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ladyarrowhead · 8 months

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The poetics of the Vlad the Younger vs Vlad the Older in so far the Haruspex and Bachelor Route are just keeping me up, and Vlad the Younger being a possible adherent, supposedly only removed for the sake of not accidentally auto-game-over as the Bachelor just adds to how interesting this choice is to me. Lots of musings below this, I do not know where I am going with this

Additionally, "Panacea Blackmarket" ALSO takes place on this day in which Vlad the Younger is linked to it, something that Daniil first detests ("The man won't let a single penny past his purse! It occurs to me that he is no better than Bad Grief), with a hint of Dankovsky-typical "wait maybe the worms framed Vlad for this, let me check"). The Bachelor is only to change his opinion once he finds out that Vlad is now trying to "make amends" by distributing the panacea to the people he had doomed (Yes, people do change a lot. Before, I was convinced that this man was beyond salvation. I thought that nothing less than death could make the leopard change its spots. But I see a new man before me now. His former self has died; but not before he gave the entirety of his panacea stock to Mark Immortell.)

"Subterrarean Rot", to me becomes interesting because Daniil very much likes to align himself with the truth and slowly and surely has been shown and expected to lie tooth and nail to protect himself. Finding our who is behind the Termitary's state, Daniil is originally to decide who to deliver to Taya, but his journal entry is SO interesting about this:

The whole thing proved to be a trivial affair, but no less terrifying for it. When Isidor informed the Olgimskys of the impending outbreak, it was the younger who did what the elder did not dare to. But as the consequences became known, it was the father who shielded his son from the ramifications. A double deceit. This being known, I am in a strong position to speak with the Olgimskys.

I remember my jaw dropping at this when I found out Vlad the Younger, who had seemed so reasonable, had been the one to lock up the Termitary, but Daniil describes him as doing "what the elder did not dare to." Calling Vlad the Younger out, he is more than ready to carry the consequences, while Vlad the Older decides he will take the blame for his heir. When Taya asks Daniil to bring him "who is responsible for it", he (and the game's writing in so far), identify Young Vlad for it.

So how would Daniil decide then when this is how it comes about? When the man is showing so much change? Well, he can take a third option and just not decide - he brings Taya her toybull instead.

And oh goodness? The potential conflict of "the truth is my shepherd" seeing a person who makes an effort to change (if genuine or not that, like so many things, another question) to deliver someone? The choice to take a third option because, in the end, what does this matter if there is a town to save?

It just says so much about what could be Daniil's priorities. It's fun! And then we have Artemy...

"A Son Will Not Be Punished For His Father's Sins" is already named in a very interesting matter - and it immediately calls back to the Haruspex's own position as a "son". This takes place on the day Artemy claims his inheritance in front of Foreman Oyun - it is the day where, unlike the Bachelor, Artemy himself CANNOT avoid making this decision - one of the Olgimsky men needs to die.

There are two fun layers to this - on the one hand it is learning that Taya does not directly care who of the guys she is getting (something I think she also mentions to the Bachelor but I cannot check right now) and learning more about the polcies of the families in the Steppe. Artemy learns it is common among the merchant families that one sacrifices himself to protect the heir at all costs - and that what matters is that someone is punished for a crime that is committed.

Artemy's journal entries for the quest are very interesting leading into this:

So, Vlad the Heavy surrendered himself to Tycheek's daughter? It's clear enough that he isn't the real culprit… I only have to decide if I should tell her the truth. I wonder how that story ends…

Once again, Day 8 offers another quest from Vlad the Younger, because we are all about parallels. This time it is "Below the Ground" where Artemy is asked to retrieve the book detailing the kin's history from the tunnels which may or may not have been a setup given that the tunnels are closed directly once Artemy has entered them . While the book itself is not succesful, it makes Artemy wonder about the parallels between him and Vlad as Vlad himself is also apparently trying to unearth something - though he speaks of him with much more distance (So, Vlad the Younger has managed to reach beneath the ground as well. Is he trying to emulate what I am doing? He has found life down below, just like I have. [...]The ancient wisdom of the Kin was concealed there, locked away until the moment I unearthed it. I'm almost amused by the coincidence.)

Surrendering Vlad the Younger to his death to Taya in also, wonderfully, framed as Artemy taking his place among the kin:

Yes. Let Vlad the Younger die. Whoever makes a decision will be held responsible for it. With every passing day, I feel that the life of the Kin is my own life. I must protect it and avenge its suffering. Whatever fate had in store for these few thousand people, Vlad the Younger is directly responsible for their death.

No. Let Big Vlad die. I should inform Georgiy of my decision. I wouldn't describe Vlad the Heavy as a sentimental man. If he chose to die, he must have had good reason to. Or could it be that he thinks he deserves the punishment?

Surrendering Vlad to Taya matches with Artemy taking his own place - and Vlad the Younger is thus not punished for his fahter's sins but his own, meanwhile Artemy is about to take his father's place and heritage, trying to finish what Isidor created.

An honourable mention goes to the entry as to letting Taya kill Vlad the Older instead:

I am excited to find out more about this, if there is more - knowing this is Pathologic there is certainly more but it will not bring more clarity. But what is it for Artemy then, to be the one choosing it is time for the father to die and thus for Young Vlad to take on his heritage? It certainly is missing the poetry of the entry when choosing Vlad the Younger - but it makes it just as interesting.

#pathologic meta #pathologic #pathologic spoilers #vlad the younger #haruspex route #bachelor route #daniil dankovsky #artemy burakh #pathologic classic hd

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cowboycakes · 3 years

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The Strategy

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Synopsis: The forest was the last place you thought you'd find yourself infatuated with someone you barely knew - especially not your cocky prisoner.

Themes: angst, flirting, guilty love, big plot twist

Warnings: kissing and suggestive language, bullying / teasing, mentions of death, some anxious thinking, light alcohol and tobacco use, profanity. reader uses she/her pronouns. s4 spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

Anon (🐸)'s Request: Hi ! Can I request a Zeke x fem reader imagine/one-shot? Reader is a captain for the survey corp and long time veteran. She is really intelligent and is a strategist for the corp. They kind of hate each other but have a lot of chemistry but start bonding before the forest incident. Sorry if that isn't specific enough and too vague.

On occasion, you tended to be so logical that it ruined your life. There was no room in your mind for daydreams, love, or speculation. Fate was false - most things in life were completely arbitrary. That was the way you’d trained yourself to think. Not because you enjoyed it, only because it made it easier to survive.

This way of thinking is a result of your lifetime with the Corps. The award of a Captain’s position was the fruit of your labor, along with being revered for your ability to strategize. Many of the most important and most successful missions in recent years had been planned by you. But, the bubbling tension and division within the walls have thrown you for a loop. You’ve attempted to collaborate with Levi in recent weeks to try to pin down any conflict - anything you could do to calm the storm and keep your comrades safe would be worth it.

Instead of being able to act on whatever plans you’d developed, you’d been assigned to the most bizarre mission you’d ever taken part in: babysitting some man in his late twenties, all the way out in a forest filled with towering redwood trees. This mystery man was apparently not to be trusted, he was Eren’s half-brother from Marley and the holder of the beast titan. He’d done tremendous damage to the Corps in the past. His intentions and motives now remained mysterious, but one thing was for sure: his loyalties lied with Eren, not with the Scouts.

You were disappointed and terrified all together. Being so far away from the action left both you and your comrades vulnerable. But, Levi insisted you needed to confine this man far away from society. And although you were a captain, whatever Levi says usually goes.

The forest wasn’t so bad upon your arrival. Damp pine needles that covered the ground coated the air in a sweet aroma. The blanket of shade given off by the trees was temperate in the summer heat. The tents you’d been provided with were sturdy, insulated, and a dark shade of green that complimented the woodland setting. Above all, you were accompanied by 30 trained soldiers and a shipment of high-quality Marleyan wine.

The entirety of your first day in the forest was spent unpacking and setting up your living quarters. Stars now peak through the canopy of branches above, and a cold breeze ruffles the millions of leaves surrounding the camp. The air was chilly despite the heat that blazed earlier in the day.

The cot you’d assembled in your tent is comfortable enough, but the grey sheets you’d just stretched over the mattress still smell stale. You conjure up the idea of going for a walk while your blankets air out. The musty scent sure wasn’t going to lull you to sleep.

Your timid feet crunch on the ground through the forest for a while, away from the camp. The mist of your breath is tangible in front of your face - the light jacket you’d brought wasn’t going to be enough to keep your goosebumps at bay. It’s much more intimidating out here at night than you’d expected. Darkness brought mystery to the gaps between each tree. And the sheer amount of trees beyond the campsite is dizzying, their height is even more difficult to process. They add a sense of company to your walk, although you can’t tell if they are peaceful observers or prying sets of eyes.

It’s surprisingly quiet out here, no animal or human alike made noise at this hour. The silence leads you to pick up on the echo of a fire crackling somewhere. You’re suddenly a bit excited - you’d figured everyone would have gone to sleep by now.

You spot a comforting orange glow coming from the other side of the distant campsite, offset from the main groups of tents. Maybe someone else’s sheets needed time to breathe too.

The light grows brighter as you trek towards it. It leads you to a humble tent and a fire pit with two rusted metal chairs placed on either side of it. In one of the chairs sits a blonde man in a white shirt, with his back turned to you. He has his nose in a poorly bound book - its stitching is frayed and the pages look wilted, as if they’d been dropped in water before. A cigarette smolders in his free hand.

Your feet crunch into the ground a little harder as you approach in an attempt to avoid startling him. The man looks up to you once you’re finally facing each other. His face is foreign to you. Round glasses on his nose reflect a golden luster from the fire in front of him, blurring your view of his grey eyes slightly. Blonde waves are parted down the middle of his head, tousled a bit too perfectly. He has a well groomed beard that compliments his structured face and strong biceps that peak through his shirt sleeves.

He’s handsome, classy, alluring. Nothing like the usual around here.

“Hi, I’m Captain Reader,” you say with a small smile.

“Reader, huh?” he says, folding his book closed, “I think I’ve heard that name somehow…”

“Oh, possibly. I’m a long time captain. I do a lot of strategic work as well, and it's not exclusive to the Scouts. So my name tends to get around.”

“My name is Zeke,” he replies, returning the smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zeke… did that sound familiar? You couldn’t decide.

You take a seat in the other chair across from the fire, warming your hands once you get comfortable. The embers lit in front of you are only a sad little bundle of sticks, clearly in need of more fuel. Zeke rolls his shoulders back as his eyes focus in on your frame. His attention is definitely not on the book anymore. His body language almost tells you he likes what he sees - he’s open, relaxed, observant. The cigarette has gone a bit limp in between his fingers.

You’re guilty of curiosity too, as your eyes prod his figure. There must be something in the air.

“What’s that book about?” you question, “it looks… well loved.”

He chuckles. “It's a little fantasy piece, actually. Not something I’d usually find myself reading, but I’ve read it a hundred times now. It’s about a maiden who buys her way to heaven, and a prince who rescues her from the consequences.”

“Interesting…” you say, “how does someone buy their way to heaven?”

“With something far more valuable than money,” he explains. You wonder if the sultry undertone he added was all part of your imagination. It was a little grumbly, suggestive.

“And what would that be?”

“Not sure, still trying to figure that one out,” he remarks, bringing the cigarette up to his lips. Light from the fire gets trapped in the smoke and travels up through the dark air as he exhales.

“You’re gonna ruin your lungs if you keep doing that, Zeke,” you joke.

He chuckles again, “So she’s pretty and caring. Guess I’ve lucked out.”

You feel a little heat rush to your cheeks. This innocent, flattered, puppy-love feeling: you hadn’t felt this way in years. You really wish you could just brush it off, it wasn’t something you were used to. Instead, you let your mind wander for only a second - it would be a nice pastime to have a summer fling with someone in this forest. You were more than tempted. It would get your mind off of the impending doom you tended to feel in chaotic times like this. You could live a bit for once.

And the beautiful man in front of you could be the perfect candidate.

“Hmm, it’s convenient that you think so,” you reply, crossing your legs.

“Convenient? For you, or for me?” he questions. “Looking to get something out of your time in this forest, Captain?”

You pause. He’s bold. “Depends… what about you?”

Zeke lifts the book up slightly in his hand and flips it over to examine its withered back cover, “Not sure, maybe I’ll finally experience whatever this book is talking about. Something so desirable I could cheat my way into heaven with it.”

No. His tone wasn’t your imagination.

“I have a feeling you’ll end up being the prince that has to deal with someone else’s fuck-ups instead,” you laugh.

His lips curl back into a smile as he starts to laugh with you. “Doesn’t sound out of character,” he replies.

His pretty blonde hair ruffles a bit as the wind picks up. And shit - is that wind bitter. The miniscule fire wasn’t doing it’s best to warm you. You notice your limbs are shaking, too much for your jacket and hands to conceal. Zeke surely notices too, he’s been eyeing you this whole time after all.

“Here,” Zeke offers, pulling a thick corduroy coat off of the back of his chair.

“No, no. You should wear that. I’m alright,” you protest, rubbing your hands over your arms vigorously to try to stop your shuddering.

Zeke gets up from his seat anyway and crosses the gap between the two of you. You look up to him once he’s standing over you, embarrassed. Two big hands drape the hefty fabric over your shivering shoulders. You immediately feel warmer as your body heat gets trapped underneath it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, pulling on the jacket to adjust it on your arms.

The wind still howls as Zeke goes back to his metal chair. He sits down casually, taking another drag of his cigarette as his eyes move back to you, lingering on you gently -- like he feels satisfied or nostalgic. Your features looked so beautiful in the faint orange light of the fire, as the only focal point in his vision while darkness clouded everything behind you. He couldn’t help but stare.

“I do mean it,” he says as he exhales, “that you’re pretty.”

His words hang there for a moment. They wait for you on a hook, persuading you to take his bait. So he could reel you in.

“Trying to flatter your superiors huh? Well that’s one way to get what you want,” you retort.

“Who says you’re my superior, Captain Reader?” he jokes.

You laugh at him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you begin, “but I’ve never seen you around before. Are you from another branch of the military?”

Zeke pauses, letting out a huff of air.

“You know, with a reputation like yours, one would think you’d know your enemies a little better.”

Your face drops from a smile that rested high on your cheeks to a shocked, open-mouthed glare. You’re frozen. Why didn’t you assume…

“You’re the other Jaeger…” you trail off.

Zeke brings the cigarette back to his mouth and flips his book back open in response.

You stare down into the fire, unsure of what to do or say next. You were mortified. Maybe saying nothing was the answer - you’d already dug yourself into a hole by flirting with your prisoner. And damn, did Zeke deliberately let you. He knew who you were. He wanted you to feel this way. He led you on.

Who was supposed to deal with your fuck-up now?

You stand up, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“Goodnight, Zeke,” you say quietly, dropping his coat onto the chair.

You move quickly through the dark air that nips at your ears, back to the safety of your tent.

***

“Don’t go off and be an idiot,” Levi warns.

You assure him you wouldn’t, pouring a big glass of wine for yourself with a smile spread across your face.

Levi had been more than reluctant to let your soldiers bring this wine, but you’d done some convincing. This forest had been boring for the past few days. Laughing over a few drinks would be a sure way to liven up the crowd. You were just excited to finally get a taste of this Marleyan wine that everyone had been raving about.

You hadn’t seen Zeke since that night three days ago. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get him off of your mind. Partially because you were horribly embarrassed. And angry. You couldn’t believe you’d walked into his trap like that, practically offering yourself to him as a subject to humiliate. You were sure he’d enjoyed every bit of it.

