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#&& what lies beneath; stranger things au

roastyoualive · 6 months

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SHREK STARTERS

@gareththegreat asked: i guess you don't, uh... entertain much, do you?

“No.” He says with a sigh, flopping unceremoniously back on the couch. “My dad’s usually at work a lot, so I don’t really see the point in being here.” It was quiet. Too quiet, as the cliche went. … That, and he didn’t really have a lot of friends. Or any friends. But Gareth was cool.

“Good news is, we have the place to ourselves until he gets home. Which shouldn’t be…” He glances over to the clock mounted on the wall. “For a few hours. We’re fine.” Not like he thought his father would be upset by this. … Or maybe he would be. It was hard to tell. On the one hand, Warren thought that his dad was pretty great. His real dad. Things had gotten so much better since they’d been… Reunited? Guess that was the word. And he knew his dad wanted the best for him. But they didn’t really bring people home. Ever. Mostly because ‘trust’ was a five-letter word and not much else. But again: Gareth was cool.

It’d be fine.

“Okay.” He pushes himself back up again. “We’ve got drinks, snacks… There’s an atari in my room.” A fall-back for when the arcade was, for any reason, inaccessible. It was definitely well-loved.

“What do you wanna do?”

#&& light it up; ic #gareththegreat #&& what lies beneath; stranger things au #&& fortune cookies; asks #HES TRYING AND YET....

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captain-joongz · 4 months

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fanfiction recommendations/my favourite reads in 2023

ot8/multiple members

♤ in the same class as ateez by @essenteez

◇ murphy's law by @atzfilm

alien!ateez, soulmate au

♧ into the aurora by @honeyhotteoks

idol!ateez x non-idol!reader

☆ inception by @remedyx

dragon!ateez, kings!ateez

♤ hotel california + paradise gardens by @mint-yooxgi

demon!ateez, yandere, supernatural au

◇ morning mist by @mint-yooxgi

dragon au, fated lovers

♧ deep down. by @seventhcallisto

a/b/o, idol au, 9th member au

☆ in love and lore by @shadowynn

demon!ateez, soulmates au, supernatural au

♤ dew drops at dawn by @sunmoonjune

demon!ateez, soulmates

◇ breed by @sanjoongie

alien!ateez, sexual experiments

♧ oh my *** by @ohmyamor

guardian angel!ateez

☆ first flight to hong kong by @byuntrash101

flight attendant!reader, kind of sex work, since reader gets paid

♤ circus by @lani-heart

hybrid!ateez, writer!journalist!reader

◇ wider by @seventhcallisto

9th member au, bf!ateez

♧ the best friend's code by @tenelkadjowrites

hongjoong, seonghwa x reader, best friends to lovers

☆ we ransacked the city by @tenelkadjowrites

hongjoong, seonghwa x reader, rich kids au, menaces to society united

♤ be the light by @written-in-flowers

seonghwa, hongjoong x reader, historical au, royalty au

◇ sex and embers and frost by @sanjoongie

dragon!seonghwa, san x bunny!reader

♧ between friends by @anyamaris

seonghwa, hongjoong x reader, best friends au

☆ my filthy boy by @potatomountain

bf!woo x reader x witch/hybrid!ateez, coven shenanigans

♤ compromise by @cyberpxnk

bf!seonghwa x reader x footballer!yunho, infidelity with a twist

◇ it's you by @holybibly

best friends to lovers, threesome

♧ sharing is caring by @ja3hwa

seonghwa, hongjoong, san x reader

☆ ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line) + (maknae line) by @eightmakesonebraincell

♤ five for five by @bh-archive

hongjoong x san x chan x hyunjin x juyeon x reader

kim hongjoong

◇ red by @nateezfics

established relationship, public sex, bathroom sex

♧ forbidden fruit by @nateezfics

greek mythology au, hades!hongjoong

☆ deal by @hongism

roommates to lovers, sassy joong

♤ marigold by @yoongiseesawmp3

frat boy!hongjoong, best friends to lovers

◇ tell me to stop by @tenelkadjowrites

best friends to lovers

♧ declaration by @tenelkadjowrites

virgin!hongjoong, roommates to lovers

☆ shells by @last-words-ofashootingstar

mermaid!hongjoong, yandere

♤ project d by @setsugekka

exes to lovers, infidelity, racing au

◇ off the table by @setsugekka

established relationship, morning sex

♧ the dressing room by @imaginidol

idol!hongjoong, best friends to fucking (?) for "stress relief"

☆ paint me yours by @moonseonghwa

artist!hongjoong, fwb au

♤ ohmami by @bambikisss

bad boy!hongjoong, racer au (mentioned), best friends to lovers

◇ hideaway by @minisugakoobies

stoner!frat boy!hongjoong, strangers to lovers

♧ what lies beneath by @noramoons

siren!hongjoong, a little angsty but wholesome

park seonghwa

☆ better check twice by @essenteez

accidental nude au, brother's best friend!seonghwa

♤ attention by @tenelkadjowrites

camboy!seonghwa x inexperienced reader

◇ essence by @whatudowhennooneseesyou

siren!seonghwa, dark, yandere, mommy!seonghwa

♧ the thing about pretty boys by @wonusite

friends to lovers, seonghwa proving he got it

ATEEZ rec list pt.2 BTS, TxT, Stray Kids, Seventeen, NCT rec list

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hongism · 6 months

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AND IT'S SNOWING... - A WINTER FIC FEST

brought to you by bee (@atzfilm) and caly (@hongism)

tis the season for fics that have absolutely nothing to do with christmas and everything to do with other tomfoolery! (aka we spent an hour and a half trying to figure out how to make our concepts be christmas-themed just to forgo the idea of christmas altogether...) from aliens to fae to the ex-turned-sugar-daddy, tune in this winter season for shenanigans... and it's snowing! ❄

all fics are rated m and not intended for underage audiences. please heed individual warnings attributed to each work.

WINTER BLOSSOM

written by atzfilm pairing: k.yeosang x reader genre: alien au, secret relationship summary: earth abandoned centuries ago, you travel the cosmos alone. you land on a smaller planet, meeting an exiled dweller that calls himself yeosang.

WHAT LIES BENEATH US

written by hongism pairing: c.san x reader genre: college au, established relationship summary: one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

APRICITY

written by atzfilm pairing: c.jongho x reader genre: faeries au, enemies to lovers summary: with your kingdoms having been at war for centuries, it's only fitting that you would be kidnapped and locked in the room with your sworn enemy – choi jongho.

SWEET JUICE

written by hongism pairing: s.mingi x reader genre: witches/warlocks au, strangers to lovers summary: the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

LOVERS IN THE NIGHT

written by atzfilm pairing: j.yunho x reader genre: sugar daddy au, exes to lovers summary: just out of your college with a freshly printed degree, you set out for a job that would fit your somewhat high standards. after a brief scroll through a sugar daddy website and a meeting set-up, you sit across from the one man you didn't expect to see — jeong yunho, your ex-boyfriend and apparently, a millionaire looking for someone to spoil.

SILLAGE

written by hongism pairing: k.hongjoong x reader genre: royalty au, first love summary: sillage — the scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume — it hardly takes much to fall

SEASONS

written by atzfilm pairing: p.seonghwa x reader genre: blind date au, friends to lovers summary: after failing over and over on every date you've gone on, your friends finally resort to setting you up on a blind date in the hopes of making things go right.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

written by hongism pairing: j.wooyoung x reader genre: roommates au, fake dating summary: you imagine that you've cut yourself a rather decent deal in bagging jung wooyoung as your roommate, and yet, things that seem a little too good to be true have a way of cracking at the seems all too easily.

fics created and written by atzfilm and hongism, 2023. all rights belong to owners. do not copy, emulate, translate, or alter the works in any fashion without permission.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfic #winter fic fest 2023 #bee & caly shenanigans !!!!

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toruro · 6 months

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— ✧ flower me with love

an hhu unit x flowers collection !

status: in progress — 1/4 completed

a/n: please keep in mind the descriptions and genres are subject to change! nothing here, unless already posted, is final

join the taglist here!

— ✧ of love, laughter, and lies (coming soon)

violets; stars will blossom in the darkness, violets bloom beneath the snow

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: smut (18+), fluff, angst, humor, revenge(?), college au

description: classic story of boy breaks girl’s heart so her best friend tries to break his. of course, what she doesn’t plan for is falling in love, because who the fuck plans for that.

— ✧ say yes to heaven (coming soon)

daffodils; if one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: smut (18+), fluff, angst, exes to lovers, idol au

description: wonwoo still hits up your phone in the middle of the night, nevermind the fact that you two broke up three months ago ... or, in which you and wonwoo may have your differences, but both can't seem to stay away from each other.

— ✧ back to december

daisies; find beauty in the smallest things

pairing: kim mingyu x reader

genre: smut (18+), fluff, angst, best friends to strangers to lovers, small town au

description: it's been four months and twenty-two days since you've last talked to mingyu, however your mother still thinks you two are friends. you don't have the heart to tell her what really happened, and now you think it's time for you to move on. (un?)fortunately for you though, mingyu seems to have other plans.

Normality is wondering. Wondering if Mingyu would still be dropping off groceries if you hadn’t told him that you loved him, if he hadn’t told you he didn’t know what to tell you. Wondering if he thinks of you now. Wondering if he has any regrets. Wondering if he’s okay, but you lost the chance to know the answer to that question four months and twenty-two days ago. Wondering if— Tomatoes. You need to buy the tomatoes, and the bread, some green beans, spinach, bell pepper, and more cheese, milk, maybe some butter, and—what was it that your mother told you to get? Oh, some strawberries. You need to get all of these things, but there were no daisies on the list, so how did a bouquet full of them end up in your cart? You tell yourself you picked them up because they’re on sale, but you know the real reason is because you miss Mingyu.

— ✧ sticks and stones (up next)

chrysanthemums; the chrysanthemum spirit

sticks and stones may break my bones, but words, they truly bruise my soul

pairing: vernon chwe x reader

genre: smut (18+), stranger to lovers, fluff, bookstore worker reader, idol au

description: to come

His lips are honey on your skin, pressing soft kisses all over your face, tongue nipping every once in a while to draw a map of stars. “The aim of love,” he whispers into your skin. There is a silence for a moment, and you weave your fingers into his soft locks, with an utmost gentleness, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Is to love,” he continues, pulling his head up to stare down at you. His lips are rosy and glossy from his assault on your skin, your cheeks a similar color. “No more.” “No less,” you finish for him.

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writinginthetwilight · 3 months

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Knock, knock.

Series Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB!reader. Angst. Fluff. Strong language. Bittersweet ending. Eddie and reader are in their late 20's. Soul mates au sort of? Parallel universes. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. Flowery prose. Relationship breakdowns. Shitty relationships. I'll add as I go on.

Authors note. This whole fic idea has me in a choke hold and came from prompt 6 of the stranger prompts by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing. I hope I do the idea in my head justice and you all enjoy. Love you bye.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

please reblog, comment and tell me what you think.

Masterlist

Part 1 - Boundary lines carved from paint, plaster and sleep.

You can tell the moment you see it that the apartment wasn't meant to be there.

The front door sticks like it's a size too big for its frame, dark wood groaning as you lean your weight against it like it knows. Knows it's too far to the left and opens the wrong way. You stumble through when it finally relents, the doorknob slamming harshly into the drywall, fitting into a groove which has been left from years of protest.

The smell hits you first, stale but that was to be expected of somewhere advertised as ‘long term vacant’. Letting out your own low groan you stretch your arms above you, pausing as you take in your surroundings.

This wasn't advertised.

Your eyes trail to the far right of the door where a scar runs up the wall, it stretches the entire length of the ceiling and down alongside the adjacent window, effectively splitting the room by a third.

Its ridges and fissures catch the soft mid-morning light as you go to stand beneath it, flaking plaster and paint suggesting there was an attempt to cover it at some point. With some more care it could have been smoothed over, but that love and attention has obviously been thought best used somewhere else.

Relatable.

The flattering angles of the pictures online hadn't shown it, nor did they show the awkward corners and odd proportions that make up the right side of the apartment, the wall pinching in and curving out, in obvious accommodation for whatever lies on the other side.

Within that third boundary, the small kitchenette sits, hacked and patched to fit the uneven space.

Your fingers run over the filled in holes that need sanding and trace the edge of a socket that's been given up on.

You add the jobs to your mental checklist and choose to ignore the way the thick dust that blankets the worktop smudges against your clothes as you lean over it, peering through a window half obscured by an overhead cabinet.

The streets below are warped by sepia coloured smudges on the panes and it distorts your reflection, twisting it like there's movement from behind you.

It makes you turn, your attention brought to the other side of the room where there are no scars, walls smooth besides the mark from the door, and you deduce that the bulk of the apartment must have come from that side.

The dated green carpet has long lost its pile, leaving no give beneath your feet as you pad over to the only other doorway.

Dust swirls in slivers of light as you open it, dancing in the perfectly square room, it's small but not claustrophobic and you can picture what it will look like decorated and filled with your belongings. You're about to write it off as un-noteworthy but then there's the ensuite.

The door’s too close to the wall again and instead of straight ahead, the room stretches to the right.

The full length of the bedroom.

It's so long you could lay down arms stretched overhead without touching either end, but so narrow that your thighs will brush the side of the tub when you sit on the toilet.

It's dark, no windows or frills, just the necessary amenities to mean it's functional. It seems to look back at you as you stand at its threshold and you frown closing the door immediately on the weird space.

Making your way back out, chewing the inside of your cheek you take everything in again.

It's not what you expected but, besides the bathroom feeling like a tomb, it's not too small or too unclean, no damp or mould just dust and discoloured walls that come with anywhere unoccupied after a certain amount of time.

The more you stand and look around the more you find a charm in the way it's misshapen, like it refuses to belong, and now it's yours.

Just yours.

You can hear footsteps and murmurs from above and around you, as parallel lives go on oblivious to your own.

A giddy flutter runs through you and so you begin.

Maybe it could have been more, but in the moment nothing seemed like it was worth the argument.

It takes the rest of the morning for you to haul everything up to the third floor from the back of your rental car. You try not to concentrate too hard on the fact that all your worldly possessions, once everything was said and done, didn't amount to a lot.

After all it was you who was leaving.

It took 12 trips up in the rickety elevator with curious faces sending you tight lipped smiles as you squeezed yourself in next to them. Most then averted their gaze as you bitched at your door, unmarked boxes rattling in burning sweat-slick hands as you finally fell through.

The self pitying thoughts of the fact you were doing this alone are kept at bay for the most part, mind kept busy by cleaning away the neglect of time and filling in paperwork.

But as the daylight fades, making way for unfamiliar shadows to crawl around you it gets harder.

Sat in the window, cast in orange light from the solitary lamp you own, eating Chinese takeout from a place down the block that you'd spotted on your way in, you try not to notice how the noises from the neighbours seem to echo louder than they should in the empty room.

You'd unpack tomorrow, the bigger items set to arrive which would stop the noise ricocheting so clearly. The new job would also give you enough money to make it feel like home, in time. The rent was a steal relatively speaking and it's close enough to your office that there's no real commute, this was good.

You wake with a start, a noise from the waking world pulling you from a dream that you already can't remember. The dark that surrounds you distorts and pixelates as your eyes adjust and there's a moment where adrenaline rushes you again when you can't quite work out where you are.

This was the right choice.

Then you remember.

The bare mattress is scratchy beneath your skin and the space around you feels vast even though you've downsized from the one you used to share, a lump in your throat forms at how cold the sheets feel while you reach out blindly looking for your phone but you swallow it with a frown.

Like he ever comforted you when you woke from a nightmare anyways.

Wincing at the brightness you see it's 3:00am, a multitude of WhatsApp messages lined up from various people you don't want to speak to, just checking in, sending well wishes. Cursing you out.

The default wallpaper, sits in place of where your smiling faces used to be, indescript waves of colour that shift on a set loop.

A clatter comes from the other side of the wall behind you followed by a loud curse and it breaks your vacant stare at the screen.

The room feels even darker than before as you throw your phone back onto the bed. With body and mind exhausted, oblivion takes you again quickly, unconscious mind closed off to the sound of something falling again which now echoes outside your bedroom door.

Next.

#strangerprompts #eddie munson x reader #my writing #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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topherwrites · 5 months

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FIC RECS: OUTER RANGE, OUTER BANKS, STRANGER THINGS

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each. This is split into two parts, TGM fics and everything else.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! If I missed you, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

RHETT ABBOTT

Yellow Soul by @creatchie8

Trapped in a relationship with your high school sweetheart Perry is like a never ending nightmare of always stepping on eggshells. One winter break changes everything as you are reintroduced to his younger brother, Rhett. Looking for an escape, Rhett provides the perfect shelter you crave.

right where i want you by @sushiwriterhere

Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett.

Odds are Stacked by @sunlightmurdock

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

Wayfaring Stranger by @/sunlightmurdock

Betrayal sends Rhett veering further West, searching for answers and searching for himself. Instead, he finds you.

Much Love by @southpawbitch

you & rhett have found yourselves in a little fwb situation despite the fact that you have a fiancé.

About Last Night by @delopsia

A self-indulgent take on Rhett's best friend coming back to Wabang and surprising him after his final rodeo.

Dancing Beneath the Moon by @/delopsia

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

Closing Time by @youvebeenlivingfictional

“You’re having a helluva night, huh,” You comment. “S’that supposed to mean?” “You got a shit bull, then you struck out with that girl…And you failed to bait Luke Tillerson into trying to kick your ass.”

RAFE CAMERON

Untouchable by @boneblushed

It is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

Glitch by @/boneblushed

Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

So Gorgeous It Actually Hurts by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

childhood enemies to lovers, the slowest of burns, an unbearable amount of pining, both parties in heavy denial for like 90% of the fic, Rafe’s a total douchebag but he can’t help it (you’re gorgeous).

Euro Trip by @/folkloreslovechild (deactivated)

europe summer trip au!

new light by @outerbankies

you come home from college to spend your last summer before senior year in your hometown of the outer banks. an old friend hits you up wanting something more, and you begin to see what’s really been there all along.

You Belong With Me by @forevermoreharrington

Rafe’s fallen helplessly for his dream girl but she just doesn't see it yet.

tis the damn season by @atlabeth

When your roommate Rafe lies to his family that the two of you are dating, you agree to go home with him for the holidays to help sell it as his fake girlfriend after a generous bribe. It's just three weeks in the Outer Banks with one of your best friends -- what could go wrong?

