well and turning off the music and the lights. He could come in the next day to wash the tables and sweep the floor; he didn't have any Christmas plans anyway.

A couple minutes into the quiet drive, it became apparent ignoring the fact Jack was an omega would be hard. Locked in a small space, sitting so close to him, Brock could smell him better. His scent still was light and unoppressive, but now Brock could discern sweeter undertones, perhaps of peppermint, and something invigoratingly fruity--grapes? It was all he could focus on, and it took all his willpower not to lean in and scent him. He shifted in his seat, gritting his teeth, and kept his eyes fixed solely on the road. He could feel his body freaking out with hormones, could almost smell the change in his own scent. It seemed it'd always happen to him, no matter if he was seventeen or forty-seven.

Despite that, the drive passed fast, and soon enough Brock was parking at 542 Freedom Lane. He looked out through the window to check out the tall apartment building.

"You okay getting home by yourself?" he asked, feeling his heart beating like crazy. His skin was warm and clammy like he was drunk himself.

Jack raised his head from where he was leaning it against the window to look at him with glassy eyes. "Ya can help me if you wanna."

"Okay," Brock murmured more to himself than to Jack, and licked his dry lips. He was just going to walk him to his door, make sure he was safe. He wiped his hands on his jeans and got out.

The air felt cool on his skin as he trailed behind Jack to the apartment block. Jack punched in the code with a trained hand and let them both in. He led them to the closest door, and Brock suddenly felt stupid when he realized Jack didn't need his assisstance at all. He wanted to say goodnight and leave, but instead he watched Jack pull out a key and struggle to fit it in the hole.

And struggle.

"Let me?" Brock asked finally, and Jack gratefully handed him the key.

Brock unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Here you are," he said as Jack brushed past him inside. "Make sure to lock behind you--"

He reached out with the keys, but instead of just taking them, Jack grabbed his wrist, pulled him inside the apartment and pressed his mouth firmly to Brock's.

Brock's mind went blank for a while, barely registering Jack pushing the door close behind them and pressing Brock against it with the length of his hard, muscular body. The sour scent of his arousal overwhelmed him, the feel of his warm, bourbon tongue prodding at his lips made him arch up for more. Jack's big hands ran down his chest, mapping out the hard muscles beneath his black shirt, and paused at his belt.

Brock wished he could just throw all the caution to the wind and go with it with his conscience clear. But the taste and smell of alcohol on Jack prevented him from it. He grabbed his wrists and pushed him away.

"Jack, I can't. You're drunk," he barely whispered, breathless.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Yer a real nice guy." He leaned in, reaching for his lips again. Brock stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Jack, I'm serious. I don't know what asshole alphas you've been running into so far, but I ain’t like that. Let's... Let's meet after Christmas and talk, m'kay? Then we can... figure stuff out," he finished lamely. Jack watched him, looking lost. Brock squeezed his hand reassuringly and let go. "Go to bed. Goodnight."

He slipped out the door before Jack managed to stop him. He almost ran out of the building, taking deep gulps of cool air and willing his semi-erection to go away.

The next week, Brock nervously awaited Jack's arrival, and he couldn't tell if he was more disappointed or relieved when he didn't show. He wasn't sure what he really wanted from Jack, and apparently, Jack wasn't either.

Two weeks later, he wasn't the only one who noticed Jack's absence.

"I haven't seen Jack around lately," Sharon pointed out, nodding at the stool that would normally be taken by Jack, but was occupied by someone else. Brock only hummed in acknowledgement as he prepared her drink. "Doesn't it worry you?"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Brock murmured, pouring a mixture of vodka, blue curacao and grape juice into a chilled martini glass. The smell reminded him a bit of Jack's scent.

Sharon took her drink, but she didn't get back to her poker table yet. "He's been here every Friday since I can remember," she said, raising her eyebrow slightly.

Brock shrugged. "Here's to hoping he developed a healthier lifestyle."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Ouch. Anyway, I'd check on him if I were you."

She walked away with her drink, and Brock shook his head to himself. He didn't know Sharon any better than he did any other patron, and here she could somehow tell he liked Jack. He must have been more obvious than he thought.

Her advice wasn't a bad one, though; even if Jack was purposefully avoiding him, it'd be healthier for Brock to just clear that up instead of worrying every Friday. He could handle the truth, however bad it was, but being ghosted? That absolutely sucked.

He drove to Jack's home next afternoon before his shift. He didn't remember his room number, but he got lucky; an elderly lady was just walking out, and kept the door open for him.

"Thanks," Brock breathed over his shoulder, striding for Jack's door. He knocked loudly, wondering nervously what he wanted to say and coming up empty.

The door cracked open and a moss green eye looked at him.

