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joelscruff · 2 years ago

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this one thing you did (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

this is totally self indulgent smut based on a night out i had. i don't usually put songs into my fic but this song was playing on said night out and how could i not include it?? anyway, enjoy 🎉 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 summary: dancing with a stranger at your favorite club leads to something filthy. (early 2000s!joel, no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: grinding, unprotected p in v sex with a stranger (don't do this), creampie, comeplay, dirty talk, bathroom sex word count: 3.5k

The booming bass and flashing lights are their own kind of high, regardless of how many shots you've already taken tonight. The club is your playground, bodies swaying back and forth, bare skin reflecting sweat and glitter as you playfully grind against a nameless and faceless man on the dancefloor, hips rotating to the beat of the music as he grips your hips tightly from behind. This is your favorite place.

You spot your friend over at the bar, still chatting up her date enthusiastically; she's barely danced tonight, too distracted by her handsome new friend she met last weekend. You figured this would happen; third wheeling has become a skill in and of itself for you after being single for so long, but you don't mind. She seems happy, he seems sweet, it's all good. Besides, you have other plans.

The song is winding down and you turn around to finally match a face to the hands on your body; he's cute, albeit a bit young, blonde hair and blue eyed with a goatee he should probably reconsider. He's hot though, and he smells good. The alcohol still buzzing in your body, you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, smirking playfully.

"You got plans after this?" you ask over the pumping bass, flipping your damp hair out of your face and feeling a cascade of glitter zip past your ear.

"Kinda," he replies back just as loudly, hands traveling down to your ass, "I'm at a bachelor party, we're going to another club after this," he squeezes you through your dress and smirks, "You wanna come?"

You bite your lip and your eyes dart back to your friend at the bar, still chatting it up with her new man. You've met him, got a good vibe, but you still feel uncomfortable leaving her here, even if she'd probably tell you to go on ahead. You turn back to the blonde and shake your head.

"Can't leave my friend," you shout, "Sorry, maybe next time!"

He makes a face, frustration suddenly flooding his expression, "But there won't be a next time!"

"Why?"

"It's my bachelor party," he replies, like this should have been obvious to you, "I get married tomorrow!" He squeezes your ass tighter and leans down to speak directly in your ear, "Be my last, come on."

You pull back from him immediately, yanking yourself out of his grip with disgust, "CREEP!" you yell loudly, pointing to him as people begin to turn to look at the two of you. The song has ended, a few seconds of silence granting you the attention you desire, "GET OUT, CREEP!"

"Creep!" you hear another girl call near you, "Leave!"

"CREEP," someone else calls, and soon most of the people in your general vicinity are shouting at the man to leave; he backs away, looking at your angrily as he turns around and lurches toward the front of the club to find his friends. You smile after him. That's how it's done.

The next song has already started and you feel your face light up when you recognize 1 Thing by Amerie blasting through the club speakers, the unmistakable sound of percussion reverberating in your bones as you look frantically around the crowded floor for someone else to dance with.

"That was ballsy," you hear a voice behind you, deep and southern, and you look down with surprise to see a large hand pressed firmly against your belly through your tight dress, "Wanna dance?"

"You're not married or getting married, are you?" you call back, twisting your face a bit to catch the slightest glimpse of brown hair and a beard; hot.

"Single as they come," he replies, and that's all you need.

You grind back on him immediately, loving how his grip around your middle tightens as he pushes his groin against your ass. Your dress certainly doesn't leave much to the imagination, ridiculously short and covered in silver glitter; you can feel the swell of him through his jeans and you smirk as you lean back against him and start to sway your hips to the beat.

His hands are a godsend; he knows exactly how to touch you, hands moving from your midsection to squeeze your hips, thumbing the shape of your thong beneath your dress. It's not visible but it's like he knows it's there, caressing the V of your hips and grinding himself into you a bit firmer. You feel your brows furrow, a bit taken aback by this level of intimacy; you're so used to club guys who just take what they need, view you as more of a warm body than anything else. Which is fine, it's not like you view them any different.

But the way this man dances with you is entirely new. He pulls you in closer as the song progresses, noses your hair and helps you sway back and forth. He smells good, even better than the blonde guy, a more mature and masculine scent that's musked and piney. He's big and tall too, you can tell how much larger he is than you when you lean back further and press your entire body against him, feel the broad expanse of his chest against your back.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, knowing he can't hear you, "That's good."

It feels almost impossible for him to hold you any closer but he somehow does, tightening his grip around you in his arms, one of the hands on your hips trailing upwards to press flat against the space between your breasts where you're bare. You look down, eyes hazy, and see the large shape of his hand firm on your chest, fingers splayed out and lightly brushing the sides of your breasts, only held up by some tape you'd applied before leaving the house.

"Fuck," you repeat, but you can't hear it, biting down on your lip in a pleasured pout and grinding back into the man even more, feeling yourself begin to throb under your dress. Almost like he can sense where you're aching, he moves his other hand down from your hip to grip your thigh, thumb tracing the innermost part gently. You shiver in his grasp.

You bring your gaze back over to the bar and are surprised to see your friend looking over at you, a wide grin plastered on her face. She mouths something and you squint to see her, making a confused face.

"He's fucking hot," she mouths again, throwing you a thumbs up, "Good job."

You feel yourself grin back at her, "Is he?" you mouth back.

She nods quickly and mouths, "He's perfect!"

You feel a flutter of pride and contentedness rise in your chest at her blessing. It's rare that either of you ever call a guy perfect, but you'd seen the hint of brown hair and the beard and hoped he was your type. You like big, tall men. Strong, ones who can take care of you, lift you up if necessary, take control. Brunettes with beards have always been your favorite. Obviously she can see that he's completely your type.

The song is winding down but you're desperate to stay as close to this man as possible, pressing back against him and closing your eyes. You feel his breath at your ear, both hands returning to their familiar spots on your hips, fingertips lightly touching your bare thighs. You suddenly want him to lift up the dress and start fucking you right there on the dancefloor; you're down bad.

You lean your head upwards a bit, trying to speak loud enough so he can hear you, but also not so loud that people in the vicinity can hear as you say, "Wanna fuck me?"

You feel him smirk against your skin, "Lead the way."

Still not turning to look at him you reach down and take his hand, the final notes of the song ringing out in the club as you lead him to the women's bathroom. You've had sex in here before, many times, so you know how to give yourself the privacy you need for the short period of time you need it.

You drag him inside the bathroom and finally turn around to look at him, grinning again when you get a good look. Oh, your friend was so right. He's perfect; tall and broad, scruffy and unkempt in the sexiest way possible. He's got brown eyes, dark and seductive, and a playful smirk that's already driving you wild. Before you put your hands on him you quickly reach down under one the sinks and grab the edge of a ridiculously heavy box with god knows what inside; no one questions the box.

"Help me put this in front of the door." you say, and he doesn't need telling twice, immediately reaching down to pull it out. You know from experience that this box is heavy, which is the whole point people leave it here to begin with. However, he seems to move it with ease, biceps flexing under his black t-shirt as he places it in front of the bathroom door.

As soon as it's in place you grab his forearm and pull him toward you, worrying your lip between your teeth as you both move toward the sinks with what's probably a pathetically debauched expression on your face.

He grins and carefully picks you up and places you on one of the counters like you weigh nothing, leaning down to plant wet kisses along your neck as he pushes your thighs apart and stands between them. Your dress is so tight that he has to roll it up a bit, leaving you sitting bare-assed on the countertop; you're definitely gonna need a shower later.

"You do this a lot?" he asks you, that southern drawl back in full force and making you pulse even more in your panties, "Seems like you know what you're doin'."

You nod unabashedly, "It's not my first rodeo."

He laughs at that, deep and rough, then brings his hands down to grip your thighs tightly beneath his wide palms, "Let's make it a memorable one, then."

You lean forward to capture his lips in a hot kiss, wet and sloppy. He tastes like whisky and you're sure you probably taste like vodka, the strong flavors mixing together as he pushes his tongue inside your mouth and inches his fingers upwards to grip your thong. He tugs it down easily and keeps kissing you hard, licking inside your mouth and humming at the taste. You hear the unmistakable jangle of his belt buckle as he pulls it free, making you open your eyes and pull back from the kiss to watch with hooded eyes as he pulls out his dick.

"Knew you were big," you say with a smirk, batting your eyelashes at him, "Could feel it on the dancefloor."

He chuckles and pulls your dress up even more, leaning back to look down and assess where you're bare. He reaches down and thumbs your wet cunt, smirking when a moan immediately falls from your mouth.

"And I knew you were dripping," he replies roughly, "Could feel it on your thighs."

Fuck. You let out another moan when he quickly shoves two fingers inside without any warning; you take him easily, pussy sucking his fingers in with an obscene squelch that makes both of you groan. He pulls his fingers out and drags them along the length of his cock, mixing your juices with the precum leaking from his weeping tip.

"How long we got? Since you're the expert." He doesn't say it in a way that's shameful or disgusted; if anything he seems more turned on by the fact that this isn't new for you, shuffling forward to bump the fat head of his cock against your opening.

"Maybe five minutes," you reply quickly, gaze jumping to the closed door, "Before someone starts knocking."

You realize then that he's not wearing a condom and that neither of you have even suggested the prospect of being safe. You know for a fact there's some in that box; whether staff or people coming in and out are responsible for that, you're not sure. Regardless, you only briefly consider asking him to put one on before deciding it doesn't matter - you're drunk and horny and you want to feel him raw.

You can practically hear your friend calling you an idiot already.

You hitch your arms up around his neck and hear yourself emit a guttural moan as he pushes his cock inside you. He goes a bit slow at first, just to get you adjusted to his size, but then he's filling you completely to the hilt and you have to hold on tightly to him so you don't topple off the counter. He's so large, practically in your stomach as he starts to steadily thrust in and out, holding you close.

"Oh fuck," you whimper into his shoulder, hands scrambling for purchase against his back, "Shit."

"Yeah, that's it," he murmurs in your ear, low and seductive, "Take it."

You take it, that's for sure. It's not like you have any other choice. You're glad he can't see your face because you're sure it's twisted into a ridiculous expression, mouth agape and eyes crossing slightly as he fucks you deep. You've taken big dicks before but never from somebody who actually knew how to use it, how to drag it back and forth at the perfect speed, be sure to prod that special spot deep inside you. Your friend was right, he's perfect.

The bass of the music continues to boom outside the bathroom, muffled and echoey; you don't recognize the song but that's the last thing on your mind as this gorgeous man fucks you into a state of pure nirvana. You whimper pathetically in his ear, feeling your back bump the bathroom mirror every time he thrusts, one hand coming up to get lost in his hair.

"Fuck, you take it good," he mutters, slamming his hips back and forth and tightening his grip around your body, "Perfect pussy. You fuckin' love gettin' filled up, don't you?"

You nod into his shoulder and whimper again when he starts fucking you even faster, body practically vibrating on the counter. You pull back to look at him and find your head bobbing wildly back and forth like you're a ragdoll, completely at his mercy. You lock eyes with him and moan when you see his blissed out expression, the glitter from your face now clinging to his sweaty skin.

"Oh fuck, what a face," he groans, "You're cross-eyed, baby. I'm fuckin' you stupid, huh?"

You nod frantically again, "I-" you try to speak, voice shaky and weak as he relentlessly pounds into you without stopping, "I'm-"

He nods along with you, "I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, "Don't talk, just take that cock."