And the other reason you couldn’t get him off of your mind…

He was a bit gorgeous. And you loved the way he talked to you, how it made you feel. Even though your time with him was so short, you secretly wanted more. You cursed yourself for thinking about him like that after all the harm he’d done to the Scouts. All of it made you sick - it was wrong, it made you feel like you had dirt on your hands.

But what if you tried to talk with him again? Just to sort your feelings out. Then you could be free to forget about him. This time, you would control yourself. You knew who he was now, and what it meant to be speaking with him. You were allowed to speak with him, you just had to be careful if you were going to proceed. None of you could trust him.

But the curiosity was still killing you.

You swirl the wine around in your glass as you dig the toe of your leather boot into the soft ground - trying to decide.

Anxious feet move below you before your mind is ready for them to, back toward Zeke’s tent.

It was nearly sundown, and beautiful purple rays beam through the forest, shattered from full display by hundreds of tree branches. The air was warm tonight, so there would be no need for Zeke's jacket again.

Once you see his camp, you notice he’s back in the same chair again. He’s still reading that torn-up book, this time with a pencil in his hand. He scratches little notes onto the pages here and there.

He looks up once he hears the familiar sound of your boots. The eyes behind his circular lenses scan you, lingering on the glass in your hand. You wonder if you should have brought him one.

“Hi, Zeke,” you say softly, making your way to the chair across the empty fire pit.

“Captain, thought I’d never see you again,” he says, a false excitement stuck in his voice.

You keep swirling your wine around in its glass, waiting for it to air out so you could take your first sip. It smelled divine, so fruity and fresh, in contrast with the earthy smells that the forest gave off.

Zeke looks up to you over the top rims of his glasses, unimpressed. You raise your glass to your lips, almost ready to tilt it back and let the chilled, burgundy wine rush into your mouth.

“That’s sluggish if you,” he remarks.

You pause, letting the cool glass linger on your bottom lip.

“What?” you bark, pulling the glass from your mouth.

He looks back down at his book, “No Marleyan strategist - or any good strategist for that matter - would drink in front of their adversaries. It makes you look sluggish.”

You just gape at him. He’s probably having fun while trying to irritate you. Two could play.

You put your arm out in front of you and flip the glass over, pouring the wine onto the wet dirt below. It splashes up onto your boots as it streams from your cup and runs down to spill into the fire pit.

“Happy?” you grumble, tossing the glass into the dirt. “Probably shitty wine anyway, considering you two come from the same place.”

He snickers, “Not quite. I was hoping you’d just hand the glass over.”

You regretted trying to talk to him now.

“Fine,” you sigh, getting up from your spot and turning back toward your tent. “Keep scribbling in your stupid book.”

“Actually, I was writing the two of us into the story.”

You’re sure he’s just pushing your buttons further - trying to lay another trap for you and capture you in another awkward moment of infatuation. But his words cause you to pause in your steps for a second.

“And what are we doing?” you question.

“We just cheated our way into heaven.”

“Creep,” you grumble before continuing to walk.

***

You hadn’t gone near that wine since. You had a grudge against it now, it completely ruined the mood last time you saw Zeke. But it had sure lightened the mood for everyone else, probably a little too much. Everyone except for Levi, of course. It was nearly impossible to change his mood.

In the meantime, you were still victim to unwarranted thoughts of Zeke in your head. This almost felt like a schoolgirl crush, how he bullied you a bit. This was more like torment, actually, considering you were trying to get him out of your head. But it didn’t change the fact that you liked what you saw.

Lately he was always reading that book and jotting down notes in it. And he rarely left his little corner of the campsite except for when he went on walks sometimes. You’d admire him from afar, careful never to let your eyes meet with his.

You’d take the images of him now burned into your brain back to bed with you, and stare up to the dark tent ceiling above. You’d fantasize about what it would have been like to meet Zeke in another life. One where the two of you weren’t enemies trapped on two different sides of a war. Where you didn’t feel guilt for your interest in someone who had jeopardized you and your comrades. Where the two of you were free to know one another.

You couldn’t pinpoint what kept driving this involuntary curiosity you felt towards him. It was tiring, honestly. But you wanted his company. Maybe you just wanted company in general -- it's not like you got along with him or anything.

Should you fix that? Did you even want to fix that? Would a peace offering be doing too much?

He did mention he wanted your glass of wine…

So one night, you cave. And you march over to the wooden cart that held dozens of cases of wine, an empty glass for Zeke in hand. You’re shocked to see only four measly bottles remain, laying on their sides in the only wooden case left. You could have sworn the shipment was full only a few days ago, but this camp had been set up for weeks now. Everyone here must be just as bored as you were, and several times more thirsty.

You pry open a cork and pour a few inches of wine into the glass, stopping to waft the crisp aroma into your nose. The air tonight was crisp too, it was cooler than it had been in recent days. You were adamant about remembering a jacket this time. The journey to Zeke’s tent feels long under the moonless sky. Hesitancy, followed by regret, pools into your brain as the dim light from his campfire comes into view.

Grow some balls, you’re convincing yourself that all of this means more than it really does. You’re bringing him a glass of wine for God’s sake.

There’s still time to turn around though… you could just finish the glass on your own. Out of range for him to bully you for it.

But he’s sitting there so prettily. He has his boots up on the rocks surrounding the fire pit, careful not to burn their soles in the flames. His blonde locks are pushed back slightly, giving you more room to look at his smooth face. And he’s certainly not busy, just reading his old book. Maybe he still had some compliments left for you despite all the bickering you two had done. Maybe he-

“Haven’t tried any of that ‘shitty’ wine yet, have you?” he questions. You hadn’t even noticed how close you are to him now. You’d gotten lost in him on the way.

“No…” you grumble, “it's for you. A peace offering.”

You stick your hand out. He receives the glass, lifting it up to examine it before taking a big drink.

“Ah,” he breathes, clearly satisfied. “It’s disgusting, Captain. Really.”

You stifle a laugh. “Everyone else seems to think so too. It’s all nearly gone.”

“Hmm,” he says, taking another sip, “None for you, I guess. Might as well just let it run out.”

“I think I will,” you mock, turning away from him to go sit in your chair,

The sizable fire Zeke had put together tonight was quick to thaw the chills on your arms. You really didn’t need your jacket after all, and opted to lay it over the back of your chair. The two of you sit there in silence for a while, taking in each other’s presence, observing the dying light in the forest.

Zeke looks at you eventually. Your eyes instinctually dart away.

“What made you want to come see me again?” Zeke asks.

You frantically search for an answer. You need to be careful.

“Boredom,” you reply flatly.

“You think so?” His attitude is back to how it was the first night you’d met. He’s engaged, focused, yet comes off so casual laying back up against his seat like that. He enjoys toying with you, like a cat to its prey.

Be careful.

“Don’t like my answer or something?”

That wasn’t exactly careful.

“No. You’re just not being honest.” He breathes that last word out like he needs to get a rise out of you, then he nonchalantly takes another drink while he waits for you to respond. Your mouth is open the slightest bit; you’re nervous, angry. He’s in your head now. He was reading you like that overused book of his.

“Then what do you want to hear from me?” you question. There’s thankfully still a false calmness in your voice.

“Just the truth. It’s not that complicated.”

You were sweating in front of this fire now. What was the truth? That you were interested in him? That you wanted nothing to do with him?

Be honest.

“I guess I just like your company,” you admit. Your eyes fall to the rocks lining the fire pit.

***

The discussion became pleasant after that, surprisingly. You guess you just needed to own up to how you felt. Your admittance caused some of the anger and tension tugging between the two of you to subside. The conversation was calm, collected, bouncing around from subject to subject: from the book, to life in Marley, to life in Paradis, to your occupation, and back to the book. Most of it was uneventful, but you liked that. It made it easy to pretend you were talking to him on the first night again, before you found out who he really was.

You left his camp with a giddy smile on your face. You’re on your way back to your tent now, after saying your goodbyes to Zeke. It was late, and you needed to be up early to have an important conversation with Levi. And god forbid he found out about any of this business between you and Zeke. Even though nothing was serious, it would come off unprofessional. And rightfully so.

You’re so lost in thought by the time you’re opening your tent door that you didn’t realize your arms were cold. The jacket you brought was probably still hanging off the chair at Zekes fire pit. It would look suspicious if you left it there and one of the other soldiers happened to see it.

You go back quietly, careful not to let anyone hear your footsteps. A couple of scattered thoughts weave their way into your head on your journey - what if this was another ploy of his? An attempt to get you back where he wants you, this time late at night. But how could it be? You were the one who left your jacket there. If anything, this was your own attempt to lead yourself back to him. Did you want him that badly… deep down?

When you reach your chair, you find it to be empty. You check around its sides, back, and underside - no jacket in sight. Out of the corner of your eye, a sliver of light shows from under the tarp serving as Zeke’s tent door. He’d probably noticed it and taken it inside with him after you’d gone home.

Halfheartedly, you meander to the tent door. You tap on it once the limited glimmer of light from inside touches the toes of your boots.

“Zeke? Do you have my jacket?” you whisper, still flicking the tarp to get his attention.

No answer.

Cold air stings your exposed skin as a draft swoops down through the camp. You also were wary of any observers that happened to be out this late at night. There was no telling what it looked like you might be doing outside his tent at the moment. The more uncomfortable you became out here, the more impatient you got.

“Zeke!” you hiss, whipping your head around your shoulder to double check your surroundings.

Still nothing but silence on the other side. Had he fallen asleep already?

The urge to pull back the tent door hits you. It would only take a moment to retrieve the jacket, then you’d be on your way.

Once again, making this a bigger deal than it really is.

But that didn’t matter. It felt like a big deal. That’s what every situation that involved him felt like. A big, complicated, multidimensional deal.

Be careful.

That wasn’t the answer either. Being careful was a good tactic when it came to strategizing your next moves in war. It was sometimes rendered useless when dealing with love. This was out of your control. And that was ok. That was what compelled you toward him - the mystery, the rush.

Let go.

You grip the tarp, it crinkles under your stiff fingers as you pull it back. A rush of warm air hits you, along with the light of a few oil lamps. And Zeke… shirtless. Sitting on his unmade bed with your jacket in hand.

The sight of his sculpted body in front of you sets a nervous, unprepared spark off in you, causing you to shut the door fast and stumble inside. And all at once, there you were - back in Zeke’s grasp. You accepted that wanted to be there.

“My jacket... ” you say, staring hard at the fabric in his hands, trying to avoid eye contact with his bare chest.

He stands up in silence and comes to your side, raising the jacket up once he gets real close to you. Oh no, he’s draping it over your shoulders again, slowly this time around, taking his time to stare into your puppy dog eyes. Dammit - the hot cheeks, the butterflies, the embarrassment. All of it was back now, in an instant he had you feeling like puddy in his hands. The two of you stare at each other as his hands adjust the jacket around you, stopping to play with one of the buttons on the front.

“You’re forgetful,” he mumbles, still focused on the button on your chest. His tone is sweet and quiet, a small smile appears out of one corner of his mouth.

You weren’t breathing, or thinking. Just looking down innocently at the hand that was so close to you.

“I’m not… normally,” you say quietly.

Zeke’s hands move to grip each side of the front of your jacket gently. His eyes move up from the hands placed on your jacket, and back to you. To your lips. You part them at the realization, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in your throat.

He shifts further in towards you, tugging on your jacket the slightest bit.

One cohesive thought rises up in the blankness of your brain. You want to kiss him.

The urge was mutual. Your lashes flutter against your cheeks a few times before you shut them, turning your head slightly to the right. Zeke follows your lead. You feel warm fingertips touch your chin and guide you to his soft pair of lips. His other hand abandons your jacket and comes down to meet your waist, slowly sliding to the small of your back. You melt into his touch, pulling yourself in closer. Chills go down your neck at the sensation of being in his arms, at his mercy. It feels so right, so warm and gentle. You want to keep going - so bad. You want him to hold you, touch you, kiss you harder.

But only for a moment.

You pull away once the guilt hits your core, gently touching your fingers to your lips.

Zeke stares at you, his eyes a bit wider than normal. His arms have gone limp at his sides without having you to occupy them any longer. You can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue, something that might save the situation and bring your lips back to his. You didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s wrong. This is all wrong,” you say, backing up into the tent door behind you.

You think of the war. You think of your duties. You think of who Zeke really is. Any fluttering in your stomach was gone now, instead it was filled by tinges of regret.

“You’re right. It is,” he responds. He walks back over to his bed and sits on the quilt ruffled at its end. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns his head away from you. “I figured you’d be smart enough not to kiss back.”

You were almost too shocked to notice how much his words burned. Your mouth hangs open as your eyes squint at him a bit. Emotion courses through you as your mind crashes down from the high you were just on. You needed out of this tent.

You grip the tarp resting against your back and fling it open. You felt lost, speed walking away from Zeke’s tent and toward the center of camp. The night concealed the confusion on your face, but only for a minute. A fire glows near your tent, lighting up your surroundings - its Levi. You try your best to avoid him, changing your course to avoid his eyes.

“What are you doing awake, Reader,” Levi questions dully.

You don’t let out any response other than stopping in your tracks.

“Is everything... alright?”

“I just,” you search for anything appropriate, any excuse for your apparent distress, “don’t like being in this forest.”

You both go quiet for a moment, listening to the snapping of thin branches in the fire.

Levi breaks the silence, “That’s actually what I was going to mention to you tomorrow. The MP’s need you for something. I was going to give you the choice to go back, or stay here.”

Going back. Maybe that was the right answer you’d tried so hard to find.

***

You shove all of your belongings into your suitcase early the next morning. It didn’t take you long to decide you needed to abandon this mission. Nothing between you and Zeke would ever work out, and your feelings for him were only a burden to everyone here, and yourself.

You lug your bags to a horse and cart that had been set up for you, tossing them over the cart’s walls and into the back.

Climbing up into the front seat, you notice a gift waiting for you - that overused book. Zeke must have finally figured out how to fake his way into heaven.

You decided to read some of it on the way back.

Zeke sure had written his own story inside of it. All of the notes he’d scribbled in the margins were in another language, presumably from Marley - a secret story you’d never get to understand. Only for him to know.

***

You heard news of what happened in the forest a few days after you arrived home. You couldn’t process it at first, instead you just sat in disbelief and denial. Then the ‘what ifs’ set in. What if you had stayed? Maybe you could have stopped Zeke from doing all the damage he decided to cause. The tear-filled anger set in after that.

There was only one chapter of his book left now. You felt disgusted looking at it, a reminder of everything you’d felt for him. You needed to sit yourself down and get through it so you could finally throw it away - and finally forget about him forever.

You come to the final page. It was intended to be blank, a sort of protectant between the ink on the last page and the back cover. But instead, there’s a penciled in note. From Zeke.

His writing in your language was messy and shaky. You assumed he could read in your language, but may not be practiced in writing in it. This was probably the first message he’d ever written in it. All for you.

—

Dear Captain Reader,

I tend to avoid feeling guilty for much. I probably won’t feel guilty for everything I’m about to do to your soldiers in this forest.

I did feel guilty, however, when I saw your beautiful face that night you found me alone in the forest. And then I realized you were caring, brilliant, and a strategist that was far smarter than I was.

Well, this was my attempt at strategizing.

Pulling you in and then pushing you away. I hoped the guilt and confusion would make you leave. Make you think you were unfit for the assignment, too distracted by me. Heartbroken, even. Anything to get you out of here.

Now, I’m not too sure there will be anyone to rescue you. I won’t be able to again. Take care of yourself. Stay sharp.

I hope you enjoyed the book. I was really never a fan of the ending.