Armour by @probably-writing-x

Having your heart broken was one thing. But Rafe watching somebody break your heart? That was something nobody could prepare for.

So We Won't Forget by @netegf

you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

Hate It When You Leave by @/netegf

you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. He's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want… including him.

I Know I Am by @bookofbonbon

For Rafe, it's always been you. He's just waiting for you to realise it too.

STEVE HARRINGTON

redamancy by @sanguineterrain

redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

dancing with our hands tied part i | part ii by @taintedcigs

in which steve is in love with his best friend's ex.

EDDIE MUNSON

Pearl by @cacoetheswriting

a story about two kids trying to navigate through love and loss, inevitable goodbyes, various reunions, friendships and hardships, joy, heartbreak, plus surviving the upside down - all to the sound of Janis Joplin's Pearl.

#rhett abbott x reader #rafe cameron x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #rafe cameron #eddie munson #rhett abbott #steve harrington #fic rec list #fic rec

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tnsophiaonly · 10 months

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"Thy should learn its place."

"It is beneath me."

The Creator scoffed at an annoyance, the fact that someone dared to use her gene blessed to mortals for their own advantage?! Out rageous! But her connection to the realm has been disconnected from Celestia thyself. They dare challenge their Creator?

Challenge accepted.

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Liar Reader. SAGAU. Cult AU. Impostor-ish AU. OOC. Manipulator Reader.

—e—r—a—w—a—n—U—

The same looking figure as you was talking to Kujou Sara. Really unfortunate.

So the plan to avoid characters at all causes, yeeted to Celestia.

What do you do?! What do you do?!?!

Wait, just go back to where you are and leave with your boat!

You were about to walk away when...

"Halt! Show yourself, intruder!"

Kujou Sara commanded and took out her bow and put the '(S/M)' behind her as a sort of protection.

Well. Shit.

You walk out of your hiding place and despite the fact that Kujou Sara dropped her weapon a little bit, you could feel her guard is still on.

"State your name and purpose!" Kujou Chic- Sara demanded. Geez was she always this loud? Man her vocal cords must hurt, her own issues meh.

"Akeldama Kagema, I am an adventurer. I came here for a commission." You lied smoothly, keeping up a facade of a serious and hardworking.

Kujou Sara eyes you up and down. 'Strange, why do I feel a divine like aura on this stranger...?' Kujou Sara thought quietly, unbeknownst to her guard dropping.

(S/M) chuckled awkwardly, gaining your and the yokai's attention

"So, Kagema-chan, what exactly is your commission?" Wow. No formalities? Straight up -chan and comfy? You keep up your facade.

"I had to take care of a hilichurl camp." You lied explained. (S/M) seemed skeptical of your answer, "Just a hilichurl camp? That's your only commission..?" Clearly she knows nothing about the Adventurer's Guild does she..?

"Only in Kannazuka. I still have other commissions on other islands of Inazuma." You cleared things up.

"Ohh! I get it!" (S/M) sickly sweetly said in false fascination.

"By the way. Kagema-chan, I noticed that you're bruised and your clothing doesn't really seem adventure-like!" Perceptive people suck but are also hot. "I am very aware of my clothing choice but it's the only clothing choice I have. But it didn't cause a hindrance or whatsoever." You lied replied professionally.

Before (S/M) could speak, Kujou Sara unconsciously cut her off. "I'll patch this stranger. I can't trust this stranger to be anywhere safe with you (S/M). You are after all an oracle and the only person that's personally connected to the creator. You should visit the Kamisato Estate for some early discussions regarding the festival and ritual for the creator."

"Ohh yeah!" (S/M) says in realization, and her face turns red, 'Ayato...' She thought quietly. She then faces the both of us and bows down. "May the Creator guide you!" She says in a hurry and runs away.

Oracle? She- she already took the role of an oracle? Fuck! Now what're you going to do... Maybe just act like an adventurer? Yeah...

You were thinking deeply, unknown to your surroundings of someone watching you. "Akeldama, is there something wrong?" Finally formalities! Kujou Sara asks in either suspicion or worry.

"I'm fine. I was just shocked about the news of an oracle..." You clear things up. Kujou Sara nods, "I totally understand you, I, first, did not acknowledge her, until, I felt myself being awakened." That was just a coincidence, or was it?

Awakened? What does she mean by that..? "Ah.. you don't seem to have a vision.." Does she mean pulls?

"It's when shooting stars in the sky get a color of gold or purple which will give you a connection to the creator. It's like wishing for fate." Kujou Sara explained. So it is pulls.

"Ah. Now I'm kind of envious of you vision holders. Getting your own personal connection with the creator sounds like a dream come true isn't it..? It almost feels like, she'll give you everything to just get you all acolytes a connection to the creator hmm? It's a really really special deal.." You became out of character from your facade.

Kujou Sara's eyes widen at your statement, she's never thought of it as that special as you do. It's as if she's not pledging her utmost devotion to The Creator! You're right.. the probably only reason The Creator hasn't awakened every vision acolytes is because they might have been growing weaker in the other world and that's why she sent an oracle now because she wanted to see what we personally feel. Oh she apologizes very much, does she need to sacrifice and do something about it?!

You hid your smirk. Kujou Sara seems bothered... Guess your statement got her mind to chicken in.

Now you just wonder what challenges you'll face at the acolytes you haven't awakened yet.. you'll find out soon.

This chapter is short for a reason 😔. 1. I couldn't do anything until next week to see what lies beyond the poll.. and also because I didn't want to write for others in this specific chapter.

I'm so sorry for being lazy ig 💔

Anywho. VOTE IN THE FIRST PART NOW CAUSE THE DEADLINE IS NEXT FRIDAY!!! Just know that the most popular given mask has its own ability that'll help you out in future conflicts!!!

Taglist: (?)

@khalhaimdad @yourlocalstranger123 @undecidingfate

#genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x reader #impostor au #genshin impact #yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x female reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x y/n #female reader #reader

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wooyoong · 1 year

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🧸 freya's recent bts reads (& recs)

disclaimer : there's atleast one fic for each member, but i am yet to widen my spectrum, so you will find less vmin + jin fics. that also doesn't mean i don't like reading them, lol.

note : fic titles labelled with a * mark are series. minors please stay away, strictly. almost all fics here are 18+ !!

— also, i am @sugarwithtea 😭 incase you wanted to check out my writing blog then.

KIM SEOKJIN

* 9 months to fall in love by @floralseokjin (s2l, accidental pregnancy au, 18+)

It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.

Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.

Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…

* For Love & Money by @jimlingss (s2l, forced marriage au)

For love, you foolishly lied to yourself. For money, you married a stranger.

MIN YOONGI

* Till Death Do Us Part by @colormepurplex2 (e2l, arranged marriage au, mafia au, 18+)

Marital bliss isn't always a guarantee, especially when you find yourself marrying into the family responsible for your own family's demise. Sometimes, marriage is just a game of kill or be killed. Even when there is love involved, bullets still hurt.

Sinful Lust by @oddinary4bts (ft. jungkook, threesome au, 18+)

in an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating...

* The Truth Between Us by @jimlingss and @gukyi (e2l, multiple aus, 18+)

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

* Playing With Fire by @/chanyeolly (ao3) (e2l, idol au, 18+)

Yoongi hates you. Or at least, he thinks he does.

AKA

Y/N works for BigHit and Yoongi is bad at dealing with his feelings.

JUNG HOSEOK

Brevity (But Most Often Not) by @threeletterslife (ft. jimin, s2?, psychopath hoseok)

All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

* Arranged by @obiwrites (ao3) (arranged marriage au, 18+)

If you thought entering an arranged marriage with the person you love would be a dream, you were in for a rude awakening. Jung Hoseok was far from the doting husband you’d dreamed of and most of it could be chalked up to the fact that he was in love with his best friend. And you are without a shadow of a doubt, not her.

But what happens when Hoseok starts to realize he doesn’t want you to be her? That there might be more than meets the eye with you?

Fake Love by @aquaminwrites (e2l, fake dating au, 18+)

Every year, your family spends the holidays at your parents’ cottage in the country. Freshly single and not wanting to be picked apart by your family for being alone, you decide to recruit one of your friends to pretend to be your boyfriend. The only available volunteer? Your brother Namjoon’s roommate, Hoseok. Only problem? He absolutely hates your guts.

* Jungle Park by @jimlingss (coworker au, amnesia au)

The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

KIM NAMJOON

Not Another Holiday Romance by @kpopfanfictrash (s2l, one night stand au, holiday au, 18+)

You, a perpetually alone (and utterly cynical) movie director, are sent to the town of Snow Falls, Middle-of-Nowhere for your latest film assignment. Stuck in holiday hell until the new year, you’re determined to get in and get out with minimal damage to your Grinch reputation. That is, until a ridiculously gorgeous (and young?!) town historian is assigned to help with your film. Suddenly, you find yourself the heroine of one of those corny romances you direct – and are discovering they might not be so corny after all.

* My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold by @daechwitatamic (r2l, college au, 18+)

You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

The Wedding Arrangement by @/sugalights (ao3) / @sugaurora (s2e2l, fwb au, 18+)

You are in love with your best friend, the only man who matters, Kim Seokjin.

Unfortunately, he's just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgemental jerk.

Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

PARK JIMIN

* Maybe Me by @jiminrings (single dad au, s2l)

summary: maybe it’s stupid of jimin to take on everything at once, all by himself. maybe it’s rash of him to book a long-term stay at a luxury hotel, even if it comes with a family discount. but maybe, just maybe, jimin would have nothing to lose and everything to gain if he lets you in.

KIM TAEHYUNG

Always the Bridesmaid by @kookingtae (e2l, holiday au, 18+)

When you first meet Kim Taehyung, you’re determined to find every reason you can to hate him—or maybe he’s just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. But when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you’re hopelessly in love with, you’re too late to realize the real reason to hate Kim Taehyung is because of the latest column he’s secretly writing: “Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride”, and it’s all about you.

JEON JUNGKOOK

* Take A Chance by @crystaljins (hanahaki au, coworker au)

You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

on the road (to you) by @cupofteaguk (f2l, road trip au)

as a young adult, one of the strangest revelations is the discovery that peers of yours from past fragile college years are getting married. so imagine your shock and excitement upon receiving a wedding invitation. there are, however, two problems: (1) you are a poor early-20s recently employed adult just beginning to adjust to your 401k plan, and (2) the only available ride to the wedding comes in the form of Jeon Jungkook—friend of a friend, attendee to that aforementioned wedding, and your old college crush.

Sinful Lust by @oddinary4bts (ft. yoongi, threesome au, 18+)

Accidental Roommates by @jjkeverlast (r2l, single dad au, 18+)

moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace.

yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.

Rivers Over Stones by @ichorai (e2l, godparents au, 18+)

you hated jungkook the minute you laid eyes on him. the only reason why he was still in your life was because you both shared a goddaughter, hana. but everything changed unexpectedly when the two of you become her caretakers and you’re forced to live under the same roof. suddenly, you find yourself hating him just a bit less. or more, but who’s keeping track?

* Ego by @suga-kookiemonster (s2l, fwb au, 18+)

what’s a girl to do when her sweet, innocent baby lab partner isn’t quite so sweet and innocent? well, he’s a grown-ass man, and you’re about to learn that the hard way.

— a bit of these have not been completed by me, leading to no feedback yet but i know these are good haha!

#bts #bts fic rec #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #seokjin smut #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #freya.recs #.list #.bts #.nsfw #.angst #.fluff

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the7thcrow · 1 year

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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 10

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Ten: a relic from the past, confession, and dark magic.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 15.3k

extra chapter warnings: panic attack, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual drug use (but magical? idk?).

chapter summary:

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

a/n: guess who’s back :3 sorry this took me a million years to write, hopefully i can be a bit more consistent in the next coming months. hope you enjoy, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think! love y’all, thanks to everyone who has not abandoned this story after this massive hiatus LMAO <3

Seonghwa has never believed anger to suit him.

While Woo wears his anger like a loaded cannon, and San - like most other things - buries it until it inevitably rises to the surface, Seonghwa has tried to avoid fury when he can.

After all, anger is often the replacement of a different emotion. It comes easier than understanding, quicker than resolution. It’s the nasty, winding short-cut off the high road, and Seonghwa has learned that the high road is almost always the safer path in the long term.

Anger is ugly. It’s nonsensical and he doesn’t like how it looks on him. It’s why he prefers the cold shoulder to blind rage, sorting out his feelings on his own rather than lashing out on others. It’s the kind thing to do. The empathetic thing to do.

It’s never been overly difficult for him to settle this rage until now.

It festers in his mind every morning, as well as in the night before he falls asleep. Everytime he accidentally catches your eye over breakfast, letting his gaze drift away in hopes that you will think that his eyes were trailing by rather than staring.

He is so unbelievably angry with you, and he hates it.

From the moment the truth was revealed in the forest, it’s as if someone wrapped a hand around his lungs and began to squeeze, then never let go. A hot, burning fire in his chest that’s smoke rises up his throat, choking him with rage. It stings his eyes, fogs his senses. It feels unbeatable, indestructible. Blinding.

He knows that anger is just an emotion. A bad one, one that he’s had to expel from others countless times before. From San, after The Desert Lotus. It’s just another entity, another plague on the body. Settle down, feel it, think better of it, then let it be gone.

And yet now that feels an impossible task. Seonghwa doesn’t know the last time he was so angry. Perhaps it was the night in the kitchen with his mother, learning of the heights of human greed, the one he relives every time he uses his gift to expel the anger from someone else.

He supposes this memory may replace that one.

When he found out the truth about you it was like the last few weeks came crashing down around him. The closeness, the trust and understanding, the mutual respect and admiration.

All lies. All of it. And he feels like such a fucking idiot.

There was no trust, and by the gods, there was certainly no respect. He was a mere pawn in your game, a part of the plan, and all he can do is beat himself up about being too naive to not see it earlier. Woo has always harped on him for being too nice to people, or as the elemental would put it, “not behaving like an actual person, but more like a rock on a walkway that people like to kick around”. Seonghwa thought that Woo was just being grouchy, the pessimist he always is. But hell, maybe he was right.

After all, Seonghwa should have seen it coming. There was so much he could have done. If he had questioned why a beautiful stranger would have so much immediate interest in him in the first place, or why you constantly asked him questions while dismissing any deeper ones about yourself. If he wasn’t so passive about the parasitic emotions practically radiating off of you. If he looked past the ideal he so desperately wanted and dared to dig up the reality of what was underneath.

He’s not an idiot. The reality is that for you, it was never about him. It was about getting to Kuroku. For him it was about the journey, but for you it was always in the name of the destination.

And well, he certainly did his part in getting you there. He shared his gift with you as a token of trust, he took your pain away and made it his own, he vouched for you against Woo’s constant doubt.

All for a girl who’s name he didn’t even know.

The thought makes more anger - ugly, volatile, and oh-so-unflattering - surge within his chest, and he throws a rock into the lake before him. It doesn’t skip as he intended, and instead sinks with a loud plunk.

Seonghwa frowns. He grabs another rock to throw.

After being met with an even louder plunk, he groans, before creeping further up onto the shoreline to grab a flatter rock. His toes dip in the water, which feels colder than yesterday now that he’s no longer fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline.

The coolness brings him back to Maralya, when he and Yunho would sit on the fishing dock. Feet in the water, even though Seonghwa was older, Yunho was the one who had taught him to skip rocks. His half-brother always had a knack for things like that, or well, for everything it seemed. From medical skills, to scaling buildings, to setting a fishing line; Yunho could master whatever he picked up. He must have inherited it from his father, a man Seonghwa doesn’t really remember, as he died when they were young.

Seonghwa doesn’t remember his own father either, as he disappeared on an escapade to The Mainland directly after he was born. His mother told him that his ship was lost at sea, but Seonghwa is pretty sure he just left and never came back.

It doesn’t really matter, he’s never had much of a desire to know the man. After all, the only thing Seonghwa inherited from him was his foolishness. And maybe his nose.

Seonghwa sighs. Picking up another rock, this one flat and polished, he recalls the steps in his mind. Yunho's voice runs through his head as he goes through the form, before bringing his hand back and letting it fly.

Plunk.

He stares at the ripples surrounding the sinking stone for a moment, before sitting down. He must have forgotten a step. It was a long time ago.

He lays back so that his head presses into the sand, the little grains cold and damp against his scalp. It’s familiar. It’s a little like the shore at home, although the sand isn’t as white, and the water’s colder, nor as blue. There’s no sound of hustle and bustle from back in the village, or his mother yelling at him to take a dip in the ocean before coming back inside because he’s covered in sand and he can’t track that into the house.

So maybe it’s not so similar, but he will pretend.

Seonghwa sighs, grabbing a handful of sand, letting it fall between his fingers. It’s times like these, ones where he’s dejected, broken-down, and lonely, that he wants nothing more than to go home. Only then does he remember that there’s no home for him to return to.

He sighs, his anger drifting to sadness, and yet he doesn’t mind. He believes that at the very least, it suits him better.

Footsteps approach from far off behind him, and he knows that it’s you. Woo walks faster, heavier footed, and he likely wouldn’t have heard San until he was closer. Besides, you’ve been walking with a slight limp since the fall, and he can hear it in the thump of every second step.

A part of him wants to ask what happened, what hurts. If you’re okay.

The angry part of him won’t let the other speak.

He hears your steps stutter, coming to a sudden halt from what he assumes is about a dozen feet off. Silence follows, and he wonders what you’re thinking. If you’re nervous to approach him, taking the time to contemplate your words before you say them.

Eventually, you do come closer. “San and Woo want to head towards Bebbanburg,” you call out from behind him. “I said that I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says flatly, making no motion to move. He will, of course, but not until you head back to camp. He’d like to avoid the awkwardness of walking in a strained silence, pretending not to notice as you try to meet his eye.

Although when he doesn’t hear you leave, it seems as if he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Sighing, he pushes himself up into a seated position. Glancing back at you, he has to place a hand over his forehead to block out the rising sun blinding his vision.

You stand with your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him with a dampened expression. Your tunic billows in the wind, torn around the waist and covered in dirt and dust. Chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers tap along your arm, you appear on edge. As if you wish to say something.

Seonghwa hates the way he wishes to know what it is. He hates how he wants to smooth your hair that is violently blown by the wind and wipe away the smudge of mud that has hardened against your cheek.