"Fuck, Brock." Jack turned his head inside, presumably to check for something, and chills ran down Brock's arms and chest as he saw an angry red bite mark on the back of his neck. He was almost sure it wasn't there when they... When they last saw each other.

Jack slipped through the door and closed it behind himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his words colored by slight panic.

Brock took a step back. "'M sorry... Just wanted to check up on you, after--"

"The sooner we forget what happened, the better,” Jack snapped, laying his hand back on the doorknob.

Wanting to stop him from leaving and unable to help himself, Brock nodded at the back of Jack's neck that was now out of his sight. "I didn't know you had someone."

"I didn't," Jack said bitterly. "I do now. I'm not allowed to go to alpha-only clubs anymore. You should go."

Deep in his bones, Brock could feel there was something very wrong there, that Jack was unhappy. But it wasn't his place to snoop. He wasn't Jack's lover, not even his friend. He was a bartender; his job was to pour drinks and collect the pay.

"Okay," he said soothingly, wanting Jack to lose his guarded stance. He didn't. "I'll go. You know where to find me if..." He shrugged, not knowing how to finish that sentence. He eyed Jack up and down, looked into his eyes that last time. Jack averted his gaze, then opened the door and slipped back inside.

With his shoulders slumped, Brock turned on his heel and left.

#rumrollinsweek21 #day 1 #hydra husbands #brock rumlow #jack rollins #my writing

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aonenthusiast · 4 years

Text

Fanboying Aone (Drabble)

pairing: Aone Takanobu x Idol! Reader

genre: def just aone being adorable, so like fluff ig

wc: 930 words:^)

a/n: i'm basing this off of monday’s melancholy(but i tweaked a few parts so its not completely the same) the song’s pretty catchy and i'm currently obsessed over it, it's a cute song so mayb like listen to it while reading this. its my first time writing a fic, so pls note that this is gonna be kinda crappy:DD

Aone never really expected to be so into the idol, he just thoughtlessly entered the concert with the tickets he got from a friend, not thinking much of what he’s getting himself into.

He was getting impatient and was planning to go home, he was clearly tired from waiting and standing for a long time, that was until he heard the loud cheers. ‘Oh it’s starting’ He thought to himself.

He’s invested in your performance. He can see how it was a bit hard for you to perform and how it must be a pain for you to keep your outfit and appearance in place as you’re moving around the stage. Despite that he was thoroughly impressed by how you still manage to put a smile on your face to please the crowd.

He was in a daze watching your performance, amazed at every aspect of it. Your eyes, your voice, the way you dance, everything seems to work well. “How adorable” whispered to himself, a small smile forming in his usually stoic face.

He was unsure of what this giddy feeling he has while watching your performance unfold, that was until.

Ba-dump!

Your eyes met with his, and you smiled at him. He felt his heartbeat going wild, and blood rushing rapidly to his face. ‘Ah, is this what people call love at first sight’ he giggled to himself quietly, trying his best to not burst out and keep his cool when inside he’s busting with adoration, insides doing flips and butterflies going wild in his stomach.

He couldn’t help but sing along with you, some people beside him found it amusing. It’s not everyday that you see a ridiculously tall man with a scary face enjoying a cutesy concert and singing along with it with a small smile on his face, and his body moving along the beat, doing small dances.

I’ve fallen into an impossible love, with someone who’s out of my reach.

Now here he is, preparing to come to your next concert, impulsively buying some glow-sticks and other things he thinks will be needed when attending concerts. Feeling flustered just by the thought of you, oh he can’t wait until your next performance.

He also started writing you letters, remaking them again and again not satisfied with what he makes. He smiles proudly after making one he’s pretty happy with, hoping you’ll read and treasure his letter for you.

As the usual fan would, he’d download your songs, occasionally listening to it whenever he can. Buying merchandise to support you, even attending meet and greets just to see you up close.

Aone tried his best to be subtle about his undying love for you, but as time passes his friends started to notice a few changes. How he’s usually seen listening to music more, how he randomly just stares into space and smiles a bit. How his eyes light up whenever someone talks about you.

He definitely isn’t slick at all, his friends finding out about his big fat crush on you when they randomly come over his place and sees the plethora of your merch and basically everything he spent his money on. But of course they didn’t judge him, most of them are fans of yours too, they understand.

He eventually just gave in and began to openly like you. Everyone is surprised hearing him talk more than before, what shocks them the most is the fact that he usually just talks about you., and instead of finding it creepy they found it extremely adorable for a man like him to gush over such an adorable idol.

In summary, he’s a big fan of you and he embraces that fact and is content with it. He never thought of being one of those stalkers. Stan respectful fan aone thank you.

However, after a few years news of you retiring from being an idol went around, which devastated a bunch of fans, including Aone.