You grip him tightly again and bury your face in his shoulder. It's perfect timing because you almost feel yourself start to cry out when he starts rubbing your clit, bringing you to your release. Your legs wrap around his waist and you practically scream into his shoulder, your whole body shaking and vibrating as your orgasm takes over.

"That's it," he hisses through his teeth, clearly close to his own release, "That's it, come all over my cock."

Your pussy tightens and pulses around his thick length as you come, clit throbbing beneath the man's steady touch. You whine into his shirt as he fucks you faster, impossibly harder, the wide head of his cock repeatedly pushing against your favorite spot. It's too much and you have to bite down on the fabric to stop yourself from sobbing.

He doesn't ask where you want his come; he knows.

He fucks you once, twice, three times more before stilling inside of you and letting out a deep and rough groan, pulling back to watch your expression as he fills you up. Your jaw drops, legs shaking around his waist as you feel his thick spurts of release paint your insides. You both stare into each other's eyes with mirrored looks of pleasure, eyes hooded and dark.

"I'm clean," he says, voice breaking slightly, "Probably shoulda told you that before we started."

"It's okay," you whimper, still focused on the feeling of his cock, the way it pushes his come further inside, "I wanted it."

"Yeah, you did," he murmurs, eyes scanning your face, "You wanted it bad, didn't you?"

You nod and he leans in to kiss you. It's sweeter this time, not as hurried or sloppy, and you moan faintly against his lips when he carefully slides his dick out of you.

"Want me to clean you up?" he asks, and you shake your head.

"No," you whisper, "Wanna feel it dripping when I dance."

He groans and reaches down to pull your thong back up your legs. You shimmy off the counter, legs like jelly as you shakily stand and pull them up all the way.

"That'll keep it in there," he murmurs, pulling your dress down and patting your pussy gently through the material, "For a little while."

A loud knock at the door and the sound of a girl yelling "I have to pee!" notifies the both of you that your time is up. You watch as the man stuffs his softening cock back inside his pants and starts to do up his belt quickly, still eyeing you. He wastes no time in kissing you one last time, holding you close and trailing his fingers up and down your back.

"I gotta head home," he murmurs against your lips after a few seconds, "But thank you for this, I needed it."

You giggle and pull back to take one last look at his face, aware of the girl outside the door still steadily knocking and begging to be let in, "We should do it again."

"I'll hold you to that."

You both pull away from each other and he reaches down to move the box away from the door. Immediately a girl and a few of her friends rush inside, barely batting an eye when they see a man in the women's bathroom; this isn't an uncommon occurrence here. You leave the bathroom with him and walk with him to the exit, making sure to check the bar for your friend. She's still sitting there, lost in her own world. You smile.

"Are you sure you have to go home?" you ask once you're both outside the club, alone together on the sidewalk; the question is probably a little pathetic but you don't care.

He smiles softly, "I do, I'm sorry. I have to be somewhere early tomorrow and if I take you home..." he trails off, eyes scanning up and down your body, "Well, let's just say neither of us will be getting any sleep."

You shiver, more from his words than the cold air, but he still reaches forward to rub your bare shoulders gently, giving you some heat. It's a small and quiet gesture, but it makes your heart flutter.

"Can I get your number?" you ask, suddenly a bit shy despite the fact that you can feel his come beginning to leak out of you. He nods with a smile and you pull your phone out of the top of your dress to hand it over to him.

He takes it from you, looking down and pressing a few buttons to program his number into your contacts, then hands it back to you. You suddenly feel a strange tickle between your legs and your brow furrows.

"Shit," you mutter, realizing what it is.

"What?"

You look down at yourself and see a thick drip of his come inching down your inner thigh. He follows your gaze and makes a strange noise in his throat, taking a few steps forward and watching with dark eyes as it slowly dribbles down your leg.

"You're on the pill, right?" he murmurs.

"Yes," you whisper, still watching his release drip from you.

He pulls you into his arms one more time and kisses you long and deep, slipping his hand under your dress to gently ease some of his come back inside you. You whimper against his mouth as his thick thumb slips inside your hole and carefully pushes his release as deep as he can.

When he pulls back he tilts your chin up and smiles softly at you, eyes still full of desire as you keen beneath his touch.

"Now go dance with all that still inside," he murmurs, "I know you want to."

You're back inside the club a few moments later, skin tingling with the rush of what's happened in the last twenty minutes. You take out your phone quickly to make sure his number is definitely there, that he did it right. You feel your face warm when you see the new name listed in your contacts:

Joel.

You slip your phone back inside your dress and head for the dance floor, pushing past the gyrating bodies and the couples making out, the dudes looking for whichever girl will grind on them. Just one more song, you think to yourself. The bass booms, the lights flash, and you dance with abandon.

This is your favorite place.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*

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badasbebi · 11 months ago

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the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl.

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly.

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee.

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams.

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever.

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright.

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips.

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces.

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant.

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks.

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck.

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks.

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters.

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win.

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face.

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry.

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see.

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt.

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps.

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way.

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning.

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty.

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man.

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping.

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest.

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her.

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face.

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment.

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further.

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined.

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease.

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again.

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone.

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous.

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit.

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought.

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself.

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table.

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply.

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading.

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly.

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained.

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone.

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you.

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks.

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter.

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking.

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful.

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing.

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness.

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

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You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod.

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension.

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit.

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else.

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly.

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes.

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed.

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

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Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face.

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before.

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck.

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?"

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else.

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling.

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class.

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,”

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though.

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #lee bada #street woman fighter 2 #swf2 #bada lee imagine

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gremlinmodetweeker · 2 months ago

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Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises in Vain

Okay so I'm gonna be honest, the Local Executioner!König is the hardest AU to work on. I don't often because it takes immense effort, but I did make another addition. This is a hella long post, and hopefully you all like it.

I admit, of all my fics this is the one I treasure most. It's a somewhat medieval fantasy, but the world is entirely my own. This is not your average fantasy. This is not DnD fantasy. This has been carefully crafted over years to be its own thing. I have so much about this AU its insane.

In truth, this AU will one day be its own story. I am telling you, this is a fic I want to publish under my own name. When it happens, I'll let you all know. Until then, enjoy the fic I work the hardest on.

EDIT: I exceeded the character limit. Y'all lucky bastards get two parts. As punishment for my mistake, part two goes out tomorrow.

TWs: Executions, death, gore, torture (referenced), period-sexism, threatened homelessness (it's an empty threat, your aunt is just mad)

Wordcount: 7.5 of 11.7k (This is my longest fic to date)

Art from This Post

Long Story Blow the Cut

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises in Vain

You watched as Luit(1) rose into the night sky, followed by her faithful servant(2). Luit’s bright light cast long blue shadows over the golden brown wheat fields that surrounded the home. Far into the horizon, the Culling Woods crawled in a serpentine fashion through the hills and valleys. You just hoped that the person you were looking for wasn’t home.

You’d made a promise before and you damn well planned to keep it. You repeated this motto over and over as you carefully crawled across the creaking wood floor and gingerly descended the aged winterwood(3) stairs to go into the shadowy kitchen below. You found The Axe’s provisions tucked away in the back corner of the shop shelves, covered in a loose white linen rag. You fished it out and plopped it all into a wicker basket, brushed down your dress of crumbs, and set out into the night.

You thought the night would’ve been bright enough, but you were glad to have brought the family’s old wormglow(5) to light your way as you walked along the road. Shadows danced among the wheat fields as you passed by. Sometimes, a whisper of wind would crawl through the stalks and up the back of your neck. You shivered, pulling your coat around you tighter and hurrying your step, fearful of what might lurk among the treeline. You couldn’t help but feel that the bobbing light might attract more than moths and gnats as you made your way to the Criahlin’s stone. You hoped and prayed that only The Axe would find you there.

You dimmed your light as you made your way into the edges of the forest. You feared that behind each tree there might be a wicked bandit prowling. Worst yet, there might be a drunkard, maybe even a lost man of the village. You worried about their wandering eyes falling on your virgin form in the night. With a shiver, you hurried your step along the dirt path.

The Criahlin’s stone rose up on a mound in the forest. You passed by the swinging remains of long-decayed bodies to make your way up to find the great stone stage cleared of any fallen leaves. You looked around nervously as you made your way to the center of the blood-splattered shale stage. A part of you wondered if The Axe truly was a monster, that maybe he lured you out into the dark against your will. Maybe he’d decided to take you for himself out here under the shadow of the trees. For all you knew, he wasn’t even here, and had set up some vagabonds to descend upon you in the waning light of Luit.

Just as you were about to turn back, you heard a great shuffling coming from behind you.

You whipped around to face down the newcomer. In the shadows of the forest, you could hardly see the being, only making out a great and massive form. He drug something through the leaves, something long and heavy. In the other hand he carried a full and heavy sack of some strange bulging contents. You trembled as the figure drew closer to you, slow step by slow, dragging step. You stepped back quickly, stumbling over your feet as you tried to make space between you and the figure.

The figure stopped when you gasped. Slowly, it raised a big hand and waved at you.

You squinted, then sighed when you realized who it was.

“By Halax, you gave me a fright!” you called out to the figure.

“I’m sorry about that,” The Axe stepped into Luit’s light and threw the great cloth sack over his back with a grunt.

“What do you think you’re doing there, creeping around in the forest like that?” you huffed, “and what’s that in your hands?”

The Axe looked down and raised up the stick to reveal his great black axe. This one didn’t have the engravings you knew of. It looked smaller, too.

“It was getting late. I figured I might pass the time by chopping some firewood,” The Axe explained and gestured to the full sack on his back, “what about you? What took you so long? I was worried you’d never come.”

You grimaced, “My aunt and uncle didn’t want me to come out and see you,” you explained as you brought the wicker basket to your aproned front, “I brought you a couple of extra rolls as an apology.”

The Axe stepped up onto the stone slab stage and came forth to stand in front of you. He picked out one of the rolls and held it up to see it.

“These are… There’s something different about these ones,” he squinted at the offending bun.

“That one’s a honey nut bun,” you explained, “there’s also a sap bun and that one’s a beetle meat bun. I was probably going to take the beetle meat home with me as a snack for the road.”

The Axe gently lowered the bun down to the basket as he whispered, “You didn’t have to do this. Just getting bread is enough.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “maybe you can tell me how good they are.”

“I don’t know how good of a judge I’d be,” The Axe shook his head, “I’ve never had any special buns like these before.”

You laughed, “What do you mean? Everybody’s had some of these buns! They’re the best in town!”

The Axe looked at you sadly, “Not me. I’ve never had one of these before.”

“Never?” you pushed.

“Never,” he repeated, “I could never justify the price.”

“Are you saying my uncle is unfair in his pricing?” you rose an eyebrow.

The Axe shook his head firmly, “No, not at all,” he put his axe from his shoulder and struck it deep into the soft earth, “I just never had enough coin to buy one.”

“Really?” you blinked in a stupor.

“How could I afford a bun when I can’t afford tinder for my fireplace?” The Axe replied, “I can’t afford such lovely things. I’ve always wanted one of these, but two? I can hardly believe my luck.”

He looked at the basket sadly, “I… I can’t take this. It’s… It’s too much. You’re being too good to me.”

“What?” you frowned and crossed your arms, “of course you can! I’m giving them to you!”