He hates how even now, after everything, he yearns for you.

Perhaps this is how it always would have ended, anyway. Having grown more attached then he ever should, not ready to lose what he knew was never his.

“Seonghwa,” you say finally, although it’s a little strained. Rigid. “About yesterday, by the fire.”

Ah yes, that. You and San hadn’t noticed him at the time, but when neither he or Woo came back to the fire, the two of you went out looking for them. It only took a moment, finding them sitting against the caves outer wall. Quiet and avoidant. Woo had fallen asleep, but Seonghwa had met your gaze. He held it for only a moment, watching your own eyes widen as you realized he’d seen the whole thing. He looked away when your lips parted to speak.

“With San. I hadn’t expected it to happen,” you say, calling loudly over the wind, and yet somehow your voice still seems quiet. Trapped and tight. “I… I don’t regret it. But after everything, it feels unfair to you-”

“I don’t care about you and San,” Seonghwa butts in. Not aggressively, or overly angry, merely factual. After all, that’s not what he’s angry about. He doesn’t care about you and San. That’s your business.

He wants San to be happy. Whatever it takes, the swordsman deserves a bit of peace.

Besides, now that he will not, perhaps San will wipe the mud from your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, followed by a pause. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not angry about that,” Seonghwa replies, lips pursing together. He swallows hard. “Just about everything you did before it.”

Your expression falls. Mouth dropping open into a small part, your eyes fill with a sudden sense of shame and hurt. Your hands grip your elbows, hugging yourself tighter, even if only slightly.

Your expression settles like stone in his gut, and he knows that what he said has made you hurt. He has made you feel that same pain that tightens in his chest and floods up his throat.

Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t said that.

No matter his anger, no matter the pain, Seonghwa has never wished to pass an entity on to another.

“I’ll meet you back at the cave in a moment,” he says, because he doesn’t want to say anything else that he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to force his gaze from yours while at the same time feeling a pull towards you like a beacon, begging him to take it away. Take it all away. All the horrible entities that radiate from you like a plague, a blackened sickness.

Turning back towards the lake, he waits. When he hears the sound of your footsteps - fading away, not growing louder - he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t like what this has made him into. The anger that has filled him, strangles him, stops him from drifting towards you like a moth to a flame. Sure to be burned, but the glow will be glorious.

No, anger doesn’t suit him. And yet he wears it, draping over him, akin to a stranger’s jacket.

If there is any luck to be found following your fall from the cliff, it’s in that at least you’ve found yourselves closer to Bebbanburg.

The journey to the small kingdom only took a few hours, the fact that you had nothing to carry but the clothes on your back having sped up the trek. It was spent in silence.

You know there’s certain to be some of the black-clad men poking around in such a populous city, so upon reaching the kingdom, the first order of business was to purchase you a cloak, as Mingi’s own had remained within a satchel on the horse’s back.

It weighs down on your shoulders, knowing that it’s gone, the final piece of him you had left. You’ve tried to view it as for the better, as the cloak of a Libaiyan Royal Guard could have attracted the attention of the wrong pair of eyes.

Even so, it hurts.

The cloak you wear now isn’t nearly as nice, a tattered brown fabric that’s itchy in the spots where it touches your bare skin, but it only cost a few bronze pieces. Considering that all the group of you have to your name is the pouch of coins attached to San’s waste, you have to know where to ration your spendings.

This is only on the necessities. San is trying to locate a cheap blacksmith to fashion him a new sword. Meanwhile, Woo and Seonghwa are searching if there’s anywhere for your group to stay that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Bebbanburg is an expensive kingdom, and so long as you find a place with a roof and walls that doesn’t blow through all of your savings, you’ll consider yourselves lucky.

With all the men on their own errands and a new cloak purchased, you’ve had about an hour to kill before now, as you currently make your way to meet them back at the city center. You’ve spent it wandering, peering into shop windows but never making your way inside. You don’t have the money to spend, nor do you want the undivided attention of a shop-keeper when you’re trying to lay low.

You’ve passed a few of your wanted posters strown up about the town, plastered to bulletin boards, poles, and shop windows alike. On top of being newly adorned with a far more accurate portrait of yourself, they’ve also added the detail of your recent scars. Printed along the bottom is the following: “Last spotted travelling with three young men. Potentially dangerous. Approach with caution.”

As an incentive due to what you assume is the elevated danger risk, they’ve increased the reward for your capture or demise to 300,000 gold pieces.

Apparently, someone at the tavern ratted the group of you out. Likely Yeosang and his band of not-so-merry men, or perhaps the poor shop-keeper desperate for a bribe.

Either way, someone is on your tail. Considering the new addition to the posters, that someone is in this city.

You haven’t seen them yet, but you know that it’s the black-clad men. They have to be lurking around here somewhere, they’re just being quiet about it.

You swallow hard, pulling the hood of your cloak further down.

Fortunately, the street’s are bustling with people. Bebbanburg, while not quite as big as the four major kingdoms, is still a hub for tourism. With money to spend, the streets are clean, the buildings well-kept. Despite being a narrow path in the merchant’s district in town, the air smells fresh.

It doesn’t feel quite right, in your opinion. Between the few towns you’ve visited these past few weeks, there was a certain scent to the air that felt more…natural. A strange concoction of smells as different taverns and homes didn’t agree on a pre-set menu for the night, dirt and pebbles aligning the trails as hunters dragged home their latest catch, or the muddy hoof-prints left by horses that stick to the bottoms of your shoes.

Bebbanburg feels too polished. The sort of polished that takes an effort, that works extra hard to rid itself of anything it deems unclean.

Trying not to obsess too much over the fact, you do your best to retrace your steps in order to return to the city center, taking a turn down another street. A slight limp to your step, ankle still not having fully recovered from your fall off the cliff, you count the shop doors that you pass along the alley’s stone wall. You kept count on your way here in order to know which alley to take back.

Counting down the doors, you pass by a butcher’s shop, cafe, and Zarian boutique for rare gems, all of which you’d passed along the way here. Gaze fluttering passively over the alley next to the boutique, you nearly miss the pair of eyes that lock on your own. Cat-like gaze fixated on yours, the bottom half of the figure's face is covered by a black cloth, their head shrouded in a dark cloak.

You pause. Hesitant, you retrace your last few steps, peering back down the alley.

The figure’s cloak follows behind them as they disappear behind a winding turn.

Swallowing down the bile that arises in your throat as an unsettled chill creeps down your spine, you keep moving along your original route. It was just a stranger. You’re paranoid, on edge, searching to find shadows and enemies in places in which they are not there.

Nevermind how something about the stranger's gaze felt oddly…familiar. Although you cannot place from where.

You continue along your original path, turning down the alley that will take you back to the city center. Glancing over your shoulder, you see nobody behind you, just the bustle of people continuing their way down the mainstreet. You mentally scold yourself. You’re being ridiculous, and casting lingering glances as you loiter in one place for too long is only going to attract attention.

When you turn forward, you catch a glimpse of movement, as something disappears behind a wall up ahead of you. “Shit,” you think to yourself, rushing forward as you place your back against the stone wall, peeking an eye out to see if you can spot them.

All you can manage is the tail end of the dark cloak disappearing down another alleyway. You wait a moment, as if contemplating how daring - or foolish - you’re willing to be, before heading after them.

“This is a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, hand drifting to the hilt of the sword at your waist as you follow after the mysterious figure. However, even if unwise, you’d rather know your enemy and have them right in front of you compared to being stalked like prey. You’ll get slain in a fair fight any day before getting your throat slit from behind.

It’s a morbid thought, something San would likely say during combat practice, and you wonder if you’ve been spending too much time with these men.

Following the stranger, you keep quiet on your feet. Pulling the sword out from its sheath, you tread carefully, slowing your pace as you near the corner that the cloak had disappeared behind. Holding the sword firm in your grasp, you take a deep and shaky breath, before jumping to face your attacker.

Only to find there is nobody there, just another barren alleyway. Another alleyway that leads to nothing but a dead end, a stone wall looming tall before you.

You frown, confused at how this is possible. Your gaze darts around the narrow alleyway, searching for a cloaked figure, but it remains entirely empty.

Letting out a troubled sigh, you resheath your sword and turn back around.

Only to be met face first with the masked stranger.

Your breath dies in your throat, and you instinctively pull an arm back, aiming to strike them. However, as you swing forward, they narrowly dodge your strike, managing to grab your wrist instead. They twist it, not so hard as to dislodge anything, but enough that it disarms you. Then, using their free hand to push you backwards, they press you up against the stone wall. Elbow against your chest and hand gripping your upper arm, their spare hand grips tightly around your other wrist, rending you immobile.

Your chest heaves, not from tiredness but scheer panic. They’ve got you. Your gaze flickers up, to scan the face of your assailant. The person that will turn you in to the black-clad men, or is perhaps one themself.

The strangers' dark eyes meet yours from beneath their thick cloak, black orbs dancing as they move to scan over your face. Cat-like in their shape, with thick eye-lashes and brows.

Then the stranger laughs.

It’s not a menacing laugh, nor one you would expect from someone who is about to kill you. Instead it’s joyous, almost disbelieving.

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

The stranger’s eyebrows furrow together into a look of confusion, before lighting up in realization. “Oh!” They say, before doing the last thing you would have ever expected of removing their hands from you entirely. “Of course!”

The stranger pulls off the hood of their cloak, revealing a head of long, thick red hair. They follow the removal of their hood by doing the same with their mask, and with it, you are hit with a wave of not only relief, but scheer and unadulterated joy.

“Yeji!” You nearly shout, pulling your back from the wall and wrapping your arms around your old laundress.

She chuckles, and then you are both laughing. In happiness, in relief, in sheer and utter disbelief. You pull away, placing both of your hands along her jaw to cup her face. You scan every detail, to ensure that she is real and actually standing before you, not some sort of trick or illusion.

But is her, just as you had seen her last at the castle. Maybe not exactly the same, wearing far different clothes than the modest beige dress she had adorned as your laundress, hair worn loosely, and eyes holding more of an edge than they ever had before.

Still, it is Yeji.

Yeji with the shimmering grin and freckle on her nose. Yeji who you know, and knows you in return. Yeji from your castle. Your home.

Yeji, a relic from the past that has not been destroyed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, following me around like that,” you laugh, taking one of your hands and giving her a slap on the shoulder, playful and not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Sorry,” she grins. “I didn’t want to attract any attention on the street. Figured it would be safer to lure you somewhere quiet, and you know, I also wanted to make sure it was actually you first.”

She then scoffs, returning the slap onto your own shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to pull out a sword on me! Where did you even get one of those?”

You consider answering, but a heavy cloud of unanswered questions hangs over the two of you, its presence loud and rattling like thunder. The jovial nature to your reunion cannot last long, not when there’s so much at stake, not when your world has crumbled to ash since you last spoke.

“What are you doing in Bebbanburg?” You ask, before realizing there’s a far more pressing question at hand. “How did you get out of the castle?”

Yeji smiles, placing her hand over one of your own along her cheek. “After what happened with the king in the ball-room, it was chaos,” she explains. “The Dark Army were rounding up and capturing all those who worked in the castle and may have been close to you.”

Your heart seizes at the statement, and your voice is quiet as you speak again. “Did they hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji replies, tone equally as somber. “A group of us laundresses escaped together using the underground tunnel system. I didn’t see what happened to those they had rounded up, but…”

She swallows hard, eyes pitiful as they meet your own. “But with how The Dark Army were talking, and the screams that followed behind us…I don’t think it would have ended well for them, Princess.”

Your throat swells at her admission, and it becomes more difficult to breathe as your eyes fill with the remnants of tears. Your mind is flooded with the unwelcome image of all of your old servants - your friends, as they had far surpassed their job description - tortured to try and probe them for information regarding you.

You wipe at your eyes with your hands, stuffing down the rising guilt and pain, placing a lid on these horrible thoughts. You will mourn later, when you have the time to properly grieve and honour all that they have lost because of you. For now, you must keep moving, deal with what is right in front of you.

“You keep calling them The Dark Army,” you begin, changing the subject. “Is that a made up title, or something they’ve defined themselves as? Do we know who they are?”

Yeji shakes her head. “Nobody knows who they are, it’s just what we’ve been calling them because of their armour. Not to mention the fact that they are about the sourest men I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” You ask, scolding yourself for the fear that seizes in your chest at the thought of it. Of them being anywhere near her, or anyone you care about, for that matter.

She nods. “They’re poking around the city. Trying to keep a low profile, because Bebbanburg doesn’t like any semblance of war or conflict contaminating their streets, but they’re here. We try to keep to ourselves by not causing any trouble or disturbances and they mostly leave us alone.”

Your head buzzes at the confirmation that they are here, within the walls and perhaps a mere alley-way over, which is far, far too close.

“You keep saying we,” you note. “There’s more of you?”

Yeji nods, a soft smile grazing her lips. “Lot’s of us. We’ve set up a refugee camp on the outskirts of the city. Bebbanburg doesn’t want us here, because of course they don’t, but at least it’s safe. Not much crime or Anti-Libaiyan extremists in the city, so even if it’s not much, it’s all that we can really ask for.”

If she had told you this a couple weeks ago, you’d have been startled to know that there were Anti-Libaiyan extremists at all. However, having been given insight into the monstrosities your father was capable of, this no longer comes as a surprise, but rather expected.

“Can you take me to them?” You ask, and Yeji nods.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she begins to walk back up the alley-way. “Although, I’d recommend keeping a low-profile, seeing that you're alive might cause a little too much excitement. Draw attention.”

You nod in agreement, following behind her through the winding alley-ways. It’s not until you’re almost back on the main city street that you remember why exactly you were trekking through the alleyways in the first place.

“Wait,” you say, stopping. Yeji turns to face you, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “There’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Where have you been?” Woo asks as you approach. The three men have gathered around the fountain within the center of the city square, water spouting from the tall and golden statue into a small pond embedded with various coloured jewels along its rim. The falling water casts a veil of mist around them, as well as the various other groups gathered beside it. Many of them are tourists from different kingdoms, which you can recognize by the various types of clothing they wear, such as the vibrant coloured patchwork of the group next to you that is distinctly Zarian. It seems a prime spot to talk, the definition of hiding in plain sight.

“You were supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago,” Woo says with a scowl, before he notices Yeji beside you. His gaze flickers up and down, as if assessing her potential danger. “Who is this?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, before motioning to her. “You guys, this is Yeji.”

She gives them a smile to which none of the men return, and for a moment you stand in silence.

“We’ve heard that one before,” Woo says.

Your face warms with embarrassment, and you clear your throat before beginning to explain. “This is the real Yeji, the girl whose name I used. She was one of my laundresses back at the castle, as well as a close friend.”

Another moment of silence follows, as none of the men appear to know what to say, or how to approach the appearance of a stranger.

Eventually, Seonghwa speaks, tone polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, to which Yeji returns the sentiment. Although he isn’t looking at you to see it, you cast Seonghwa a grateful smile all the same.

“This is Seonghwa, San, and Woo,” you say, pointing to each of them in turn. “They have been helping me get to Kuroku.”

“Thank you for aiding Her Highness,” Yeji says, placing a hand on her chest while delivering a curtsy. A sign of respect. Although…exceedingly formal respect.

San’s lips pull together into a stifled smile, and Woo raises an eyebrow.

“You, um, don’t have to do that,” you say, placing a hand on Yeji’s shoulder and gently tugging her upwards. “It’s not really like that.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening herself as her eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s a silence that follows, as well as a sense of discomfort that hangs in the air, as Yeji chews nervously on her lower lip.

And for all the love that you have for her, you know exactly what she’s thinking, as it’s been drilled into her since the moment she began to work at the castle: The demands of Libaiyan proprietary.

She ponders that if the relationship with this group of men escorting you is not formal, then what is it, and how far have you stretched the rules of etiquette that bind you?

You wouldn’t even know how to answer that question even if she asked.

Instead of dwelling on the subject and the lingering discomfort, you turn to Woo and Seonghwa. “Did the two of you find a place for us to stay the night?”

Woo scoffs in annoyance while Seonghwa shakes his head, defeated.

“Not anywhere reasonable,” Seonghwa says. “There’s a few places we can go if nightfall comes, but we honestly might be better off sleeping in the woods. It should be a clear night, and at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg.”

You frown, not fond of the idea of spending yet another night on the ground, especially without a tarp or blanket to shield you from the elements.

Fortunately, Yeji pipes up from beside you. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, we’ve formed a refuge on the outskirts of the city. I believe we have an extra tent to spare.”

Now this finally causes the men’s expression to shift, the discomfort and wariness on each of their faces replaced with a glimpse of relief.

“Alright,” San says, gaze shifting over to you even as he speaks to Yeji, and his expression is difficult to read. He appears almost bemused. “Lead the way.”

The refuge, while about as bleak as you expected it to be, fills you with an undeniable sense of glee. Mostly due to how big it is, meaning that even if the mass size of the refuge indicates that there have been hundreds driven from the Libaiyan kingdom, there are also far more people who survived and escaped the castle than you’d originally thought.

Gathered just outside of Bebbanburg’s walls, dozens of the beige and tattered fabric tents are clumped together, creating a sort of maze as people make their way between the narrow passages. Head shrouded beneath your hood, the five of you pass through the different camps, ducking beneath laundry lines hanging between tent poles and maneuvering through the small groups gathered around make-shift fire pits as they roast small rodents and birds for dinner.

You watch their faces, searching amidst them for anger, for loss and resentment. While some are quiet, dark circles of tiredness hanging beneath their eyes, others are not so beaten down. There is the sound of laughter in the air, and a group of children nearly bump into you as they recklessly chase each other through the labyrinth of tents.

You smile. All is not lost.

You’d been so focused on your own survival, of getting to Kuroku alive and fighting to give your kingdom a chance, that you hadn’t realized the fear you had of there being no kingdom to fight for. Of not only the castle being besieged, but the entire kingdom being left in ashes.

Yet, even if this is so, there are still Libaiyans left. There is still a nation, full of life, that will not let themselves be stripped of their pride so easily.

“This way,” Yeji says softly, trying not to draw too much attention to your party. A group of girls wave to her as you pass by, and you recognize some of them as your kitchen maids, although you were never close enough to have learned their names.

The women are seated around a small fire. With the setting sun, they gather closed together, a blanket stretched over them. Or, upon closer look, a Libaiyan flag, its golden sun bright against its stark white background.