‘ah nobody still sitting next to me, why am i still not used to it’ Aone thinks to himself pulling out his earphones playing some music to pass the time on the train. He was still a fan of you but not as much as he was back when you were still active.

Quietly listening to his music, he smiles, this is the song you performed when he first attended your concert. How nostalgic.

He was in his own world until he felt a small tap on his shoulder, “ is anyone sitting beside you?” a familiar voice asked, he looked up removing his earphones, eyes widening “you're…” the figure smiles at him.

“Oh my, do you know me from before?” the voice giggles taking a seat next to him after he gestures for them to sit down. “I was a big fan” Aone awkwardly scratches the back of his head smiling stiffly.

He may not be as much of a fan as he was before but his love for you still hasn’t died down. “So how have you been? It’s been a few years since you retired from being an idol” He starts again, trying to open up conversation.

You two chatted for a bit, exchanging a few stories along the way until it was your stop.

Aone keeps seeing you on the train, occasionally sitting down with him. He was still a bit awkward being this close to the person he adores but he finally mustered up the courage to maybe get closer to you

“Hey, wanna grab some coffee with me when you're free?”

“Sure why not”

Seems like his impossible love from a few years ago became possible.

:DD

#haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff #hq!! imagines #hq fluff #aone takanobu #aone fluff #aone is adorable i love him so much

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estherwritess · 4 years

Text

Trust Me - Iwaizumi Hajime

↣ Iwaizumi x reader

↣ wc: 1,6k+

↣ genre; maffia, soulmate, some minor fluff if u look

↣ A/N: This is a fic specifically for @seijoh / @writeiolite ‘s birthday. I want to say a genuine thank you to io for creating a server/space to meet new writers and make new friends; your efforts for the server amaze me every time, the amount of work you put into it is admirable. You’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming to me and so many others since I have joined the server; I hope you have/had an amazing day, you deserve it!

An icy breeze waves past as you lean against the rough brick wall, eyes lazily following your older brother who’d once more gotten himself in trouble with the authorities. Without fail, he’d managed to once again get the family in trouble; a common occurrence which would in turn tick off your other brother, Ushijima. Your ears perk up as you hear blunt footsteps coming your way, a stocky hand finds its way onto your exposed shoulder, making you pull away with a confident swipe. The annoyed expression on your face fades away as quickly as it came when you notice it’s just Ushijima, he crosses his arms across the suit he’s wearing. His expression speaks more than a thousand words ever could. Your arms instinctively reached up to cover your arms, the dress you’d picked for the evening not being nearly enough to warm you up during situations like these.

“You really don’t need to tell me again Ushi,” your eyes make brief contact before flickering back to the car driving off in the distance, “I should stop hoping he stays out of trouble”. A soft, knowing laugh fills the air, “I don’t think this is the same like always Y/N” your head turns to look at him, a curious expression making its way onto your face.

“I think they’ve set him up this time,” playing with the hem of his sleeve he gestures for you to follow him back inside, affected by the winter’s harsh weather this time around. Your feet are glued to the ground, perhaps you’d even gotten frozen to the ground, god knows with these thin soles the shoes you wore were equipped with. As you watch your brother disappear again, there seems to magically be movement in your legs again. However, as you take steps towards the bustling house once more, you feel this inexplicable feeling of someone watching. The feeling never quite leaves you, as curiosity takes the upper hand, you crane your neck turning your torso towards the presumably empty driveway. Your heart drops as you notice a tall, broad figure leaning against the trees opposing the driveway; your eyes can’t make out the details, but they definitely don’t miss the designs wildly sprawled across the man’s arms. Your gut is screaming at you to get out of there as fast as your legs would allow you, so you did. The tapping of your heels against the concrete fills the nearly empty street with echoes.

The tension that had made you feel as if you were being chased dropped as soon as the door shut behind you. “Took you long enough” your concerned expression flips into an annoyed one, your eyes incredulously staring at your smug-faced brother.

“Don’t look at me like that”

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean,”, your hand makes a waving gesture, “I’m kind of over you and the rest of the family acting as if I’m some kind of glass sculpture,” your tone is bitter as you turn your back to him. Ushijima reaches out, tightly gripping your wrist, accusingly pointing at what seemed to be your cover-up wearing off on the inside of your wrist.

His rather unserious expression quickly turned into a look that would send entire groups running. His grip on your wrist feels as if it’s about to shatter into pieces, he’s aggressively wiping the foundation and concealer you had meticulously applied to reveal what was under there.

00:07:31

He’s seething as you tear your hand away from his grip, clutching it to your chest, trying to rub away the pain. The only time you’d seen him this angry was when one of his trades went haywire; you still remember him tearing down his office out of sheer anger.

“How come we haven’t heard about this?”