“But I can’t take such nice gifts for free,” The Axe complained, “you’re too kind and generous to waste such precious goods on someone like me.”

“Well, not really,” you admitted meekly, “I mean, I did forget your rations yesterday. Think of this as just something to make up for it.”

“But-”

“No buts!” you cut him off quickly and held up a finger to point at his chest firmly, “look, I brought you the buns because you deserve them. I mean, it’s fair, right? I forgot your rations yesterday, this is to make up for it. And anyways, they were probably not gonna sell. They’re old. I mean, well, maybe they would’ve sold, but who cares. I think you should have them.”

“Not sold?” The Axe tilted his head to the side, “but aren’t these the best buns in the village? Father Kim and judge Holten always tell me so…”

“Sure are,” you grinned briefly before frowning, “and as I said we probably would have, but we made too many again. If you didn’t take them, I’d probably give them to a farmer to feed their animals or something. That, or add them to Father Kim’s offerings. That’s probably how he knows they’re so good, actually.”

“Well, anything you give me is a treasure,” The Axe said softly as he took up the wicker basket. He looked around himself, but seemed to be at a loss.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“I thought I brought a bag, but the only one I have is full of firewood now,” he muttered, “I… Hm… Do you think you can wait a bit?”

You looked up at Luit and down at the horizon. You’d been out for a while already, and the thought of being out at night, alone in the Culling Forest, completely at the whims of nature and her crew… You shook your head.

“I really don’t want to be alone out here,” you said, “what do I need to wait for anyways?”

“I need to go back home and get a good bag for these,” The Axe replied, “it’d be a shame to get wood slivers all over these.”

“Why don’t I just go to your place with you?” you offered.

The Axe straightened up above you. His eyes sharpened in Luit’s light, ghastly blue in the pale hues of Densis’s-watch(4). He heaved his axe back up from the dirt and swung it over his shoulder with a dangerous grunt. You withered under his watch as he glared down at your shivering form, cold in the night and weak under his watch. You’d never felt so small before. Had you offended him? Had you maybe insulted his good nature?

You were about to say something when he held up a hand.

“That’s fine with me,” he replied hoarsely, “I just… I haven’t had visitors before. You’d be my first.”

“Your first? Doesn’t anyone visit you?” you asked.

“Not willingly,” The Axe replied, “nobody comes to me unless they absolutely must. Even Father Kim, good a man as he is, he avoids coming out here,” The Axe took a look around at the hanging bodies in the trees, “I can understand why.”

You watched as The Axe ducked into the shadows of the trees , only briefly checking over his shoulder to see if you were actually following behind him.

You trailed behind him quietly, letting him lead you him deeper into the woods.

—

The path creeped along the forest floor until it came to a small wooded grove. In the center, The Axe’s small rustic a-frame wood cabin stood tall among the shrubbery, framed on one side by a small vegetable garden and on the other by a lean-to wood shed. A small idol of Criah(7) had been mounted above his door.

“You know, you’re a lot closer to my place than I thought,” you muttered as you followed behind The Axe to his front door.

“My great grandfather fought for many years to build here,” The Axe said as he whacked his axe into a rotten stump.

“You guys had to fight to build here?” you wondered as you took in the glowing candle lanterns way up strung above you.

“Nobody wanted to live close to us,” The Axe explained bitterly.

He walked up to the door and briefly touched the head of the idol and muttered a silent prayer. Once he had given his thanks, he turned back to you and looked at the wicker basket in your hands.

“You can pass me the rations and I’ll bring them back inside,” he said as he opened his door.

You tried to hide the disappointment in your voice when you asked, “You’re not inviting me in?”

The Axe shook his head and nodded up at the idol, “It’s bad luck for anyone else to come in. I… I don’t know how much I believe in all those stories, but I don’t want to test it tonight. Not with you, at least.”

You looked up at the tree giant’s face, eyes painted like brilliant rubies shining wickedly in the dark.

“I don’t really want to test it out either,” you admitted as you opened your wicker basket for him.

It didn’t take long to pass The Axe his rations and get them into his kitchen. You were once again startled by how little he was actually allotted. He only got a single loaf and a handful of plain rolls. It was practically criminal to give the man so little. Half way through passing over the baked goods, an idea flashed through your mind.

“Alright, that’s the last of the regular rations,” The Axe said as he came to the doorway again, “I just need your ‘apologies’ now.”

You looked down at the mostly empty basket longingly. You went to pass over the bun, then paused. You looked up to him hopefully.

“Actually,” you said slowly, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to eat a bun together.”

The Axe’s eyes shot wide open. His normally sorrowful eyes were wide and bright with boyish glee.

“You want to eat them with me?” he asked, unable to contain his excitement.

“I mean,” you shrugged and stepped out towards an overturned log, “I can stay out for a bit. I don’t have much to do tomorrow. Might as well enjoy Densis’s-watch, right?”

“Aren’t you worried about sharing a plate with Criah’s son?” The Axe slowly drew out of his dark home to stand in the light.

“Halax watches over me,” you smiled and sat down on the mossy seat, “I think I’ll be safe.”

The Axe followed you before sitting on the earth in front of you. You almost wanted to ask him to take off his hood to see the awe on his face when you fished around your basket for the buns. He looked practically euphoric as you passed him the sticky honey bun, wrapped in a parcel of parchment.

His thick fingers struggled to undo the twine, inhibited by his eager trembling. You almost had to laugh at how excited a man born of death and blood became over a simple honey bun. He looked less like a staggering colossus and more like a young boy shaking with unbound glee. He looked like he was unwrapping presents for the first time. You immediately sobered up on the thought that it was entirely possible that this was his first gift from outside his family. What a horrible, horrible thought.

He carefully held up the bun in his hands to Luit’s light. His blue eyes shine with unspoken delight as he slowly examines the treat in his hands. He looked at you, then back at the treat, then put it down sadly in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you crossed your legs beside him.

“I…” he gestured vaguely to his face, “I don’t look very… Pretty.”

You snorted, “So? I look at my uncle every day; whatever you look like is bound to be a million times better.”

He shook his head gravely, “No. I assure you that what’s under here is far worse than you can imagine.”

You uncrossed your legs and leaned your elbows on your knees. Carefully, you turned to look at him properly, “You really think it’s that bad?”

“I know it’s that bad.”

You hummed as you drummed your fingers on your chin.

“You’re really not comfortable eating while I’m here?” you asked sadly.

“I just don’t want to upset you,” he wilted under your scrutiny.

You looked around carefully before your eyes lit up.

“I’m so stupid. Why don’t I just turn around?” you offered brightly.

The Axe glared at you, “How do I know you won’t peek at me? You’re not easy to trust.”

You shrugged, “I think you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Also, I’ll be honest, you’re not too easy to trust either.”

The Axe’s stare was unwavering.

“I kept my promise before,” you pointed out, “doesn’t that speak for something?”

“It speaks to the fact you snuck out from under your uncle’s nose,” The Axe raised an eyebrow behind his monstrous dark hood.

You gave him a wry grin, “Well, if I didn’t, I would’ve broken my promise with you.”

The Axe shook his head tiredly, “I don’t think a pact with an executioner is worth a rift in your own home.”

“You’d be surprised,” you chirped.

The Axe observed you carefully. His watery eyes scanned you over once or twice before he chuffed, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

The Axe nodded from side to side with a disapproving hum. Instead of arguing, he simply sighed and said, “Well, turn around then. If you think a promise to an executioner is worth that much, then so be it.”

“It’s more than worth it,” you said as you gathered your dress to be able to turn around on the log. You picked through the basket to pull out a bun and pulled it out to take a small bite. You hummed. Even though the buns were a few days old, they were still as fresh as ever. You couldn’t help but wonder once more if your uncle had his oven enchanted. With how good everything that came out of it was, you wouldn’t be surprised.

You were brought back to reality by a small whimper behind you. You instinctively went to turn but caught yourself at the last second. The whimper came from behind again.

“Is everything okay?” you asked quietly.

You heard a thick swallow.

“It’s…” The Axe paused briefly, “it’s so sweet. I’ve never had something like this before.”

Your hands dropped to your lap.

“You’ve really never had a honey bun before.”

His hood shuffled softly as he shook his head, “No. I’ve only had honey five times in my life.”

“Five times?” you parroted weakly.

“Five,” he replied, “twice as a boy I had a spoonful of honey, once at my mother’s funeral I drank tea, once at my father’s I had honey mead, and now today I’ve had a honey bun for the first time.”

You could hardly imagine being deprived of such a basic luxury as honey. Not a single lick of the amber to cross your lips for years. How many years? You were about to try and figure it out when you realized a glaring issue in your data.

“Just how old are you, Axe?” you asked.

“I’m coming on twenty-two cycles(8) now,” he told you quietly.

“I’m coming into my twentieth,” you replied, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have honey with my herbs(9)”

You heard The Axe shuffle awkwardly beside you before letting out a long sigh through his nose. You could hear his hood shuffle again.

“You haven’t turned to look at me,” he whispered.

You looked up at the treeline encircling you both.

“I don’t really have need to,” you said as you admired the branches waving in the crisp wind, “I have so much to look at here.”

“What trees, boulders and orange blots(10)? You can’t be telling me that you find anything interesting over there,” The Axe teased you lightly.

“Well, I’ve never seen an executioner’s home before,” you explained as you looked at the lanterns wound through the trees before sloping over to the front of The Axe’s slanted roof, glinting like the stars themselves came down to grace you, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance.”

You took another bite of the beetle meat bun. The meat was stringy, gamey, rich with fat that pooled into your mouth. A delectable treat for a simple baker’s niece, but not much for anyone else. It was strange to think that even this simple pleasure was beyond The Axe’s means.

The Axe took another bite of his bun, savoring each and every bit of the sweet treat. You listened to him turn again. He was silent for a moment. You wondered what a man like him could be thinking of, but he was quick to tell you himself.

“It doesn’t have to be the last time you come here,” his voice was nearly lost in the wind whispering through the trees.

The statement sat heavily between you both. The weight of his words hung on your shoulders, dragging them down to the leaf-covered dirt around you. The wind picked up briefly, sending waves of shimmering grass flowing through the clearing before it settled again. The metal lanterns clinked lightly above. In the distance, you could hear a spirit spook(12) chiming delicately in the breeze. It figured a man like him would need one by his home. You could only imagine how many had come to curse his name.

You looked up at the glittering stars above, winking at you from their place in the blackened sky. They seemed to stare down at you, interested in what your next move would be. A follower of Halax, a follower of life and creation, being welcomed in by a follower of Criah, a follower of death and grief. The gods surely must have been entertained by the show put on for them that night. To see two mortals sitting there, struggling against their fates like they had any chance to slow the weaving of the tapestry, as though their little fingers could undo the binding that had been formed long before they breathed life into their lungs; surely, there couldn’t be a more entertaining act under the cover of Densis’s(11) cloak.

“It doesn’t.”

You heard yourself more than you spoke. It was surreal to hear those two simple words pass your lips, and yet they hammered your souls together inseparably.

“It doesn’t,” The Axe repeated with a hint of excitement, “you could come again. We could do things together.”

“What sorts of things would a baker and an executioner do together?” you laughed sorrowfully.

The Axe was quiet for a moment, then said, “We could talk to each other.”

“About what?” you asked.

“About whatever we liked,” he offered, “without the fear of others hearing.”

You watched the stars twinkle overhead approvingly.

“It would be nice to be free,” you replied.