There is a man playing the lute sitting beside them. He has light eyes and a soft voice, fingers dancing as he strums the small wooden instrument in tune with his voice.

The man sings a Libaiyan folk song, one about a man arriving home to a small Libaiyan village after fighting many long years at war. The song doesn’t make clear which war exactly, centuries old and deriving from a time of high conflict, but it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the song is less about the war, and more about coming home. The ghosts of his fallen comrades following him, cane in hand to support his leg that will never heal, and his love having left the village to marry another man from the kingdom city.

The song is normally sung in a minor chord. It’s sad and melancholic, painting a tale of loss and grief.

However, the man currently singing has changed its tune to a major chord.

A message of triumph. Of defiance. Of the man’s survival, even after all else is lost and destroyed.

A song of hope.

You want to join them. To listen to this man sing your nation's song, to let his tune of triumph fill not only the air, but your entire body. Your heart, even your soul. Reignite the reason you started this journey, why you couldn’t give up.

These people need you. Your people need you.

Yeji wraps her arm around your wrist, giving you a gentle tug forward as you linger near the fire for a little too long.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’ll be able to hear his voice late into the night, even from your tent.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, how to depict your gratitude for all of this. For her taking you in and letting you hear these songs that you weren’t so sure you’d ever hear again, for being alive and granting you hope.

All you can do is reach to give her hand a soft squeeze, and hope she understands.

Yeji stops before a small tent, one that doesn’t seem big enough for two men, let alone three. “I know it isn’t much, but I hope it will do.”

“It’ll do,” Seonghwa answers with a smile.

“Especially considering we have no luggage,” Woo grumbles.

If Yeji hears the dissatisfaction in his voice, she doesn’t show it. “My own tent is just over there,” she says, pointing to what is only a few tents over. It’s a bit larger than the one before you, although not by much. She turns to you. “You can stay with me.”

You’re grateful for the sentiment, considering none of the men - except maybe San - would enjoy being forced to share such close quarters with you.

“There’s a table inside, if you’d all like to sit and regroup. I can catch you up on all that has happened since the siege,” Yeji says.

Her gaze flickers over to the three men, and it is hesitant. Curious, as it returns to you. “And you can do the same.”

“Scorpion beasts, a mimic, and a dragon-basilisk hybrid all in just a few weeks?” Yeji gapes, hands clutching tight around her mug of hot tea, as if she needs something to hold onto. “And you’re alive?”

“I take it your journey here wasn’t so exciting?” San asks, sipping his own mug. He seems in good spirits today, as he willingly engages in conversation with Yeji. Especially compared to Seonghwa - who is more hesitant, likely less willing to jump the gun on trusting a new stranger - and Woo, who sits with his eyes bearing down into the table, not touching his mug even as the tea inside grows cold.

“No, we took the main path down the Arila River, so far less rural,” Yeji explains. “Although it was a good thing you didn’t do the same. There were Dark Army ports all along its bank. We were stopped and searched at every one of them.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from Yeji’s recollection of the besiegement and the time that followed, it’s that the black-clad men are relentless in their pursuit. They want you, at any cost. You only wish you knew who they were, so at least then you’d know why.

“I really am glad you’re alive, Princess,” Yeji says suddenly, hand drifting to rest on your own atop the table. “Libaiya has a chance to be strong again, so long as your blood sits on the throne. You’ll make the perfect Queen.”

You open your mouth to thank her, albeit bashfully, but are cut off as Woo pushes himself from the table. It rattles in protest, although the elemental does not seem to care, as he stomps towards the tent-flap. He does not meet any of your eyes as he disappears beneath it.

“I’m sorry,” Yeji says, tone worried. “Did I say something to-”

“It’s not you,” San reassures her. “He’s just been dealing with a lot lately.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, because you have a feeling about what may be bothering him. Your blood, as Yeji had said. Although to him, it’s more like poison.

“No,” Seonghwa cuts you off, already rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t, I don’t think he’d take it well. I’ll go.”

You want to protest, as Seonghwa does not know about Woo’s past, about the orphanage. The Libaiyan orphanage, and all the horrors that happened there. But the empath is already heading towards the tent flap, and the words die on your lips.

Even so, maybe he is right. Woo is upset, upset about you and your nation, perhaps you are not the one who should attempt to console him. Besides, Seonghwa has always been far better at that.

Yet, as you watch Seonghwa disappear after Woo, you have the sinking feeling it may not go as the empath plans.

Wooyoung cannot breathe.

Making his way blindly through the darkness of the refuge, the sun having set over the horizon, he pushes past Libaiyan’s as he heads for the exit. They turn and look at him as he shoves past, and he wonders if they know. If they can smell it on him.

“You were his,” they whisper as he walks by, or is that just in his head? “One of his dogs. Our dogs. A machine for use. Worthless.”

The last word is in Warden’s voice, and Wooyoung places a hand over his ears to try and tune it out. The other clutching his chest.

He can’t breathe. By the god’s, he really can’t breathe.

Each short pant is as unsatisfying as the next. He feels dizzy, wanting to summon a ball of flame to guide him, but he can’t seem to move his hands in front of him. He pushes forward, searching for an exit through the mazes of tents.

Then he’s covered in something. It’s thin, engulfing him, and panic rises hot in his chest. They’ve gotten him. Again. It’s happening again. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

It’s only after nobody attempts to drag him away and he gets a whiff of soap that he realizes that what covers him is not a bag, but someone's laundry. With shaky hands, he untangles himself from the fabric, before glancing down at his captor.

It’s a Libaiyan flag.

The bright, golden, and horrible sun stares back at him. The same one hung in the cafeteria, the one he pledged allegiance to three times a day. The one plastered atop the ceiling of his bedroom, watching him every night. The one deckled on Warden’s shoulder, as he tortured them relentlessly, as he murdered Yeonjun.

Wooyoung throws it to the ground, hands still shaking as he walks over it, the dirt on the bottom of his shoe stark against the flag’s white background.

“Woo!” A voice calls from behind him, but it sounds far away. Maybe it’s also just in his head. He keeps walking.

He can hear the sound of the same man singing as when you’d all entered the camp. He has a nice voice as he sings Libaiyan songs. Songs he’s never heard. Songs that were reserved for Libaiyan citizens, not slaves.

Wooyoung’s throat burns with the taste of Libaiyan tea. Only one sip, and it will not leave his tongue.

It tasted like the infirmary tent after Assessment Day in the orphanage. Before Warden got there, but not before Wooyoung got beaten within the sparring ring. They’d given him the tea to calm him down, try and make him forget the burns lacing up and down his arms.

With the taste on his tongue it’s as if he can feel them again, the searing pain starting in his mind and seeping into his skin.

“Woo, hold on!” The voice calls again, closer than the last. This time Wooyoung knows it’s not in his head, as he recognizes it to be Seonghwa. The sound of foot-steps follows behind him, as the empath chases after him.

He does not turn around. He needs to get out of this place.

Wooyoung begins to run.

Tearing through the refuge, he sees Bebbenburg’s outer walls appear ahead of him, the light emitted from the lanterns hung on the outside fortress drawing him in like a beacon.

When he reaches the wall, he makes sure to take a few steps inside and past the gates, to ensure that he is no longer within Libaiyan territory. Here, he is within the Kuroken realm. Safe.

He pauses to catch his breath, less from the running and more from the panic that has seized him. Hands placed on his knees, Wooyoung lets the foggy haze fade from his mind, although it does not relinquish control so easily. His heart continues to race, ears ringing with a constant buzz.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why this is affecting him so horribly. He’s been to the Libaiyan castle since entering the orphanage, having stolen plenty of Libaiyan treasures and heirlooms on their heists within the castle.

Then again, that was in the dark of the night, when there were no songs to be sung or tea to be drunk. When the flags were shrouded in pure shadow, not wrapped around him like bonds of rope.

That was when he was in control. That was when he was taking from them. That was revenge.

That was before he entangled himself with their princess.

“Woo, what the hell?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches, slightly out of breath from chasing down the elemental. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Wooyoung says, because it is all he can manage. He doesn’t look up at Seonghwa, instead staring at the cobblestone beneath his shoes, blinking blearily as he tries to direct his focus to its stone patch-work.

“Why did you just storm out of there?” Seonghwa asks. He’s not mad. Not yet. He genuinely wishes to know.

“Because of what that woman said,'' Wooyoung answers in his mind. “Because it’s true, she is the Libaiyan throne. Because it is her blood that’s done all of this. That did this to me.”

Wooyoung, of course, does not actually say any of this out loud. Seonghwa won’t understand. He doesn’t know, not only about Wooyoung’s past, but the orphanages in general. He’s from a small town within Zaria’s realm, far away from any news about Libaiyan political treachery.

He won’t get it, and Wooyoung isn’t going to even bother to try and explain it to him, especially when his tongue feels three sizes too large and his heart beats at a million times per minute.

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” he mutters, turning away from Seonghwa and heading deeper into Bebbanburg, hoping the empath will take the hint and piss off.

But he doesn’t, because after all, it’s Seonghwa. The blonde follows after him. “Where are you going to go, Woo? You saw the poster, it’s better to stay together, keep a low profile.”

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” Wooyoung repeats, beginning to walk faster, tone a little more pointed.

“Is this about her?” Seonghwa asks, and now his own tone is rising, annoyed as has to jog to catch up to the elemental. “Look I know you’re mad, I am too. But can’t you just push that aside? We’re almost to Kuroku, then we’ll be past it. We can move on.”

“Right. We’ll get to Kuroku. She’ll leave. San will leave. And then inevitably, you will too.”

After being met with silence, Seonghwa lets out a groan of annoyance, continuing to chase after him.

“Woo, stop!” He calls, reaching out to grab Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung slaps his hand away, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Can’t we just talk about this? Can’t we have an actual conversation for once instead of you shoving me away?”

Wooyoung keeps moving, because no, they can’t. Not right now. Not like this. Not when he can’t think straight.

“I don’t get what you have to be so mad about anyway!”

Wooyoung stops at this, finally turning around to face Seonghwa. “What?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth parted with surprise that Wooyoung actually stopped. Then he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together, as if remembering his annoyance.

“Yes, she lied to you,” Seonghwa starts. “And I know it sucks. But it’s San’s money on the line, and clearly he’s been able to forgive her.”

Seonghwa swallows hard. “And even if I haven’t been able to do the same, even after all she’s done to me I’m willing to swallow my own feelings to get this journey done. For them.”

Them. By that Seonghwa means San and you. You, after all that you have done - to Seonghwa, to San, to Wooyoung himself - he’s still choosing you.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t, Hwa!” Wooyoung says, and now he’s shouting. It’s good. The anger provides him comfort, something familiar to latch onto. “She used you! She used all of us! I know you have this deep-seeded issue of thinking everyone and everything has good in them, but open your eyes! Not all that glitters is fucking gold! A pair of pretty eyes doesn’t repair what she’s done, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t rotten inside!”

“Just as you are too,” a voice reminds him within his mind, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa opens his mouth to cut back, but Wooyoung is not finished. “She lied through her teeth, and you’re really just going to let it slide? Keep quiet because it’ll make things easier for her? For the sake of the gods, grow a spine!”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” Seonghwa yells back, taking a step towards Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s fist is clenched at his side, and for a moment Wooyoung thinks that Seonghwa might actually hit him. He almost wishes he would.

“Why do you care if I forgive her? Why do you care so much about whether I let people walk all over me? Why do you care?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he does it.

Maybe it’s the way his mind still buzzes from moments prior, hazy and foggy and unable to think of anything beyond his anger. Anything beyond the way his heart pounds rapidly and vision blurs with an anxious haze.

Maybe it’s the way Seonghwa’s words sting, more than Wooyoung wants to admit, and he wishes to prove the man wrong. Show him that it’s not so simple. Win, in a strange and possibly fucked up way, but win nonetheless.

Or maybe, more than anything, it’s the way Seonghwa is looking at him. Big brown eyes scanning his face, full of anger, but also passion. Desperately searching for an answer, as if there will be a solution to the enigma that is Wooyoung hidden somewhere on the elemental’s face.

Wooyoung knows what the answer is that Seonghwa seeks.

It’s the part of himself that Wooyoung has never admitted exists. The part that he has shoved down, smothered, pretended wasn’t there. The part that flutters at the sound of Seonghwa whining at his teasing. The part that stalls when Seonghwa lets his hand fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, thinking nothing of it, simply trying to get the elemental's attention or leaning in to point out something in the distance.

The part that broke the first night you and Seonghwa spent together. Defeated, angry, and beaten down, crawling into his bed that night in a drunken stooper, aching at the thought of the elemental being intimate with someone. Well, someone else.

The part that he once again shoved away the next morning, and had every day before and has every day since.

It’s that part of himself that he’s dejected and ignored that now comes crawling to the surface, invited by Seonghwa’s searching eyes, that unleashes its presence in a way that will make itself known. That will ensure it will no longer be forgotten, that it cannot be ignored or subdued again.

That part of Wooyoung unleashes itself in the form of a kiss.

It’s a horrible one, teeth smashing into teeth as Wooyoung grabs onto the collar of Seonghwa’s tunic and roughly pulls the man into him. In fact, it’s less of a kiss compared to two faces smashing together, Seonghwa clearly not prepared for it, but the message is sent all the same.

Wooyoung holds him there for three seconds, which feel far more like an eternity as they pass by.

Then Wooyoung pushes Seonghwa off of him, letting go of the man’s collar as the blonde stumbles back.

For a moment they stand in silence, and it’s a deafening one. Seonghwa’s hand drifts up to his lips, grazing them, eyes wide as he stares at Wooyoung. He’s clearly in a state of shock, as he says nothing, just stares with his mouth parted open in disbelief.

“There,” Wooyoung breathes. “Do you get it?”

Seonghwa continues to stare at him. Then his eyebrows furrow together, and when he begins to speak, Seonghwa’s tone is incredulous. “Woo, what are you-”

“Forget it,” Wooyoung cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to know what Seonghwa is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear the empath call him crazy, ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that either. The mind-numbing fog has returned to his head, his heart racing even faster than it had before.

He needs to get out of here.

“Just go back to the tent, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, and then his feet are set in motion. He heads deeper into Bebbanburg, away from the Libaiyan tent. Away from you and San. Away from what he’s done, the irreversible mistake he just made.

He runs away, and this time Seonghwa doesn’t follow him.

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking, what were you thinking?” Wooyoung repeats the question to himself over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what he’s done.

The look of bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face, followed by incredulity. Shock, then disbelief. Almost angry, and why shouldn’t he be? How could Wooyoung do something like this? Something so blatantly stupid and thoughtless?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wooyoung still cannot come up with an answer, because frankly, he wasn’t thinking. And he still can’t.

He turns down one of the many alley’s surrounding him, head buzzing, not a clue of where he’s going. All he knows is that it’s away, and for now, that is enough for him.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, hand trailing along the wall beside him as he runs. He feels silly, running with his eyes closed, but he cannot bring himself to keep them open. This way, the world around him fades. He can simply be moving, feel the air rush past him, and pretend that nothing happened.

There are no Libaiyan refugees a few alleyways over. He does not care for the Liabiyan princess, nor did he lose San a mere night ago. He did not reveal his feelings to a man he loves and ruin their entire friendship in one fell swoop.

He is merely running in the darkness, chest heaving for air, fingers scraping along the cobblestone wall.

Maybe, if he keeps running like this, he’ll actually have escaped it all.

Or maybe, running like this is not such an acceptable option, as it stops him from noticing the figure that has been following after him.

Wooyoung does not notice he is being followed until it is too late. Until he’s already been shoved sideways, face smacking into the stone wall beside him.

At the very least, the blows knock him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as he stumbles. Whirling to face his attacker, fire ignites immediately within his hand, dancing in between his fingers.

However, the second he turns, he’s met with a swift punch to the jaw that catches him off guard. Mostly because it does not come from where he can feel the man beside him - who now pins Wooyoung’s wrist to the alley-wall - but from the other side.

It’s not one attacker, but many.

“Shit,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, spitting out the blood that fills his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. Eyes searching the darkness around him, his attackers are nothing more than blurs within the night, and he gives the one in front of him a swift kick to the groin. The man lets out a long string of curses, and Wooyoung uses the opportunity to try and rush forward.

It’s of no use, as another man (or two, maybe even three?) pins his wrists to the wall.

It’s not the most efficient way to capture a person, as it leaves their legs functional to kick and mouth free to spit, bite, or scream for help.

Unless, of course, you’re capturing an elemental.

Wooyoung tries to summon fire into his hands, and while it manages to dance around his fingers, the inability to move his arms stops him from managing anything greater. He tries to summon the flame with only his mind, staring at his hand with sheer determination. He knows it’s possible, he’s done it before. Once. The night Yeonjun died.

Of course, he didn’t exactly mean to, and apparently it isn’t the sort of thing he can do by will, as his hands remain barren of flame.

Instead, he’s left helpless, pulling against the grips of the men that bind him. His eyes dart amongst the shadows that surround them, and he tally’s roughly ten of them, although he’s certain that there’s more as he hears shouts from down the alley-way.

One of the men’s hands digs into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back into the stone-wall. Hard.

Stars dance before Wooyoung, and a darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He continues to kick out in front of him, although each swing is far weaker than the last, as the pain leaves him sluggish.

The man yanks on his hair again, before slamming his head back into the wall once more, and suddenly Wooyoung is on the ground.

He doesn’t remember crumpling, but the stone pathway is cold against his back, so he must have passed out for a moment. He opens his eyes, vision swaying as he tries to make out the men surrounding him.

He can vaguely spot the face of the man above him. Middle-aged, with a dark beard and intense eyes. He speaks to someone beside him, although Wooyoung’s mind is too muddled to make out the actual words.

Likely not thugs then, as they aren’t even bothering to hide their identities. Besides, there’s too many of them to be a regular mugging. Too conspicuous, so it must be targeted.

But if it’s targeted, then who are they?

“W-who?” He asks, because the full sentence is far too much effort. His words are slurred and he sounds drunk. Which to be fair is an awful lot like how he feels.

The man above him doesn’t answer, but instead places a hand on Wooyoung’s throat, silencing him. With his other two hands, the man pins Wooyoung’s wrists to the ground.

No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. He can't have three hands. Which means it must be somebody else pinning his wrists to the ground, as well as another that slips the cloth bag over his head. How many were there again?

By the god’s Wooyoung really can’t think right now.

“Knock him out,” one of the men speaks from above him. Now that Wooyoung can make out.