“I don’t see why I should involve you in something so personal,”

“I’m your brother!”

You scoff at his words. It wasn’t like being family had ever had anything to do with telling someone something; if those two things were somehow connected, you should’ve been involved in the family business from the moment you turned 18.

And that’s all you could remember from the night before, what happened in between the semi-fight and where you woke up this morning. You hadn’t thought of it as a fight; it had always been like this; you held just the tiniest bit of resentment towards your older brother and that caused those small outbursts; something about never being included in family meetings definitely irritated you more than anything.

You lift your head up, the room you’re in smells old; the dripping of an old pipe in the distance irritates you just enough. Your hands are tied in front of you with a cable tie that was cutting into your wrist, to no avail you try to wiggle yourself out of them. It feels as if the room is spinning; you have no idea why or how you got here; the door occasionally opens, your eyes stinging from the sudden bright lights filling the room.

You’d never gotten the chance to take a look at the person who was coming in and out of the room now and then, until now. He must have noticed you leaning against the wall, hands pressed against your chest as you were falling in and out of a sleepy haze. A calloused finger lifts your chin, tilting your face from side to side, the unexpected touch makes you pull back; your eyes are glaring at the presumably brown haired man in front of you, his eyes don’t seem to have that angry look to them, more-so worried.

“Get your hands off of me,” your voice cracks to which he furrowed his eyebrows in response.

“You shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” he paces around for a while, “you have no information at all.”

You scoff, a little offended even though you knew he was right; he hadn’t ever explicitly told you why you were in this room but you had an idea of what the reason might be, too bad the one who gave his people the job wasn’t aware that you weren’t involved with your brother’s family business.

“How would you know?” you lift your head up to look him in the eye, feigning confidence to mask the fact that you were tired, cold and mostly scared. The feeling was relatively new and the way you were raised had put staying level-headed at the top of one’s priorities, this was a completely different situation, god knows how long you’d been here or what they would still do to you.

“We keep tabs on your family,” he pauses, “we’ve almost never seen or heard about you.” The air feels loaded with tension as you follow his movement around the cramped room; there are several holes in your memory, the first was that you had no way of knowing how many days had passed, seeing as you were cut off from the outside world had no way of telling the time by how the sky looked since there were no windows. Secondly, your timer had stopped, but you couldn’t remember when. The only way you could trace it back was seven minutes after you’d had the argument with Ushijima.

Would the walk to your car have taken seven minutes? Usually, if a man this tall and worked up was pacing in front of you, you’d have taken the clue and kept your mouth shut, but he didn’t seem scary to you, so you tried your luck.

“How did I get here in the first place?” you hear him sigh, barely audible with his back turned towards you. He takes his time to answer your question. It wasn’t an unreasonable question to ask right?

“Let’s just say I was told to bring you here by a higher-up” You observe his body language, giving him a quick nod, he’s definitely nervous; pacing around, hands toying with the hem of his shirt.

And just like that, he leaves the room, the door closing with a thud. You’re left in the dark room, blankly staring at the counter on your arm that had hit zero. It felt as if reality was trying to shake you, get you to do anything instead of sitting around. With no concept of time, you’re left in the dark room with your thoughts going at an incomprehensible speed; your mind being torn into two sides. You were excited to finally have found your soulmate after nearly 21 years but the guilt was eating you at the same time, having a soulmate who belonged to presumably the opposite of your own family’s clan was unknown territory. You’re left mulling, every now and then there’s a shabby meal thrown inside the room while you scramble over, legs nearly giving out.

After some time you refuse to still lift your head, aimlessly staring at the dark space consuming the opposite side of the room; the minor amount of light filling the room reveals polished shoes calmly walking over to you as your breathing slows. There isn’t an angry voice screaming at you to get up, there isn’t the expected blow to your sides, the footsteps stop right in front of you; a hand reaches out,

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” it’s the same man from before, his voice is rich and feels soothing to you. You use the remaining strength in your hands to lift yourself upright, the former proving to be a real challenge seeing as your wrists were still tied together.

You accept the outstretched hand, less than gracefully grasping the hand with your two hands.

“Y/N L/N, nice to finally meet you.”

He effortlessly pulls you up, a chuckle leaves his lips,

“I wouldn’t say these would be ideal circumstances,” he pauses, a taking a pocket knife out of his back pocket, slicing through the cable tie; relieved, you massage the painful areas around your wrist, muttering a quick thank you.

“i’d love to take you out on a first date after I get you out of here though.”

“I’d like that.”

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avversiera-writes · 3 years

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‘till death do us part - chapter 4 [tobirama senju/you]

Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon

Summary: It starts with a bad dream. And then everything going wrong.