“It would be,” The Axe replied, “we could say whatever we liked. We could honestly be ourselves. Nobody could tell us what we could and couldn’t say to each other. Nobody would stop us from being true to ourselves.”

You took another bite of the bun and let a drop of grease dribble down your chin.

“If nothing else…” The Axe said carefully, “it would be nice to have company.”

You nodded solemnly. The forest around you dimmed its nocturnal din to listen to you two lost souls pontificate together, pondering the possibilities of what could be. What would be, if only you let it.

“When would we meet though?” you asked, “and how could we meet? You know people in the village will start asking questions.”

“The cover of Luit’s light does wonders,” The Axe mused, “but I need to sleep. I can’t stay up late like this often. Neither can you. Your work is more steady than mine. I can… We can… You go to the local church, ja?”

You nodded slowly, “I go. I go often, actually. I need to deliver goods to the church regularly.”

“Then why not meet there?” The Axe offered, “under the watch of Father Kim. Who could possibly stop you from devoting yourself to the church?”

You smiled at the thought of meeting a follower of Criah in Halax’s home.

“Would you be welcome there?” you asked.

“Father Kim is a good friend,” The Axe replied eagerly, “he would be willing to find us a place where we can be apart from others.”

“Are you even allowed on church grounds?” you asked warily.

“I am,” The Axe sniffed, “any follower of any god is welcome in a holy sanctuary. I do not need to be devoted to Halax to be invited into her house.”

You shook your head bitterly.

“You’re barely given a seat at the tavern,” you said sternly, “how can Father Kim possibly allow you on hallowed grounds? Surely you’ve been banned? I know from talking to others that people like you are never wed in the church.”

The Axe sighed heavily.

“I am not allowed to wed there, yes, but there is a pew for me in there,” he said, “you don’t see it because I’m in the room below with the other forgotten people of the village. I am able to listen through the grate beneath Father Kim’s feet.”

“There’s a grate at his feet!?” you nearly turned around again to stare at him.

“Eyes forward,” he warned you before softening his tone, “yes, there’s a grate. There’s only a few pews in the basement, but we’re joined by the Sisters of Halax when we go. Maybe, if we go to church together, I can show you.”

You fiddled with your thumbs in your lap, the last of the bun now gone.

“It sounds interesting,” you admitted thoughtfully, “and you’ve been a good man to me so far. You’ve not done anything to hurt me. Actually, you’ve been nothing but good to me. You even protected me from any curses. You could’ve let me into your home, but you were kind enough to stop me.”

“I would never hurt an innocent person,” The Axe said swiftly.

You frowned at that. The Axe surely couldn’t be so simple, could he? The way he phrased ‘innocent’ had your hackles raised in your seat. Why would he specifically use that term? Was he truly a creature of the court? He couldn’t be so naive as to think that the justice system was completely without fault. No man could be that foolish, particularly not one so close to the action.

“Are you sure about that?” you asked warily, “haven’t you considered that an innocent man has been on your chopping block before?”

You heard the hood shuffle quickly behind you. It almost sounded as though he was shaking his head.

“I only execute the guilty,” The Axe said firmly, “Judge Holten only sends guilty men to stand or kneel before me. He is a good judge, and a better man. He may not like me, but I have faith in him and his abilities. He hasn’t let me down once before. I think you’ll find he has a faultless record. I like to think that he’s been blessed by the gods with insight and honor. So no, I am sure of what I said. Judge Holten would never send an innocent man my way. I have full faith in his convictions.”

You squirmed in your seat slightly, but said nothing to counter him. Something told you to try and contradict him would lead to a full blown argument. No man ever spoke so surely unless he lived and died by those very words. A part of you had the feeling that The Axe needed to live by those words. If he didn’t… You shuddered at the thought of what sort of man he would be.

“I assure you,” The Axe said to you gently, “I would never harm you. Again, I would never harm an innocent citizen. I am not a good man, but I am a just man. I am an honest man at heart. I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head if I could help it.

“Unless, of course, you were to commit some egregious crime of some sort,” his tone softened to a morose whisper, “please… Please tell me you won’t don’t do anything of that sort. I… I don’t know if I could live with putting a rope around the neck of the first person to treat me with kindness willingly. I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

You reached back behind you and brushed your palm against his back soothingly. You tried to push the cold chill crawling over your skin down, blame it on the cool wind and the black sky, not on the words of a man who believed that justice could do no wrong. You didn’t want to think about his words, but you figured you might as well try and placate him.

“I assure you I have no plans to do so,” your face split into an uncomfortable smile, “but… Even though I’ve been kind to you, you would still execute me? Even though I’m the first to actually try and get to know you? The first to really try and be your friend?”

The Axe sighed, “I promise you that I would ensure your end would be quick and painless. Even if I was ordered to nip you with the tongs or screw your thumbs, I wouldn’t dare do that to you. I would never do that to someone I care about like you. I may not have known you for long, but what you’ve done for me in these past two days is more than anyone else in my entire life.

“I would not draw out your death for the court even if they begged me. I would ensure that you would go quickly, honorably.”

“Then you’d take me out with that big axe of yours?” you asked.

“I’d ensure it,” The Axe promised, “I don’t know if you’re aware, I assume there’s rumours in the village but I might as well settle them here and now. Many generations ago, that axe was enchanted to be sharper, to cut more easily. It’s designed to cut through flesh, not wood. It was made to kill, not to maim like my firewood axe. I use my good axe to give quick deaths. Most people want to go by the sword, but I assure you that the axe is much better.”

“You don’t always give quick deaths?” you asked nervously.

“Sometimes I can’t,” The Axe shuffled awkwardly, “sometimes the court orders me to draw it out. Sometimes by using a duller blade like my firewood axe or the rusted sword, sometimes through a drawn out death, like the wheel or being stretched.

“I… I don’t like to hurt anyone. Guilty or not, I don’t care. I just want to ensure it’s done as quickly and easily as possible. I don’t like drawn out deaths, even if they’re asked for. I assure you I don’t. But if I don’t do it, somebody worse would. You understand that, right? At least if I do it I ensure that they suffer less than they could have by somebody else’s hands.

“In my guild, you know, my career guild, I speak to executioners across the land. I’ve learned what those men are like, both from my own experience and through my own poor father. I witnessed these men and I can tell you that they can be vile. I hate to be among some of them. Many are like me, but some are…” The Axe bristled under your touch, “they are sick. Sick and rotten men. If there is one group of guilty men that walk free, it would eb them. I pray you never are unfortunate enough to meet such men in your life. You’d be blessed not to. Or, maybe, maybe I was cursed to meet them. That seems a bit more sensible.”

You closed your eyes and let out a slow breath. Of course The Axe would be honest. He was the hand of justice, he had to be righteous and true. He was expected to uphold the image of the court, even when being spat upon by the families of the deceased after lopping off their loved one’s heads. You’d seen him be slapped by old widows of hideous criminals, seen men try to strangle him over their wives’ bodies. He took all these beatings calmly, stoically, like the perfect picture of the court. He’d let them hit him and curse him until they went to far, and then he’d throw them back to the earth and let them scurry on their way. You could only imagine how their hatred was burned into the very essence of his being.

And yet, The Axe took it all without a single stumble. He uttered no more than a grunt when a man tried to stab his gut. He only tossed the blade aside and thrown the man down, then lowered his axe above his chest. You’d seen the man falter, look up at those impartial eyes and realize what he’d nearly done. If anything, The Axe could be an entirely merciful face of the court.. He was the perfect executioner. If nothing else, that much was about the only good thing regularly said about him in the village. He was the perfect face of the court’s axe. Impervious to suffering, yet compassionate enough to let them take out their rage on him.

But, at the end of it all, he was the source of their rage. Sometimes, sometimes it was for terrible reasons. Terrible, terrible reasons indeed.

“You torture too,” you whispered as softly as the wind blew through the long dead grass.

“I must,” The Axe replied swiflty.

“Do you…” you shuddered at the question, “you don’t like doing it, do you? You said you don’t, but, what do you think when you do it? How do you feel about it?”

The Axe shivered under your hand ferociously.

“I hate doing it,” he admitted bluntly, “were I born any other man I could bring love and joy into this world the likes of which could change the very soil we are born from. I can try to be this force when I help heal wounds of the injured and maimed, but there’s only so much I can do. I was born of death and I am shackled to it forever,” The Axe sniffled slightly, “but if given a chance, I would throw down this axe in an instant and I’d heal the unfortunate for the rest of my life. I’d devote to my father’s studies, learn the herbs of this land and save the wretched from the hands of the grave. I would be good. I would be pure, of heart and soul and mind alike.”

You frowned, “You heal wounds? You’re joking. You’re an executioner; you’re a killer, not a healer. You can’t really be trying to tell em that you are a healer.”

“When the apothecary and the doctor cannot set broken bones or suture wounds, they call upon me,” The Axe explained, “I have… I have a great deal of experience in mending great wounds.”

“Wounds you inflict?” you asked, unable to hide the sharp cold edge to your words.

The Axe flinched as you drew your hand into your lap.’

“Forgive me,” he whispered, “but it is not my choice to be this man. As I said, were I anything other than this, was I born of any other man, I could sow the earth with good seed and save the damned. I sometimes think that if I had another chance, I would’ve been like Father Kim and given my body to one of the gods. I think that I was always destined to follow Criah, but maybe I could’ve helped those families grieve. I could’ve cured the sick of their afflictions, I could’ve been good.”

You took in a deep breath, holding it in for a count of four before letting it all out slowly. He was an executioner, he was a torturer, and he was a medic? On top of it all, he had dreams of being a holy man, though no church would ever welcome him into their arms. No man like him could ever be forgiven. And so, to reconcile these parts was to find beauty in dung, but you tried to do so regardless. You supposed he was also known as one of the chief morticians of the town as well. You’d heard plenty of stories of how he’d been whipped by widows in the middle of funeral ceremonies. Sometimes, he was supposed to be burned for as many crimes as the victim had committed. You could only imagine how many scars covered his body by this point in his life. Supposedly, to maim the man who’d been ordered to kill your loved ones was to give some sense of grievance to the family. It was meant to help them heal from the loss. You only hoped that Criah approved.

“It’s not your choice to do it,” you admitted, “I don’t think any sane person would choose to live your life.”

“As I said before, some do,” The Axe interjected harshly, “and it’s those men that I despise.”

You shuddered at the thought. A large hand settled to warm your shoulder.

“I am not one of those men,” he assured you, “and I never will be. You have my word on that. Not just as a man, but as the axe of the court. I swear to you I am not, never have been, and never will be that sort of man. I am a monster, but I’m a monster of men’s making. I was not born of corrupted flesh.”

“And I have your word as the axe of the court?” you asked shakily.

“My word and my heart,” he replied gravely.

You sighed, ever so slightly relaxing. It figured this conversation would come eventually between the both of you, but to be able to have his word so gravely was a comfort, at the very least. However…

“I want your soul in your promise too(13),” you said quietly.

The silence that came forth was sharp and twisted your insides with a rusted blade. He seemed to meditate on your words as they whispered around you, echoed back by the trees and the calls of nocturnal songbirds. The forest floor creeped and crawled with detrivores, with his kin. You watched as a centipede crawled out from a decaying leaf, curled around slowly before descending back underneath the leaf litter below. How you wished to join those small creatures. A part of you wished to die there, to not have to live in the silence that followed your ask.