Zeke

—

Author's Note:

Dear anon: You gave me a lottt of free rein with this one, so I hope it was ok ●﹏● (and not too angsty and complicated lol. You said they kinda hate each other but theres chemistry and I just ran with it. Oopsies.) This was one of my favorite fics to write, ever, I think! I had a lot of fun with the dialogue especially. Thanks so much for the request, and thanks to everyone else for reading! Lots of love - Shep :)

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reidgraygubler · 4 years

Text

hot cocoa and cuddles part two (spencer reid/reader)

Title: hot cocoa & cuddles (part 2) Request: no Couple: Spencer Reid/Gender Neutral!Reader Category: fluff Content Warning: swearing (if any), mentions of a case/s, mentions of illnesses, tbh idk what else to tag Word Count: 2,348 Summary: the team returns back to maryland/dc after the case in alaska. reader discovers they still can’t warm up, even after everything they do. spencer tries to help out, again A/N: the long awaited part 2 of hot cocoa and cuddles. this is for the people who want to read part two and those who were looking forward to it… o.o thanks for all the love and support! Check out my masterlist!

part one

{***}{***}{***}

I pulled my sweater cardigan tighter around my body and shivered slightly. I pulled my hands away from my sweater and wrapped them around my hot mug, which was just hot tea. My eyes de-focused on the desktop in front of me. Anything Penelope and Aaron were saying went in one ear and out the other.

“You okay there, Honeybee?” Derek asked, looking over at me. I shivered and looked over at him. All eyes were on me as I tried to make myself not shake from my freezing-ness. “We’ve said your name like 6 times.”

“We’ve been home for 2 weeks and I am still freezing,” I spoke through clenched teeth. I wrapped my hands around my mug, which was slowly getting colder. “I have done literally everything to keep warm, and I’m still freezing.” I shook my head.

“Maybe you should get a cat,” Emily spoke up. I looked over at her and furrowed my eyebrows. “Sergio keeps me pretty warm at night.” She smiled at me. I laughed lightly and shook my head.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets,” I mumbled and stared at the table. I shrugged and shook my head. “I guess I just live in this constant state of forever being cold.” I frowned.

“Maybe you should get your blood check. You could have low iron,” Spencer spoke up, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. I looked over at him and shook my head. “Being cold can be a symptom of low iron… You could be anemic... hypothyroidism is always a possibility,” he continued on his ramble/.

“Hey, Spence?" I asked as I looked at him, my hands wrapping tighter around my mug, which at this point was starting to get lukewarm.

“Yeah." He looked over at me with a smile.

“I don’t think I need you to tell me of my impending doom because I’m cold. I went to Alaska, not a hospital filled with a bunch of sickly people,” I whispered. Spencer lifted his finger to retort but failed when I shot him a glare.

“Get a boyfriend.” JJ smiled at me. I looked at her, trying to hide my smile but clearly failing. “Like your own personal space heater in bed. Body heat is a wonderful thing,” she mused as she flipped her file open. I shook my head as I glanced at Spencer.

“Yeah, I’ll look into getting a boyfriend or my own personal space heater. Although, I’m not entirely sure if my apartment will allow those,” I pouted. JJ laughed and shook her head.

“Hey, Honeybee, I’m always free if you need a personal space heater.” Derek smirked at me. I laughed harder than I should have and looked at him.

“You seriously expect me to sleep in the same bed as you, Derek Morgan?” I cackled and shook my head. Spencer shifted in his seat and kept his eyes down on the file in front of him.

“You shared a bed with Pretty Boy over there.” Derek nodded to my friend beside me. I tensed up slightly and glared at him.

“Better him than you, to be honest.” I flashed him a teasing smile.

“Guys, let’s get back on the task at hand. Garcia,” Aaron spoke up as he looked back at Penelope. I stifled my laughter as I looked back at Derek. He grumbled something under his breath as he looked back at his file.

{***}{***}{***}

I swear my heater was up so high (or as high as my bill would allow), I had my fluffiest and coziest pair of socks on, and at least 3 different sized hoodies on… The Alaska case was several weeks ago, I’ve been home ever since then… So why am I as cold as I am? And why can’t I warm up? Maybe I should take Derek up on his offer. Though, I think that’d be a whole new line I’d cross. Hard pass, thank you very much.

I should be asleep right now. 1:30 in the morning and I was sitting in bed with a hot water bottle pressed to my body. Something is wrong and I don’t know what. Crap, what if Spencer was right? What if I do have low iron or anemia? Or that hydro… Hypothyroidism, whatever that could be… I should ask him what that means. I wonder if he would be willing to be my personal space heater again. I mean, I know I kept him warm every bit as he kept me warm when we were in Alaska. And, he knows I’ve been cold. Listen, I’m just trying to rationalize wanting to cuddle Spencer Reid. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t stopped thinking about that. And, I wouldn’t be upset if it happened again.

“Screw this,” I muttered as I climbed out of bed with a blanket around my body. I shook my head as I muttered profanities under my breath. My body shook as I walked towards the front door of my apartment. I slipped my shoes on and left the house, freezing as I left my warm home.

And then I found myself standing just outside of Spencer’s apartment. Better him over Derek, I kept repeating to myself. I have a better relationship with him than Derek. Derek is more of an older brother to me. Spencer... I don’t know what he is to me. But he definitely isn't an older brother...

“Just… knock,” I whispered as I brought my fist to the door. It’s nearly two in the morning. I hope he wasn’t asleep. Although, knowing Spencer he was probably awake, reading over some old files.

“What… What are you doing here?” Spencer’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked before staring at him. He was wearing a black t-shirt and red and black checkered pj pants. Though his hair was messy and disheveled, he was definitely not asleep.

“Just… Just coming to see how you’re doing,” I lied and shrugged. Spencer looked at me, raising an eyebrow. It was clear he wasn’t so sure of my answer. But to be fair, I wasn’t sure about my answer either.

“What’s really going on?” he asked, stepping to the side, silently inviting me in. I looked around his apartment and took a deep breath. His home always smelled like cinnamon and spice. I probably enjoyed it too much. Although, it made me feel warm… Which I was okay with. Answering Spencer’s question didn’t even cross my mind until I turned back and looked at him. “Is everything okay?” he asked again once I was facing him. I took a deep breath as I tugged on the ends of my sleeves.

“Uh, I was just… I was just thinking about the Alaska trip.” I wrinkled my nose as I looked anywhere but Spencer’s face. I was only mildly embarrassed that I was here… asking Spencer if he would want to cuddle with me… because I’m so cold. Man, I’m happy Spencer isn’t the teasing type. Not that he’d tease me about this. I know that anyone else would though…

“What about the Alaska trip?” Spencer looked at me, his tone telling me he was very wary about my statement. I looked at the ground and shrugged.

“Just something you said, I guess,” I started as I looked at him, “Well, something you said earlier today,” I shrugged as I looked back down at the ground. I really wanted my blanket and hot water bottle. Even though I was warmer in his apartment, I was still cold. “Could I really be sick? Is that why I’m so cold?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest as I looked back at him. A shiver worked its way down my body and all the way to the tips of my toes and fingers.

“Come on, I’m gonna make you hot chocolate, and then we’re gonna go lay in my bed, under the covers.” He held a hand out for me to take. I stared at it for a moment before carefully resting my hand in his. He clasped his fingers around mine before leading me to his kitchen.

“You didn’t answer my questions, Spencer. You know more than anyone that avoiding a question means your keeping something from someone.” I watched as he made two large mugs of hot cocoa.

He still didn’t answer my questions as we walked towards his bedroom. And, in fact, he was silent up until I was sitting beside him on the bed, holding my mug of hot chocolate close to my body. Even though I was now in a warmer home, with a hot drink, several blankets, and the warmest person I know (despite his sometimes icy hands), I was still very cold. So, I looked over at him, watching as he flipped through the pages of his book.

“Are you going to answer my questions?” I asked, reaching over and placing my mug on the side table. Spencer looked over at me with a raised brow, slightly closing his book. “Am I actually dying?” I asked, feeling a certain fear grow in my tone.

“You’re not dying,” he said as he folded the corner of the page in his book before closing it. I watched as he set it on his side table.

“You don’t sound very convincing.” I shrugged, pulling one of my several blankets tighter around me. Spencer looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. He carefully gestured for me to move closer to him, and when I hesitated, he pulled me closer to him.

“You’re not dying. You’re not sick. You’re just cold. Everyone knows you’re probably the one who gets cold the most. Even when we were in Florida, you were cold,” Spencer said as he kept his arms around my body, holding me close to his. His body temperature was definitely warming me up, just like it had a few weeks prior.

“Hey! That’s because the stupid officers had the A/C on 65! It was freezing!” I moved away from him and looked at his face. I could feel a giggly smile grow on my face as I kept my eyes on him. “You giving me your sweater was like a gift from God.” I looked down at him.

“I think that’s the fourth sweater that’s gone missing?” He copied my smile before laughing. I looked away from him, trying to play innocent. “And the only common denominator is you.” Spencer poked my nose before he pulled me back closer to him. I rolled my eyes before curling back into his side. The goosebumps that were once on my arms and exposed skin, were now fading away the longer I stayed beside Spencer.

“If it makes you feel any better, they were quite warm.” I smiled. I left out the part that I enjoyed that they smelled like him. “And, I’ll return them washed,” I added, again leaving out that I’ll be sad that they won’t hold his scent.

“If they weren’t my favorite sweaters, I would say keep them. But I’m rather fond of two of those.” Spencer looked down at me with a warm smile. I laughed.

“Thanks for letting me in. I know it’s late. I promise I won’t make this a habit,” I laughed as I looked out onto the blankets in front of me. Part of me wondered what temperature Spencer had his furnace on, and how it was so warm. Mostly because my furnace was on pretty high and it was still like an icebox in my apartment.

“It’s okay, really. You should work on getting a portable heater for your house and desk just so they warm up faster,” Spencer suggested.

I almost, very nearly, said “But then that’d mean I can’t come over anymore,” But I didn’t. So, I just stayed silent.

“Like Garcia said, your own personal space heater,” Spencer laughed. Though, I cringed, remembering what Derek had said.

“Yeah? Or I could just get a Derek Morgan.”

“Who would want him as a boyfriend,” he scoffed, sounding mildly hurt with my joke. I looked up at him with furrowed brows before sitting upright.

“I never said I wanted him as my boyfriend. I was joking that he said he could be my space heater or a boyfriend. I was saying… What I meant was I could get a boyfriend instead. Because, you know…. Cuddling is a good way to-”

“What if it was me,” he asked, cutting me off so swiftly. I had to look at him to make sure he actually said what he said, because he was so quiet and he said it so fast, I almost wasn’t sure.

“You want…” I furrowed my eyebrows, again, as I stared at him. Spencer was looking down at the blankets, probably wondering to himself if he actually said what he said. “Spencer, if you wanted to ask me out all you had to do was ask.” Okay, I was definitely warming up a lot faster now, feeling my blood rush from a sudden secondhand embarrassment that I didn’t really want to feel.

“It’s a lot more than that,” he muttered as he looked at me. I furrowed my eyebrows before reaching a hand up to his face. I carefully guided him so he was looking right at me.

“It really isn’t… Like, ask me a question, any question.” I smiled, feeling my fingertips warm up under the warmth of his skin.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked, his voice very soft. I smiled before nodding, feeling a newfound excitement flood my body. Spencer lifted his hands and cupped my face, warming my cheeks instantly, before leaning closer to me.

As his lips connected with mine, I finally felt warm for the first time in weeks. His arms holding me close to his body, like he became my own personal space heater, again. I could sense that he knew I was warming up because when he pulled away from me and looked down at me, he was smiling.

“I’d be okay if I made a habit of this.” Spencer nodded as he carefully ran a hand through my hair. I couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Good.” I smiled before pressing my lips to his for a moment, “Because I could too.”

if you want to be a part of a taglist or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #doctor spencer reid #doctor spencer reid imagine #doctor spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spence reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds one shot

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danteinthedevildom · 3 years

Note

*slides you a 20 dollar bill and drawing of a smiley face* So how about that “sheep”!MC part 2? ;)

only if you want to of course shshddhd

*Gently pushes it back to you* Friendo I was absolutely gonna write up a part 2 just bc you said you’d be down to read more in that last ask (which I still got in my inbox bc oop I got a lil caught behind-), so hella? This one’s on me ;)

“Sheep”!MC 2: Electric Boogaloo

This post is written for a GN!MC and uses they/them pronouns!

- Knowing “sheep”!MC’s direct approach to conflict, Barbatos has a habit of checking the timeline each morning to see when MC might attempt to attack a demon. He mostly does this to help avoid certain outcomes that might lead to their untimely demise (because, it turns out, “sheep”!MC does have an unfortunate habit of trying to take on higher demons that aren’t quite so afraid of being caught snacking on the little human as the lesser demons are), but every now and then - should the need arise - he might try to warn someone else of their impending doom.

- (Mostly it’s Lucifer and Diavolo, and often only when “sheep”!MC doing so would be damaging to their reputation. He has no qualms allowing “sheep”!MC to punch Lucifer in the kidneys in the safety of the House, and often chuckles whenever he sees such an event as he’s flicking through the timelines like a particularly bored channel surfer.)

- There are, of course, those who believe he takes advantage of this daily observance to see if “sheep”!MC will attempt to tackle him, and thus forewarn himself of any head-to-gut occurances. To these demons, he simply smiles, steps to the side to avoid an on-coming, tiny, fighty human, and says it’s all in the duty of being a butler to be constantly aware of his surroundings.

- That said, even Barbatos can make mistakes. A tiny mis-assessment in determining which timeline they’re destined to follow from the thousands of branching paths, and suddenly he finds himself forcing out a laugh, listening to Diavolo’s howling glee at the perfect sneak-attack “sheep”!MC managed to land on him.

- “Sheep”!MC is often kinder to the angels - mostly because they pose no actual threat to the human’s welbeing - and thus, their kidneys and stomachs are safe from flying fists and charging heads. What they’re not free from, however, is the ever-present duty of trying to get “sheep”!MC to please stop going after demons three times your size-

- Simeon is the unfortunate caretaker whenever “sheep”!MC’s spending time with the Purgatory Hall gang. If you asked him to count, in one day, how many times he had to frantically grab for “sheep”!MC’s cape, or tighten his grip on their hand, or just barely manage to secure them by the waist with a well-timed lunge, he’d turn just a little green around the gills and admit, very sheepishly, that he lost count after the twentieth escape attempt.

- It’s not all bad, of course; a few times, whenever they do manage to slip away from Simeon’s watchful eye, he’ll find them a few minutes later with their hands clenched into fists by their side, head tipped down, lips pulled back in a threatening snarl, standing off against a small group of lesser demons who seem genuinely terrified of the imposing display. He lets them get away with it in those instances because he finds it genuinely funny, and it’s a good boost to their self confidence when they prance back to his side looking supremely smug and satisfied.

- Still. The times he’s found them standing off against higher demons, towering over their miniscule form with murder in their eyes and bloodlust radiating from their non-souls in putrid waves, far outweigh the number of times he’s found them standing off against demons they can actually-sort-of-maybe beat. He’s not sure, all things granted, that he can actually have a heart-attack - nor is he sure that he could exactly die from shock, either - but it certainly feels like he could, and does, every time he sees them scarper off.

- Want to know something that’s both genuinely funny and wonderfully cute? Ever since the brothers started calling “sheep”!MC “little sheep” - due to the horns they constantly wear on their headband - other demons have started to nickname Simeon the “little ram”. It’s a nod, of course, to the fact that Simeon - in moments of terror, when faced with the concept of “sheep”!MC’s potential, imminent demise - has leapt in to their defence and let off a threatening shockwave of Celestial magic. Apparently, seeing an angel (who also stands taller than the human) dive in with a furious scowl is just absurd enough to warrant a funny nickname.