Words: 4.1k

A/N: Idk about you guys, but the way I wrote this chapter makes me laugh. Also, ptsd nightmare at the beginning.

this work is also on AO3.

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union // Chapter 3 - Love Like you

“It has been a while since we’ve seriously sparred,” you comment as you sidestep out of the way of Tobirama’s bokken.

Swiftly, you turn, and you meet his wooden sword, making a cross between the two of you. In the gaps, your eyes meet each other. You give his sword a nudge, and Tobirama gives in a little, and the space between the two of you rapidly decreases.

Tobirama smirks, looking very pleased as you two dance around each other, the golden light rays of the sunset smiling upon the two of you with warmth. The light hits his face just right, and you can see his red eyes clearly, seeing flecks of black and white in his irises. Tobirama watches you with eyes wide in wonder, and he lets you counter by effectively dismantling his sword from his hand with a twist of your blade.

The bokken clatters to the ground, and Tobirama bends down to pick it up.

“No fair,” you tell him. “That was too easy.”

Tobirama hides a smile and he shakes his head. “What if it was a trick?”

“Huh?”

Tobirama wastes no time as he strikes from above and you counter at the last minute. Your arms shake from the sheer force, but you are trained in speed and precision, not brute strength and so you kick back at his knees to get him off.

Tobirama draws back, and in the last second, he slaps his hiraishin seal on to your blade. You widen your eyes, and Tobirama is suddenly right in front of you, zeroing in for the kill.

Tobirama cannot stop, it is like his body is being controlled by a divine force. No matter how much he screams in his mind, he is going, and going even faster. The look in your eyes does not even make him stop, and somehow, the wooden sword has turned into a real one, and he hears the metal sing for blood.

“Tobirama!” You screamed, your face completely changing to horror.

Sickeningly, he feels the blade go through flesh, and his ears ring from your raw screams.

Tobirama wakes with a start, and cold sweat soaks his body and through his sleep yukata. His chest heaves with the effort to get air into his lungs, but he can hear himself breathe shallowly. His mind feels light, and his hands are cold and numb, and the feeling travels up his arms and then his chest, paralyzing him for a moment. Spots dance in his vision and he closes his eyes to will them away.

Finally, he is able to sit up and his body shakes as if his organs are jolting and crashing against each other like an earthquake intent on rupturing the ground, and blood pumps through his arteries like the rush of a flood, making his pale skin red. He lets out a shaky breath and he takes his trembling hands and presses his palms against his eyes.

What was that? He thinks.

He glances at your sleeping form, and another cold, numbing wave rushes through him, and this time, it feels like a thousand needles pricking every microscopic opening of his skin. It is on his eyes, his cheeks, his whole body, each pinprick so painful that he is tempted to tear his skin off until his nails crack and blood is finally released to offer him some relief.

All was well. He was with you, alone and as his wife. He was learning to get along with another person besides himself and his family. He was learning to express his love and discard his fears and his worries. He was learning to accept all the good things that were withheld from him as a child.

Why must all good things come with a price?

And to him, you are too good.

He knows that he is being irrational, that it is probably nothing, but his nightmare sits on his chest and the more it replays in his mind, the more it upsets him. He will never hurt you, so why is he doing that in his dreams?

His paranoia is getting to him. Maybe he is looking for a fight, or something his hands can busy themselves with.

Tobirama sighs heavily, and recalls that his dream is eerily similar to the way he had killed Uchiha Izuna.

He moves away from you, unable to bear the contact of another body against his own. He takes out his things, and he starts to rearrange everything until he deems it perfect. Then, he takes to his journals and his scrolls, catching up on his reading and writing his ideas down.

Occasionally, he glances at you, and he tries to swallow and kill the feeling of dread.

Your husband is too quiet for your liking. He is also avoiding you like a plague, and he does not look at you when speaking. You figure that he is having one of his moods, so you let him be, only addressing him when needed and asking simple yes or no questions. Currently, the two of you are heading to your next destination, which is a little farther from Konoha, but it is also known for its vast hunting grounds, mountain ranges and booming towns.

The two of you did not have a set itinerary for your travels, which was surprising–since Tobirama is a huge planner–but you both have the common goal to travel to other places in the country without the strings of a mission. Sometimes, you miss out on huge details when you are not there to take your time and enjoy the sights.

You glance at Tobirama, who is scowling at the air in front of him.

Ahead, you hear angry shouts and horses whining, followed by the whipping sounds of a lash.

Tobirama snaps alert, and his eyes narrow to focus. With a nod, the two of you take to the trees and land silently on the branches to view what is happening. You conceal yourselves behind the thick trunks of the trees and peer downwards to a rough passage cutting through two tall hills, one of which you and Tobirama are situated on.