You felt tension rising in the air. Pressure collapsed inwards, you saw the candle-lit lanterns flicker above with some unseen, unfelt force. No wind blustered, no frog croaked. All was still to listen to this deathly child’s answer.

“My soul is yours,” The Axe finally said, “I swear upon my soul that I am not a man who enjoys torturing and maiming like a lowly animal. I am a man of Criah. I swear to honor the dead and dying until I too join their ranks. I will not enjoy taking even the most heinous criminals to their graves. That is not the sort of oath I’ve made to my god. No matter what, no matter who or what they are, I promise that I never take delight in harming another soul.

“I should like to help them, if possible. One day, I would like to put down this axe once and for all. I’d like to spread peace and life. I wish to be a doctor, or maybe a cleric of the church. I know that such a wretch as myself is not welcome, but if given a chance I would like to save others that have been damned from birth like myself. I truly wish to break these bone shackles that chain me to the grave. I wish to rise above and see life prosper. I…” he hiccupped under his breath, “I wish to be good. I want to be a good man. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I hate this life I live, but there’s nothing I can do to escape it. Nobody will train an executioner’s son. I was damned from birth, but if just given a chance…”

You smiled faintly.

“Is your hood in place?” you asked.

“I finished the bun a while back,” The Axe said, “it’s in place. Why?”

Without another word you turned and hugged the giant man with both arms. He stiffened at the touch, but soon his ice melted and he embraced you back.

When you pulled away, you could see a shine of tears in his eyes.

“Nobody has ever listened to me before,” he said quietly.

“I think more people should,” you replied, “you’ve a reputation as an honest man. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and never have you given me a reason to think you’re lying. I may not know you well, but Axe, I want to. I want to see the good man you can be.”

“I want to know you too,” his voice warbled behind his hood.

“Then we’ll know each other,” you promised him, “and we’ll be friends. We will be better together.”

“But how?” The Axe asked sadly, “when will we next meet? How can we next meet?”

You thought carefully. Your fingers drummed a steady pattern on your thigh as you straddled the large log. You kicked your dangling feet before pulling yourself to sit beside him properly.

“I think we can meet at the church,” you replied, “I can say that I’m seeing Father Kim and visit you as well. I still need to see Father Kim, of course, but maybe I could make time for you too.”

“But when?” The Axe asked mournfully, “now that I know another’s touch, I can’t bear to be apart from you for long.”

“We won’t be,” you assured him as you soothingly touched his arm, “I have to bring in the weekly rations on the first of every god-watch. I do so halfway during the eighth watch every wake.”

“Halfway through the eighth watch on Halaxwake?” The Axe asked you desperately, drowning in possibilities.

“Halfway through the eighth watch on Halaxwake,” you confirmed, soothing him with your soft smile.

The Axe scanned through his mental list, you could see his eyes searching side to side as he sat scouring his mind for any possible conflicts, but soon he turned to you with a mirthful crinkle in his eyes, “I think I can manage that.”

“It might not be very long, but I promise you I’ll make it worthwhile,” you assured him.

The Axe shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Any time with you is a breath of life after drowning alone for so long.”

You frowned and held his hand tightly.

“I don’t want to go back,” you admitted, “I wish I could stay here with you.”

“But you must,” The Axe told you, “if you stayed, it would be a worse fate for both of us.”

“I think my Auntie might drop dead of shock if she knew I was here with you of all people,” you chuckled, then glanced at Luit falling down into the horizon, taking with her Densis’s cloak of stars, “I need to get back soon.”

“How soon?” The Axe asked.

“As soon as I can,” you admitted.

The Axe looked around briefly, then stood and urged for you to follow him. He brought you out back behind his home to a small ramshackle stable.

He clucked his tongue, and a soft chittering noise came from within the singular stall.

“Meet Hunter,” he said gently as he opened the stall door for you, “she’s my riding beetle.”

You looked in the stall to find a massive beetle. She stood on six tall spindly legs and stared down at you from atop an even longer neck. Her sharp mandibles clicked as she slowly woke and stared down at her new visitor.

“You have a riding beetle?” you wondered aloud, “I thought those were a luxury! Or, well, that’s what my uncle says whenever I tell him to get one.”

“When I had to travel to other towns for work I put in a request to the council,” The Axe explained, “I expected a rejection letter, but a pigeon told me I’d be getting a beetle. She’s young, I had to tame her myself and she was quite the handful, but they gave me a surprisingly fine beetle in the end.”

“She looks like a stalking beetle(14),” you looked up at her, her little black head at least ten feet above yours while bent.

“She’s part stalking beetle, yes,” The Axe said, “but she’s also part station beetle(15).”

“How’d they get that mix? Wouldn’t they eat each other!?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m no beetle breeder, but Hunter’s been a good friend to me through the years,” The Axe said as he saddled her up, “now come on, we don’t have much time before the first collection-vigil(16).”

You hissed at the reminder and grabbed The Axe’s hand to help haul you up onto the beetle’s back. You scrambled and slipped across the smooth carapace but soon managed to sit yourself in front of the large man.

“Not used to riding beetles?” The Axe asked as he set off towards the mill.

“My uncle refuses to get one,” you explained, “I want one to pull a cart to town though. Walking can take so long sometimes.”

“Well, Hunter could do that,” The Axe mused, “but she might be fussy about it. I also think using a court-approved beetle to draw a simple wagon wouldn’t go unnoticed either. I can only imagine the outrage when you show up with my beetle pulling your wagon.”

“Well,” you sighed as you settled your back against The Axe’s chest, “a girl can dream.”

The Axe chuckled, “That she certainly can.”

Luit - The Moon, often called the Older Sister

Lui - a small asteroid orbiting Luit, often referred to as the Younger Sister or Luit’s Servant

Winterwood - A species of deciduous tree that grows in the north. Known to be quite a soft wood, it grows quickly and is often used for furnishings of a home. Its cheapness adds to its versatility. Earned the name ‘winterwood’ for how pale the wood is (almost resembling the snow) and how it begins growing in winter.

Densis’s Watch - The way of saying night/night time. Opposite of Brak-hah’s-watch, which means day/daylight

Wormglow - In older times a brilliant worm(6) was strapped to a stick or put in a glass cage and used to light the night. These days, most people use an enchanted piece of metal on the top of a stick or in a glass lantern to be able to see in the dark. Most people fashion the metal to resemble a brilliant worm, partially to stay true to the origins but mostly to enhance the glow.

Brilliant Worms - A twelve centimeter long caterpillar that grows a brilliant yellowish-green colour when they are feeding or communicating to other brilliant worms. In older times, they were captured and starved during the day to be fed at night. Over time, the practice was considered cruel, and by this time it has been phased out almost completely

Criah - God of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. Also known as the Weeping Father or the the Howling God.

Cycle - A year. One cycle consists of four turning times (seasons). Each turning time is broken up into two moons (months). Every moon has five god-watches (weeks) composed of ten wakes (days) broken into 10 watches (hours).

Herbs - Another way of saying tea in this world

Orange Blots - A large orange and black-speckled squash with a notably soft and delicate white flesh. Used for soups or deserts, much like a pumpkin.

Densis - Goddess of night and dreams, wife of Criah

Spirit Spook - Sounds like a wind chime. Used as a way to ward off evil spirits from the lower realm and keep away bad luck. Has varying results.

Soul - Soul is the reason that things be. The reason rocks atomically are structured as rocks, the reason lightning crosses the sky and lands in one spot on the earth, the reason men laugh and dance and sing. Soul is most powerful in living beings (though everything in existence has soul), but even then some life has more soul than others. Mammalian species like dwarves, gnomes, elves and humans, for example, have much weaker soul than that of plantkin and much weaker mushroom folk. However, they have stronger soul than the chiton clan (insect folk). In this context, to swear a promise upon your soul is to bind your very being to the promise. Some mages will go so far as to enchant their words to keep these promises, but most cannot do so, and thus just say it to convey the most important promises.

Stalking Beetle - A black and red beetle (sometimes white, black and red or white and black) with a long, long neck and a pointed snout. Looks somewhat like a giraffe weevil with a more articulated neck (think like a snake). Excellent hunters. Are very dangerous in combat because of their long necks, sharp mandibles and good eyes. Can fly short distances, but not commonly. Very spritely and difficult to train for their energetic nature. Used by members of the court or light infantry. Known to be expensive to keep. Thankfully, Hunter is more herbivorous than most due to her cross-breeding and is thus cheaper to feed. Naturally carnivorous, trained to be omnivorous in captivity.

Station Beetle - A pretty drab looking beetle, usually brown or black (rarely albino white). They are slow but steady beetles that make up a good portion of riding beetles. There are a few subspecies, but most look like either big dung beetles or flour beetles. Usually very good natured. Has poor eyesight but excellent smell and can be trained to follow scents from town to town. Can fly medium distances when provoked. Often used by countrymen to travel from town to town, almost like small cars. Though called station beetles, typically are only for transporting a family and not for hauling carts or stations. Mostly herbivorous.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

Part Two

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elronds-meleth-nin · 10 months ago

Text

Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 1: Flight

This is set just prior to the events of the first Hobbit movie, so take that how you will. I'll probably have four parts for this fic. If anyone wants to be tagged for any future fics or updates, let me know and I'll start a taglist. Anyway, this is my first LotR related fanfic, so enjoy!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven't seen RoP, and I don't plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving's Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously, I mean, he's over 6000 years old), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it rn so uh...don't think about it too hard).

~*~

"Thank you again for taking the time to meet with me, Lord Elrond," the Man said as the pair walked through Elvish halls. The stone was older than the Human by several thousands of years, yet the Elf lord was there when they were first carved into bricks for construction. "I know your schedule is full to bursting–"

"Nonsense. I am always pleased beyond measure to speak with you, mellon-nin," the Elf interjected as they walked into his study. "Tell me, how are your people holding up with this new threat?"

That was precisely why the Man had come to Rivendell, in the first place. Even as nomads, Orc attacks used to be few and far between for his people, happening perhaps once or twice a year, but in the last six months alone, they'd repelled four assaults. Their losses were becoming concerning. The Man, their leader, decided that the time had come to seek advice and possibly assistance from one much wiser than he.

"They are shaken...frightened by even the smallest of things. The snap of a twig, a particularly loud howl from the wind..." The Elven host offered his guest a seat near his bookshelves - a quiet nook which he reserved for serious conversations or quiet contemplating - and took in his haggard expression. That Elrond understood more than anything. Remaining strong when you were just as afraid as the people whom you were trying to protect was a difficult task. Such endeavors could wear heavily on even the most seasoned and confident of commanders. "They are doing their best to remain strong, but I must confess, I-I am becoming less certain every day about the wisdom of my insistence that we keep moving. Perhaps we should find one good, defensive position and dig in..."

Elrond could see his dilemma.

"But if you took such an action, you would feel as though you were cowering, is that not so?" He offered no judgment and no solutions. Not yet. He wanted to guide his friend along the path to finding his own answer, not force his hand in one direction or the other. That was not his place. That was not his purpose.

The sigh that escaped the Man's lips was ragged, and his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of all Middle Earth was upon him.