- (Yes, Lucifer does tease him with this. There have been far too many Protective Daddy Angel jokes for Simeon to count, and he’s only greatful that it’s isolated to their private chat, which no-one, absolutely no-one at all, has any form of access to what-so-ever. Most certainly not “sheep”!MC, which he’s ever-so-thankful for, because he thinks he might die of embarrassment if they ever read those conversations.)

- There is a saying, among the participants of the Exchange Programme, that they fervently murmur like a mantra, each day, whenever “sheep”!MC trots off to Purgatory Hall; a saying so well-known, so immutable, that none of them even know when it started, nor who first uttered the immortal words: “Don’t leave them alone with Luke”.

- Luke isn’t powerful enough to actually stop “sheep”!MC from running off. He’s the only one who could be considered smaller than them, and any attempts to grab for their hand or catch their cape often end up with him getting dragged along behind them, eyes darting back and forth between wherever they’re going and the group they’ve left behind.

- It’s mostly out of a misplaced fear that trying to dig his heels in will hurt them, and partly because he feels a little awkward trying to stand up against them. The few times he has, they’ve managed to convince him that it’ll be alright; after all, neither of them are children, and they don’t need looking after. Besides! Together, they’re a perfect anti-demon team. What could possibly go wrong?

- What could possibly go wrong when you put a loud-mouthed, anti-demon angel together with a brash, head-strong human with absolutely no self preservation, without any form of supervision? Everything. Everything could go wrong. There is no force in all Three Realms that is capable of diverting the inevitability that is Luke and “sheep”!MC picking fights (both intentionally and not) with demons significantly stronger than they are.

- The only mild benefit is that Luke, despite being young, is an incredibly powerful little angel. He just doesn’t know how, exactly, he’s meant to utilise his powers. More often than not they manage to survive any close encounters of the murder kind with accidental blessings (”I won’t let those horrid demons hurt you!”, it turns out, translates nicely into a spell that burns demons on contact with “sheep”!MC’s skin), which has made them a relatively feared duo... and an absolutely tantalising target whenever they’re found alone together.

- (After all, what demon would actually believe that a chihuahua and a sheep managed to take down one of the Generals last week? Clearly it was a fluke, or a lie spread about by the much weaker lesser demons. They all need to have a crack at nibbling on the little annoyances when their much fiercer guardians aren’t around, just to prove it. This never ends well for the demons. A blessing-powered headbutt to the gut actually hurts.)

- If you’ve ever wondered about “sheep”!MC and Mephisto, wonder no more; they’re practically archenemies. Well. Mephisto is their archenemy, anyway; he finds it funnier than anything else. What else would they call a reporter who has the ability to drop in out of nowhere and disappear in the blink of an eye, with the infuriating tendency to dance circles around them until they eventually run head-first into a brick wall, and then post the picture in that day’s newspaper?

- Mephisto takes endless joy in following “sheep”!MC around and snapping pictures of them mid-fight - usually when they’re at their most headstrong, and their least likely to win - and posting them on social media alongside teasing commentary as if he’s commentating on a football match. It’s one of the most popular accounts to date in the Devildom, much to “sheep”!MC’s unending irritation.

- They never actually see Mephisto when he’s taking pictures, though not all of that’s due to their single-minded attitude and pin-point focus when confronting a demon; Mephisto just has the uncanny ability to be completely overlooked in any given situation - including totally empty hallways. The most they ever see are teasing glimpses of him that they can never quite track down unless he wants to be found, which often means they spend a lot of their time chasing after a very amused Mephisto, absolutely raring to sock him dead in the face.

- (He’s not a complete asshole, despite what they might think; if “sheep”!MC’s in genuine danger, someone always manages to turn up at just the right moment - or their murderer-to-be somehow gets distracted by seemingly nothing at all. Not that he’d admit to being an ever-watchful eye, of course; he’s just a fly on the wall, and “sheep”!MC is more profitable to him alive.)

- Back on the topic of the brothers to end this off, since last time I gave a little more focus to the others last time: of the seven of them, there are only two MC doesn’t try to pick fights with as freely as they do the others.

- The first is Satan, though not entirely for the reason you’d think; “sheep”!MC really doesn’t care about the danger that comes with pissing him off and igniting his Wrath, and is more than prepared to stare him down even over tiny things. The reason they don’t tend to attack him is simple: he’s generally smart enough not to wound their pride or put them in situations they feel threatened in.

- (This doesn’t stop him from being victim to their attacks entirely, however; it just means they often get him over much smaller, more ridiculous things. Yes, this absolutely includes them stamping on his toes if he teases them too much, or slapping his hand away at the dinner table if they both reach for the salt just so they can snatch it up first. It often leaves him more bewildered than anything, and sometimes sets up petty rivalries - such as sitting in each other’s favourite seats or being the first down to breakfast each day.)

- (Sometimes, if he’s busy reading, he’ll get a hard punch to the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt - more of a nuisance, really - and he often tries to ignore it until he genuinely can’t anymore for threat of losing his temper. It’s not his fault that he gets thoroughly invested in a really good book! If “sheep”!MC needs him so badly, they can wait until he’s done.)

- (Of course, if there’s one thing “sheep”!MC can’t stand, it’s being actively ignored - so that almost never ends the way Satan wants it to. They’re too stubborn to just walk away and come back later, and much too fearless for their own good.)

- Pre-pact, he found their spitfire attitude utterly hilarious and endearing, and even offered to teach them more effective ways to take down their targets (or, more accurately: Lucifer), solely for the joy of the outcome. After the pact, however - when he’s come to understand them more - he helps them out of a desire to keep them safe, rather than to make them a co-conspirator in Lucifer-annoyance. They’re small and brash and fierce, and he adores that - but he also understands the importance of being able to defend themself.

- (He’s also not too fond of the kidney punches they’ve absolutely mastered under his tutelage. They have a tendency to utilise that attack if he steps in to help them, so honestly, making sure he doesn’t have to step in just saves the mild irritation of getting prodded in the back by a fist.)

- The second is Beel, for reasons much more understandable. Beel just doesn’t do a lot that would make “sheep”!MC go for the kill. He’s better with personal space than Asmo and Mammon; better at treating them like a person with free will and a capable mind than Lucifer; better at interacting with them than Belphie or Levi. More often than not they spend time together amicably, and only really have altercations if Beel’s raiding the fridge or munching on some of their human-safe food.

- When they do go “full sheep” on Beel, it’s usually for good reason. Sometimes he manages to sneak up on them - as silent on his feet as a mouse, despite the limbering size of him - and instinct kicks in before he has the chance to speak; the spin on heel and slam their fist against his abs, and have to style out the sheer agony that is punching what feels like a brick wall at full force. Other times, he finds himself muttering a quiet apology after a firm punch to the arm, having been caught up in the bullying teasing against Mammon, and being the only one sat close enough for “sheep”!MC to strike retribution against.

- (Rarer times, pre-Chapter 16, he finds himself lurching awake to the slight sting of something against his cheek, grief-filled screams still ringing in his ears. Chest heaving for breaths, fear-sweat rolling down his spine, his eyes flit about the room, half-unseeing with the sluggish pull of sleep. Another sting, a slight movement, and he looks down. There, he locates it; the human, sitting on his lap, one hand raised in preparation for another strike, lips pulled into a terse frown. They lower it once they realise he’s seen them. Only then does the last echo of a scream fade.)

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me headcanons #obey me hc

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved.

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM.

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope.

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings.

You failed the exam.

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel.

This day could not get worse.

Famous last words.

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag.

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state.

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache.

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought.

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head.

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal.

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes.

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace.

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner.

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes.

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish.

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets.

Interesting.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body.

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt.

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you.

First the dishes, and now a bath?

The boys are definitely up to something.

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable.

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!”

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?”

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist.

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.”

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year.

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.”

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now.

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name.

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward.

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.”

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.”

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath.

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person.

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones.

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on.

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest.

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.”

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.”

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room.

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit.

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you.

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.”

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin.

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played.

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.”

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.”

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.”

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home.

You are home.

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling.

You are the luckiest.

And you realize that every single day.

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.

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twstdreams · 5 years

Note

Hello! Could I request scenarios/headcannons for Leona, Azul, Vil, Malleus, and Kalim? During flying class someone jinxes their crush's broom and sends them free falling but just before they hit the ground the boys rescue them. To show their gratitude, their crush gives them an innocent peck on the cheek afterwards (oblivious to their feelings) before leaving. Sorry if this is too specific! Kinda inspired by Harry Potter lol

Yes, you can! A bit specific, but I much prefer this over vague requests, so no worries! I hope you enjoy! I combined it and did both headcanons and a short little scenario.

Heroes, Villains, and the soft spot in between

Leona Kingscholar:

Your broom sputters a bit and Leona just brushes it off with a soft laugh. Couldn’t even fly your broom straight, it’s a good thing you’re cute.

But the worry on your face transforms into panic and your flying patterns quickly become erratic

Suddenly you’re falling and Leona doesn’t even get the chance to think, not about his image or if it’s worth the effort, he casts a spell using his well of magical powers and save you from disaster

It’s not the smoothest spell on Earth but it’s strong and you land safely

You’re in shock and grasping onto your jinxed broom as a crutch, trying to keep yourself stable. Leona makes some remark about you being easy prey, but your mind is still reeling from everything that happened. You take in a deep breath as strength begins to return to your legs.

“Did, did you save me?” you ask tentatively.

“Yeah,” Leona confirms, but before he gets to finish his sentence, a quick peck to his cheek silenced him.

“I’m glad at least someone is on my side. Thank you.” Your voice drips with enough sincerity that Leona feels his heart twinge, not that his confident smirk betrays his true feelings. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind saving you a little more often if he got rewarded like this.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul has an inkling that something is off with your broom, he’s not an expert flyer but he’s familiar with sabotage, however, you’ve taken off before he can confirm his suspicions

For once, Azul regrets that he’s right as you life is placed in imminent danger

With a smile plastered to his face, Azul uses his array of skills to safely reduce your fall until you all but float into his arms

His expression is picture-perfect and doesn’t indicate a drop of worry, but his rapidly beating heart says otherwise

Your doe-eyed expression as you grasp onto him soothes his heart. Your grip is tight, seeking something steady to contrast to your wild life-threatening fall moments ago. Your breathing begins to even as a shaky smile makes its way onto your face.

Azul can only widen his eyes as you swiftly tug him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. He can feel a whisper of the kiss remain even after you let him go.

“Thank you for saving me. Hopefully, that’s enough for a payment?” Your voice is soft and your words are light, but worry and fear still cling to your expression.

“For today,” Azul relents, “But perhaps we should sign a contract to make sure this never happens again?” His gaze remains on you but Azul’s mind wonders how this happened and lays out a plan to find out. Though, even if he finds the perpetrator, he’d consider leaving them alone for a while, if only to assure you’d run into his arms for safety.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was flying as well, actively trying to avoid anything that could mar his face like a swarm of bugs or flock of birds

His focus falters when he hears you shriek and horror courses through his veins as he sees you falling

He pours all of his magic into his broom in a mad dash to catch you

He chips some of his nail polish but he barely even notices because of your flailing limbs. You two land with as much as grace as possible given the near-death experience.

Afterwards, Vil insists that you leave class early and escorts you away. You’re trembling like a leaf in his arms with tears welling in your eyes. The steady feeling of the ground isn’t enough to calm your erratic heartbeat

He leads you to his room and pampers you with an impromptu spa day

The smooth pads of Vil’s fingers glide over your cheeks as he massages in a face cream. The steadiness of his fingers helps put you at ease. You always try to take care of your skin to an extent but today Vil has pulled out all the works. Cleansers to wash away the grime of flying, facial masks that leave your skin refreshed, and serums and creams that soak into your face while making it as soft as a petal. Less than an hour ago, you were on the verge of a breakdown but as Vil massages leave-in conditioner in your hair, you nearly fall asleep on his lap.

“Finished, you look beautiful.” The affection in his voice warms your heart. You sit up and look in the mirror. Your beautiful skin is surprising but the relaxed expression looking back is even more unexpected. Your lips form a soft smile. You plant a gentle kiss on Vil’s cheek with happiness adorned on your features.

“Thank you for making today a good memory.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus sees you falling off your broom and sighs. Sure, he had compared you to a baby, but he didn’t expect you to be so defenceless.

You’re helplessly plummeting towards the ground, but a quick spell has you landing softly in front of him.

He’s not freaked out since it was so easy to save you, but when his fingers brush over your broom, he senses foul magic and immediately his green eyes are filled with rage

He doesn’t plan to let this transgression go, but he’s currently distracted by your sudden affection

Before Malleus can lecture you or remark on your spectacular fall, your arms envelop him. The act renders him speechless. People barely had the courage to talk to him or invite him, let alone bold displays of physical affections. He wonders if your brain is muddled by the traumatic experience. You raise your head to show your dazzling smile while looking into his eyes.

“You saved me,” you state, almost breathless and most definitely in awe. You lift yourself up and swiftly kiss his cheek. It’s brief and a feather-light touch, but a lingering sensation remains on Malleus’ skin all the same.

“Thank you,” you add as a pretty flush spreads across your cheeks, whether from embarrassment or the exertion of flying, only you know.

Kalim Al-Asim

You’d never feared flying, in fact, you were quite excited to soar through the skies and the freedom it entailed

That all ends when your broom fails you and instead of flying, you’re on a one-way collision course with the ground

While free-falling through the air, you were overcome with fear, your brain trying to conjure up something to save you from impending doom but fails spectacularly

Suddenly, your back meets carpet rather than the hard ground and instead of blurry clouds in the sky you see Kalim’s radiant smile

Kalim chatters about how he’s glad that he made it in time and promises to catch you if you ever fall

You can practically hear your heart thumping. Even though you’re safe now, your blood is still flowing with adrenaline from your unexpected broom induced free fall. Kalim, with a grin from ear to ear and confidence that reassures your frazzled mind, is your saviour today. Without thought, you kiss his cheek, quickly and a little unstable due to the flying carpet but sincere all the same. Your subsequent giggle mixes with Kalim’s surprised laugh as you both smile as bright as the sun, for different reasons though.

#I felt so soft writing Vil's piece #I'm pretty happy with how this turned out #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #savanaclaw #azul ashengrotto #octavinelle #vil shoenheit #pomefiore #malleus draconia #diasomnia #kalim al asim #scarabia #twisted wonderland headcanon #twisted wonderland scenario #twstdreams #twisted dreams

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

Text

Sequitur

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Madara Uchiha x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,3k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Death, possessiveness, murder, mention of stalking

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“I've been biting my tongue. The line has been crossed, and now, there is hell to pay. Enough is enough, the truth's coming out if you like it or not.” - Manipulate [Heartist]

Arranged marriage was always awkward and tense, especially when your husband was a feared man in his village. You hadn’t fully comprehended the meaning of the word ‘feared’, thinking that it was only a hyperbole until you met him in person. Madara was austere in demeanor, and his dark kimono served to highlight the cogent aura that surrounded him like gloomy clouds. You had to shoot your mother several shocked and questioning glances before she sated you with a calm nod. She gently reminded you to recompose, but it was easier said than done when you could feel his laser eyes boring on to your head. This wasn’t the first time people had judged you, and yet, something about him provoked turbulence within you.

That was two months ago, though. Now that you’d spent more time with him – depending on his schedules, of course, which was almost rare – and married, you no longer felt too nervous around him.