You watch the procession of children, young adults, women and men that are able bodied toil through the rocky terrain, their wrists shackled by train of chains to ensure that no one breaks line. Some of them are missing shoes, or have discarded them along the way.

Supervising these were ruffians, carrying a variety of weapons, and they are shouting and whipping at those who are lagging behind.

You narrow your eyes, your intuition telling you that something is very wrong.

"What do you think?" You mouth towards Tobirama when your gazes meet simultaneously.

Your husband points down, and the two of you quietly descend to the ground.

"You've seen this before?" You query, watching his wary gaze.

"Slaves to be sold, probably," Tobirama replies grimly. "Most are kidnapped."

"We can't just turn a blind eye on this," you say as you take another look. “They are just children.”

Tobirama says nothing.

You narrow your eyes, and you see, at the end of the line, three familiar faces, who look too clean and too conspicuous. They do not look as dead tired as the others.

"Oh gods," you murmur under your breath.

"What is it?"

"What was your brother thinking?" You hiss.

Tobirama follows your line of sight and he frowns. “They are Chuunins now. They need the experience. Stop coddling them.”

“Tell me that again without being perturbed,” you snap in a low voice.

Tobirama looks pissed, but you know it is not directed towards you. His jaw tightens, as he watches one of the watchers whip a child. Then, he meets your gaze again.

“We have to do something with those face tattoos of yours,” you suggest. You ignore your feeling when he seems to flinch when you make a move to touch his face, and drop your hand.

The day fades into the night when the string of kidnapped people have arrived into their final destination. It is a booming town, with streets alive with the early hours of the night life–rowdy men who are already drunk from day drinking and women in full make-up outside of the love hotels they work for, eager to welcome in any customers. No one takes notice of the procession, which makes you think that this is the norm for this town, or that everyone is afraid to voice their objections because this group of people are a part of something bigger and more powerful than them.

You glance at Tobirama, who looks way younger with his face tattoos covered. Up ahead, the motley crew flood into what seems like an amphitheater, and the two of you blend in with the prisoners after they got released from their chains.

The women you are with are shaking with fear, and some are staring at the ground with a blank expression. You try to talk with them, but they refuse to do so, only glancing at the guards with fear.

You find Tobirama talking to a few kids, and it seems like he is reassuring them. Your heart softens at the sight, but your attention is taken away when the screaming starts. You try to find your students in the mayhem, but you still cannot find them.

It is not exactly dark, since there are pyres of fire lighting up the whole amphitheater, but the screaming is not of fear–it is of excitement and instigation.

First, you watch as stick thin women are lined up in the center of the audience. They are half-naked for men to ogle at, and then, somebody comes up to auction them off, calling for bets and announcing who is sold to whom.

Then, after the women are sold off, various weapons are pulled into the arena. They line the walls, ranging from spears, to swords, to knives and an assembly of mismatched armors that will never work unless one is trained to wear them in battle. One would be a fool to try them on now. You watch as the crowd roars, impatient for entertainment. Money is being collected by teenage boys from the aisles, while you and the people who were brought in are pushed nearer to the ring.

You have no doubt that you and your husband can fight and win, but that is not your objective. The two of you are supposed to collect intel and infiltrate and somehow rescue your students, but their faces are still nowhere to be found.

You meet Tobirama’s eyes and he gives you a small, imperceptible nod, meaning that your students are alive and nearby.

It isn’t hard to comprehend what is going on here. Either the daimyos of this part of the country are profiting from this, or this town is run by a strong gang who make their money by providing these kinds of services–pitting children against each other and selling slaves.

You suppose that this is what shinobis still do, but the difference is, it is legalized and approved by everybody.

Then, cheers erupt again, louder this time, as three figures are thrown into the ground.

“Everyone, we have some special guests!” An announcer shouts. “Three Konohagakure shinobis!”

Your heart drops to your stomach, but you keep to yourself, lest you give yourself or Tobirama away.

Damn it , you curse at the gods, anyone, really.

You regret not giving your students opportunities to infiltrate properly, or being distracted by your other duties as a shinobi and not spending enough time to drill them. You understand that being a shinobi means dying on the mission, but it is not like that anymore, but you are naive to think that just because the village you live in has acquired some peace, does not mean that the rest of the world is also at peace.

Outside of your life, children still die because there is no one to fight for them. They are rounded up like this, and they learn how to fight to live another day.

You observe, looking for some opening. You put your hopes in your students that they have enough wits to gather and keep themselves alive.

“They will fight against our champion,” the announcer continues.

A man wearing a demon mask appears, carrying a naginata with a blade that curves wickedly. You know that this blade is no ordinary blade by the way the air around it seems to hum. However, a man is only as good as the blade he wields. You hope that your students are better, and can make up for lack of strength with their brains. You know that they are more of a tactical team than an offensive one, but they do well when they work together.