"I know 'tis prideful, but our people have never shied away from a fight. To dig ourselves into a trench...that would feel too much like desperation. And, each time the Orcs returned, they would know exactly where to find us and how many more it would take to breach our defenses," he muttered running a hand through his hair. Once vibrant and full of color, the strands were flecked with gray. The Elf lord was reminded quite starkly of how much of a toll time took upon the mortals. A pang of sorrow twisted through his heart. After over six thousand years of life, he was well aware that death was a natural part of life for those species who were irrevocably tied to mortality, but his heart ached no less for his friend's eventual fate. "If we keep moving, though, they still manage to find us. Each attack grows in strength. Every time, more and more of my people fall upon enemy blades."

Elrond nodded his head with sympathy and understanding.

"Have your people offered any suggestions about what you might do?"

The Man stood abruptly and began pacing.

"Mekor put forth the idea of joining with a stationary settlement - just until the hoards are cleared, you understand," he said, but he shook his head. "I did not tell him, but the last time we were near several of the major cities, I...scouted ahead. I spoke with their leaders, explained our situation."

"And?"

"And, they all said the same thing: 'I cannot in good conscience allow you to draw such large numbers of orcs to our gates.' The difference is that they at least have gates behind which they can defend themselves," the Man paused near the window overlooking the valley. "And you know why I cannot go to the Rangers."

The Lord of Imladris drew in a deep breath and stood, making his way to his friend's side and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Is there any help that I could offer which you would accept, mellon?" His question was quiet and probing, yet free of judgment. Elrond knew well the pride of Men and their desire to act as independently as possible. That would not, however, stop him from helping where he could. He would even go so far as to bring these mortals into Rivendell to stay. It was, after all, a refuge for just such an occasion.

After a long moment of consideration, the Man cleared his throat and lifted his chin as if to preserve his dignity.

"Our swords are old. Chipped and cracking. Several shattered during the last skirmish. And our supply of arrows and bow strings is...woeful. The few who were skilled at replenishing both were killed two months ago."

"I'll have Lindir draw up a list of supplies. No matter how small your need is, please tell him everything. We are more than happy to give you whatever help you require," Elrond said, and he could have sworn that the Human's eyes were filling with unshed tears of gratitude. Neither Man nor Ellon mentioned it. Trying to restore his friend's smile, at least to a small degree, the Elf lord changed the subject. "Tell me, how is your daughter faring through all of this?"

The grin that stretched the Man's lips was warm; the love he held for his only child shone brightly in his eyes, restoring some semblance of youth to his weathered features.

"She believes that this is all one big adventure. Though she be only a few years old, she is curious...asking more questions than I rightly know how to answer," he stated proudly. "She has her mother's intellect, and I am glad of it. I am no teacher, but I've managed to convey to her the meaning of a few words of your language."

Surprise was surely evident upon Elrond's face at his friend's declaration.

"Mellon-nin, I am honored."

"She'll need to be able to communicate with your people once she discovers what she is." The Human reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book, flipping it open and retrieving a loose piece of paper. "My late wife, as you know, was the artist of the family, however..."

He trailed off as he offered the page to his host. Elrond took it carefully, looking at the sketch of a little girl.

"Your daughter?" He asked almost reverently as he took in her joyful expression. Even in this simple drawing he could see the intelligence behind her eyes. After a few moments' keen observation, he tried to hand the drawing back to the Man who'd created it but was gently refused.

"Keep it. I brought you that, my dear friend, because if something happens to me...I want you to be familiar with her likeness. It will likely be vastly outdated by the time you meet her, but 'tis better than nothing." The somber tone of voice made Lord Elrond pause. "She is more important to me than all of Middle Earth, and if...if the Orcs take me from her, I must know that someone in this world knows to look out for her..."

Setting the sketch on his desk, the Elf placed his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Should either of you ever need help, I will be there. She will have every protection that I can possibly afford her," he promised.

"There is...something else," the Man murmured looking into his friend's eyes. "It could be no more than an old man's imagination, but things have happened around her. Small things. Rain repelled from her as if it cannot touch her. Ripples in a pond by which she sits, though no breeze caressed the water's surface."

Elrond's posture straightened further at this new information. He knew that the blood of Númenor was thin in most, but if this was true, his friend's daughter might have a rare gift.

"Have no fear, mellon-nin. Your daughter will find her path, and if I can, I will gladly help her."

By the time of the Man's departure from Rivendell, Elrond had prepared a gift. With the weapons and extra supplies that he presented, the Lord of Imladris had one other item to offer. Opening a small, wooden box carved with Sindarin script, he revealed a silver necklace. The craftsmanship of his people was evident in the intricate curls and swirls of the metal. In the center was a forest green gem that, to the Man, seemed to glow with its own light.

"This is for your daughter. The pendant is a symbol of our protection - proof that she has favor with us. All she ever need do is show this to any Elf, and they will do whatever is necessary to assist her. If none of my people are near, she need only touch it and ask for help," Lord Elrond promised, and as if the gem could hear him, it pulsed with a warm, affectionate glow. The girl's father looked from the necklace to his friend, and this time a tear slid down his cheek as he offered his profuse gratitude. "I would be remiss to do anything less, mellon-nin."

After tucking the box safely away in his saddlebag, the Man embraced his friend. Neither knew that it would be for the last time.

"If you find yourself in danger, seek the elves of Rivendell."

My father repeated that to me more times than I could count as soon as I was old enough to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Our people were nomadic, constantly moving from place to place, setting up camp wherever we found ourselves. Every time we stopped, he made sure that I knew two things:

The first was the location of the nearest source of water.

The second was the way to Rivendell from our temporary encampment.

Long before I was brought into this world, my father ensured that we were on friendly terms with the steward of the valley. Each time we were even remotely close to Imladris, he made a point of speaking with the Elven lord.

Once, when I asked what Lord Elrond looked like, he brought out a small box of my mother's sketches. Rifling through them, he made a triumphant sound when he found the one he sought. Setting the box carefully aside on his bedroll, he had me sit beside him and turned the page toward me.

"The last time your mother and I visited, she made a point of drawing him. You must remember his face, my little love. One day you might need to request his help as I have done."

Much of the time, our wandering took us far from that sacred valley and the river that flowed before it. The final time that my father was able to visit, he brought back a gift. A necklace.

But it wasn't just a necklace. There was something about it that sent a wave of calm assurance through me. A sense of safety permeated my being every time I touched it. The cool metal seemed impervious to the elements, never rusting or tarnishing, as only the skill of the elves could accomplish. More than once over the years, I found myself looking at the pendant, wondering about the being who'd given me something so obviously unique on a whim.

Two decades and a handful of years later, I found myself sprinting through the trees with half of our remaining people. We were twelve desperate souls, flying through the underbrush with a hoard of Orcs behind us. Every few steps, I aimed an arrow behind me and prayed that it hit its mark upon my release.

"Come on! We're almost to the river!" I shouted, and my father's second in command, Mekor, let out an answering shout as we approached the ford. The snarls of Orcs and their Wargs nipped at our heels, urging us to move faster.

As much as it hurt, I was forced to ignore a terrified shout as the pack swallowed up one of our tired stragglers. This was a last ditch effort. If we stopped, we'd die.

Eleven.

Struggling for breath, I urged my people toward the sound of the Bruinen River and its eastern shore. Arrows from our pursuers flew through the trees, embedding themselves deeply within trunks and flesh alike. A few screams began and were silenced abruptly.

How many was that? Two? Four? No, we could count our dead once we were safe. Any who fell behind at this point were beyond our ability to save. Fifty Orcs against less than a dozen Humans? We would be lucky if any of our number survived the crossing.

Aiming another arrow backward, I allowed myself a moment's relief at the injured shriek of a Warg and the sickening crunch of its rider's bones as both crashed to the ground. Adrenaline rushed through me as the treeline appeared before us. The grass beneath our feet became a mix of pebbles and sand, rocks and mud.

"Quickly! Cross the river! Make for the eastern shore!" I shouted, and a few of the remaining people in our group echoed the sentiment. Two were cut down before they cleared the trees, their gurgling cries sending a bolt of helplessness through me even as I nocked and released arrows to buy time and space for my people. A few splashes reached my ears, and I prayed they'd make for the trees.

A yell of my name sounded from behind me.

"Come on! Get clear!" Mekor sounded much closer than I would've preferred. I needed him to live.

There were too many of them for me to hold off alone, so I turned and ran, beginning to cross the ford as quickly as I could. The pendant beneath my shirt thrummed against my skin, and an arrow whizzed by my ear so close that I could feel the displaced air from its fletching. That was too close for comfort. Much too close.

For the most part, the Orcs were afraid to cross into this territory. The Elves defended their land fiercely against such filth, after all, and very few of the cretins were stupid enough to seal their fate so definitively. However, a few who were brave enough - or perhaps foolish enough - to risk death started into the water after me. Not yet having reached the shore, I turned, grasping for arrows, but my quiver was empty. With a quiet oath, I turned and ran toward the trees. My boots were drenched, my lungs ached, and I blinked away sorrowful tears at having lost so many souls so quickly.

With a forest as ancient as this, the trees were rumored to whisper to each other and to those who remembered how to listen. The Elves listened.

Lord Elrond listened.

"Get to the trees!" I shouted, then I dug my hand into my shirt and grabbed the pendant. "Help us! Please! We're dying!"

The few brave Orcs who made it across and had not been shot down instantly apparently lent courage to their fellows. The Warg riders began to cross the racing waters, and I felt a horrible sense of dread settle into the pit of my stomach. The sight of boots disappearing into the trees was all well and good, but the Orcs would follow.

Someone had to make sure that they were distracted.

I had but one shot.

About an hour before he and his soldiers engaged the Orc hoard, Lord Elrond of Imladris had a vision. His gift of foresight showed a group of terrified Humans racing across the Bruinen with countless Orcs behind them. He was about to send out his guard, but the face of the young woman fighting so hard to protect the others made him pause.

He knew her face. She was older now - quite obviously an adult - but he still recognized the intelligence in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw.

More than that, the sparkle of the pendant that had escaped the collar of her shirt made him freeze. Icy dread washed over him as the vision changed to show her fleeing toward the trees. Her voice floated into his ears as easily as if she'd been standing right beside him.

"Help us! Please! We're dying!"

Elrond did not hesitate.

"Lindir!" He shouted as he began donning his armor. The younger Elf rushed into his lord's study. "Lindir, have my horse saddled. And ready a group of fighters. Hurry! Orcs are coming!"

When Elrond and his warriors caught sight of the group, the Orcs and Warg riders had just begun crossing the river. The glimpse he'd caught an hour before of her hair swishing over her shoulder as she fought repeated itself before his eyes, including her plea for help which now sounded as it should - like a whisper echoing through his very being, drawing him toward her. As he watched, she doubled back on her path, rushing back into the water.

She was trying to draw the focus of the Orcs away from her people - there weren't many Humans left. He urged his horse faster, his heart a racing drumbeat in his chest accompanying the galloping of his mount. He would not allow his friend's daughter to die within his borders while these lands were his to protect!

He'd just drawn his sword when the river's water began to whirl around her. Creating a wall between the Orcs and the remaining Humans, the water roared and flared with a shout from the woman. She lifted her arms, shoved them forward as if pushing a heavy weight, and the wall of water crashed over the majority of her enemies, washing them away as easily as pebbles in a current.

Magic. She'd performed magic! Her father had been right all those years ago.

But it was not the time to ponder her abilities. The time had come for him to fulfill his promise.

She'd bought just enough time for Elrond and his riders to reach the Orcs and cut down those who remained. Blades hissing and flashing, the Elves felled them easily.