Well, more like forcing yourself to adjust to the new environment, but you didn’t dare to tell anyone that. You were certain he’d already picked up on your anxiety and would probably be pissed off by your lack of… development.

Nevertheless, you learned that he liked to talk about politics and peace. Although they weren’t your favorite subjects to discuss, you did your best humoring him. You applied some of the lessons your mother had drilled into you on how to be a good wife by asking about his day and bringing him tea (she also told you to massage him, but you were a little too scared to ask). Despite your efforts, you could sense that you still hadn’t cracked his armor judging from his mannerisms alone. He remained stiff and formal, it almost felt as if your work had been futile all along.

And, honestly, you weren’t sure if you should be concerned with that. It wasn’t as though you willingly married him, anyway. There was a subtle resentment that came from the loss of autonomy, but at least he wasn’t abusive.

Though, you couldn’t deny the sensation of being watched whenever you went out alone.

But it must be your imagination, right? In an attempt to familiarize yourself and bridging the distance with other members, you often helped the women with their chores. The exhaustion might be the reason behind that weird occurrence. There was no need to suspect your husband when you clearly saw him doing his endless paperwork.

Yes, you were still adjusting, is all. You just needed to rest more.

Huffing, you plopped down on a bench and glanced around. When was the last time you observe your surroundings again? The clan could be hectic sometimes, but the members were generally pleasant to talk to.

“Excuse me.”

You peered to your left and saw a man wearing ordinary clothes. He smiled and dipped his head slightly as a form of greeting.

“I was wondering if you know the way to Hokage office?” he inquired politely.

“Oh, just go straight and turn right. It’s in the center of the village.”

The man appeared to mull over your answer. “If it’s not too much to ask, can you please take me there? I’m afraid I might get lost.”

You didn’t understand why he should be scared of such a thing when he could just ask another villager later. But you tried to look at the positive and assumed that he might have a poor sense of direction, or probably short term memory. Either way, it was clear that he wouldn’t leave unless you assist him, thus, cutting your downtime short.

Suppressing the disappointed sigh that filled your chest, you nodded rather reluctantly.

“… Okay.”

You stood up from the bench and slowly approached him. Before you could take the lead, a sudden wind blew your hair and the man abruptly collapsed. You whipped your head just in time to see his guise puffed, revealing a strange ninja underneath. Blood flowed down from the tiny slit the kunai created on his neck, hollow eyes conveying an unspeakable shock. Someone landed a few meters beside you but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, still stunned by the swift murder that occurred seconds ago.

You didn’t have to, though. You already recognized the familiar chakra that engulfed yours even when he did nothing in particular.

Madara.

“What… what did you just do?” You wouldn’t be surprised if he scoffed at your stupid question. You knew what you saw, regardless of how fast it seemed. You knew what you were staring at, regardless of how astounding it felt.

It wasn’t easy to swallow the fact that your husband had just killed a man right behind you, after all. Granted, it was an enemy, but still...

“Foolish woman.” he sneered, hands crossed over his broad chest. “Naively helping people without thinking about their motives. I thought your father has taught you to never trust a stranger.”

You gulped and slowly rotated your head towards him. “W-what are you doing here? I thought you were working.”

Madara squinted, displeased by your attempt to divert the attention from you. Although it wasn’t your intention, to begin with. “Somebody has to look after you,” he said. “because I know that you’d get trapped in this kind of predicament. You’re too nice for your own good, [Name].”

You blinked owlishly, trying to process his answer. Hands twitching on your sides, you finally concluded that you refused to believe.

“Does that mean… you’ve been stalking me, Madara?” you drawled hesitantly, willing yourself to look at him in the eye. “All this time, it was you…?”

He said nothing, but you knew the answer anyway.

Clasping a hand over your mouth, you scowled. “How dare you…! I already lost my freedom by marrying you, and now, you’re stalking me?! What kind of husband are you?”

“A husband that cares about his wife, obviously.” Madara didn’t bat an eye at your outburst and calmly retorted. “It’s not my fault that you were arranged to be with me. You should’ve known that by now.”

“It still doesn’t give you a right to watch me like a creep!”

“Your father asked me to protect you,” he stated. “and it’s my duty to do so, anyway. I don’t understand what’s the fuss about, and frankly, I don’t want to listen to it. Either you accept your situation or keep suffering in silence. There, I gave you the freedom to choose.”

You opened your mouth to insult him, but you knew he’d most likely brush it off. However, you’d gone too deep to back out now. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

Madara cocked his head. “Oh, is that so?”

The alarm blared in your head when he slowly advanced towards you, face still impassive as always. Panic started to grip your chest as you seek an escape route. You could run now. It wasn’t too late. You could avoid him and ask for help. People would notice your plight, right?

You flinched when a hand unceremoniously grabbed your neck and lifted you. Madara loomed over you like the impending doom, onyx eyes glowering coldly on to your shrinking ones. Luckily, he hadn’t strangled you. Not yet.

“Don’t ever hope about getting away, unless you want to pay the hell later.” he warned. “You belong to me, and I hate sharing what’s mine. If you know what’s good for you, I suggest you behave from now on.” Squinting, Madara hissed. “Do I make myself clear?”

You gripped his hand, a sadistic voice inside you desiring to inflict pain on him. But you knew better than to provoke him further. As much as you hated to admit it, divorce would humiliate your family. So the most logical thing to do was to obey whatever he ordered, even if it meant going against your wishes.

“… Whatever.”

Madara scowled and tightened his hold slightly, enough to tense your body. “Speak appropriately to me,” he demanded.

You writhed a little, trying to find space to breathe. Realizing that he wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you struggled, you scowled in defeat.

“Yes, Madara.”

Satisfied with your reluctant response, Madara smirked. Raising a hand, he mockingly patted your head and cooed. “Good girl.”

#yandere anime #yandere imagine #yandere anime au #yandere oneshot #yandere scenario #anime yandere au #anime yandere #yandere naruto imagine #yandere naruto scenario #naruto yandere #yandere naruto #Yandere madara #Yandere madara uchiha #Yandere madara x reader #Yandere madara uchiha x reader

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seungminotes · 4 years

Text

Accident - Prone

enemies to lovers/ almost-lovers with Hwang Hyunjin

A/N: this took so long and I don’t think I’m even happy with the result. I hope you like it though, anon

Warnings: 1.5 k words | kinda slow | potential part two? | not proofread

Hyunjin is literally the worst luck charm ever. Everywhere he goes is just a natural disaster around you.

No matter what, always end up getting physically hurt.

Whether it was a flying soccer ball to your nose, that awful chemical burn in chem after you two were partnered together once, the spilled water on your favorite blouse... the list goes on and on.

After so many unlucky occurrences, you had finally decided Hyunjin was just the equivalent of seeing a black cat

A warning sign of impending doom.

Okay but, perhaps he was just dramatic and clumsy

the thought never really occurred to you that this boy was just made like that.

You only figured: you plus him in a room together was not the best of ideas. It just could never end well.

You swore you two could’ve been mortal enemies in a past life or something.

These occurrences had just become so frequent that at one point, you naturally despised the lanky boy.

Though quite unreasonable of you, you simply wanted nothing to do with him.

Hyunjin on the other hand, had no ill feelings towards you.

No, those ill feelings were rather reserved for himself whenever he somehow managed to ruin your day over and over again.

He partially blamed his lack of coordination, but then he remembers he’s a dancer and had rather impressive coordination in comparison to most other people.

Maybe that was saved for dancing though, maybe somehow those skills dissipated offstage and outside the practice room.

Orrrrr just maybe... it was just around you that he became so flustered, the human embodiment of a hot mess, that he could not function or even move accordingly?

Whatever it was, he felt utterly sorry for every encounter you’d ever had with him.

At some point he had tried to very actively avoid you in hopes of sparing himself the embarrassment of yet another disaster.

He always made sure he and his friend group were situated as far as possible from you in the cafeteria during lunch.

If he saw you walking down a hallway, he’d always be sure to turn the other direction.

Heck he’d run into you only a certain amount of times before he had memorized your routes and just avoided those altogether.

He very secretly cared for your own safety… from himself.

Which wasn’t the most romantic of things

Which was reasonable, right?

You could probably never have a romantic connection with someone with which nothing could ever go right.

But why did that notion disappoint him so much??? hmmm

Hyunjin probably shouldn’t want to get any closer to you, that’s exactly why he drew an imaginary boundary

And his plan proved to be more than effective with time.

That at least it was…

Until Kim Seungmin, his own very best friend, decided to befriend you after a photography project you’d both worked on.

Ever since then, you two had been practically inseparable…

leading many to believe in a prospective couple. Oop

Hyunjin typically just annoyed the thoughts of other surrounding the topic of you and Seungmin though, not that it bothered him per say

Anywayyyy

Seungmin now sat with you on the other side of the cafeteria.

Even after his long protest for you to go sit with his other friends, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to be in harm's way that close to Hyunjin.

“They’re not mean or anything, y/n,”

“I didn’t say they are, I just don’t know them that well, it would be awkward,”

“Well how can you get to know them if you won’t even sit near them,”

Okay so maybe at this point your feeling a bit guilty towards Minnie who is sacrificing some time with his best friends to sit with you now

But as you glance towards his group of friends on the other side of the room, you couldn't help but get nerves from the sight of Hwang Hyunjin

Seungmin notices the change in demeanor in your face after you take a peek over there

He thinks he;s just uncovered the mystery of the century

“I saw that!”

“Saw what?”

“That passive aggressive glare you just shot my friends, which one do you hate?

“Seungggg, it’s nothing,”

“I bet it’s Jisung, he’s so loud, not really your type”

“I think Jisung is nice, drop it.”

“Hyunjin?”

The very mention of his name makes your face drop

Seungmin of course catches it

“Knew it”

So this leads to a very detailed retelling of every horrible occurrence that has happened to you in the presence of his friend

“You’re being stupid, he just has butter fingers”

“You must have a butter body to mess up that much”

“Never say that phrase again, I didn’t like the mental image”

“Oh shut up”

Luckily the bell rang just in time to bring the convo to a close

but as you both get up to throw your trays away Seungmin ultimately gets the last word

“You're sitting with us tomorrow”

You may or may not have pouted all the way to English with him afterwards

Nothing really works on Seungmin though

Snake

So the next day, you’re sitting at lunch with all these guys you don’t know very well

But Min makes sure to introduce you well and they’re all super inclusive of you

He even made sure you and Hyunjin sat on opposite ends of the table

Not that it even mattered though because Hyunjin was unusually quiet

He really didn’t even look at you …

Which didn’t bother you that much

Though it did make the atmosphere a bit tense when he was spoken to and wouldn’t really listen

He seemed super out of it

At least until he completely knocked over his carton of milk onto Felix’s tray

He cursed under his breath, because trust me he knew something would happen in the time span of half an hour that you were sitting this near him

Your breath hitched for a second because you were lowkey scared something was gonna happen soon

One of his natural disasters

But oddly enough, nothing really came towards you

Hyunjin got up to go scavenge for some napkins

And lunch was soon nearing its end

Meaning, you had spent a full 30 minutes near Hwang Hyunjin and remained unscathed

Who would have thought?

Seungmin, that’s who

He made it very clear too

His little “told you so” as you were getting up to throw your trash away

Unfortunately for you though, the nearest trash can appeared to be directly behind Hyunjin

Who by now was trying to clean up the mess of milk he made on the table

Considerate guy huh

“Y/n, hurry up we’re gonna be late” Seungmin urged

What could go wrong if you just ….

Walk behind Hyunjin for like 3 seconds??

A lot more than you’d expect to be honest

In those mere three seconds Hyunjin has managed to turn around, trip you, and hit you on the side of the head with his outstretched arm clutching wet napkins

Cue Seungmin cracking up

And mortified Hyunjin

“Are you ok? Shoot I didn’t see you, are you good?

Your head lowkey panged but his worry was kind of unexpected …

And kinda maybe very adorable???

Uh oh

You get up and assure him you’re just fine

He kinda just scratches the back of his neck awkwardly

“I think I hurt you a little too often.”

“I’ve noticed,”

“I swear it’s not intentional or anything though”

Seungmin can’t take this atmosphere, he dips quick

He also can’t afford a tardy which you are obviously gonna get if you keep standing there staring up at this guy

You of course take notice that this awkward moment is taking a bit too long

But something is really keeping you glued to this spot and it may or may not have to do with the warm worried eyes staring down at you

“I think Seungmin left you,” Hyunjin nods his head to where your friend was previously waiting for you

“Little snake”

The little sound that Hyunjin made trying not to laugh kinda made you giggle

And oh no

Hyunjin found that way too cute for his own good

He decides to walk you to English, he knew the route pretty well, go figure

He does keep his distance though

After he drops you off at the door, you’re already late and so is he of course

But he waits for you to go in before sprinting to his own class

Almost like walking you home after a date

When you excuse yourself into class, Seungmin is smirking at you from your shared desk

“And I thought you hated Hyunjin.”

A roll of your eyes didn’t make him any less smug though.

#hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #skz #skz scenarios #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #skz hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz blurbs

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red-doll-face · 5 years

Note

Could you do a request on The Collector with an innocent, shy and jumpy reader he's kidnapped and begins to...I'm not sure if love is the right word lust after I think, sorry haven't been requesting long. :)

The return of the bug man. Maybe if u tell him ur fav pixar movie is bugs life he'll be nice 😳 he's a lil mean in this one but not too much. Im sorry i couldnt make it longer. Thanks for requesting!! 💞

Warnings: kidnapping, slight violence, dead body mention, ambiguous ending so beware , its up to you but there are... Implications

WC: 1163

Asa 'The Collector' Emory x gn Reader

Anything

Your aunt was a solitary woman. She was rich, but not the type to share and she kept her and her family very private. You could count the times you’d gone to visit her on just one hand. That did not mean that you didn’t try and contact her. In fact you worried for your aunt. Because she drove people away, you could never tell if she was in danger or if she was ok. She never told anyone what was happening to her. So you decided that visiting her without asking was what you had to resort to. She called sometimes but she’s been more quiet than you’re used to. Which means silent.

When you pulled up to her house, it was dark already. Did she have to live so far away? The car door closed behind you and your shoes crunched along the gravel in the driveway. You ring the doorbell.

“Auntie, it’s me!” you shouted and you received no response. The garage was closed and no sound echoed from the solitary house. No lights. Not even the porch lights. You stood in the dark and as you tried to knock a little louder the door creaked open. It was almost darker inside of the house than out. The windows were covered in boards and there were objects everywhere, like someone knocked everything in the room over. You yelped as a blade connected to a wooden plank sailed down from above the doorway, ducking just out of the way. It swung on a hinge and you furrowed your brow.

“What the-?” When you turn around, a man in a weird mask is staring at you from the bottom of the stairs, eyes shining bright green. You scream and turn to run from the figure, skirting past the plank with the blade. You try for your car, fumbling with the remote to unlock the door. The man picks you up violently, struggling in his arms. You attempt to stab him with the car keys but he won’t relent. He drags you up the stairs, avoiding traps along the way. You see the corpse of your aunt's husband and you sob. You see your aunt chained up in her bedroom and her screams are muffled through a gag. She's covered in wounds, blood, sweat and grime. You cry out and she seems to get more emotional at the sight of you. He throws you down on the floor, the air leaving your lungs all at once. You gasp to gain it back, failing to notice the chains he ties around you.

“Please, just stop. Leave us alone.” You whine as he starts to force you into a red chest. Impending doom. “No. No! NO!” the world turns black as he latches the box closed, your aunt screaming and eventually, silence.

The box unlatched and you tumbled out, coming face to face with black combat boots. You tried to pick yourself up but your hands were tied with chains. Your wrists hurt and he shoves you into a cage. There's at least a gym mat on the floor of it and you feel cold at the thought of spending any time in there. He kicks the cage closed, latching from the outside and you whimper.