Then the world goes black.

“And he seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” San asks, arms crossed as he leans against the training post outside of the men’s tent. It’s covered in grooves, clearly crafted by a sword, and one in the hands of someone not too pleased. A testament to San’s opinion on Woo not returning to the refuge last night.

“I already told you,” Seonghwa replies. His tone is also frustrated as he sits at an outside table, fingers tapping anxiously in rhythm with his jittering leg. “No. He didn’t.”

“He just took off?” San repeats, and you can understand why Seonghwa is becoming a bit annoyed. It’s also the third time you’ve heard San ask, although you have a feeling the swordsman isn’t actually expecting the answer to change. He simply wants to hear it again, to let him fuel the flame of his annoyance. “Without a word? Without a reason? Out into a city we’re currently being hunted in?”

Seonghwa’s eyes shift to the ground. “Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Seonghwa scowls at this. “What did you want me to do? You know Woo, he’s going to do what he wants no matter what anyone says or thinks.”

Seonghwa has been in a sour mood all morning, and something tells you there may be a little more to Woo leaving than he may be letting on. However, now is not the time to ponder what it might be, nor is it the time to start a fight. You simply need to find him.

“Let’s not start bickering with one another just because Woo’s not around to start it,” you say, attempting to remedy the argument before it can start. Fortunately, neither of the men are overly confrontational, at least not with each other.

“You’re right,” San sighs, turning to Seonghwa. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I know it’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa gives San a sort of half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before staring back down at his shoes. He appears to immediately lose himself in thought, knee bouncing anxiously.

Yeah, something definitely happened last night.

“This isn’t like him,” San says, pulling his sword out from his sheath and spinning it around in his hand. A nervous habit. “Staying out for the night, sure. But he’s always back by the next day. Always.”

With morning long past, the sun high in the sky with the arrival of late noon, San’s statement of “always” is replaced with “until today”, and a sense of uneasiness passes through you.

Something is wrong. You can feel it.

And with both San’s sword spinning in his hand and the sound of Seonghwa’s fingers tapping the table, you know that they can feel it too.

“I think we should go looking for him,” you say, expecting immediate approval. Instead both men look at you, and San shoots Seonghwa a side glance, to which the empath returns.

“What?” You ask, uncomfortable at the fact that it appears they’re both in on something you’re not.

San sighs. “You shouldn’t come.”

“What?” You say, this time with far more anger than confusion. “If Woo’s in danger then of course I’m going to come-”

“If Woo’s in danger then it’s likely because of the men who are looking for you,” San cuts you off, and while his tone is not accusatory, it is pointed.

You prepare a rebuttal, but it dies on your lips. San is right.

If the black-clad men have done something to Woo, then you going looking for him is likely exactly what they would want for you to do. While the stubborn part of you wants to go anyway, put Woo’s safety before your own. Be daring, bold, and perhaps a little stupid, just as Woo is in the face of danger, you know that this is not an option.

You need to get to Kuroku, and if you aren’t yet certain of the danger Woo may be in, you cannot afford to take such blatant risks.

“Alright,” you say, tone defeated as Seonghwa rises to his feet, San making his way towards the path leading outside of the refuge.

You don’t manage the next words until they’ve already left. Leaving you alone, face shrouded by your hood, suddenly aware of the wind’s chill nipping at your skin. The seasons are turning.

“Good luck.”

They are back sooner than you expected.

You sit at a table with Yeji, playing a game of Skirmish. A traditional Libaiyan game meant for children, due to the fact it has few rules and never really ends, so it can keep them occupied for hours. You didn’t particularly want to play, but Yeji said it might help to keep your mind distracted. You figured it was worth a shot.

It didn’t work.

However, it doesn’t matter, as when both San and Seonghwa approach from down the refuge’s path, the cards are forgotten. Tossing your deck to the side, you give San a look, one that asks: “Any luck?”. Although, you’re fairly certain of the answer, as there is no Woo in tow behind them.

San does not give you a look of his own. In fact, he does nothing. He simply stares back at you, a dead look to his eye.

It’s that look, the emptiness of it, that tells you something has gone wrong.

“What happened?” You ask as he approaches, although San does not reply. Instead he gives Seonghwa a fleeting glance, and the blonde meets it. His own expression is not as empty as San’s. In fact, it is the opposite. Brimming with emotion, Seonghwa’s eyes hold worry, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. A look of nothing less than pure fear.

“Seonghwa?” You ask, your own worry settling deep in your chest. Something has gone wrong, but what, and how badly?

The blonde doesn’t answer you with words, instead he moves towards the table. You hadn’t noticed before, but he holds something in his hands. The paper is a light tan colour, the size also familiar, and you recognize it to be one of your wanted posters. Immediately you're confused, as why would Seonghwa show you one of these? You’ve already seen dozens of them plastered all over Bebbanburg.

However, as he lays it down onto the table, the answer is blatantly obvious.

The paper is smeared with blood. The red stark against its light colouring, it doesn’t coat the poster fully, but is rather smothered haphazardly, the semblance of fingerprints notable. It’s testament to a job done quickly, as whoever did this did so with one purpose: to get a message across.

The message is made even more clear by the thick, dark lock of hair tied to the corner of the page.

Woo’s.

Beneath the lock of hair is writing, scrawled in black ink.

The Concursos Mountain Pass.

Three Days.

Wooyoung awakens to the back of his head pounding in a violent, aching fashion. The world sways in front of him, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly.

However, at the sight of tarps on all sides of him, the tent coated in darkness as only the light of the setting evening sun is able to get through, he remembers.

Right, the Libaiyan refuge.

Wooyoung groans, blinking as he tries to get his eyes to focus, his pounding head making his thoughts difficult to string together.

He moves his hand, attempting to wipe the sweat beading along his forehead, only to realize that he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks over his shoulder. The chains that tie his wrists to the chair that he sits in are thick and made of iron. If he tried to melt his bonds with the fire between his fingers, rather than catching fire like rope, they’d heat up and burn his wrists.

“What the…” He croaks out, throat raspy. Who would have tied him to a chair? Surely not Seonghwa or San. Not very likely you, as he couldn't see what good that would do you. Maybe your friend, the Libaiyan patriot? But why?

Wait.

Wooyoung’s brain pauses, mind doing a double-take as he stares at his bonds, noting bruising along his wrist. The massive purple marks are dark against his bronzed skin, and are almost line-shaped, as if someone had been holding him.

No, he’s not in the Libaiyan refuge, he’s somewhere else.

The memories of last night come rushing back to him. Running from the tent. The fight with Seonghwa. The subsequent kiss with Seonghwa.

His capture.

The shock of it is enough to cause Wooyoung to jolt awake, mind finally clearing even if the pain at the back of his head does not subside.

As if sensing Wooyoung’s realization, a man appears from under the tent-flap. He’s older, his face like a worn-glove, leathery and wrinkled in its places most used. His dark hair is cropped short, although his beard remains long, as well as scruffy.

Most notably, he’s dressed entirely in black armour. One of your predators.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says, and his voice is not as deep as Wooyoung expected.

“Who are you and-”

“Don’t speak. Not everyone has arrived yet,” the man cuts him off dismissively. “Besides, we’ll be the ones asking the questions.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought-”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he is surprised by the slap, but he is. Maybe because he hadn’t even had the chance to say the insult he was planning yet. Usually the hit would at least come afterwards.

These men, they aren’t playing around, that is clear.

His cheek stings, and he can imagine the bright red mark appearing along his skin as more men in dark armour appear from under the tent-flap. Wooyoung is surprised by the amount of them that manage to crowd into the space, almost a dozen.Then again, it is a big tent. Mostly empty, other than a small table in the corner, scattered with a variety of knick-knacks and spices that seem non-sensensical. Lunadore pollen, silver beads, Alagor Root, and a bunch of other rare ingredients the Wooyoung does not have time to make sense of, although set him on edge nonetheless.

If they plan to torture him, the table should be full of knives. Hammers. Maybe a few pliers to pull off his fingernails. Not plants.

The man who slapped him - their leader, it seems - clears his throat, and the group of men fall silent. Each of them turn to face Wooyoung, eyes glinting with something dark, something that says that they know more than he does.

Wooyoung makes sure to give each of them in turn a glare.

“I’m sure you know who we are by now,” the man says.

Wooyoung considers playing dumb, maybe earning himself a matching slap on the other cheek. However, he needs information, which means at least for now he must play along.

“You attacked the Libaiyan castle. Killed their king,” Wooyoung answers, meeting the man’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, intimidating, and Wooyoung makes sure not to look away. Not to show any fragility. Even if he has been made into the weakest in the room, he need not show it.

“People have been calling you The Dark Army,” Wooyoung says, and then because he can’t help himself, adds: “Cute name. Very scary. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

The man doesn’t answer his question, but instead smirks. “If you know who we are, I’m sure you also know what we’re looking for.”

You. That’s the answer the man wants. But Wooyoung won’t give that to him. “Power?” He ventures instead. “Glory? Access to the king’s many bejeweled robes?”

The man steps forward, grabbing Wooyoung's face in his hand. His fingers squeeze Wooyoung’s jaw, so much so that it not only hurts, but prevents him from speaking.

“Enough playing coy,” the man says. He still does not seem angry, face blank and tone almost bored as he grips Wooyoung’s face between his fingers. “Tell me where she is.”

He eases his grip just enough to let Wooyoung speak. “Where who is?”

The man’s grip tightens once again, fingernails digging into the elemental’s skin, and Wooyoung forces himself not to wince. “The girl you’ve been running all over Burovia with. The princess turned convict. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung manages. At this the man lets go of his jaw, but it’s only to deliver another slap that burns along his cheek. The man grips his jaw again, and Wooyoung struggles to focus on the man’s face, blinking away the stars that dance across his vision.

“Yes, you do,” the man says, and this time his tone is almost soft, gentle as he attempts to coax out an answer. Somehow it’s far more unsettling than the blankness. “Is she with the refugees? At one of the hostels, or even a tavern?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth. This time the man does not slap him, but instead grips his hair as he brings Wooyoung face down into his knee. Pain radiates from his nose through the rest of his face, and when the man lifts him back up, it takes Wooyoung a moment to register the man’s face before him through the blurriness.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung realizes the severity of the danger that he is in.

They want him to hand you over to them, and Wooyoung can’t do that.

But why can’t he do that? It would be the easiest thing to do. Nobody would blame him, after everything that you’ve done, especially if it came down to choosing between his own life or yours. San and Seonghwa would understand.

You are the Libaiyan Princess. Your family sent him to the orphanage. Turning you in would rid himself of the volatile confusion that has plagued him, it would fulfill the dream that his younger self wished for every night and morning. So why can’t he do it?

He knows the answer. How he feels towards you has grown beyond hatred. It’s grown beyond mere toleration for San and Seonghwa’s sake. It’s grown beyond the excuses he’s been telling himself for weeks.

He’s not going to hand you over to them to die, no matter what that may mean for himself. Unfortunately, what that may mean for himself is not looking good.

“You’re going to tell us,” the man states, not to persuade, but to simply state as fact. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to put yourself through before you do.”

“Well I have nothing but time,” Wooyoung answers, grinning, and he knows his teeth are bloody. Can feel the grittiness on his teeth, or maybe that’s still from the night before.

The man smiles back. “You have three days.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because I’m just such lovely company?”

“Because that’s how long we’ve given her to come find you.”

Wooyoung pauses at this, and he knows he’s shown a glimpse of weakness. How did they get a message to you? Is he bluffing?

Would you really be stupid enough to come after him?

“Nobody will come,” Wooyoung says, and even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Surely you wouldn’t come after him. Not when you’re so close to Kuroku, to San’s freedom. You have to keep going, there’s no way you, San, and Seonghwa could take on a dozen armed and highly trained men, especially considering there’s more of them out there somewhere. It would be pointless, a suicide mission.

But Wooyoung also knows that none of you would leave him behind to die.

“That’s fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Either she comes to us, or we go to her with the information you’ll give us. It doesn’t matter.”

“You aren’t going to be able to torture anything out of me,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, tilting his chin up, defiant. “Pain? Yeah, I’ve been through my share.”

The corner of the man’s lip curves upward, eyes gleaming. “I know. That’s what they told me.”

Wooyoung frowns. They?

The man chuckles at Wooyoung’s weary expression, finally letting go of his hold on the elemental’s jaw. The group of soldiers step back, creating a pathway for him as the man heads over to the table covered with rare ingredients and spices.

The man begins to fiddle around with them, although what exactly he’s doing Wooyoung can’t make out, his vision obscured by the other men standing before him.

“Do you know what they say about those whose body cannot be broken?” The man calls over his shoulder, and Wooyoung catches a glimpse of what is in his hand: a small bowl and mallet, which he uses to grind down the Alagor Root.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, wary.

“Break their mind instead,” the man states, holding up a small vial of purple liquid that Wooyoung cannot identify, before pouring into the bowl. A strange, dark and odorous smoke wafts up from the concoction. It smells like something burning, although what exactly Wooyoung cannot place. That is, until he can. It’s burnt flesh. It reminds him of the infirmary tent, of his scorched arms.

An inkling of fear settles into Wooyoung’s chest as he becomes increasingly aware of the bonds on his wrist. He can’t move, run, fight back, or do anything, really.

For a man with so much power, he’s grown accustomed to never feeling powerless. For a moment, it’s like he’s thirteen again. At Warden’s disposal and no fire to call his own.

The man places the empty vile back down on the table, before grabbing something else Wooyoung cannot see, although he can hear the sizzling noise it makes as he adds it to the bowl.

Wooyoung cannot take the silence any longer, his curiosity - or better, fear - overtaking him. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Instead of answering him, the man begins to mutter something beneath his breath, making a strange circular motion with his hand above the bowl, which he has set back down on the table. Wooyoung cannot make out what he is saying, but the way the words leave his lips is almost rhythmic, like a priest delivering a chant.

Wooyoung scowls, opening his mouth to interrogate the other men around him as to what the hell is going on, but the words die on his tongue. He knows what the man is doing.

It’s part of the Old Faith. Old Magic.

Dark magic.

Wooyoung has never been a devoted servant to the gods. In fact, for all of his life he’s hated them. He hated them as a child for giving him a gift he could not use. He hated them as a teenager for cursing him with the power to destroy everything he held dear. He hates them as an adult for idly standing by as all of the horrible events of his childhood tumbled down one after the other.

However, even with his hatred towards the gods, he’s always considered worshiping them to be far more understandable than the Old Faith. More particularly, the Old Magic aspect.

It’s a breach of order. If the gods blessed the gifted with their powers, then Old Magic defies that. It’s taking from the earth what was not given to you. It’s blasphemous. Immoral and unnatural. At its very core wrong.

Wooyoung tugs at the chains around his wrists, which clatter in protest. Panic begins to rise in his chest, as one thought fills his head: “What the fuck are they going to do to me?”

The man finishes his chant, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a miniature knife. He uses it to create a small cut along the tip of his finger, holding it above the bowl as a drop of blood collects around the wound, before dropping into the potion.

Smiling to himself in satisfaction, the man takes the bowl with him as he heads back towards Wooyoung. Stopping before him, the man takes a moment to meet the elemental’s eyes, that glimmer of darkness potent within his gaze.

Wooyoung does not look away, but by the gods, he wants to.

“Well,” the man says. “Open up.”

Wooyoung keeps his mouth shut, lips pursing together. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling its thump throughout his entire body. He can’t drink that. He isn’t sure what it will do, but he knows that its something horrible.

It will break his mind. That is what the man had said.

And while Wooyoung has always had confidence in his abilities, perhaps even relied on himself more than he should, for the first time that confidence falters.

“So this is what it takes for you to be quiet,” the man jests, earning a few chuckles from the others around him. “Good to know.”

When Wooyoung doesn’t reply, the man nods to a couple of the soldiers beside him. “Open his mouth.”

Four of the men approach him, and Wooyoung fights against the bonds of his chair, even if he knows it’ll be pointless. The chains against his wrists and ankles hold him still, and as two of the men grab his shoulders to stop the chair from rattling, he’s left with nothing but twisting his face away from the men who grab at him.

Hands blur across his vision as he feels one of the men press an arm to his throat. Another digs into his scalp, pulling his hair in order to bring his head back and face upwards. Fingers claw at the crevices of his face, digging beneath his cheekbones, into his ears, scratching along his lips.

It’s overwhelming, but Wooyoung stays focused, repeating over and over again in his mind, “Don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth.”

It’s not until the elbow pressing into his throat has been there for a little too long that Wooyoung registers that he needs to breathe. Black lines creeping into the corners of his vision, head beginning to feel foggy, he does his best to ignore it.

Until he can’t any longer. Against his mind’s will, when the man removes his elbow from the elemental’s throat, Wooyoung gasps for air.

The men do not waste the opportunity.

Fingers dig themselves into his mouth, and while he attempts to bite down on them, their force is too strong as the many hands pull back his cheeks. Limbs bound, hair pinned, and face pulled back, he’s left helpless as the man with the bowl approaches him.

As the man lifts the bowl above the elemental’s face, a smile grazes over his lips, and Wooyoung knows that he is enjoying this.

The liquid burns as it pours down his throat, rubbing like sand-paper along his tongue. It tastes familiar. Like stale bread, but worse. Rotten with mold. Wooyoung gags but the man does not stop, not until the final drops fall from the bowl and into his open mouth.

The men do not release him until he swallows the concoction, and he feels it as it settles down into his gut, twisting and turning like cheap whiskey.

Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, chest heaving and sweat beading along his forehead as he looks at the man before him. He continues to smile that awful, wretched grin, empty bowl in hand.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” the man says, for no other reason but to rub salt in the wound.

Wooyoung spits on his shoes.

The man does nothing, merely takes a few steps back as he continues to watch Wooyoung with an analytical gaze, as if observing whatever the hell is supposed to happen. For a few moments, Wooyoung feels nothing but the tension that hangs in the room as all of the men stare at him. He feels like a monster in a cage, like one of those griffin’s from a traveling circus he saw passing through Gloria many years ago. Undeniably dangerous, but stripped down to a mere display for people to gawk at.

Then he notices it. It doesn’t start as much, more of a feeling in the back of his mind than anything else. An uncomfortable tingling sensation creeping through him, like an itch beneath his skin, little prickles of worry like ants tunneling through his veins.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry.

The men in front of him transform into foggy statues and he blinks again, but instead of focusing it only gets worse. He swallows hard, only to find his throat has gone dry, the saliva refusing to go down.