By the time he turned back to the river, he saw her collapse onto the sandy bank, panting for air. He recognized the sight instantly: she'd overextended herself. Dismounting with a swish of his cloak, Elrond ran to her side, dropping to his knees and sheathing his blade before turning her gently onto her back.

Her glassy, exhausted gaze met his, and recognition flashed through her clever eyes.

"Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn." The words fell easily from her tongue despite how close she was to unconsciousness. She'd practiced them before.

"You have it, my lady," Elrond murmured, and almost as soon as the words passed his lips, her eyelids closed and she went limp in his grasp. He lifted her into his arms, cradled her close to his chest for one selfish moment, and with a few orders to his men to round up any survivors, the Elves brought their charges into the Hidden Valley.

~*~

Elvish Translations:

mellon-nin = my friend

Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn. = Elrond of Imladris, we need your protection.

#elronds-meleth-nin fic #Elrond x Reader #slow burn

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shikai-the-storyteller · 1 year ago

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Routeriver's selkie Hideduo drawing reminded me of the old Hideduo + Tazercraft Mermaid / Nautical AU I started writing wayyyy back in October, so I dug up my old notes because I was feeling nostalgic.

I've moved on to other fics since then, but I really like the portion I did end up writing, so here's the opening scene along with some extra notes I made when I first came up with the idea.

—

One of the most common misconceptions about merfolk was that they'd die without water.

The other was that they only lived in the ocean.

Pac didn’t always live in the ocean; he grew up in a freshwater river with a large estuary at its mouth. There were plenty of fish to catch and more than enough space for him to swim freely without fear of the dangers that normally roamed deeper waters. It was only when Pac got older that he ventured out to sea and began traveling – which is how he wound up meeting his best friend.

According to Mike, a common misconception about selkies was that they could swim with or without their pelt. Mike said it might be true for others, but not for him. When he was younger, he almost never used his human form, so trying to swim without his pelt made him panic and claw at the water in a feeble attempt to keep from sinking like a rock. Thanks to many lessons from Pac, Mike was a strong swimmer in both forms now, but when Pac first met him, Mike was stranded alone on a remote beach. A handful of human boys were in the water jeering at Mike, and Pac felt a pang of sympathy and anger as he saw them waving a seal pelt just out of Mike's reach. Every time he tried to wade out to them, they'd move into deeper water, and Mike would have to scramble back to avoid getting pulled in by the current. Only when Pac swam underneath the boys and grabbed one by his ankle did they let go of the pelt, shrieking about sharks as they swam to shore as fast as they could.

He and Mike were best friends ever since, and not a day passed that Pac didn't have Mike by his side.

Except for today.

Even after being trapped with him for so long, Pac still didn’t know what kind of creature Cell was. Cell once told Pac he could smell blood in the water a mile away, and his night vision far surpassed either of theirs, allowing him to explore parts of the ocean neither of them dared to venture.

Both these thoughts were in Pac’s mind as he and Mike executed their escape plan and trapped Cell in the winding underwater caves of a cenote. Pac didn’t know what Cell was, but he knew that Cells’ claws were sharp and his teeth were even sharper. Half of Pac's fins were shredded to ribbons mid-escape while he tried to buy Mike time. That alone might've been a death sentence, but Pac's tail was the real problem.

The water around them was quickly being dyed a murky brown from the deep long gashes Cell left behind on Pac. Every movement only made the pain worse, and the water was getting so dark with his blood Pac could hardly see, let alone swim.

Here's the other thing most people don't know about merfolk: they're mammals.

Without air, they die.

The only reason Pac didn't drown was because of Mike. Mike was a faster swimmer than Pac in his seal form, and he could’ve – should’ve – escaped when Cell caught up to them, but he stayed. Mike did his best to help, encouraging Pac to lean against him as he inched them towards the surface, but Pac could barely keep his head above the water even when they reached it. Mike was a powerful swimmer, but he wasn't strong enough to carry Pac for long, and they were a long way from shore.

—

I know it's bad manners to end on a cliffhanger, but unfortunately this is all I wrote at the time! :'D I do have notes about what I wanted to happen next however, and notes about the rest of the cast.

After this scene, I planned to switch to Fit's POV. I imagined Fit as some kind of fisherman, and Ramon was his assistant (and adopted son) who wanted to become an engineer / inventor. They'd be out on the water hoping to catch some fish, and all of a sudden a harbor seal would flop into their boat. They'd laugh it off and assume it was after their fish, then Ramon would notice something was caught in their net, and they'd find a very injured and still bleeding Pac, who grabbed onto it to keep himself from sinking / drowning.

I do have a small piece from Fit's POV regarding the injury:

Fit was familiar with treating basic injuries, especially thanks to his time in the war. He knew how to do stitches, which came in handy back in the day when he had to tend to his own gaping wounds, and was still handy whenever Ramon came to him with holes in his clothes. Experience and quick-thinking was the reason Fit was still alive today, but the person – or whatever it was – bleeding out on the wet dirty floor of his boat was way outside his area of expertise. How can we help? Ramon signed to him. His eyes were wide with concern, but he didn't look afraid. No matter what happened, Ramon trusted him to know what to do, and he'd be damned if he let his son down now.

The story mostly fell apart after that because I had too many ideas for where I wanted to take it. I wanted to make Pac and Mike some kind of water-creature from Brazilian folklore since Selkies are from a very different region's mythology (wasn't too concerned about the mermaid bit though), but I also wanted to make sure I wasn't wading into any weird territory with that. (Before moving on to other projects, I was doing a lot of research on the lara myth, and similar "lady of the lake" stories.)

Another route I considered was making Fit a "merman" too, or reverse things entirely and have Tazercraft be human. I imagined 2B2T as a deep ocean battleground, which Fit only leaves after losing his arm in a battle. Pac and Mike find him washed up on the beach, and they take him to their lab, where Fit wakes up and nearly bites Mike's arm off.

Other aspects of the story I wound up incorporating into different projects, so you might see those in future fics (which I'll hopefully finish someday).

Even though this is an unfinished story, I hope you enjoy the concept! I sure do.

#QSMP #Tazercraft #Pac #Mike #qsmp talk #fic talk #I didn't edit this much so if it's not too polished that's why #<- I definitely did make a few tweaks though #I'm incapable of posting rough drafts. I'm trying to change that

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monabela · 11 days ago

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another first kiss outsider pov fic! you know, I don't think I've written prumano since, like, 2012. pretty sure they were one of my first solid Hetalia ships!

belong

pairings/characters: Prussia/Romano, Germany

word count: 721

summary:

Germany is in search of Romano, and finds something unexpected.

2001

There is an empty chair at the meeting table. Since they can’t discuss Italy’s plans when only half of Italy is present, Germany sacrifices himself to go in search of Romano. He can hardly get more hated by him, anyway.

After not spotting him in the hotel lobby, Germany goes and knocks on South Italy’s door, but gets no reply. If he was in, he reasons, he’d certainly answer if just to do some yelling, so what else? The restaurant, perhaps. He checks. No Romano.

Popping his head back into the meeting hall just in case, Germany finds that he hasn’t arrived in the meantime. He starts climbing the stairs, thinking Romano might be hiding in the stairwell? But no.

However, at the top of the stairs, there is a door that says ‘staff only’ and is slightly ajar. In the interest of checking all avenues, Germany pushes the door open and finds himself on the roof of the hotel. It’s windy up here, but sunny and quiet. He listens more carefully. No, not quiet. He can hear a voice, too far away to make out the words, but it certainly sounds like Romano. Just as he is about to step around the stairwell, Germany recognizes that there is another voice, and thinks, Oh no, there should have been two empty chairs.

They forgot about Prussia. Again.

Taking a deep breath, Germany walks up to the corner of the stairwell and looks around it.

Romano and Prussia are sat, not quite on the edge of the roof but on a ledge a bit away from it, their backs to the stairs. They sit close together, bent towards each other, Romano with one leg folded underneath the other and gesticulating wildly as he speaks, Prussia watching him with a wry smile. They are both wearing suits, as though they got ready for the meeting and then just… Ended up on the roof. Germany would love to know how that happened. Are they friends? Why does he not know?

He really should get them both to come down.

Just as he wants to step forward and clear his throat to get their attention, Germany sees Prussia shake his head, in response to which Romano gestures emphatically—more emphatically than usual—and grasps his lapels with both hands. This visibly startles Prussia, and Germany curiously watches his brother touch one of Romano’s hands, turning more towards him on the ledge.

The wind carries some of Romano’s words over, most notably, “No, you fucking idiot,” in French, no less, and Germany bristles on behalf of his brother, but then—then Romano leans forward and kisses Prussia, without any anger behind it, just a softness Germany would never have expected from him.

And he thinks, oh, more than friends, even, but then his gaze catches on the way Prussia freezes for just a moment before he responds, curling his fingers around Romano’s wrist tentatively and leaning his whole body into him as his eyes close. Germany realizes with a shock that this must be new, brand new, and suddenly feels like an intruder. He takes a step back.

Which, of course, makes his foot smash into a vent with a loud clang.

Prussia and Romano startle. Look over at him. Germany holds both hands up apologetically, though Romano’s expression has already turned murderous.

“What the fuck do you want?” he shouts, no longer in French but Italian, letting go of Prussia to gesture. With only one hand though, Germany notes, the other still curled into his lapel.

“I’m—there’s a meeting,” he says. “It was supposed to start thirty minutes ago, but we’re missing half of two countries.”

Prussia looks over at him, then, and smiles. He touches Romano’s hand and says something to him that gets lost to the wind but makes his face soften in a way Germany has never seen.

“Fine!” Romano shouts.

They’re both coming over, then, and Romano is pointing a threatening finger at Germany without a word as he stalks past to the stairs. Prussia shrugs when Germany looks at him, though he’s smiling as well while he smooths out a crease in his lapel.

“Better day than I expected, West,” he just says, and hurries after Romano.

Alright. Germany supposes that, in the end, that is the best anyone can ask for.

#hetalia #w: 1000 #prumano #aph south italy #aph prussia #aph germany #fin #u: canon #s: kiss #before I shipped prumano I remember shipping pru and france pretty heavily for a while #that pairing is surprisingly rare!#the good old days. I even wrote gerita once

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ramyeonguksu · 4 months ago

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For the NPC ask game: Alphinaud!

Wrote a little ficlet from Alphinaud's POV for Post-ARR/Heavensward! Read under cut!

Note: Rifra will be referred to as Seren (her alias from ARR-SHB) for this fic.

The freezing cold of Coerthas wasn't something Alphinaud was accustomed to, and having to essentially be forced to trek through the ilms of snow made the little elezen shiver in his boots. It was all bleak; everything that he had strived for with the Crystal Braves was taken away from him, a mutiny against him planned right under his nose. He was humbled, to say the least, and for once he because acutely aware of his childish naivete that came with his young age. Which each step he thought of the Scions that placed their trust in him, that was starting to become a new family for him, left behind at the mercy of his own army and the Brass Blades.

At least the Warrior of Light Seren and Tataru were with him, and Lord Haurchefant's bottomless generosity was able to grant them refuge in the reclusive nation of Ishgard, yet what was he supposed to do at this point? Even if he wanted to clear their names at Ul'dah. what could he even do to achieve that? Being the top of the Studium students wasn't going to cut it anymore, and he no longer had his twin sister Alisaie with him.

Just where was she anyway? She had helped them, sending Brennan the peddler with a chocobo carriage to take them away from Ul'dah, but where was Alphinaud's other half when he needed her the most?