“No, please. Why are you doing this? Just tell me what I’ve done to deserve this. Please.” Tears stream down your cheeks. You couldn’t believe this. All you wanted to do was see your aunt, not get kidnapped by some serial killer. He turns to look at you but you can't read anything past the mask. He drags the red box away and you curl into the corner. The room is dark but you don't even want to try and look at it. It will make this nightmare seem more real. You fall asleep thinking about how when you wake up, it’ll be a dream and you’ll pet your cat and make breakfast and-

You wake with a start. The blue stained gym mat on the floor crinkles as you move. Your wrists are red from being tied together. You whimper. What had you done to get such a bad hand at life?

You look up to see the man watching you, sitting in a chair and observing you in your little cage. Like a little bird. Sad to be in the cage but powerless to stop it. You look to meet his eyes.

“Can you untie me? I can't get out anyway.” You stick your chained hands out of the bars and he stands, slowly but surely. He roughly tugs your hands up further, taking a small key and unlocking the mechanism. You sigh and thank him. Venom will get you nowhere. That was the expected. Perhaps a kinder attitude will lighten his hand. You may be scared but strategy will stay the course.

You hold the marks in your cage, rubbing at them to comfort yourself. You put your hands in your lap, resting your head against the bars. He was surprised at how easily you accepted this. He expected resistance but it was sort of sad how fast you settled. He retrieved the sandwich he brought you. The cutie he met at that horrendous woman's house. A lovely creature. Something he wouldn't mind pinning to the wall to look at.

He stuck the sandwich through the bars, nudging it towards you. You take it, putting it in front of you. Foolish bird.

It’s been probably another day inside of the dismal room and the even more morose cage. You’ve already had enough of it. You had to pee. But your captor hadn’t come back yet. You rubbed your thighs together to keep from peeing yourself.

Little do you know he's watching from a camera placed in the dark corner. You rub your thighs together, putting a hand over your crotch. Sweet thing. You probably have to pee. But you bite your lip and wiggle. He can’t stop watching you. Your face changes in nuance, your hands clutching. Your useless rocking. He thinks he’ll fix your little problem.

The cage unlocks and you see the man walk in. He holds the cage door open and you take the chance he gives you. You exit the cage, following the tight fingers on your wrist. He leads you to a simple room with a toilet and a sink. He locks you in and you curse. There are no windows. Of course. You handle business and knock and the door opens. He’s still wearing that weird mask. You come out and he grabs your wrist.

“No, I don’t want the cage. Please, I don’t want the cage.” You cry out. You sob and blubber. “You leave me in there, I don’t- please, I’ll do anything.” You shake and grab at his arms. He freezes at the word anything. Anything. Everyone says anything. But does the songbird mean it?

He tugs you out of the cage. You’ll wish you hadn’t said ‘anything’.

Thanks for reading!! Never enough bug boy content.

#the collector x reader #the collector #asa emory x reader #asa emory #the collection #slasher x reader #slasher #fanfic #red writes

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moonshoesnikki · 4 years

Text

Behind Enemy Lines

Bso this is the new full length fic i’m working on!

hope yall like it while i crawl in a corner god this is cringey

genre: drama/angst

words: ????

chapter 1

General Choi San is the leader of the army trying to overthrow your country. But what happens when he not only captures your land, but your heart as well? (wink wonk lol)

Rumours were starting to spread throughout the country, but this had happened before. The villagers, and even the court members, would start to whisper. Warn of dangers to come. Dangers were never a concern for you, you were used to days filled with the impending doom of an attack on your small nation. Hidden in the mountains near Taebaeksan, your country was relatively off-grid,yet living with the fear that one day you would be found. Yesterday was not that day, and neither was the day before that. As the general of the militia, you would hear every fantasy that popped into anyone’s head.

“I’m telling you, i saw invaders coming from th-”

“You have to listen ma’am, they were seen just outsi-”

“Please, just take a minute to liste-”

“You crazy bitch! Just listen alrea-”

The townspeople weren’t exactly fond of you, they didn’t understand how a woman could become the general of the guard. Surely there had to be a man who was more capable, but the decision was made after a series of intense battles between the men - and you. Once the king saw your determination and skills, there was no question. Even the men followed you blindly into battle more than once, knowing that you had their best interests at heart. And due to your skill in military planning - your father being the previous general paid off after all - most battles didn’t lead to much. Most generals and captains of armies were intrigued at the thought of a woman leader and would offer to meet before any issues arose.

Private meetings like this were never rare for you, you were used to being stared at. You were always regarded as one of the more beautiful women in the circles you traveled in, not that you had many. Typically, the opposing general would never take you as seriously as they took their male opponents because, well, I mean look at you. After about twenty minutes into each meeting, the general would realize their mistake in underestimating you. Your thorough knowledge of their lands, army, and ammunition was appalling. That was when they would start taking you seriously, as a true general and not a little girl playing dress up. And deals were made, treaties signed, and peace reigned over the kingdom.

This time was different. Choi San was known for his ruthlessness, on and off the battlefield. He led his people to victory more times than anyone can count. A trained martial artist, San could truly best almost any opponent. Rumours would spread about him. For a while the people thought he was gifted with special powers from the spirits. He was quick, accurate, and deadly. Not only was he known for his skills on the battleground, San was breathtakingly handsome. Rumours had it that his eyes were dark with lust and greed and his smile could bring women to their knees. You hoped every day that you would never have to encounter him. But the day had finally come. Your most trusted spy, returned -barely- with a warning scrawled onto a sheet of paper.

“Come alone, we’ve got a dinner date. 7pm.”

You sighed and hung your head. There was no avoiding this. You turned to your second in command and best friend, Park SeongHwa. A skilled assassin and reliable friend, the two of you had been attached at the hip since you were toddlers. Your mothers were best friends which meant that you were always near each other. Learning to fight, studying, even just laying in the fields as the wind blew through your hair. He truly was the brother you never had.

“Seonghwa, I’ll need you with me on this.”

“Of course, General.” He responded. Always so professional.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Your stomach sank as you approached the destination. You did as General Choi asked - somewhat. The tent set up by San’s troops was placed in a low valley between towering mountains. Your scouts determined that the enemy had a scout on the western mountaintop, so you instructed SeongHwa to post on the eastern. If General Choi broke the rule, so could you.

“There she is! The fearless leader!” he bellowed from the tent. The timbre of his voice surprised you, almost as if he was excited for this meeting? But what surprised you more was that it made your heart do the tiniest backflip.

You sat at the table across from him, your heart pounding in your ears. His presence was unnerving to you, but you couldn’t distinguish why. Arguably, you were just as competent of a general he was. The only thing he lacked was your compassion, and you the lack of his ruthlessness. Yet something in his eyes was so alluring to you. It felt like you could get lost in them forever, watching the way they glinted as he talked. He had a certain arrogance to him,he knew he was attractive, he’d been reassured of that many times. After taking down multiple nations, it was only natural for him to put on an air or two. However, you noticed the change in his demeanor. Multiple of his men - so much for going alone - entered the tent at different points to bring more food or wine. Each time one entered, his demeanor would change. He became soft, and would laugh with his friends. Making jokes and playing games seemed natural to him, then in an instant he would return to the arrogant general.

He chuckled as he watched your face. You looked calm on the exterior, always making delicate yet deliberate moves and knowing exactly what to say. All the while, he could sense your discomfort. He would be lying if he said it didn’t intrigue him. He had heard from his men before that you were a sight for sore eyes, but he didn’t truly understand what they meant until you walked into the tent. You were breathtaking, stunning, everything that made his heart stop and take a moment to pause. Throughout the entire dinner and talks, he didn’t once stop looking at you. It made you squirm, which made his heart sing -- it meant that he had the same effect on you that you did on him.

‘Snap the hell out of it’, you told yourself, ‘we’ve got a war to prevent’.

“So, what do you say General?” San asks as he glances to meet your eyes again, “Are we through here? Are our terms agreeable?” He leans back in his chair and throws his arm across the back, pulling one leg over the other.

“I believe we are through, General. However, My country cannot agree to these terms.” You respond.

“Come now, I’d hate the next time I see your pretty face on the battlefield instead of somewhere more comfortable.”

You gasp in shock. He can’t be serious, can he? Your countries are inches away from war, with you two leading the charge, and he’s trying to seduce you. Honestly, the fact that someone else has managed to use this strategy other than yourself is impressive. But it doesn’t stop the rush of blood to your cheeks that you desperately try to stifle. He notices and it sends him reeling.

“General Choi, as alluring as your offer sounds, I’m af-” he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. Thrown off guard by his impulsive move, you slap him directly across the cheek. San falls to the ground clutching his face.

“General, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you shouted. He said nothing. This was the first time in his life he’d felt rejection. San stood up, immediately embarrassed by his actions. However, his pride couldn’t take the refusal to submit.

“I’ll see you on the front”. San turned and left the tent.

‘If it’s a war he wants,” you thought to yourself, “it’s a war he’ll get’.

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ren-c-leyn · 4 years

Text

The Cost of Desire

It’s been a while, but here’s another short story for the blog. Figured it’d be a good way to slowly get back into tumblr.

This is a fusion story using these 1,2 prompts by @thependragonwritersguild, this prompt by @humdrummoloch, this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor, and these 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 prompts by @givethispromptatry.

Fair warning, while this piece doesn’t have any gore or violence in it, it is a more tense piece with the narrator stuck waiting impending doom.

I remembered that day clearly, the one that began this secret obsession of mine. It was just one of those moments that never left me.

Mother was an alchemist whom always gathered the ingredients for her potions herself. I don’t remember why exactly but she had decided to take me with her, but I remember being excited to go on a ‘real life adventure.’ I clumsily carried some of the baskets and trotted after her on my short legs. It went well enough, until we got to the forest filled with mist.

“Shhh…” She held her pointer finger up to her lips. “We need to be quiet here.”

“Why?” I whispered, still somehow loud enough to cause an echo.

“There’s something that sleeps here. We don’t want to disturb it. Now stay on the path, don’t stray from it for a second.”

I listened, but only because mother was there with me. Something about not being allowed to stray from the path and make noise made me want to run off the path and scream ‘hello there’ at the top of my lungs. And that desire never left.

As I got older, I got more and more curious about the forest and what slept in it. Often, I would stray from the path, a little more each time to see if I could find anything besides the endlessly swirling white. My best friend, however, was a tattle tale and the one day I did stray off the path while they were with me, they ran all the way back to the village got my mother. Whom, was of course, furious.

“You’ve been told many times to stay on the path!” mother shrieked, pacing the main room of our tiny house. “One of these days something is going to take you!”

That threat was enough to curb my wanderings until I became a true adventurer and discovered the secret of that forest. It was a place wizards hid powerful artifacts, artifacts powerful enough to make me the best adventurer of them all. A lure I couldn’t resist.

Equipped with my weapon and my armor, I felt more than confident enough in my ability to take down the guardian of the artifacts. I strode into the mists, not even trying to muffle the clinking of my gear. All of mother’s warnings and rules were broken. I didn’t even remember most of them in that moment, my mind was focused on the prizes that awaited me.

Oh how foolish I was.

In less than an hour, I had found a stone path. It was strange, I hadn’t remembered coming across one so close to the main path, but I was not going to laugh off this bit of fortune. For all paths must lead somewhere, and the only thing to go to in this forest was the place the relics had been locked away. I rushed down it, drinking in the muffled sounds of my own footfalls as I went.

And it was on that stone path that I met the creature mother had been so terrified of finding me.

Two opalized eyes blinked at me through the fog. I could see no discernible pupils through the gloom but I knew that those eyes were sorting through my very character, figuring out who I was without a word. Chills ran up my spine, breathing got a little harder, and my heart sped up against my will. My legs, dear gods my legs, they trembled and nearly gave out beneath the weight of that stare. Run, run away, my instincts screamed. But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t run. Not without something to show for my courage, or stupidity, in coming to meet the guardian.

The eyes vanished and the mists began to clear. I sucked in a breath of relief just before the hairs on the back of my neck rose. The ghost-like chill of breathe on my neck nearly made me jump right out of my armor as I spun around, hand gripping the hilt of my sword for all it was worth.

Before me stood what looked like a young girl. It’s difficult to recall exactly what she looked like. Whenever I try to focus on her appearance my mind goes hazy and I nearly forget what I was trying to remember. The one thing I can recall clearly was the sound of her voice. It was as if there was a constant whine of wind trying to drown out a girl’s voice, and it echoed in my mind. Her eyes were like opals and had no pupils, and I can’t recall there being any color to anything else about her. Just... cloudy whiteness, like a phantom.

No, not like it. Not at all. She was a phantom. The ghost of every misdeed and mistake ever committed. That was her, that was what I faced that day.

“Who are you?”

I grinned, clenching my teeth together to keep them from chattering right out of my gums.

“I am the greatest adventurer to ever stand before you,” I declared with shaky bravado, “and who are you?”

“Oh, no one important.”

“Well, that’s solidly not true.”

She laughed, though it didn’t seem to come from her. It seemed to come from the forest itself.

“It is in the grand scheme of things. In fact, I am no one,” the smile fell from her face into a dark stare that nearly made my legs give out from under me again. “but that doesn’t matter here because you are someone, someone who does not respect the grand scheme. And someones are not allowed in here. You must leave.”

“No. I’m the greatest adventurer there ever was, and I’m not leaving without at least one artifact.”

She shook her head, an amused smile growing on her lips.

“They all say that, all of the somebodies. But you don’t understand, you never understand. Nothing you learned up there will help you survive down here.”

I paused at that. Down here? Weren’t we still in that forest? I looked up but al I could see was more mist.

“Look, I don’t know what mind games you’re playing, guardian, but I’ve come too far to back down now. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

I turned back around and started to walk forward. The sense of dread and impending doom grew as I took the first step, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from that being. But guardians aren’t known to just stand idly by while someone comes in and raids their treasure troves, and she was certainly no exception.

“You’re not excused!” the forest howled as the ground quaked.

I struggled to keep my balance as I looked around for the source of the earthquake. The next thing I knew she was standing in front of me, arms outstretched.

“Not unless you turn around and leave. That’s the only way to walk away from me, somebody.”

Irritated, I reached out to push her aside, but she was a little faster than I. A freezing cold hand wrapped around my wrist and sent what felt like ice up my veins. Everything was so cold, and so numb. I felt my strength all leave me as pain took it’s place. Soon, I was on the ground and the little girl was leaning above me.

“You wanted to be the best. Now look at you. It’s going to kill you,” she whispered into my ear.

The tingling feeling of paralysis held me in place, though I violently wished I could unsheathe my sword.

“It’s going to hunt you down and kill you. Your end is coming. Even if you should leave, somebody, you’ve sealed your own fate.”

Then, she was gone. Just like that. The feeling of dread, of being watched, it was all gone. Except I couldn’t move and I felt the cold spreading throughout my body. I struggled at first, but of course nothing move. Over time, I got some feeling back and was even able to push myself up a tiny bit. But the hours were so slow in passing that I caught myself wondering if time was moving at all. I leaned back against the ground, knocking my head on the cold stone.

It was pointless. It was so pointless.... Trying to fight the paralysis, trying to escape, wasting all that time talking to some strange girl, even coming here. I was going to die, and there would be no point to it. The ultimate tragedy.

I was always terrible at goodbyes. I had a tendency to avoid them, if at all possible, and other times gave a simple wave and ignored the probability I would never see them again.

As I found myself alone, struggling to make my body to move, I wished I had been able to say goodbye. If only to my best friend, who warned me not to go.