“If they are Konohagakure, one should be enough to defeat him!” Someone aggressively shouts from the crowd.

A cold shiver runs through your spine and you hope that they do not pick Mieko. When she became part of your genin team, you refused profusely to the Hokage that she should not be a shinobi as she was not inclined to battle at all. Her instincts are all over the place, and her skills are quite clumsy. However, you know that her mind is sharp, and with training, she greatly improved.

Still. You are very hesitant.

Some people start to express their disapproval, and you see Tobirama signal you to be ready.

“The girl!”

The rest follow suit, their voices growing ever stronger. They are not individuals anymore. Shrouded with the loud volume and the anonymity the night offers, they become one body. They will prey at the small and weak. Like children.

There are no such thing as scary beasts. The real monsters are the people.

The crowd cheers as the Kai and Taiyo are dragged off, blindfolded and tied.

Well, it looks like the plan for flooding the arena is off the table.

Tobirama begins to move, and you make yours as well.

“The people have spoken!”

The match begins, and you spectate with the crowd. Tobirama disappears to follow the boys, and you focus your attention to Mieko.

The masked man swings at Mieko, and you feel a surge of pride as she ducks and goes forward to attack. The man is taller than Mieko, and with her size and speed, she can make up for it. She goes for the vital spots and slices at the back of the knees, and you begin to make your way closer, despite garnering looks. Tobirama is probably done already, and you need to make this quicker.

The two of you can report back to Hashirama and send another team to save the people here later on.

The crowd boos, and you see Mieko get hit with the blunt end of the naginata. Disoriented, she distances herself.

Despite the bleeding on the back of the man’s knees, he is still able to stand upright. He makes his way towards Mieko and draws the crowd with him.

You lunge out and grab at a sword nearby, and parry the oncoming strike away.

“Sensei?!” Mieko exclaims. “What are you doing here?!”

You grin, as the crowd boos again. “Long story, kid. Don’t worry, the boys are alright. But we need to go.”

You frown at the sword, hating how unbalanced it feels. It seems like anyone who gets pitted against this man is already at disadvantage.

The arena immediately floods with men, their swords out and glinting under the orange glow of the fire.

“Watch my back,” you tell your student, and give them a reassuring smile. “We have to fight our way out.”

“But sensei–”

“I trust you,” you cut her off, deciding to dispense your doubts against her from before. “I know you know what you are doing. You just lack experience, that’s all. Now, chin up.”

You charge at the masked man, keeping low and close so that his long weapon is at disadvantage. You aim upwards, and you manage to hack at the mask, splitting it in half. Then, you go after him as he backs away.

The rest of the theater is thrown into chaos, with the prisoners running around to get away. Since most of the men are on your back, there is no one guarding them.

The naginata swings and you back away, and it almost cuts away at your neck.

Mieko screams, and you turn and ward off the man who just managed to wound her arm.

“It’s okay,” you tell her, keeping your eye at the man.

There are three Tobiramas clearing an opening efficiently, and you push Mieko towards it.

“Just in time,” you murmur amusedly.

You cut and hack, not minding the warm spray of blood on your face.

The man follows, but there is too much going on.

“Almost there,” you urge.

Suddenly, Tobirama shouts your name at the same time the sharp piercing of a blade embeds itself into your side. It comes out to your front, and you feel yourself pale and grow light-headed. The naginata was pushed into you, and you stare at the tip of the blade, in disbelief that a part of it is now inside you.

Mieko drags you, and you attempt to take it out. You rather bleed than slow down the escape.

The situation has turned ridiculous, and maybe you are dying, because you find it hilarious that you are dragging a long weapon using the sheer will of your probably eviscerated organs.

The naginata lightens as you hear something break, and suddenly, the real Tobirama is placing your arm around his neck, and the three of you leave behind chaos. You are aware of the loud gushing of water behind you and men drowning, and Tobirama’s harsh breathing as he curtails you out and into safety.

“Stay with me,” Tobirama commanded, his voice hard and taut.

You feel hands all over you, trying to do damage control by controlling the bleeding and stabilizing the blade that is stabbed through you.

You feel the warm, blazing feeling of basic medical ninjutsu being used, and you keep still, focusing on being conscious.

You reach for Tobirama’s hand, which is sticky with your blood, and you give it a squeeze, proving to him that you will be alright.

“What in the gods’ names, are you three doing here?” Tobirama demands. “This is too far out from the village for newly Chuunins to venture to.”

Mieko replies calmly as her ninjutsu covers your wound. “Lord Hokage approved of this mission for us. He thinks it is suitable for us young Chuunins. It was just supposed to be recon.”

Tobirama’s jaw visibly hardens. “How long until the bleeding stops?”