Heat settles itself in his gut, rising into his chest as an aching sensation washes through him. Wooyoung lets out a low whine, one that under any other circumstances would humiliate him, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Not when his body feels as if it’s rejecting him.

“What did you do to me?” Wooyoung asks, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. The man hums softly, reaching forward to hold Wooyoung’s chin. This time his grip is gentle, and Wooyoung wants to slap it away, but he doesn’t have the strength. In fact, if it weren’t for the man holding his head up, he’s certain his chin would have fallen down to his chest. Maybe it already had, Wooyoung doesn’t remember.

“This is the easy part, Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, and Wooyoung swears that that is the first time the man has said his name. Although the worry is replaced by agony as another ripple of pain rattles through him.

“Remember. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it stop,” the man says. “You’d be wise to accept that offer.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, and he thinks thaf tears stain his eyes, although his vision is too foggy to notice a difference. “And if I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, giving a soft, condescending thumb-stroke along his cheek. “They always tend to comply.”

You cannot sleep.

The tent feels crammed, even though you’re well aware that there’s more than enough space. Yeji sleeps soundly, a few feet away and face turned from you as the peaceful sighs of deep slumber escape her lips. It is dark, only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping through the tent’s thin fabric, and yet it feels too bright.

You do not wish to sleep. There are things to be done. This is no time for rest.

They have Woo.

The men you’ve been fearing this entire journey. The ones that ambushed your father, that killed Mingi, that besieged your castle and robbed your life right out from under your feet. The men that have made you paranoid, always keeping one eye over your shoulder, creating wariness with each new city and step you have taken.

The men you have feared would kill you, they have taken him instead.

And somehow that is so much worse.

It’s not something you’d anticipated, always having assumed that if the black-clad men were to find you, you would be the one to face the consequences. The idea that travelling with the three men was putting them in the crossfire of the mysterious army hadn’t occurred to you. After all, it’s your wanted posters on every city street, not theirs.

How stupid you had been, and now Woo is gone. Captured by your family’s assassins, and only the god’s know what sort of danger he is in.

It’s your fault. It’s you they really want, he is just a pawn in their greater game. You’ve been outplayed, and Woo is the one forced to pay the price of your failure.

They could be torturing him for information. You know the sorts of things powerful men do to prisoners, having heard whispers about it in your halls, the dungeons located deep beneath the castle. Using a whip to lash the back until there's more blood left than flesh, spending hours drowning them within a bucket of water, pouring vials of liquid metal along the skin. Maybe one of them is a sadist, and Woo’s face is blistered and burnt beyond repair.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You roll over, eyes accustomed enough to the darkness that you can make out the ceiling of the tent above you. Although really, what you see is Woo, pleading for mercy as one of the black-clad men delivers the final blow. Woo goes silent, his eyes still open, and you know that it is over. He is gone.

Another person you care for, dead.

You cannot just sit here like this and let that happen. However, while you were prepared to head to the Concursos Mountain Pass the moment Seonghwa placed the message down in front of you, both he and San urged caution.

“This is clearly a trap,” San had said, wrapping a hand around your wrist to stop you from heading down the path towards the refuge’s exit. “They’re going to be prepared, which means we need to be. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything.”

“We have three days,” you snapped back, frustrated. “Yeji said the journey is at the very least a full day’s ride. We don’t have the time to sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“Then we have a day and a half to come up with something,” San replied, tone calm but also curt. He was not entertaining the possibility of going now, no matter how much anger you added to your glare. “Maybe we can form a group of some of the other refugees and leave together.”

“There’s only two horse’s between the entire refuge,” you cut back. “We cannot make it in time by foot. There’s no chance of us building our own army, if that’s what you're implying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” San said, still not budging. However, beneath his steady gaze, you could see the faintest hint of worry. Of doubt. Of knowing that there may have been no other option but to go alone, although he was not ready to admit it. Not ready to acknowledge the truth that weighed down on each of your shoulders.

The fact that it may come down to Woo’s life, or your own.

Thus, a second truth sat just as heavy. He would choose Woo. They both would.

It’s not until this moment, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, that you realize you would choose Woo too.

You will not have him die for you. You will not have the black-clad men take anything else from you. Not him. Not like this.

If they are to kill you, let it be your own doing. Not ambushed for the money they have placed on your head, or killed silently in an alley-way along the streets of Bebbanburg. You will not be your father, stabbed at his own celebration, unaware of what was coming. If you are to die, let you come to them with your sword in hand, fighting for a man who - even when you haven’t deserved it - fought for you.

Rising to your feet, you pull the blanket off of you, heading towards the tent flap. Stopping in place, you turn back, watching Yeji’s sleeping silhouette, chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it is not only to her, but to all of them. All of the Libaiyan’s uprooted from their homes, left to wander Burovia with no kingdom to call home. They had finally been reunited with their princess, only for you to leave them once more. It is selfish. It is what your father would consider an abandonment of responsibility.

Maybe you are abandoning your royal duty, or perhaps you are fulfilling your duty to another.

Either way, it must be done.

Slipping out from under the tent flap, you can hear San and Seonghwa talking within their own tent, though you cannot make out what they are saying. Good, they're busy. They will likely not notice you’re gone until morning.

Scanning the field, the man continues to sing by the fire, and it is the same song as before. Lute in hand, he serenades the men and women surrounding him, although the number has depleted under the blanket of the night.

As you approach the horse tied to a nearby tent-pole, you sing along quietly beneath your breath, to the words you have known your entire life.

“My love for whom I do come home,”

“I’ve been bathed in scars, both body and soul,”

“And while I’ve returned beneath darkened gloam,”

“Without you this place may never be whole.”

Although, while you may sing his words, unlike the man within the song you will not be so passive.

You will find Woo, and you will bring him home. Even if you do not come back with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

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caelesjjk · 2 years

Text

to love a monster collab

Things are not always as they seem.

A bump in the night. An eerie feeling creeping down the back of your neck. A cold chill blanketing your skin in goosebumps. All things that make you think you may not be alone.

Mythical creatures and dangerous monsters walk among us without us being aware. Supernatural beings with abilities beyond our comprehension. Some with mind boggling magic. Some with an intense thirst for blood.

But what happens when you fall in love with these beings? How do you continue to navigate through a world you thought you knew now that it’s been turned upside down? Hosted by Sarah @caelesjjk and Sav @jeonjcngkook , Our magical collab participants are here to show you how to give you heart, mind, and body…to a monster.

Posting of the works will tentatively be in the early months of 2023.

✧ What Lies Beneath ✧

➳ written by: sarah @caelesjjk

➳ pairing: bogeyman!seokjin x f. reader

➳ genres/aus: supernatural au, smut, romance

➳ summary: Seokjin has been gone for awhile. People have forgotten who he is.

And what he is, is the monster in the shadows and beneath the bed. He walks through dreams and turns them into nightmares. It’s more of a curse than anything else.

But when he finally returns to the town he once called home, nostalgia for the girl he once loved making him seek out her home, he finds you instead. And you know all of Seokjin’s secrets, the ones he hoped would never surface again.

✧ Wicked As They Come ✧

➳ written by: sarah @caelesjjk

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi x reporter! f reader

➳ genres/aus: supernatural au, vampire au, fake dating au, ceo au, romance, smut

➳ summary: you’ve been undercover at one of Min Yoongi’s many hotels in the city for the past week. you’re there because of the rumors that have been spreading regarding his vampire employees feeding off of his human guests. what you don’t expect to happen, is Min Yoongi discovering your true intentions in his hotel and offering you a very interesting ultimatum. pretend to date the vampire CEO to help appeal to his human guests or quickly find out just what kind of monster he can really be.

✧ The Wood ✧

➳ written by: hali @sailoryooons

➳ pairing: Witch!Hoseok x human!reader

➳ genres/aus: 18+, strangers to lovers, modern-day southern gothic, smut

➳ summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.

✧ Read Between the Lines ✧

➳ written by: sav @jeonjcngkook

➳ pairing: ceo incubus namjoon x erotica novalist human reader

➳ genres/aus: supernatural au, incubus au, office au, forbidden romance, smut,

➳ summary: after the success of your first novel, a place on the New York Times Best Selling Authors list and multiple book tours, it's now time to write the sequel to your highly anticipated series. But with success comes mind numbing writers block. Unable to shake yourself from the rut, no amount of research seems to aid your issues. That is until someone gives you a more hands on approach to help your troubles.

✧ Safe Haven ✧

➳ written by: maggie @kth1

➳ pairing: royal guard werewolf!jimin x princess!femalereader

➳ genres/aus: 18+, royal au, semi-modern day au, forbidden love au, smut

➳ summary: When your families castle becomes overrun by ruffians on your niece's birthday celebration, you (the youngest princess of your family) are seized in the crossfire of the outrageous invasion. Caught at the wrong place and wrong time, you are taken for ransom as you protect those of your family. With the rebels holding you captive, hoping to exchange you for their own diabolical agenda, your most regal and trusted royal guard takes on the task of bringing you back no matter who or what stands in his way.

✧ Love You for Infinity ✧

➳ written by: jai @gimmethatagustd

➳ pairing: ghost!taehyung x human!reader

➳ summary: Kim Taehyung and his ex-fiancée met their untimely deaths when they were young and in the midst of heartbreak. When he's doomed to roam the earth as a ghost with unfinished business, Taehyung is convinced that finding the soul of his true love and righting his wrongs will set him free. You, on the other hand, aren't easily convinced that you're the reincarnation of Taehyung's true love, and you have no intention of being haunted for the rest of your life.

✧ Only When You’re Lonely ✧

➳ written by: lati @jjkeverlast

➳ pairing: human!jk x succubus!f.reader

➳ genres/aus: supernatural au, demon au, college au, frat party au, humor, smut, sub!jk and semi strangers to lovers

➳ summary: jungkook has never dated anyone, because of you and you're soft touches that bring him to orbit. it's all it's ever been, just sex between you. although, it brings an unexpected turn when jungkook accidentally blurts you out as his girlfriend to his college friends which results in them expecting you at the upcoming frat party. what jungkook doesn't know is that you're much more than just someone he meets when he's lonely.

#to love a monster collab #bts collab #bts #bangtan #btsdreamcourt #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #namjoon fic #seokjin fic #yoongi fic #hoseok fic #Jimin fic #taehyung fic #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts smut

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roastyoualive · 11 months

Text

@gareththegreat LIKED FOR A STARTER!

Hawkins High. From what he'd heard, it was pretty ordinary for a highschool. Some people even said it was pretty small. While he knew he was the opposite of an expert, he’d disagree. It felt huge. Huge, and crowded. Full of strangers in close proximity, held together by only the loosest sense of order.

You don’t have to, his dad had told him. Homeschooling is an option. But no. No, he wanted to do this. … Sort of. Sometimes, it got way too loud. Way too… Confusing. That’s why it was nice to get away from it all, whenever the bells set the students free. Now that he didn't feel the urge to just head home right away, and instead looked for something more interesting to do. And there was a lot to do here.

Especially the arcade. He was here a lot, now, especially with the petty cash he earned from his job. Countless tips had found their way into Dig Dug, Death Race, and of course, his best friend in this whole town, Space Invaders. Surrounded by the smell of stale soda (probably why the boldly-patterned carpet was perpetually sticky in a few places), sweat, and who knows what else, all flashy lights and metallic, 8-bit soundtracks, it was surprisingly easy for Warren to forget how long he’d been here. He’s about to start his third run through when he catches movement (close enough that he almost tenses, but that’s not saying much) out of the corner of his eye.

He turns. Oh. He knows this guy. Well- Okay, Warren doesn’t know him, but he’s seen him before. At school.

“... Did you want in here?”

#gareththegreat #&& light it up; ic #&& through being cool; movie verse #&& what lies beneath; stranger things au #he's... so awkward i'm sorry dfjkghdfghdfghj

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deadplatedrops · 5 days

Text

the main course | vincent charbonneau x rody lamoree

words | 3.3k

cw | blood and violence, mature themes, explicit sexual content 18+ mdni

ao3 link

The stranger tastes like paper and ink, the transfer of the newsprint from Vincent’s hands to the man’s cock now adding a new layer of seasoning, a further depth of flavor.

That newspaper is beneath his knees now, barely a cushion for the pavement in the alley outside the pub. A priest would never grovel and worship on such a thin surface, but he’s a chef, and he’s desperate, because ever since that redhead had entered his restaurant looking for a job he’s been absolutely besotted with him. So a nameless man with a face he doesn’t care to remember fills the role of surrogate because he’s got a similar build and nearly the same tousled carrot top and it’s so, so close to the one he wants. His mouth lies and his mind believes as he lavs the scarlet flesh. The hands that had been basting coq au vin scant hours before now clutch the winged crests of hip bones and he sighs around the arousal when he feels fingers in his sooty hair, when he hears the muttered “Tu vas me faire jouir,” a spill of hot, bitter seed striking his palate seconds later.

Back on his feet and the culinary expert is stroked in short, rough bursts that do not satisfy him but it does not matter, because what he wants now, the dessert to follow the main course, is within easy reach. The carving knife has been carefully tucked beneath the sleeve of his coat this entire time, now eased free and poised at the side of the bar patron’s throat. “Plus fort, plus vite,” he breathes into his ear, lips touching the brassy curl of hair that’s tumbled over it, messy like the one he wants; he knows he can make Rody taste the most exquisite banquet, he just needs a little more culinary practice with this new type of cuisine. That treasure in his freezer will surely keep until he’s ready.

These thoughts work far better than the other man’s hand on his dick, spurring him closer to climax. The tired eyes slide closed and the waiter’s name escapes his lips. “Rody, s’il te plaît…”

A puzzled hum, the rhythm of the curled fingers stutter on his cock but it’s too late; far, far too late. Vincent’s already cumming and he’s slipped the blade in just there, rewarded with a burst of dark crimson. It lands on his lips and he licks them, hand clamped over the startled victim’s mouth, his release spilling carelessly over the front of his work pants.

His eyes dart to either side of the alley but there is no one there. His crime is without witness. He hastily refastens his fly and drags the body away with an ease of strength that belies his slender figure. Cooking required muscle. Heavy pots and pans to lift, thick meat with muscle, tendons, and sinew to slice. Cracked bones. Breaking down animals wasn’t so different from breaking down humans.

He’s left a footprint behind on the newspaper, but it’s washed away by the next morning’s rain, never seen, just like the stray drops of blood that disappear, diluted until they are water, later evaporated to nothing, leaving no trace of their existence.

***

Vincent watches Rody Lamoree with hungry eyes, starving eyes, as the young man hurriedly ties the flaps of the garbage bag in the kitchen and shoves the door leading to the dumpsters in the back open with one apron clad hip. He’d just been back there himself, for a brief respite from the hot cooking area, savoring one of the few things that tastes good to him: a cigarette, lit with one of the pilot lights on the stove. He’d inhaled those chemicals and blown smoke, lost in the ash and embers, in his obsessive thoughts of Rody.

He’s still not certain what to do with the locket Manon had been wearing. He keeps it with him, not so much because it’s a trophy but because it has that coveted man’s picture in it. He’s already dug the pretty girl’s face from the frame. Now there is just her former lover to look upon. He shoves a hand in his pants pocket and feels the metal, the pattern of sweet roses and twining vines now as familiar to him as the recipes on the day’s menu.

Back inside, the bistro is bustling. Rody can hardly keep up with the volume of customers. It’s too much for one man, but Vincent refuses to hire another. He has his sous chefs and that is all he requires. Let them churn out the simpler dishes, the appetizers and sides. He focuses on the main courses, the artful desserts.

A violent crash has everyone facing the kitchen. Rody’s dropped a plate again. The man is positively inept. Vincent folds his arms and watches the waiter scramble to collect the pieces, trying to dodge the other employees moving around the kitchen. He slices his index finger and Vincent’s hearing goes muffled, his vision tunneling. Everything narrows and focuses on that streak of red dripping from the injured man’s digit.

“Honestly. Isn’t it bad enough you’ve broken so many dishes we hardly have any left to serve the customers? And now you’re fixing to add to my expenses with a hospital bill. Come with me.”

He turns without waiting to see if Rody will follow, because he knows he will. He no doubt has those soft, wet, bright looking puppy eyes that plead for forgiveness aimed at his back. He can feel them even if he doesn’t see them.

“I’m sorry, Chef.” He allows his hand to be brought under the faucet of the employee restroom, wincing at the feel of the water striking the laceration.

“Getting an infection and then being out of work, was that your plan? You want to ruin me?”

Rody wants nothing of the sort, of course, and Vincent knows this. But it’s easier to hide behind anger. The waiter likely thinks the hand cupping his is trembling from anger. He has no idea it’s from tightly restrained desire. He can barely resist bringing that cut to his lips and tasting him. Wondering at the exact rusted tang. Not all blood was of the same vintage, he was beginning to learn.

“There’s a first aid kit in my office. Don’t drip anything on my floors. Keep your hand pressed here, firmly.” For now, it is a wad of paper towels pressed to the cut that serves as a makeshift bandage. Once inside the office that is more comfortable than one might have thought likely in such a setting, the owner retrieves the emergency supplies from the bottom desk drawer and removes the bloodstained paper, applying gauze and rolling more around the wound. “It looks shallow. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. But you need to keep it clean and dry.” His movements are brisk. He wants the task completed. He can’t have that kind of temptation in front of him for too long.

Rody’s eyes are wandering. There is a lot to look at in that space. Bookshelves. Framed reviews. Typewriter. Potted plant—this looking wilted and neglected. An overflowing rubbish bin. Vincent spent a great deal of time coming up with new menus. The discarded ideas are what fill that bucket.

“There are customers waiting. Get back to work,” the chef snaps, and the waiter mumbles his gratitude, leaving the office. The dark haired man’s eyes fall on the bloody paper towels littering the surface of his desk. He crumples them, hesitates, brings them to his nostrils. He smells copper and thinks of Rody’s fiery mane of hair and his pants tighten. He wants him. Wants to devour, consume…no. He doesn’t want to destroy him. But he’d take a sample, a little amuse bouche before serving the man his ex girlfriend. A little savory aperitif, perhaps lapped from that finger if it’s still wounded then, perhaps from another cut he’ll bestow himself later.

His eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Should he self indulge now, or wait for later? Timing is so important in this profession. Ensuring a fine sear early on to enhance the meat’s flavor later. Deglazing a pan, luring those tasty carmelized bits free. A smooth, lavish roux to thicken the sauce. A bright crush of berries, mixed with sugar and boiled on the stove, later spread over some baked treat. The menu for tomorrow, perhaps.

As for the other…later, he decides.

The best way to savor.

***

Rody is always a straggler.

Always one of the last employees to leave, like the occasional patron that dawdles a bit too long for Vincent’s liking, perhaps intoxicated from the recommended wine or just lingering with a belly stretched full, their mind lethargic. He must usher them out after murmuring words of gratitude, casting a meaningful glance at the waiter to clear the table so he can close up the bistro for the day and retire to his apartment upstairs.

The bells on the door tinkle softly as the owner closes and locks the door with a grateful, tired sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he pushes on the doors leading to the kitchen.

Rody’s dropped something again.

The redhead has managed not to break a dish this time, but he has tipped one of the half full pots still waiting to be emptied and washed. His white shirt is now stained yellow and he looks helplessly at the stern face of his employer. “I’m sorry, Chef.”

“It’s always ‘I’m sorry, Chef,’ isn’t it, Lamoree? Do you know how tired I am of hearing that?”

“I’m s—” The other man’s voice cuts off midway before the apology can be repeated.

“You’re not sorry at all, that’s the worst part. No consideration for wasting another man’s time and money.”

“I won’t be here much longer. I’ve nearly got enough saved up now.”

Vincent’s eyes flare at this declaration. He had, somehow, forgotten the employee had only promised to fill the position temporarily.

He was running out of time. Out of chances.

“Have you heard from your significant other?”

Rody blinks. Vincent never inquired about personal matters. “No. I’ve been calling every night when I get home, but she never answers,” he admits, looking crestfallen. “I thought maybe if she saw I was serious, she might change her mind and we could get back together. But now…”

The chef has to bite back a grin. He knows damn well Manon hasn’t been answering her phone. How can she, when she’s tucked securely away in the depths of the walk in freezer? The key for it is around his neck. He never removes it. No one is allowed inside that area.

“Perhaps she’s already moved on,” Vincent offers unsympathetically. “Maybe you should, too.”

The other man laughs hesitantly. “It’s only been a week.”

“Hmmm.” Now he’s wishing he hadn’t mentioned his envisioned rival. He doesn’t want Rody thinking about her. Being distracted. Time to change the subject. “How is your cut healing? Do I need to be worried about another bill?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been careful with it.”

“Like you were careful with the dishes just now? Let me see.” He doesn’t wait for the waiter to offer the hand for examination, instead reaching and pulling it over to him. He doesn’t inspect the outer dressing for long, plucking at the tape sealing it shut to expose a dark line underneath. The edges did appear like they were approximated well, the surrounding skin clear from signs of infection.

“See? Told you.”

Vincent’s dark eyes lift, finding emerald ones. He never breaks the contact as his fingers ease past the injured finger and trace the creases of Rody’s palm. His skin is rough and reddened. He hasn’t learned how to care for it yet, the constant submergence in hot water already leaving its mark. A short distance later he reaches the man’s wrist, pressing lightly against the blue vessels visible beneath his fair skin. “Your heart is beating very fast,” he murmurs.

Rody gulps, frozen into apparent immobility by his employer’s sudden caress. “I…”

“Hurry up and help me clean the rest of this. It’s been a long day.” He drops his hand and turns away.

The waiter stares open mouthed at the sudden shift in mood, the spell binding him seemingly broken. He hastens to help his employer clean the remaining dishes, then gathers up the trash from the rubbish bin for the final time that shift.

The sound of the door behind him closing again causes him to turn his head, the bag falling into the dumpster with a wet sort of thud.

“Chef?”

“You ever smoke, Rody? No, I doubt that. Jamais,” he mutters, taking a drag.

“No,” the other man agrees, looking puzzled. Wondering why the owner was suddenly lingering when moments before he’d been impatient to depart.

“Life isn’t truly experienced if you neglect to try all it offers. Even things that seem unappealing. In fact, sometimes those ill flavors make you appreciate the favorable ones more.” The end of the cigarette glows. A dog barks in the distance. The lighting at the rear of the building is minimal. The chef’s features are bathed in shadows.

“I guess that makes sense.” Rody moves closer to the door the other man is still blocking. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be heading home now.”

“You’ve tarried this long. Surely a few more minutes won’t make a difference.” He imagines Rody reaching for the phone as soon as he’s showered and changed. Thinking perhaps tonight will be the night Manon will answer. “Try it, then you’ll know for certain.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He tries to step around Vincent but he’s blocked again by that wiry figure.

“Try it,” he insists again, offering the paper cylinder to his companion.

Rody hesitates, then claims the cigarette and takes a tentative inhale. He coughs and sends clouds of smoke into the air and the other man chuckles darkly, snatching the offensive object back.

“There’s a skill to it. You have to practice.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He thumps a hand against his chest, looking a little bleary eyed.

Vincent clucks his tongue impatiently, taking another deep pull. Before Rody has a chance to react, he’s got his face between his hands and his mouth on his lips.

The little sound of surprise provides him with an opportunity to shotgun the smoke directly into his mouth. The waiter doesn’t taste like much of anything, not that he’d expected any differently, but he enjoys those first few moments of surprise when he can stroke his tongue.

Rody breaks away, dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?” He’s never once dared raise his voice; Vincent doesn’t think he’s ever even heard him use profanity before this.

“Giving you another chance to enjoy it.”

“I don’t. I already told you. I’m going home now. Please move.”

“No.” The cigarette is slotted lazily at one corner of Vincent’s mouth, the smoke drifting up in a thin stream. He’s folded his arms, leaning back against the door.

“Move,” Rody repeats more forcefully, his hand clutching his boss’ upper arm. The dark haired man settles his hand over the server’s bare forearm, stroking lightly until he’s shaken off. “Don’t touch me.” Voice still firm, but trembling a little. He can hear it.

“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” He withdraws the paper tube from his mouth and tosses it to the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his shoe.

“I’ll quit, right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t afford to.”

“Near enough. I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re getting quite the track record, Rody. Nearly thirty jobs in seven years? You’ll not get a reference from me. In fact, I’ll make sure you never work in this part of town again.”

“Then I’ll find another town.”

“No one will want you. No one will want you like…” His voice trails off. He’s never seen such determination from the young man before. “You can’t leave.”

“Like hell I can’t.” He reaches to push Vincent and the chef’s hand curls around Rody’s tie—rumpled, the man was always so unkempt and careless, always rolling up his shirt sleeves even though he’d told him dozens of times not to, the restaurant had a reputation to maintain, an appearance—dragging his upper body forward. There’s a confused passage of time where the men struggle, gripping and shoving, tugging and scrabbling for the handle of the door, ending similarly to how it started, with Vincent’s back pressed against the door and Rody pressed against him.

The pair are panting, hands full of each other’s clothing. Vincent kisses Rody again, a rough crush of mouths while the redhead vainly pushes along his employer’s shoulders. He feels the other man’s arousal at the same moment Rody seemingly becomes consciously aware of it, the waiter’s grip softening, mirroring how sweetly his lips surrender. Vincent sucks them, laps at them, nips and travels to his jaw, his neck, his ear, and feels a shudder in response to his ministrations.

“I thought you hated me, I don’t understand…”

“You foolish, foolish boy.” His hips roll forward and he grinds against the other man’s erection, eliciting a harsh gasp. “Je te désire…”

Through a joint effort they manage to make their way back inside, pausing for another round of frenzied kisses here and there. Vincent harbors no delusions that they’ll make it any further than that kitchen. The bedroom upstairs will have to wait for another time. He’s too consumed with this giddy feeling of triumph; he’s winning over his body, and his heart will surely follow, once he creates that forbidden feast.

Rody is pushed again and his hand knocks over a bottle on the counter. Cooking oil. It begins to spill before it can be righted, the man’s fingers coated, and the mock scolding that he’d been about to be gifted instead shifts to praise, those slick fingers now guided over cocks released from their imprisonment.

“Ta bitte, c’est alléchant…”

Rody groans, his hand stretching to accommodate both men’s pricks, stroking both simultaneously, mashing them together. “Merde…”

Another surprised sound from the waiter. Vincent’s sucked his bottom lip a little too firmly, splitting it and drawing blood. The chef can barely contain himself. At last, at last he has a taste of what he’s been coveting, and this, unlike everything else that is ash and dust, this marvelous liquid lifeforce is divine, sweet and savory both. He sucks harder and ruts against his employee’s hand and it’s all he can do not to grab a knife from the block and drag even more of that delicious vintage from him.

“Fais-moi jouir,” the chef urges, letting a trail of saliva ooze into the other man’s gasping mouth. His fingers knot in his tresses and a faint scent of shampoo wafts over him, stirred back to life from the shower so many hours ago before the shift had started.

“Rody,” he groans in warning just before his turgid member erupts, spilling seed all over the waiter’s hand and cock. It takes only seconds before he cums, returning the favor, bathing the chef in a hot wash of sperm.

“Mon dieu…” The redhead steps back, looking at the mess the two of them have made.

“We’ll take care of it in the morning,” Vincent says dismissively, prioritizing his present recovery, his breathing labored. He’s still got the taste of Rody’s blood on his tongue.

“Come upstairs with me,” he invites once they’ve straightened their clothing, watching as the other man hesitates, then nods.

Vincent slides his hand into his pants pocket to find the hidden jewelry warm to the touch, so different from the cold, cold room that Manon now resides in.

Waiting.

#dead plate #dead plate game #vincent charbonneau #rody lamoree #rody x vincent #vincent x rody #dead plate rody #dead plate vincent #dead plate fanfic #divider @saradikagraphics #charmoree #vince x rody #rody x vince #vince dead plate #vince charbonneau

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woorphic · 2 years

Text

nct recs

i do not own any of the listed works. all credits go to the original poster.

i’ll update this post as i read.

(m) - mature // (s) - suggestive

last updated 16 nov 2022

just to preface: i do not enjoy reading smaus. works i recommend are (usually) long oneshots with quality writing.

YUTA

｡° glossed over by @gyukult (m) II 18.2k

yuta x fem reader

childhood friends to lovers, best friend's brother, college au

times in your life where you thought nakamoto yuta was just your best friend’s older brother, a guy you had a little childish crush on. but little did you know, there was more than what meets the eye.

｡° 5 minutes by @doiefy (s) || 26.7k

yuta x reader

angst, sci-fi, dystopia

The year is 2463. Seoul is an infinitely-expanding metropolis, the centre of modern infrastructure and development. An undisputed powerhouse in technological advancements, Seoul promotes diversity, inviting people of all backgrounds, cultivating rare talents and providing them with the space to flourish. You live amidst it all, sheltered comfortably by the prestige and wealth of your family, sheltered from the darkness that thrives in the deep underbelly of the city. That is, until Yuta pulls the ground from your feet and shows you what lies beneath the capital’s smooth pavements, crystalline glass and liquid gold. Uncovering secrets, wandering off with him where you know you shouldn’t—you’ll pay for it dearly.

DOYOUNG

｡° before i go by @yutaholic (m) II 19.8k

prince!doyoung x fem reader

arranged marriage, fluff, angst

The day has come for you to marry Doyoung and life as a princess is not what you expected. Your new husband is distant and there is trouble stirring within the monarchy. Now more than ever, you are determined to kindle a romance with the prince, but you soon learn that your marriage will be put to the test in ways you could never have imagined.

｡° marriage of inconvenience by @lucaswithnoshirt (s) || 22.5k

writer!doyoung x reader

victorian, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, fluff

you had thought love was easy: find a man you like and who likes you, marry him, then spend the rest of your lives together. except it never really is that easy, not when things go wrong.

SICHENG

｡° and stupidly, us. by @choerrypuffs (s) || 5.5k

vigilante!sicheng x nurse!reader

your boring, routine life takes a turn when you find a man bleeding to death by your apartment.

JUNGWOO

｡° pincushion by @jungwooisms (m) II 20k

tailor!jungwoo x fem!bookbinder!reader

historical, fluff, angst, unrequited love

a quiet life shaken up by a new face that appears in the tailor shop down the street. little did you know on your first meeting how lovely and bittersweet your love for him would become.

｡° strawberry flavored basorexia by @multihoe-net (m) || 7.6k

jungwoo x fem reader

friends to lovers, smut, college au

you’ve been feeling some kind of way towards your friend, who’s always been insanely gorgeous in your eyes… but fuck, those lips look so nice, and you just want to kiss him until they’re red and swollen.

MARK

｡° sunday kind of love by @smileysuh (m) II 35.7k

fratboy!mark x fem reader

fluff, college au, slow burn

Mark is fine with having a crush on the girl in the library. He’s fine watching her from afar. And he’s fine with never speaking a word to the girl who he spends many nights chasing in his dreams. But fate, and a few nosey frat brothers, think Mark would be much better if he was forced to talk to the cute girl from the library that he can’t seem to get out of his head.

｡° skinship - kisses by @honeym4rk II 4.2k

mark x reader

fluff

in a relationship where your boyfriend finds physical affection rather awkward, you’d best believe it would’ve taken some time for him to warm up to the idea of skinship- skin to skin, a hand on his, cheeks crashing together as close as possible. but the patience comes at a good cost- mark has several ways to close the distance between you.

｡° missing person by @kyufessions || 7.1k

mark x gn!reader

thriller

warning: mentions of knives, blood and physical violence

you’ve been happily dating your boyfriend, mark lee, for the past two years. but what happens when all of a sudden your best friend sends you a missing persons article and your boyfriend is listed as missing for the past three years?

XIAOJUN

｡° cherry-flavored kisses by @deardejun || 2k

xiaojun x reader

fluff, short college au

HENDERY

｡° mine for the summer by @the32ndbeat (s) || 26.7k

hendery x fem reader

time travel!au, angst, fluff, fantasy

what would you do if you are given a chance to revisit the summer that changed everything? to relive your youth, rekindle old friendships and perhaps… resurrect the one that got away?

HAECHAN

｡° my words, your thoughts by sundaysundaes (m) II 36k

haechan x fem reader

soulmate au, college au, fluff, slow burn

As an introvert, you are familiar with the silence. Drowning yourself deep in your thoughts has been a habit you’ve become addicted to. Your life begins to change, however, ever since the day you turned twenty. Suddenly, there’s this song that’s stuck in your head, and no matter how much you yearn to hear your thoughts or be comforted by the silence, it keeps on playing. You only get to find the answer to your problem when a young, cute barista hands you a cup of coffee one day, with that song’s lyrics written on the side. And you realize that you’re not the only one who’s been hearing voices in your head.

｡° if i lose my mind by @slightlymore (m) || 14.5k

dream sorter haechan x dreamer fem reader

fantasy/tim burton-esque, romance, smut, angst, fluff

you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him.

｡° better than gold by @cherryeoniis || 16.4k

nobleman!haechan x fem!reader

historical, fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love

His family comes from old money, and you’re nouveau-riche. Unfortunately for them, Haechan’s never been one to listen very well, especially when his parents tell him to stop fraternizing with you. Because for all the flamboyant dancing and endless alcohol at his parties, nothing makes Haechan dizzier than your smile.

RENJUN

｡° the new cupid by @lunena (s) II 8.6k

renjun x fem reader

fluff, college au

Just when you begin to think cupid forgot about you once again, you suddenly meet Renjun, who’s been thinking the same exact thing. After your paths collide under abrupt circumstances during your friends Valentine’s Day party, you seem to hit it off amidst conversation and cocktails. This new friendship appears to be blossoming fast however, and you look to confide in your friend in search of some guidance through this new bond. What you haven’t realized is that Cupid has been working hard under your nose the entire time.

YANGYANG

｡° sleepless cinderella by @starlightkun (s) || 12.9k

racer!yangyang x journalist!reader

fluff

in which you get a lot more out of this interview than you’d planned for

297 notes · View notes

swiss-mrs · 4 months

Text

Welcome to EVERMORE

Stranger Things AU Series - Directory

"Hello, students! Here at Nevermore Academy, our purpose is to provide you with the necessary knowledge and strengths that you will not only need to survive in the human world but also as a member of the supernatural one. For the most part, they coincide, but there are plenty of things you will learn with us that you will not find anywhere else. We strive for our academy to be a safe haven for students to learn and grow no matter who you are. We sure do hope you find yourself welcome with open arms. Welcome to Nevermore." - Principle Larissa Weems

Welcome All! Here is where you will find some introductory information you may need to know about our universe and what lies beyond. This is Evermore.

"Founded in 1791, Nevermore Academy is an academic institution that nurtures outcasts, freaks, and monsters. Our mission is to help each student master their extraordinary abilities through world-class academics and unique extracurriculars."

Nevermore Academy is a school for the supernatural. The expansive campus is nestled in the secluded outskirts of Jericho, Vermont. Here, you will come across creatures and talents of all kinds. Our main focus is to teach young Arcane to master their abilities, learn new skills, and create a sense of community amongst the youth of our world. We currently teach ages 10-19 but are hoping to expand this range to include young adults and adults by introducing the upcoming Nevermore College Program.

First Year Class Schedules

As new students, in addition to the traditional math, science, language arts, and social studies, your class schedule may include the following courses:

Intro to More (MORE 001)

This course is for those new to the world that lies beneath the average. Some topics taught and discussed in this class include but are not limited to: Terminology, Supernatural Beings, Supernatural Activities, and Separating Truth from Myth. Instructor: Professor Gardnal Shaw

Intro to Transmutation (TRNS 101)

This course is for werecreatures that have either never transmuted or may have transmuted previously but have not done so willingly. In this introductory class, students will be taught the technicalities behind transmuting. Upon completion of the course, students will have mastered the ability to comfortably change form on command. Instructor: Professor Mira Safierto

Intro to Occult Practices (OCCP 101)

This course is for Arcane interested in studying and practicing the art of magic. This course is available to all students. In this course, students will be introduced to beginner friendly spells and potions. Upon completion, students will have mastered the basics of occult studies. Instructor: Professor Jennifer Oldek

Specializations (SPCL 001)

This course is for Arcane who have existing, specialized powers but have yet to master or control said power. This course is typically a one-on-one class. Students will be matched with a teacher who can best fit their needs. Upon completion of this class, students will have successfully passed the beginning stages of safely controlling and practicing their powers. Instructor: [Student Specific]

General Information for New Admissions

Upon arrival, all students will go through an initial orientation, be provided with a Nevermore Academy uniform, and will be assigned to a mentor. Mentors are long-time Nevermore students deemed fit by staff for the task of taking new students under their wing. They will be responsible for ensuring each new student is equipped with the proper learning tools and also carry the responsibility of walking new students through their schedule.