Then, I fell asleep, letting the cold consume me. But that was not quite the end of my tale.

The mid afternoon sun filtered it’s way through the sheer curtains to fall upon my face. My eyes slowly blinked themselves to awareness as sleep let go. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t even in the forest anymore. I seemed to be at my best friend’s cottage, laid out in the guest room. The scent of herbs and incense filled the air as I looked around in a daze.

A dream?

I was not that lucky, though. A chill rose in my blood and pain began to fill my senses. While I could move, it was stiff and agonizing.

My friend popped their head into the room.

“How are you doing?”

The bitter pain of the curse settling into my bones clenched once more, pulling a gasp from my throat.

“Oh, you know, like I’m dying.”

They crossed the room and settled into one of the chairs next to the bed.

“By rights, you should be dead. You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know that? I can’t believe you went out of your way to provoke the creature of those woods.”

“I am shocked and appalled that you would believe for even one second that I would do that.”

“Are you though?”

“Not really. How’d I get here, anyways?”

“I went looking for you and found you laying face down in the grass beside the path. But you wouldn’t wake up so I drug you here and got the healers, who got the priests, who got the mage, who is sending a letter to the wizard’s guild.”

I let out a low whistle.

“Damn, sounds like you’ve had all kinds of interesting company while I was out cold. Why do you always meet the interesting people while I’m gone?”

They laughed, but it trailed off into a grim expression.

“I’m afraid that you’ve had your last adventure, friend. The priests and mages don’t even know where to begin tackling the curse that you ended up getting. What did you find anyways?”

“Some... weird girl.”

“Some weird girl doesn’t tell me a lot.”

“She’s the Keeper of Forbidden Artifacts, and to be fair, she did warn me before she decided to kill me.”

“Kill you?!” they jumped up out of the chair.

“The curse.”

“The hells she will!”

And before I could stop them, they ran off, like they were going to get mother again. Only, mother wasn’t here to save me this time. No one was. I was doomed to a slow death, feeling my energy be stripped away day by day while others have adventures of a lifetime.

So I pen down this tale as warning: Do not enter the mist-filled forest, for it is no place for mortals.

The very slim chance of success, if it should exist at all, is simply not worth the cost of desire: a constant pain and chill that will slowly devour you and steal away your life while you fear the impending end that forever sits at your bedside waiting for you to finish withering away into an empty husk. Abandon ambitions of recovering lost treasures forged by over-ambitious wizards and find a more worthy quest to pursue.

Taglist, feel free to ask to be added/removed at any time:

@nemowritesstuff, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @dawnoftheagez, @orphicodysseywrites, @hannahs-creations, @writer-candy, @kaylewiswrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @tenacious-scripturient, @ofinkblotsandscript, @mischiefiswritten , @kespada, @asterannie, @silvertalonwriteblr, @inspiring-prompts, @greenwood-writes, @wemitodd, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity, @wordshavings

#fiction #fantasy #dark fantasy #original story #My writing #writeblr #a story by Ren

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chloefrazer · 4 years

Text

quarter to three

title: quarter to three relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling words: 3.5k warnings: none summary: Days have passed since that night when Mickey lost herself to the Beast. On a cool October night in downtown Los Angeles, Nines confronts her as to why he didn’t fulfill his promise.

The ambient sounds of downtown Los Angeles filled the otherwise silent office space. Sounds of traffic, low music, and muffled voices of locals and tourists alike making their way back home before the sun rose. The office was small and cluttered, with boxes of paperwork still left unorganized and unfiled. The furniture looked secondhand, the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and the AC hadn’t been fixed in a good couple of months.

It was, by all accounts, a bit of a shithole, but it was home.

Even though the Prince had been oh, so gracious enough to give Mickey a haven in Santa Monica, most nights it remained empty. Instead, she chose to stay in her office, where she could attempt to cling to normalcy in peace. Mickey currently sat on the fire escape, unseen by the general populace below. She was always good at going unnoticed. Or, at least she was, before she found herself wrapped up in the world of Kindred politics. All the political scheming and backstabbing was enough to make her head spin, yet she landed in the middle of it all.

Not by choice, of course. If Mickey had her way, she would have been halfway across the country by now. It’s what she did — running away was a tough habit to break. It was difficult trying to ignore the pesky voice in her ear that urged her to pick flight over fight. It was safer that way; made it less likely to be hurt. Mickey knew that if she did try and run, it wouldn’t take long for Prince Lacroix to find her and bring her back kicking and screaming. Unless he didn’t just kill her first.

Like he should have, if he’d had his way. Like he was going to, until Nines Rodriguez loudly objected to her premature execution.

Her loud — and more than a little frustrated — sigh went unheard from her current position; elbows resting on her knees as she sat on the fireplace’s steps. The thump of bass from Confession nearby was strong enough that Mickey could feel it in her chest. Mickey swore quietly out into the night air. Her posture shifted as she brought a hand up to rake through her hair, annoyance bleeding through every movement. The nightlife of Los Angeles took no notice of the increasingly frustrated Kindred above them, too lost in their own little worlds. Mickey wished, idly, for a fraction of their ignorance.

She didn’t have that luxury, though.

Why the hell did he save me? The question had been at the forefront of Mickey’s mind for a while now. Ever since that night in the theatre. Then he saved her again from that pack of Sabbat. She asked Jack what he thought when she first came stumbling into the Last Round, disheveled and bruised, but alive. His explanation didn’t solve fuckall, but Mickey had been too chickenshit to ask Nines directly.

She swore again.

Then there was the night Mickey had investigated the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle; the night she lost herself to the Beast. When she left the building, broken and bloody, she felt Nines’ eyes drilling holes into her back, and the shame of her actions still curled in her gut. The building was a map of her carnage and destruction, not to mention the mess she made of the Bishop himself. Mickey didn’t come out unscathed, either. Her shoulder still ached, but it was healing, and her Hunger was under control, but the emotional scars persisted. She could still feel Vick’s Vitae under her fingernails no matter how hard she scrubbed them clean.

She lost control, but she was still alive, and she knew she’d have to deal with the consequences sooner or later. Mickey, of course, preferred dealing with those consequences later, hence why she’d been avoiding Nines and the rest of the Anarchs lately. She’d been avoiding Prince Lacroix, too, and he knew it. He sent her a rather scathing email, demanding her presence back at Venture Tower at her utmost convenience.

Which, translated from corporate stooge language, meant: “Get your ass back here, now.”

Mickey knew that the longer she made him wait, the angrier he’d get, which is exactly why she hadn’t come crawling back yet. He probably had eyes and ears everywhere downtown, so it was a safe assumption that he knew about her frequent visits to the Last Round. The Prince just couldn’t take the fucking hint.

Let him wait a little longer, lest he think she was some dutiful, Camarilla bootlicker.

Among the shadows, Mickey reached into her pocket, pulling free her lighter and a cigarette. A nasty habit left over from her days when she was still living. A reminder of normalcy, an anchor to the world she was too stubborn to leave behind; like her office. A flame sparked in the shadows, illuminating her face in the darkness, and a sliver of fear also sparked at the small source of heat. She remained in control, lighting the end of the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut. Her lips wrapped around the filter and she inhaled deep, the smoke filling her dead lungs. Her body felt no rush from the nicotine, no spike in adrenaline, no release of dopamine. She sat there, a walking corpse surrounded by shadow and smoke, the bass from Confession reverberating deep in her chest. If Mickey closed her eyes, she could pretend it was her heartbeat.

Her reverie was broken as Mickey felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she groaned, stamping the cigarette out on the railing before grabbing the device. As she read the contact, her heart sank into her gut. Mickey briefly debated throwing the phone over the railing, an odd feeling fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Nines since that night she investigated the Brotherhood and she beat Bishop Vick into a bloody pulp. Mickey struggled to forget the look in his eyes that night, the icy intensity of his gaze making her stomach flip.

Where she expected to see anger, disgust, and hate, she saw something that dangerously looked like sympathy. Maybe even a little sadness. She refused to acknowledge what else it could have been.

As she flipped the phone open, that fluttering feeling in her chest turned to dread as she read:

Need to talk. You around tonight?

Mickey’s fingers twitched for another cigarette. She could ignore the text easily enough, get in a cab and be on her way to Santa Monica before the sun came up. That’s what the nagging, persistent voice in her head told her to do. Flight before fight. Run away while you still can.

Instead, though, she typed a quick confirmation — as well as the address to her office — to the rather foreboding text. Mickey hoped her response conveyed a sense of cool nonchalance, because all she felt was an impending sense of doom that sat in the pit of her stomach like lead. As Mickey made her way back inside, closing the window behind her, those walls she carefully constructed over the years built themselves over her mind brick by brick. A defense mechanism from years of aimlessness, from moving from place to place and keeping people at an arm’s length; because they can’t hurt what they can’t touch.

The clock on her wall read a quarter to three and her mask of cool detachment was in place.

That mask threatened to slip, though, once Mickey fully realized that she invited Nines to her home; the one place she felt totally safe, the one place she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable.

This time, she did light another cigarette, the taste of smoke anchoring her to the here and now. This was her domain, she reminded herself; she was in control here. What was wrong with her, anyway? A storm of emotions raged through Mickey at the thought of the stoic Anarch leader. She’d been thrust into this world of darkness suddenly and violently. Everything she learned about how Kindred society worked was through firsthand experience. She knew that almost everyone had some hidden agenda; either they were vying for power, influence, or profit, and they needed someone to do their dirty work for them.

That’s how it happened in Santa Monica; Mickey had been bossed around by any Kindred with a week’s worth of seniority over her.

She was a pawn in Lacroix’s game, she knew that, too. Mickey knew that she was on borrowed time, though. She was a calculated risk, a liability. Lacroix would have preferred her to die that night in the Nocturne Theatre, but now he had to figure out how to use her to his advantage. Mickey had no desire to be cannon fodder for some two-bit, prissy Ventrue prince, but every time she tried to weasel her way out of his machinations, he found a way to keep her there.

Nines, though. Mickey didn’t have a guess at what his angle was. Why did he care so much? Why did he rush in, time and time again, to save her life? Why didn’t he fulfill his promise and kill her the other night when the Beast took over and she was more wolf than woman? Perhaps he just wanted her for the cause; she’d been helping out the Anarchs a lot lately, and she was fairly close with Smiling Jack — he was one of the only people Mickey could actually talk to about all this stuff.

Her thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a knock at her door. She moved to stamp out the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk, fingers raking through her hair. His silhouette was outlined on the other side of the door, visible through the opaque glass. As Mickey opened the door, the sarcastic greeting she was prepared to give him died before it could escape past her lips, lodged somewhere in her throat as her steel gray eyes met his icy blue ones.

The intensity of his gaze always seemed to knock the wind out of her, no matter how many times she saw him. She cleared her throat, searching for the words that got lost, before greeting him, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Nines said, jutting his chin toward her office, “Can I come in?”

Mickey nodded, moving aside to let him pass. He did so, shoulder nearly brushing against hers in the process. As he moved further inside the office space, the walls felt even smaller with just the two of them inside. It was quiet, the ambient sounds of downtown LA muffled even more with the windows shut. Her small office was a vastly different environment from the Last Round — no blaring music, no rowdy bar patrons, no Skelter or Damsel to give her any snarky remarks about her assumed Kindred political alliances.

It was just the two of them in Mickey’s dingy little office space that hadn’t seen any proper clientele in weeks.

“‘Sundown Investigations’, huh?”

Mickey blinked at the sudden question, “Excuse me?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Nines’ mouth as he gestured to the door again, where the name of Mickey’s private investigation firm was painted onto the glass. She snorted, her hand moving to rub the back of her neck in a sheepish motion.

“Yeah, uh, kinda ironic now, I guess,” she said, inwardly cringing at just how awkward she sounded. Get a fucking grip, Mickey. “I’ve just always worked at night, so it seemed fitting at the time.”

Nines nodded, humming quietly in response. Mickey resisted the urge to light another cigarette and instead shoved her hands in her pockets, leaning back against the edge of her desk, her mask of detached coolness making her the perfect picture of bored nonchalance.

“So,” she said, drawing out the word slightly, “you said you wanted to talk?

“I do,” he confirmed. He stood with his back slightly to her, arms crossed over his chest, his face slightly obscured by shadow. Mickey’s calculating eyes struggled to get a read on him; he seemed casual, eerily calm in a way. There was no hint of hostility or anger, but the longer he waited to elaborate, the more the seed of paranoia in the back of her mind began to grow.

He opened his mouth to continue, but Mickey beat him to it.

“How come you didn’t kill me?”

The question caught them both off guard. Nines’ expression shifted to that of slight surprise, one eyebrow raised. Mickey begged her face to remain neutral and hoped to God her walls stood solid. The noise outside seemed to cease and the quiet turned nearly suffocating as Mickey waited for his response. Not even the Beast had anything smart to say, probably enjoying the thick tension too much to break it.

“That’s a tough question,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence as he turned to face Mickey fully. His face no longer obscured by shadow, Mickey tried not to shrink from his gaze, defiantly meeting him head on. She was in control here, she reminded herself once again.

“Truth is: I don’t know,” Nines said, moving to take half a step closer, “I don’t know why I didn’t kill you that night. Don’t think I could’ve, not when you looked like —” he stopped, as though trying to spare Mickey the truth.

“Like what?” Mickey pressed, inviting the onslaught of brutal honesty. She needed to hear it, she needed to know what he thought, because he was so unreadable that she could never get a read on what he could possibly be thinking.

“Like a goddamn wounded animal,” he finished, hand roughly dragging down his face. Another step closer this time, the walls seemingly closing in along with him, “you snapped out of it, anyway. You didn’t give me a reason to shoot.”

When the Beast locked eyes with Nines that night, she cowered in the corner, well aware of the threat he posed. When he called out to her, urging her to take back control, the Beast complied; releasing her claws from Mickey and retreating to the dark corners of her mind. Nines’ voice, a guide to bring her back to herself. Mickey didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

“Yeah,” was all Mickey said, her gaze breaking from his momentarily, flashing to the bit of floor that lay under her shoes. The tempest of emotion continued to rage on, thousands of thoughts flashing through her mind like lightning. When she brought her eyes back up to meet Nines’, he could see the storm raging behind her eyes, that familiar sharp steel now dark as storm clouds.

Another step, dangerously close now, close enough to touch if either one of them dared to reach out. “Somethin’ wrong?”

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl rumbled in her throat like thunder, but Nines didn’t budge, didn’t shrink away.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Mickey bit out the question through clenched teeth, hands clenching and unclenching. Her senses were overloaded, her mind buzzing with questions and frustrations and feelings she really, really, didn’t want to acknowledge, couldn’t acknowledge, because she didn’t understand.

“Doin’ what, kid?”

A disgruntled noise, followed by a rude gesture as she motioned between the two of them. Christ, she was bad at this. Letters and syllables bunched her throat, all of them threatening to pour out of her mouth all at once.

“Saving me! Looking out for me, I don’t fuckin’ know! You stood up for me that night at the theatre, stopping that piece of shit French asshole from killing me. Then, you show up just in time to stop those Sabbat from staking and leaving me for the sunrise. And now, I lost control, and you don’t kill me. So, why, Nines? Huh?”

By the time her stream of consciousness was finished, Mickey was damned near breathless. If her heart could still beat, she was sure it’d be racing. Her walls were starting to slip, cracks appearing in the foundations. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she was supposed to stay in control. Keep people at arm’s length, that’s what she did.

Except, now, he was closer than an arm’s length away. She didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. She had to look up toward him now, in order to meet his gaze headon. Mickey nearly startled when she caught him smirking at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

A beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle in the back of his throat. “Why do you think I keep lookin’ out for you?”