“I am almost done,” Mieko says. “But the blade–”

“Take. It. Out,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Tobirama barks. “You will die.”

“I won’t,” you reason. “I’m...in good hands.”

Mieko swallows nervously. “Maybe if we do it slowly...but we have to be in a cleaner place.”

“Your lack of concern over your disposition is shocking,” Tobirama deadpans sarcastically.

“It is my lack of concern over my disposition that got us out,” you try to laugh, but the piercing pain travels upwards your torso.

“Be quiet,” Tobirama scolds. “Your life is not a joke.” He sighs. “And mind you, I got us all out.”

“Yes, yes,” you say, dismissal. “Genius inventor and savior of the universe, Senju Tobirama–”

“If this injury does not kill you, I will snuff you out in your sleep,” Tobirama threatens.

You roll your eyes, even though every movement hurts. However, bantering with your husband is a comfort and a welcoming distraction. “The bar is so low for good husbands.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes as well, and he crosses his arms together. You can tell that beneath his annoyance, he is frantic. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Take your own advice,” you bite back for the sake of having the last word.

Kai and Taiyo glance at each other uneasily. It is not strange for the two of you to argue relentlessly in front of people, but it does become quite a chore for everyone to hear.

“I stopped the bleeding,” Mieko sighs with relief.

You give her a smile. “You sound like you weren’t sure and I’d die bleeding out on some random forest floor.”

“If you can talk so incessantly, I think you’re better off putting that energy into walking,” Tobirama interrupts, his tone not exactly irritated. You can sense his concern under his sassy comments.

He helps you stand to your feet, and you wince.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you tell him slowly.

“Like I would let you,” Tobirama snaps, already putting your arm around his shoulder. He is fuming, and though that is probably enough to make others run, you find it adorable.

He glances at you with a scowl, realizing that you actually said adorable out loud.

Maybe you are slowly dying.

After the kids booked a room, you all set to the task of removing the blade.

You know you cannot scream out loud, so there is a towel in between your teeth to muffle your screams. Tobirama is scolding your ear off, and you suppose it has its perks. His voice distracts from the pain, and little by little, your student pulls off a field surgery that can put an experienced Chuunin to shame. It is not perfect, but it will do until you can get to the hospital.

Tobirama does the bandaging and he dismisses the kids to go fetch supplies. Weak and still in pain for the lack of anaesthetics, you feel heavy and groggy. It is like you are about to tear apart any second, but your senses are fried and you are unaware of the scope of damage.

“You shouldn’t try to move,” Tobirama says, his fingers quickly tying the bandage.

You stare at him, and give him a wan smile. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Tobirama deadpans. “Not watching your own back? Not being alert and anticipating any kinds of attacks?”

“Right, right,” you let out a small chuckle. “Lecture me some more. I could die from infection tomorrow.”

Tobirama stops and he turns rigid. He collects his hands resting on your stomach. “Do you have a death wish?”

You slowly reach for his hand, and coax it to hold yours. “You were worried for me.”

Tobirama scoffs. “As you said, the bar is so low for good husbands.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

Tobirama stares at you, caught off-guard. Then, he lets out a small breath that sounds like he is more amused than angry. “You say the worst things.”

You roll your eyes. “You said it first.”

“You should sleep,” Tobirama suggests, and he takes your hand to plant a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you home.”

The suggestion of sleep weighs on your eyelids, but another thought enters your mind.

“What will you and your brother talk about?” You ask, your words disconnecting from your mind and the syllables rolling off lazily. “This whole situation is a misjudgement of his, not that I’m questioning his ability to rule...He is a good man.”

Tobirama smooths your forehead with his palm, and you close your eyes.

“We’ll see.”

Midnight comes, and Tobirama stares at the night sky in the engawa of the room they have settled in. His heart is heavy, and even more so with your unexpected injury. He cannot help but think that he may have a hand in this, but that is simply irrational. Dreams are just dreams, and they will stay dreams if they are not spoken of and put to action.

Dreams are not his forte, after all. It was his brother who had a vision, and he was the one who lay out the groundwork for it to happen.

If his dreams are to come true, then he is selfish and afraid, qualities that a shinobi should never have.

He squints at the night sky, and finds a hawk circling in.

The heavy feeling in his heart does not abate.

Tobirama holds out his hand, hoping that it is delivering good news, but that is unlikely. He knows Konoha can hold its own for a few days without him.

This must be something worse.

The hawk lands, and Tobirama uncovers the scroll attached to its leg. He sends the hawk away, and he rolls the tiny message out.

It spells a sentence that makes Tobirama flare in rage. He recognizes his sister-in-law’s elegant hand-writing.

Madara has returned to destroy the village.

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Return >>

#angelica writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #'til death do us part #you never said goodbye timeline/au

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