Along with getting a uniform and schedule, new students will also be provided with student housing. All students are expected to remain on campus in the supervised academy dorm rooms.

Quiet Hours are between 8:00PM - 7:30AM. Campus Curfew is 10:00PM with the exception of select school events, field trips, sporting events, and/or approved club events.

Extracurriculars

Nevermore Academy offers a wide range and variety of extracurricular activities and clubs, including but not limited to:

Baseball

Softball

Fencing

Swimming

Chess

Debate

Theater

Marching Band

and More!

As we believe in the importance of community, new students are welcome to join clubs and sporting activities as seen fit.

Enroll Now!

Thank you for your interest in our school. Please contact our admissions office with further questions regarding campus tours, enrollments, and other general questions.

See you soon!

Tag List (OPEN):

@ali-r3n

@mother-oshun

@madelynraemunson

@starmilks

@ohmeg

#evermore swiss fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson swiss fics #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie #stranger things au #joseph quinn

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teejaystumbles · 2 years

Text

Part 2, continuing the “Hob isn’t there in 2021 AU” from earlier. Please beware, tw for gore and body horror under the cut. (Can you guess who?)

Part 1 / Ao3

Morpheus stepped out of the New Inn. "Hey boss, why so grim?" Matthew landed on his shoulder and clicked his beak.

"Hob Gadling has disappeared. I do not feel comfortable with that." "Yeah, that's obvious.” the raven replied deadpan. Dream had no time to be annoyed with him. “Are we looking for him then?" "Yes." Dream strode down the street and casually melted into the shadows. He would look in the Dreaming first. It was almost night. When Hob fell asleep, Morpheus would find him. "He's not here, boss. We looked everywhere." Matthew cawed and when Morpheus did not answer, only brooded, he gently carded his beak through the Dream Lord's hair. "We'll find him. He's probably still awake, doing an all-nighter or something...”

“No. This is different. I should be able to find him, even awake. But his mind… seems to be cut off from the True Dreaming.”

Matthew cawed and took flight, sensing his lord’s rage building. Dream was seething.

“Someone did this, Matthew. Someone forced Hob’s mind into a seperate Dreaming… only few would be strong enough to do something like that. Only few would dare.”

“Can you find him?” The raven landed on a nearby tree branch. The tree had changed from a lush summer green to a gnarly nightmarish thing and Matthew shifted warily from one claw to the other. The boss was scary sometimes. “I can. But it will take time and effort.”

Dream started walking, his cloak trailing like a cloud of night after him, leaving the earth beneath him black and writhing with shadows. Matthew took flight and followed him as Morpheus headed towards his castle. “Whoever has dared to manipulate the Dreaming… to manipulate Hob’s mind… they will be sorry.”

Hob is on a battlefield. He is wearing his old mercenary armor from the end of the 14th century but he is holding a rifle. His hands are drenched in blood. The whine of bombs fills the air and clouds of gas roll over the fields, felling all men, not caring for sides. It’s all the battles he’s ever been in, all in one. Hob is tired of it. So very tired. He looks up. The sky is a murky red, like a sea of blood in which he will fall if he stares upwards for too long.

A sense of terror rises the hairs on his neck and he turns around.

“You!”

A blond man in a cream-white suit strides towards him, confident, hands in his pockets, smiling. Dark glasses cover his eyes, but to his horror Hob knows exactly what lies behind them.

“Me!” the man grins with too many teeth (too many, way too many teeth) and Hob is panicking, a searing phantom pain behind his eyeballs making him gag. He stumbles back.

“Yes, run, why don’t you? Not that it will help. We’ve done this sooo many times now, Hob.”

Hob takes step after step back but doesn’t turn his back on the other, knowing it would be a grave mistake. The man stops and looks around.

“Like it? I’ve handpicked your most awful memories to craft you this wonderful nightmare. You have to tell me if you want something else next time, there are so many horrible things to choose from. Oh…!”

Hob’s heart sinks in dread as the other grins even sharper.

“Oh, I know just the thing. I was going to keep that for last, but I can see that you are getting used to the violent dreams. It gets boring quickly, doesn’t it? The way one just goes numb. Stops caring.”

He gives a bored shrug and then suddenly they are no longer standing in a war zone, but on cobbled streets on a rainy London night. Hob chokes. He looks around wildly and there he is. Dark cloak, top hat forgotten inside the Inn in his haste to go, to get away from Hob. The stranger gives him a last angry glare full of disdain and then turns and strides off. Hob stumbles forward. “Tell you what, I’ll be here in a hundred years time!” The old lines come rushing from his tongue, like he’s replaying a memory.

“If you’re here then too, it’ll be because we’re friends. No other reason, right?”

His desperate words echo in the empty alley.

“Right?” he whispers.

“Poor Hob.”

He flinches violently as strong arms wrap over his shoulders and pull him in. Sharp teeth graze his ear and Hob shivers.

“This still hurts, although it’s been over a hundred and thirty years, right? I knew why I kept putting this off, it’s delicious. I almost pity you… because I know exactly how this feels.”

The man’s tone has lost his smile and turned angry, hurt, almost.

“I could almost believe that he won’t care one bit about what I’m doing to you… but I saw it all, Hob, with your eyes, and I know… just like you do, that he cares. Maybe he’ll never admit it, but he cares for you. I saw it in his face, through you. And it makes me… so, so furious…”

Teeth are biting at his throat, at his face and lips and Hob can only close his eyes and endure because he knows what comes next and he doesn’t want to see the other’s face.

“Look at me, Hob. Shall I reshape this memory of yours? You can stop him. You can grab him and throw him against the wall, make him see you. What will you do then? Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t know exactly what you’d do. I’m you, Hob. I’m what you want to do.”

Hob opens his eyes and glares at the nightmare in front of him. Tiny tongues lick over tiny teeth and Hob trembles with terror. “I’m not like you!” he manages. “You want to hurt him, make him bleed. I’d never want that. All I want…”

He gasps as a knife buries in his throat. The blonde man isn’t smiling, his teeth set grimly.

“You’re annoying me with your goody-two-shoes act, Hob. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

He lets Hob fall to the cold cobblestone and steps away.

Hob woke up.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t see. Everything was dark. His eyes hurt. His eyes… He jerked in horror and lifted his hands to his face, but stopped his trembling fingers from touching where he knew… With a wail he rolled himself into a ball. It hurt. There were several stab wounds in his chest and abdomen and he remembered. The blonde man, with his dapper suit and suave grin. Too much alcohol. A good fuck, and then… blood. Pain. Teeth.

A creek. A door opening.

“Hello sunshine. Awake? Shall we continue, then?”

Hob scrabbled back from the voice he just heard in the dream. He remembered now. This had been going on for some time. How many days had it been? The steps came closer and Hob had nowhere to go, his back hitting a wall. He couldn’t see!

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind, but we have time to explore that dream a bit more next time. I can only stomach so much of him and you, urgh. Makes me too mad… I lose all sense for finesse, you see? That’s why…”

Hob whimpered as he was dragged away from the wall and spread out, knees digging into his legs to keep him down.

“I have only one thing left for you tonight. Another death. Hob Gadling.”

He spit his name like a curse and then Hob felt the knife pierce his heart (again), life rushing out of him. He wondered briefly if one could cry without eyes or if it was blood he felt on his cheeks. In his ears the sound of his slowing stuttering heartbeat and rushing blood muffled the sound of retreating footsteps. The door closed with a dull thud and Hob closed his eyes (his eyes, oh god he took his eyes-) and tried to relax, tried to stop the panic. A gentle hand brushed hair from his forehead and he startled again. “Who’s there?” “I’m sorry, Hob. This is awful.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Death.”

Hob gulped, or tried to. “Oh… is it over, then?” he croaked.

“Do you want it to be?”

He coughed and tried facing the voice.

“I don’t know… depends… will my eyes grow back?”

“Eventually.”

“Thank God…” he gave a wet laugh and coughed up blood. “Why… are you here, then?”

The gentle hand caressed his cheek and Hob leaned into the touch, glad for the distraction from the pain.

“You’ve been dying and dying for days now, always teetering on the edge. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I decided to see what’s the matter.”

Hob coughed again.

“Can you… make him stop?”

“That is not something I do. Also… he is not human. I have no right to him.”

Hob quivered and trembled, he felt his heart slowly, so slowly knitting itself back together. Healing also hurt. “Someone else, then… can you… send someone… I can’t… before I’m healed up he, he comes and… k-kills me again...and then I dream of him, and he kills me… and it goes on and on…”

He sobbed and Death sighed softly. Her fingers carded through his greasy hair once more, then they were gone. He heard her get up and take a step back.

“Not long now, Hob. My brother is on his way. Not long…”

Hob wanted to ask her who her brother was, but before he could get the words out he heard the rush of wings, and he knew she was gone.

#this hurt to write #but what was I supposed to do #I took inspiration from The Doll's House with the seperate Dreaming #I don't know yet how long the next part will take me #this is turning into a proper fic I'll need to post it to ao3 later #but it's a bit cliche #so I might not?#own writing #the sandman fanfiction #drabble #dreamlin #hob gadling

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drgngutz · 1 year

Text

Cybernetic Soulmate - IV

BEN Drowned x Reader

Soulmate AU – Implied Female Reader

Meeting with Alex goes over pretty well, thanks to Ben’s instruction. But, something isn’t right.

Part 3

Masterlist

Benjamin Lawman

BEN Drowned

You’re almost at your destination after a few very long hours, having to pass through a few States in order to get to the location BEN had told you for the cartridge. Throughout traveling you had been on and off chatting using the connection, too. It was odd hearing such a robotic voice in your head, so monotonous and void of emotion; yet so similar to the one that you used to hear, the human one. You’re somehow still going along with this plan, despite the way your stomach tosses around with each mile passed.

He’s given you a few things that need to be done so that you can properly retrieve the cartridge. First, you needed to contact Jadusable, or Alex Hall, and set up a time to meet with him using the last name ‘Hubris.’ This, for some reason, would catch Alex’s attention better than a random stranger's name.

In fact, the name even sounded familiar to you. When you asked BEN about why the surname was so significant, he said he hadn’t known for sure. You didn’t know if your brain was creating a big deal out of nothing, since it was rather late in the evening at that point; but, it sounded like he was being dismissive of your concerns. The nausea that plummeted to the base of your stomach served to keep you quiet. You wanted to throw up from the stress of everything. Couldn’t you get in trouble with using a false name like this?

Regardless, BEN was right. Alex was quick to reply; the contents of your initial email included the second part of the instructions:

It was quite short, briefly explaining to Alex that you knew how to destroy the cartridge. You were working under the guise that your older brother, named Matt, used to own the cartridge before they both disappeared. That is, until you read Alex’s posts online and made some connections between how similar his and ‘your brothers’ experiences were. That was the most you were allowed to say, though. In BEN’s words, less information was better.

You hated the idea of lying to the poor guy’s face, especially after what you had read online if his story was true, but there was no point in turning back now. You were almost there, had already called out of your upcoming day at work, and agreed to BEN’s deal.

So, that’s exactly what you did as you sat in front of him in the desolate coffee shop; as the subtle hum of the old electric lighting made goosebumps rise on your skin, you lied to Alex’s face as you nervously sipped at the plastic coffee cup you had ordered for yourself.

He was young, still in his early twenties, probably not much younger than you; but the way he looked made it seem as if he had aged beyond that point. Dark bags hung beneath his hazel, bloodshot eyes – they showed starkly against his incredibly pale face. His chestnut-brown hair was matted, and he twitched often, hands coming up to scratch at the stubble on his chin or run them through his greasy locks in an effort to keep himself busy. His clothes sported stains, both fresh and old, meaning he hadn’t had a proper change of clothes, or more likely a shower, in days. He couldn’t sit still, and his anxiousness radiated off of him and to you. He hadn’t even touched his coffee, yet. You could feel BEN in the back of your mind, watching your limited interaction silently through the connection.

“M-Matt–” You struggled to properly get the word out, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. You hoped that you could play it off as just being nervous about having an experience like his.

“Matt was a good person… a-and our family was devastated when he just… Disappeared.” You let out a shaky sigh, feeling yourself struggle to look at his face.

“S-So when I saw your post on 4chan, your story was so similar to his that I just… felt it would only be right to reach out and ask to meet with you.” You didn’t dare speak too loudly. Being the only two in the coffee shop made it hard enough to keep the conversation rolling without any awkwardness; it didn’t help that any sudden sounds, whether it be from the television in the corner or the hissing of coffee being brewed, made him jump from his spot.

“In his diary,” You continued on, “He mentioned he had an idea to destroy it. And, well, I-I think I have a pretty good shot at doing it.”

“I… Don’t really understand, but…” He starts, eyes flickering to you, then to the television, the lights, the clock, and finally back to you.

“Y-You can destroy it, right?” The way he was looking into your eyes, almost pleading for some sort of peace that you could offer him, made your heart wrench. He really thought that you were some sort of savior, and here you were tricking him in order to do the opposite. The guilt constricts your windpipe for a moment, and you’re scared he might just see right through your ploy.

For a moment, maybe you could try to treat the lies you’ve been feeding him as providing him a sense of false comfort; just to make yourself feel better.

“Yeah, I can.” You hoped that your false confidence was enough to convince him, despite feeling like you were disintegrating on the inside.

“...Okay.” He doesn’t move for a moment, sighing deeply. You almost think he’s about to run out of the coffee shop from how tense he looks, before he abruptly looks back at you. Holding his gaze, you can see the uncertainty flicker and fade in his eyes when he makes his final decision.

“T-Take it.” His hand shaking, the cartridge clatters loudly onto the table as he practically throws it at you, making the both of you wince when it disturbs the tense silence.

He can’t take his eyes off of it once it’s out in the open; gaze practically glued, looking as if he was reliving some horrible memories. You glance at him, then back at the gray piece of plastic that started all of this, feeling yourself hesitating from his disfavorable reaction. Picking it up gently, you can feel BEN’s satisfaction plume within you as you turn it over, revealing ‘MAJORA’ scrawled messily in dark ink. Smoothing your finger over the bumps outlining the sides, you find yourself wondering how something so small could cause such a great big mess.

When you look back up, Alex is staring at you instead, and you wonder if you had stared at the cartridge too long.

“Thanks.” Hoping you didn’t blow your cover, you swallow and make a move to get up from the table.

“Be careful.” He whispers, still staring as you pocket the game. You nod wordlessly, before all but rushing for the door, leaving some money for both coffees on the counter.

Alex sits at that table, watching as you get in your car as if your life depended on it. He’s wondering if he made a mistake, knowing he had probably rushed through the process in order to be rid of the cartridge. He could already feel the calm settle over him without the ominous presence of the cursed object, but there was one thing still bothering him.

You didn’t even tell him how you would destroy it.

Once inside the vehicle, you hurriedly start the engine and pull out of the parking spot, peeling out onto the road and speeding away, back towards your house.

“I got it.” You glanced at the little gray item that sat on the passenger seat, feeling a threatening aura envelop you every time your eyes landed on it.

I know. You did good.

Your stomach flips at the positive remark, but you try to ignore it for the sake of your safety; Not trying to get distracted by a simple compliment, and instead focusing on the more problematic topic.

“He seemed… Really scared.” If BEN couldn’t tell you were nervous, you would be surprised.

Hm.

You swallowed again, wondering if you should even bother asking the next question.

“Should… Should I be scared?” You asked anyway.

No.

He was openly dismissing you, now. You suspected it was because he now had what he wanted.

You take a deep breath and close the connection, not knowing how to feel about the choices you’ve made.

Benjamin Lawman

BEN Drowned

Once home you’re completely exhausted. It’s now very early in the morning, and the first thing you did since returning was set up the console for BEN, as he had asked you to. Everything seemed to be secured properly, all the right wires plugged in from what you could remember. The Nintendo 64 had been sitting and collecting dust for a while now, you didn’t remember the last time you bothered to play the old console.

Good.

Now, play the game.

The atmosphere drops to something sinister as soon as you read the words on the screen. For some reason, it doesn’t sit right with you, goosebumps crawling over your skin.

“I… I don’t want to.” You dithered, trying not to let your resolve stray as you stared into the TV screen.

What?

The word, despite having no tone at all, seems like it's displeased.

“Can’t you just, I dunno, connect to it?” Rubbing gently over the soulmate mark, you feel the pressure in the room rise at your response, “Since I hooked it up to the TV?”

No. You must play.

“Why?” You wait. No response. There’s something wrong, something dangerous about what he’s asking you to do. You’re not sure what it is, but the feeling you’re getting from that TV makes you want to run and hide.

“I’m not going to play,” You hesitate, “I still don’t trust you.”

Annoying.

Boring.

You shake your head, a bit put off by him trying to make you feel bad about your decision.

“I don’t care,” You glare, “You’re not gonna’ make me feel bad about this. I read about all of the things you did online, remember? You can connect: ‘through cables and cords,’ like Alex wrote. You’ve been acting strange ever since I picked up the cartridge.”

Play the game.

He’s getting impatient again, you don’t care, being too tired to put up with his attitude any longer.

“Play it yourself.” You spit, pointing at the console on the ground, “It’s hooked up. I know you can turn it on.”

I cannot.

“Listen, I’m not letting you drag me into whatever shit you dragged Alex into. He looked like he had been to hell and back.” You huff and put your head in your hands, “I’m literally helping you right now, trying to free you because you asked me to do it for you. Even if it doesn’t benefit me in the end.”

Flailing your arms around in exhaustion, you almost want to cry again.

“And with the way you keep treating me, it’s turning out that I probably won’t get anything out of this exchange. Even though you told me you’d hold up your end of the deal.” Turning defiantly away from the screen, you shrug in the direction of the doorway, trying to display your lack of care for the situation anymore.

“Either turn it on yourself, or stay in there forever for all I care.”

…

Are you sure?

“Oh, fuck off, BEN.” You walk off without another word, feeling frustration push itself up and quickly take over your emotional state.

The mechanical whir of the console turning on makes you scoff, and you glance back one last time to see the starting screen of Majora’s Mask displayed on the TV.

“Fucking liar.”

Part 5

#ben drowned #ben drowned x female!reader #creepypasta #female!reader #soulmates #soulmateAU #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned x you

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