Mickey blinked. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go.

“Because — because I’m useful?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

When Nines didn’t respond, Mickey continued, “you want me for the cause, or whatever. Which, yeah, sure, I hate Lacroix, so if you — if the Anarchs need help, I’ll help, but if that’s why, then you should just say it —”

“Kid —”

“— because Jesus Christ, I get enough bullshit power play from every other Kindred in this city, so —”

“Mickey.”

As he said her name, the rambling stopped. He was so close to her now. He clouded her senses, his presence a comforting haze she didn’t want to pull away from, not yet, not when he’d never been so close to her before. Mickey didn’t dare breathe (not that she needed to, anyway) so as to not break the tension.

“I didn’t save you because I think you’re useful,” he said, voice low, but each syllable reverberated loudly in her ears, “I saved you because — shit, I —”

It was uncharacteristic of Nines to fumble with his words. He was direct, brutally honest when he needed to be, and oh, so persuasive. That was why more and more Kindred flocked to his banner every night; they believed in him, believed in his cause and the convictions he would both live and die for.

But honesty was different than vulnerability, which Mickey and Nines both seemed to struggle with.

Mickey watched as his gaze flashed from her eyes down to her lips. He couldn’t place the shade of red; crushed cherries, red wine, day-old bloodstain. When his head dipped low, Mickey didn’t move as their foreheads gently met. His hands braced against the desk behind her, and she was thankful for its weight, because she’d started to feel weak at the knees.

He was too close to look at now. A fluttering of lashes as her eyes shut, followed by that persistent flutter in her chest. She inhaled slowly, her own hands resting on the bare skin of his forearms.

“Nines?” Mickey asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted, nose brushing ever-so-slightly over hers. A hair’s breadth away now, his mouth ghosting and feather-light against her own. Something snapped in her then — her composure, most likely — like a taut wire string. Mickey rose up on her toes and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft, gentle, almost hesitant. It lasted a few seconds before Mickey pulled back on instinct, as though startled by her own gentleness. She didn’t make it far though, before Nines was kissing her again, an edge of desperation and hunger to it. This kiss was not gentle; it was wild — primal, even. Mickey felt her lips bruise, her tongue tasting her own Vitae. Her hands snaked up his arms, one wrapped around his shoulder, the other resting against the back of his neck. She felt his arm grip her waist in turn, helping Mickey keep her balance as she stood on the tips of her toes.

When they finally parted, a low whine escaped Mickey’s throat. Nines stepped back a hair, putting more distance between the two of them. Her hands rested on his forearms again, his on her waist. It was quiet again, but this time Mickey didn’t find the quiet as deafening.

“This what you had in mind when you said you wanted to talk?” Mickey asked, that familiar bite of snark making its way back into her voice.

Nines dared to crack a smile at that, “We are still gonna talk about this,” he paused, gesturing between the two of them, “whether you like it or not.”

Mickey slid up to him then, something like a challenge gleaming in her eye, flashing like lightning. “Oh, yeah? That a threat? Or a promise?”

“A promise,” he confirmed, that smile threatening to grow wider.

“Speaking of promises,” Nines continued, albeit reluctantly, “I’ve got an appointment to keep, so I better get goin’.”

Mickey nodded, that same snark bleeding through as she said, “Well, far be it from me to keep you from your adoring public.”

Nines snorted as he readjusted the collar of his shirt. He paused then, really looking at Mickey, pinning her beneath the icy intentness of his gaze.

“You’re probably the only person that could.”

Before Mickey’s brain could even work fast enough to come up with a response to that, he bid farewell with a smirk and a raise of his brow. When the door shut behind him, Mickey was left with a new storm of emotions, but her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

#nines rodriguez #vtmb #vtmb fic #ship: rebel yell #writing: mine #and i said i am going to write something that is so self indulgent #ch: mickey

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inviouswriting · 4 years

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Forgiveness

I have three more installments for the Kivera AU. Then I’ll bring that side story to an end.

Kivera and Ardbert. So mentions of the polyship.

Characters mentioned.

Meeps/Fae - @meepsthemiqo

Shuri - @maiden-born-in-snow

Ardbert had thought he had ruined his chances with her, he had said things which were not easily forgiven. When Divinity approached him, telling him Kivera wants to finally see him. He was surprised she would give him the time of day, after her cold shoulder treatment the pass few weeks.

Ardbert was told a location to go, on the outskirts of a Gridania, a secluded spot, perfect for a creature of the night. When he sees Kivera sitting overlooking the water as it flowed. He is reminded of how lucky he was, she is someone who could have killed him without a second thought. She commands respect and rightfully so, he felt her power run through him. Had she intended to kill him, he would not be there.

Kivera has an ear turned towards him, she knows he is there, but hasn’t decided to look his way yet. The former warrior of light, sensed unease within her. Like they were just putting off another inevitable. She avoided him throughout her being in the house, anytime he would enter a room, she’d disappear without a second thought. Right now he feels his voice stuck in his throat, he starts with what he should say.

“I’m so-”

“Do not apologize.” Kivera’s voice is barely a hiss.

“You have nothing to apologize for, you merely defended the defenseless.” Kivera tucks her knees into herself, making herself smaller.

“Then let me apologize for my words. I said things that hurt. Divinity explained.” He hears her scoff under her breath.

“She is like me, she has been through as much as I have. I accept that apology. You were an idiot the moment you said them.” He sees a glare turned towards him.

“If you are ever careless with your tongue again. I will make sure to drag you to Hell myself.” Ardbert knew she was half serious, the tease in her voice hid her true intent.

“If I ever do, I’ll go willingly.” He sees her gaze soften, taking an invitation to approach her, there was a sensation in the air that kept him from being directly next to her. He took it as warning she did not want him that close yet.

“Cid, I handled him correct. He isn’t a fighter. So scaring him was easier. G’raha Tia, I handled him poorly. I could have done the same as Cid. Scare him without the grand display.” Kivera muses aloud, wanting to turn back the clock and redo that encounter. There were those of the Scion’s terrified of her now, they should be. They trespassed in her world.

“I owe you an apology myself, for my own careless words.” Kivera directs it to him.

“We were both fired up. Mine were worse. I took jabs like that many times from Scions and in The First.” Kivera raises her head to look at him now.

“What of Meeps in this?” He asks her, wanting to know if it was the miqo that set her on the path.

“Fae, is ruled be her grief, while Meeps just wants to forget it. What she did not understand when we spoke is, that worlds, The First’s G’raha Tia the Crystal Exarch is dead. Both he and Elidibus are dead. This world’s G’raha Tia, is not dead. His life is already set in motion, just the circumstances changed. The path that lead to his death is no longer the reality. There is no Zodiark, nor Hades and Elidibus to bring that impending doom and calamity.” Kivera rambles more than really talking, Ardbert understands it.

“Yet the Exarch’s memories are implanted into the current G’raha.” He adds to her ramblings.

“Of which he sacrificed the memories of his former self’s memories from there. It’s complicated, but the payment was the same. The memories that made no sense. Like which Hecate’s were taken so Kiya could exist without the chance of losing herself because of what was her former life in Amaurot.” Kivera folds her arms.

“In short, there was no need for the future that was set in motion, for their memories to stay the same.” Ardbert asks, he was confused.

“Like that, it’s why humans shouldn’t tread in the space of time and death. My rulership. Matters of the Underworld to make sure it flows smooth.” Ardbert understood that one. He had moved closer to her, and Kivera gets up to be in front of him. He sees her face is more solemn about something.

“I am about to show you, what I hid during the first showing. There are sides of me not meant for everyone. Shuri and Estinien accepted them. They both know and bore witness to these memories. I will warn you, if you should deny these, I will never open up to you again, and our relationship shall end here.” Ardbert is taken aback by her words, understanding that what she shares next will either mend or make them repulse each other further.

“I understand.” He says, and Kivera presses her forehead to his to show him the same memories she had shown Shuri. The direct torment in Hell she endured, how the former arc angel was dragged through mires, used in different ways, how she was blinded. Her betrayal of her zodiac circle as a lich puppet. Being made to attack them against her will. He could feel the flames that scorched her, reminding him of the flames that she had marked him with.

When she had finished sharing those memories, he wrapped his arms on her. He after all, shared something similar when he had attacked the other warrior of lights, had done the Ascian’s work to set Zodiark in motion.

“I accept these memories. To think you’d trust me with them.” Kivera feels vulnerable in it, and wants to run from him. He keeps her there, even as the prickle of lightning surges through her.

“I’ll keep them a secret too, and not use them on you.” He swears, and Kivera relaxes. The tension within her still there, but the start of them mending what could have easily ended their side of the relationship. He is reminded despite all her bravado and demeanors, this was a tormented soul.

“You are not undeserving of kindness. And what you cling to from Damien’s death, if you show this much to mine and Shuri. Don’t you think it is time you healed too?” Kivera for the first time is struck with his words more than when he spat venom in their fight. She had felt her chest tighten, if her heart was within her, she’d have felt it skip or drop.

“I’m not meant to..” She turns her head away, Ardbert keeps hold feeling her wanting to run away.

“Stay. You have said it yourself before, that those who let their hearts be ruled by sorrow and grief risk destruction. Isn’t that true for you too?” He feels her nails dig into his shoulders. He is the second person to say that to her.

“I...” It is her lost for words, she pulls back but Ardbert keeps her from running with a hand between her wings.

“You don’t have to torment yourself anymore. Look at all you have gained.” She shoves away from him, but he keeps her there.

“I can’t just forget my feelings..”

“So don’t. You can keep them and mourn while chasing what is given to you. Trust us a bit more.” Kivera feels her face heat up, then buries her face into his chest.

“I will try.” She murmurs and Ardbert runs a hand through her left wing, not feeling her recoil from that touch.

“Black wing.” Ardbert understands and touches on it instead.

“Divinity and Shuri are right. You have your cute moments.” This gets Kivera to snap her head up and shove him back. He is glared at through pink irises and a dusted face to match. She in turn runs away and he laughs seeing her embarrassed for a change.

“Well, I’m not about to let her get away now.” He chases after her.

Kivera reflects his words.

“May too, I deserve redemption then.”

#Kivera Siverstein #polyship with shuri #shuri fontaye #Kivera au

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the-gory-gardner · 4 years

Text

Nightingale Part Four: Not Alone

(The Meeting Between A Huntsman And A Lonesome Kitten One Year Ago)

Jonathan West x Katrina Evans

For almost an hour the only sound filling the small cabin was the clicking of a keyboard. Jonathan sighed when he finally finished his piece for his blog along with sending emails to potentials clients. When he had sent the last email he’d starting browsing the local news websites to see if Katrina had been reported missing.

He knew she’d said her parents weren’t home but you’d think they’d call the house to check on her especially after a big snow storm. But the only interesting thing he found was a report on one Richard Wells a sex offender who’d skipped town. Jonathan knew it was the man from the night before he’d killed. He wondered if his body was still out there covered in snow and being chewed on by animals. Jonathan wondered given the man’s record if anyone one even care to find his killer if they discovered his body.

After a few more minutes online before finally closing his laptop. Just as he did a loud scream rung out from his bed room. Jonathan didn’t think at all simply reacting on autopiloting as he grabbed the closes things to him before running to the back of the cabin. What he found was no threat, just a small girl thrashing around on his bed trying to fight a danger that only she could see. Seeing there was nothing around to hurt him he sat down the object he’d grabbed- A wooden spoon, seriously ?- before heading towards the bed.

“Katrina, Katrina wake up”. Jonathan said in a whisper shout as he tried to get closer to her. He sat on the edge of his bed doing his best to avoid her flailing arms. “Katrina wake up, It’s okay wake up”. He stated this time managing to get ahold of her wrist just below her bandages. With that Katrina finally woke up her eyes shooting open. She sat up at neck breaking speed nearly knocking Jonathan off the bed as she barreled herself into his chest.

Jonathan of course was startled holding his hands up unsure of what he should do. He never thought he’d be in a situation where a very small traumatized girl was sobbing into his chest as her whole body shook, After a moment of hesitation he held his arms around Katrina. He wasn’t really holding her his arms slightly hovering above her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry please I don’t want to be alone”. Jonathan found his chest hurting at the girl’s coked sobs.

Still hesitate Jonathan let his arms touch her as he began to rock slowly back and forth. Just like his mother use to do after nightmares when he was little. “Shush it’s okay Katrina I’m right here nothing going to get you”. He found himself saying as the girl began to shake a little less. After several minutes the only thing he heard were small sniffles and breaths. “Katrina you still with me”? He asked quietly wondering if she’d fallen back to sleep in his arms.

“Y-Yeah”. Katrina replied in a small voice. “I’m so-sorry fo-for cry-crying on y-you”. She said trying to pull away. Jonathan gave her a sad look as he kept his arms around her, the thought of removing them not even crossing his mind. “Your fine your scared your allowed to be scared”. He told her as she sniffled. Jonathan didn’t think much as he lifted his hands to wipe away the tear streaks under her wide brown eyes. “Come on I taken you probably don’t want to sleep”. He stated get a shake of the head from Katrina.

Jonathan got off the bed taking her small hand into his. Katrina took the fluffy white blanket off the bed wrapping around herself. With that he lead her back to the living sitting on the couch with her a seat away but still holding his hand. With his free hand he picked up the remote to the TV. “You got any preferences”? He asked her. “N-No not really”. She replied quietly. Jonathan nodded before flipping though the channels until he found something.

The choice ended up being some kid’s movie Jonathan could vaguely remember watching as a kid. They sat there for several minutes peeking at each other from the corner of their eyes more than actually watching TV. “Do you want to talk about the dream”? Jonathan finally asked. “It was just- I was just...alone”. Katrina said slowly. Jonathan was somewhat curious about that but didn’t pry not wanting to upset her farther. “Well your not alone here and while your here i’ll take care of you”. he said instead still not certain how to properly comfort someone.

“Why”? Katrina asked a look of confusion and sadness on her face. “Why what”? Jonathan asked confused himself by her question and expression. “Why are you taking care of me”? She asked. Jonathan furrowed his brows processing the questions. For a moment he remembered a much young him wondering why his mom was kind to him while his father hadn’t been. “Because-Because you don’t deserve what happened to you”. Jonathan answered. He wasn’t sure if that was why he was but they were the only words forming in his head right now.

Katrina looked down at her lap biting her lip her mind completely jumbled. She wasn’t sure if that was because she was sick or because of what had happened the night before. Suddenly she yawned again and felt her eyes getting heavy again. She guessed she underestimated just how tired the medicine would make her. “I don’t want to go back to sleep”. She mumbled scared she’d ‘wake up’ alone in the dark again with a feeling of impending doom settled in her chest.

“It’s alright I’ll stay with you this time, I’ll wake you if it looks like your having another nightmare”. Jonathan told her. Sleepily Katrina nodded as she lied down on the couch using Jonathan’s thigh as a pillow. Katrina’s mind was too tired to be shy about the closeness while Jonathan was too stunned to move. After a moment Jonathan placed one of his hands down sating it on her hair. He ran his hands lightly though her hair as he began to hum a small lullaby.

He could remember his mother humming the same one and how he’d never had another bad dream afterward. He hoped the lullaby would drive away Katrina’s as well. He didn’t know how long he stayed there stroking her hair but he had no urge to move the small weight of the sleeping girl comfortable in a way he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. Though it was a foreign feeling he didn’t mind it at all. Really he hoped that the feeling would remain even the tiniest bit after Katrina left.

#Jonathan West #Katrina Evans #The Huntsman #Slashersona #Slasher OC #Slasher Sona #Jonathan West x Katrina Evans

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