The elezen tripped as his mind wandered, landing face first into the stone floor. Hearing him fall, Seren immediately rushed to his side.

"Are you alright there?" The viera asked, helping him sit up and dust off the snow. It was a wonder how she was able to withstand the cold, dressed somewhat lighter than what one would expect in a frigid climate, but someone like her who grew up in the freezing mountain ranges would have no problem with the temperature.

"I'm…" Alphinaud muttered, hesitation in his voice. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Make sure you don't get too distracted, Alphinaud!" Tataru warned him as she slowly approached him, fighting against the strong winds. "I'm already having a hard time getting through here, can't afford to have you struggle as well!"

Alphinaud didn't respond, the feeling of incompetence that was growing in him increasing exponentially.

Seren immediately took notice and crouched in front of him with her back towards him. "Climb on."

The boy refused. "N-no, I can keep going."

"You're exhausted, Alphinaud," Seren curtly responded. "A lot has happened today, and you need to rest. I'll carry you until we make it to a shelter in Ishgard."

Her head turned to face him, a reassuring smile on her lips. "Besides, I'm used to carrying my little sister home all the time."

Alphinaud pursed his lips together, his heart twisting as what remained of his ego fought to refuse her offer. However, today was not the time to try and preserve such, and he allowed himself to climb on her back before continuing across the Steps of Faith.

As he rested against her back, the boy reflected upon his experiences from the past several moons. Riding the same boat to Limsa Lominsa as Seren before getting to know her, separating from Alisaie over differences before finding her once more at the Coils of Bahamut, joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, forming the Crystal Braves… A lot, too much, had truly happened for a sixteen-summers-old child.

Alphinaud laid his head against Seren's shoulder, basking in her warmth as the cold winds blew against the three of them. When was the last time was he carried like this by anyone? His father Fourchenault began to drown in his work, and he was now too heavy for his mother Ameliance to hold him on her back like this. Without him realizing, Seren had practically become an older-sibling figure that he never had, a long-lost family member that he was supposed to have known all his life. Someone he could turn to for advice. Someone he could lean on for support...

Finding comfort in her presence, warmth against the freezing winds that threatened to stop them, Alphinaud drifted off to sleep.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #alphinaud leveilleur #rifra vestnir #ffxiv fanfiction #ramyeon writes #gpose #a realm reborn #i hold alphinaud so gently #i love him so much i love how he developed over the course of the game #poor child certainly went through some SHIT #johnnylandslide #rifra lore

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ourfatherwhoartinhell · 7 months ago

Text

"In the night, I am real..." // [Part I]

Pairing | Alpha x reader

Word count | 1.8k

Warnings | Ghouls sent back to the Pit, ritual gone wrong, rite here rite now spoilers, canon divergence, f!reader - no y/n

Chapter Summary: You decide to see if the "silly book" you found is more than it seems. Heartbroken, you follow the ancient book's instructions to perform a ritual, hoping to bring Alpha back on your own. However things don't quite go according to plan.

A/N: The biggest S/O to @sister-nyx for giving me the confidence to post this, for proofreading and for all your help along the way 🖤 This is my very first Ghost/ghoul fic! I'm new to writing, but I had this idea and had to roll with it. One chapter will be released every day at 10am EST.

I hope you enjoy!!

[Next]

To any other member of the Ministry, today was just a normal Tuesday. Nothing grand or exciting was happening. No special visitors, no spontaneous events. Even the members of the band got the day off from practice on Tuesdays. Copia had a well known dislike for this particular day of the week, ‘Why can’t every day be Friday? I like Friday’s much better, don’t you?’ he always said.

It was just quiet. Simply, quiet. The midday sun was peeking through the break in the clouds that donned the blue, late summer sky. The rays shining down on the Ministry, engulfing the structure and its grounds like a warm hug. The sisters were excitedly finishing up with their daily chores before making their way outside to enjoy the shortened workday, and the nice summer breeze. Even some of the Ghouls and Ghoulettes left the den to partake in their shenanigans outside instead. The Sisters were so delighted when Copia introduced this new schedule. While it may seem a bit unconventional, this was anything but a conventional convent.

For one Sibling however, it was just a normal Tuesday. You quietly finished up your chores in the library, returning borrowed books of all sorts back to their correct shelves. Making your way through the towering bookcases as you expertly place books titled, ‘How to Care for Worms’ and ‘Maintaining Nutrient Rich Soils’ back into their rightful place as part of the gardening section. Normally the Sisters in the gardening club take care of the grounds. However these books in particular, you knew, had a different audience.

“Swiss must’ve finally asked Mountain if he would still love him as a worm. Oh Swiss, you’re in great hands. Don’t you worry,” softly chuckling to yourself.

You made your way around the large library. Putting away books about the ‘Pop Music Explosion of the 2000s’ (that was probably Copia), ‘Majestic Rivers of the World’ (you wondered if Rain is feeling okay with all this sunny weather), and ‘Silly Sentences: Handwriting Workbook’ (now you knew where Phantom came up with all those random words).

You paused once you reached the last book in the pile. This book was a very strange one indeed.

You didn’t seem to remember ever seeing this one before. It was quite large and heavy. The cover was expertly bound in black leather, adorned with once bright gold symbols. You estimated it to have been at least 100 years old. There was a large latch on the side with a hole, showcasing where a lock would have been.

“What harm ever came from reading a book?”

Ultimately curious, you flipped back the latch and opened it. You didn’t know what you were expecting, a large spooky gust of wind perhaps? Unfortunately nothing of the sort happened. As you flipped back the front cover, the pages inside looked like metal the way they reflected the sunlight that shone through the large stained glass windows. It was almost like they were coated in gold. Yet they were quite worn and tarnished on the edges, proudly showcasing where the previous owners had often flipped through its pages. In their prime, you thought, this would have been beautiful.

The ancient Latin that covered the glistening pages was not printed like most books of the modern age, but written by hand. There must have been over 1000 pages, all meticulously created by some unknown author. As you flipped through, you found every single page covered in a seemingly everlasting black ink that had not begun to fade in the slightest.

Let it be said that you were not overly fond of your Ancient Latin classes. Often opting to ignore the day's teachings, doodling in your workbook instead. You grabbed the strange book from the cart and sat along the back wall of the empty library, slowly deciphering what the author wanted to so desperately preserve.

After about 3.5 hours of (quite roughly) translating a whopping 4 pages of text, you concluded that this book was at its core, about death. More accurately, it spoke about the process of bringing people back.

That night as you laid in bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you read in that strange book. You wondered if it was something that Swiss ordered. Using the incantations to scare Phantom by pretending to summon the Hat Man. Or if the tellings in it really were true. Was it actually possible to bring people back from the dead?

For many years now, you have been a bit lost. You put on a strong front for the Clergy and forced convincing smiles, but anyone who knew you, knew you just weren't the same as when you first arrived at the Ministry.

You used to jump at the chance to help Alpha and Omega with cleaning up the practice room after rehearsal. Or running to get guitar strings when they broke. You would help Zephyr with his back pain, and even sometimes help Earth practice his eye makeup. When Terzo took over shortly after you got settled, he helped you cope and understand your parental trauma. He became like a father to you. No one knew what was coming though. No one except for Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator.

It was a shock for everyone when they all disappeared. But for you, it was like your entire world collapsed. The Ghouls that helped you have fun, the Papa that proved to you that you wouldn’t have to be scared anymore - all gone. It was devastating.

It took about 3 months before you would allow anyone to speak with you outside of the Siblings you worked with. Copia was always so nice, you felt guilty for purposely avoiding him. The two of you had some pretty good times during his previous role as a Cardinal. You just couldn’t stand to call anyone else Papa, that was reserved for Terzo.

When the new band first started rehearsing in the practice room, you happened to be walking by. Hearing the iconic riffs and melodies, you excitedly skipped towards the door, looking through the window. Only to find absolutely no one you recognized. All these Ghouls were new.

You didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. This was Terzo’s space. This was Alpha and Omega’s space. What you didn’t notice, as you walked away in tears, was that there were still a few of your Ghouls left. Aether and Dewdrop were still here. While you never really hung out with Dewdrop all that much, you ran into Aether in the infirmary a couple weeks later, and everything just boiled to the surface.

“Hi.” Aether said softly, with a sympathetic smile. “Copia noticed you weren’t doing so great, so he asked me to check in on you. He thought a familiar face might be easier.”

All you could do was just stand there and stare at the Ghoul, expressionless and in silence.

“I’m really sorr–”

“Why are you here?” You spoke in an audible whisper.

Aether blinked and stood there, stunned. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here?” You spoke, with a bit more conviction.

I don’t think either of you expected such hostility. Aether thought it would be best if he talked to you instead of one of the new Ghouls. It was actually his idea. He knew you were hurting, and you had been hurting for a long time. He just wanted to help - but what did he miss?

Aether started second guessing whether getting Rain or Mountain to chat with you would’ve actually been a better course of action. He gazed down at you, at his friend who looked at him like he was the sole reason a part of you died that day.

You were shocked at yourself. Shocked at the pure anger you were expressing towards him. You didn’t really understand where it was coming from, but it was taking over every logical thought you had in that moment. Apart from just now, you thought Aether had been sent back to the pit with everyone else. You thought that you lost him too, but here he is. Standing in front of you after all this time.

“I don’t understand,” Aether pleaded softly.

“Why are you here?”

And then the floodgates opened.

“I mean, why is it you that’s still here? What made you sooo special that Copia decided to keep you? I thought you were DEAD, Aether. I thought I had no one left. That Sister and Nihil wiped the slate clean for her new prize pony, Copia, and his new Ghoul entourage. I’ve been suffering by myself for months!”

The tears started to well up in your eyes as you composed yourself and continued.

“I actually walked by the practice room the other day. I heard the songs they used to play and I thought, ‘they’re back!’. But when I looked through that window, all I saw was a bunch of Ghouls pretending to be you. Pretending to be him.”

Aether knew you had a close connection with Terzo, and seeing Copia in his place must have been really hard for you. When he first stepped in to replace Omega, he could feel how sad you were about the change. But it was different then.

When Aether and Ifrit stepped in, it wasn’t like Alpha and Omega just vanished. They were still around to help the new Ghouls learn the songs, and give tips on stage presence (although Ifrit quickly navigated that aspect of the job). The two Ghouls were just taking a break from touring for a little while. It was physically and mentally demanding, and they weren’t the youngest kits on the block by any means.

However Aether knew that Terzo wasn’t who you were referring to.

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke. “I really am. I’m sorry that it’s me and not Alpha who got to stay.”

The Ghoul knew better than to say any more after that. He was often at the receiving end of your late night chats. You would come by to tell him about how you thought Alpha was ignoring you because he hated you. When in reality, the poor fire Ghoul was just scared of this new emotion he was experiencing called ‘caring’.

A mention of his name was all it took before you sank to your knees and wept, while Aether just stood there and watched. Not out of indifference, but out of sympathy. He knew you had bottled this up for so long, pretended like everything was fine. He was simply allowing you to release the pressure that was eating at you from the inside out.

Aether slowly walked the few steps over to where you knelt on the ground. Sitting beside you, he ran a cautious hand down your back.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “Aether, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m still going to be here for you, even if you hate me.”

[Next]

#the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #ghost ghouls #ghost band fic #nameless ghoul fic #alpha ghoul #alpha ghoul fic #alpha x reader #alpha ghoul x reader

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