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[intothemultifandom]

𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐄 [𝟑] || 𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐮

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You're gasping, eyes darting around frantically as you look for a way out and—

There.

With everyone trying to get outside, the stairwell at the end of the long room is open. There's a few infected nearing it though, but it'll have to do.

"Dae-su, this way!"

Blood is splattered on your shirt and on the side of your face from where someone nearly ripped into your jugular, but you try not to think about it or the metallic smell as you start running. Even when your eyes and nose burn with the intensity of it all.

"Come on," you rasp. "Come on."

There's more blood splattered on the stairs. On the walls and even in the hallway. It's everywhere, but you don't stop moving and neither does Dae-su.

Even when he almost slips on a puddle of blood, your classmate is quick to scramble after you again, grateful when your hand reaches behind for him to latch onto.

His breath won't come, won't enter his lungs, but he doesn't want to die. And for some reason, he knows you won't let him. You've always been reliable like that.

"Use their momentum to push them down," You grit your teeth in fury, in fear.

Before Dae-su can ask what you mean, an infected girl comes charging at you from around the corner of the stairwell, leaving you only a second to prepare yourself.

Timing her steps, you jerk out a leg just before she reaches you, one hand still holding onto Dae-su's and the other clutching the mop you'd grabbed earlier to your chest as you lean your body a few inches to the left.

The action sends the girl careening over your leg, and not for the first time since your classmates started eating eachother, Dae-su feels so lucky he winded up with you.

The girl slams into the wall with a snarl, but before she can stagger back to her feet you're already back on the move.

You and Dae-su are frantic but co-ordinated, moving on instinct and adrenaline as you use your speed and agility to weave around the infected that swarm towards you and onto a pathway Dae-su can follow.

Dae-su, for his part, utlizes his bulk and strength to push the infected further down the stairs when you send them over your leg, grunting lowly when he shoulder-checks an older boy back down.

When you pivot off the top of the stairs, however, your momentum is stopped when someone suddenly sprays a fire extinguisher in your direction.

It sends you stumbling back into Dae-su with a yelp.

Damn it!

"Shit!" your classmate cries, barely catching you as he gets sprayed in the face, too.

Whoever sprayed the fire extinguisher must have intended to disorient the infected, but since you and Dae-su crossed into the line of fire, it does the same for you, too.

You can barely see and your eyes hurt, damn it damn it damn it!

Cursing, you don't let it stop you though as you push yourself from his arms and onto your feet again, Dae-su smartly grabbing onto the back of your shirt as you kick off once more, albeit a little more sluggishly.

Even though your face hurts, even though almost every inch of your skin burns, it's better to keep moving whilst the residue provides you some cover. So you do.

There's snarling somewhere behind you, screams echoing from almost everywhere, but it isn't that much farther before you hear the panicked voices of your classmates.

Dae-su thankfully uses the last dredges of adrenaline to tackle you against the door when you reach it, slamming his hand against the frame and using his strength to pry the door open just wide enough to wedge his head in.

"What the hell?! Who are you?" someone who sounds like Wu-jin screams.

Gasping, Dae-su hisses over your head. "Asshole! Brother! Brother-in-law!"

Wu-jin, definitely Wu-jin, lets out a relieved cry when he realizes it's Dae-su, before he slides the door open just enough that your classmates' weight pushes the two of you through the door in a clumsy tumble.

"Holy shit. They're so aggressive." Dae-su rattles through a gasp, still heaving as you drop the mop to lean over your knees yourself.

Now that you're both in the clear, you take in large gulpfuls of air. Focusing only on breathing and getting air back into your lungs before you slowly start wiping at your face.

At the first wipe, the burn in your eyes eases, and by the second, the blurred figures of your classmates grows a little more defined.

Wu-jin and Gyeong-su have closed the doors behind you, eyes wide and panicked.

In the corner, On-jo is holding onto I-sak's waist, Min-ji and Hyo-ryung standing near the closet on the left of them with Cheong-san right by the windows.

Joon-yeong's here too, cautiously watching the door on the other side of the classroom with Ji-min and Na-yeon standing by the desks closest to him.

It's not everyone, but you're so relieved that they're still others to begin with that it's enough.

It has to be, you think numbly, trying not to focus on the empty seats across the room. How those seats would never be occupied again by those who they were assigned to.

Jun-ho. Cho-rim. Jae-he. Nam-r—

"—What happened to your guys' face, huh?" Wu-jin asks, handing Dae-su a towel to wipe his face before he turns to you.

"And bastard," he clicks his teeth, chucking an equally clean towel your way before he turns back to Dae-su.

Grateful, you catch the towel and start dabbing at your stinging cheeks.

"Why does the VP have more of this shit on their face? Did you let them take the brunt of it?"

Scrubbing harshly at his own face, Dae-su pants.

"Of course not! They were leading us back to the room when some crazy jerk sprayed us with a fire extinguisher," he defends himself, still cursing. "And don't forget I got sprayed too, asshole!"

"A fire extinguisher?" Gyeong-su repeats, voice a little rough and raspy as he catches your gaze. He doesn't look as fearful as before when you turn to him, dark eyes searching your face for something you're not sure of, but he doesn't look pleased either.

The towel you're holding against your face is stained an odd blend of red and white from the blood and residue, and your vision is still a little distorted, but you're fine.

You and Dae-su made it.

Speaking of Dae-su, your classmate looks better already, his towel also turning the same dark blend as yours.

"What do you think is happening?" he asks, getting the last bits of residue from his eyes.

"–Zombies."

"–Train."

You say absent-mindedly at the same time as someone else.

To your surprise, it's Cheong-san who spoke, Cheong-san who inhales sharply as he turns away from the window as if struck by realisation.

Realizing that he's come to the same conclusion you've been hurtling to since this morning–that is, if he's talking about Train to Busan like you think he is–you let him address the others whilst you focus on something more important: your bag.

Fortunately when you make a break to your desk, your school bag is exactly where you left it, and you have to swallow down a triumphant cry as you grab it and swing it onto your shoulders.

In addition to the medical supplies you swiped from the infirmary, there's a packet of Poki and a few other snacks in there, too. So with no idea of what other food sources are around, it's practically a lifeline at this point so you resolve not to take it off until you know how long you'll be stuck in here.

"–Like the movie?"

When you turn back to the others, of course, it seems the point Cheong-san's making is not going down well with the others.

Half  the room look like they're in disbelief, the other half looking near ready to shake Cheong-san altogether for such a far-fetched idea.

"Aren't they Zombies? It's the same thing," Cheong-san insists to a frowning Dae-su.

"Zombies at the school though, are you kidding me man?" he counters dubiously. "You watch too much TV–"

"–Dae-su."

Now that you aren't gasping for breath, your voice comes out thankfully a lot more stronger when you intervene.

It makes the boy snap his head to you where you stand, and gathers the attention of the others in the long room.

"Cheong-san's right and you know it," you defend your classmate, who can only send you a grateful look as you add, "as crazy as it is to admit it."

The idea of a zombie apocalypse in modern day South Korea, one of the most developed countries in military power, was ludicrous.

Crazy, even.

And yet, as you'd learned after your bloody journey from the cafeteria, it was not just an idea but something that was undoubtedly and horrifyingly true.

The biting... the turning ...

"Everything we saw outside is exactly like Train to Busan," you trail off, shoulders beginning to sag with the weight of this truth.

"None of our classmates recognized us when they tried to attack us. Why do you think that is?"

Ji-min whimpers in the corner at the question, and maybe it's cruel to be so blunt about the situation when you've only just connected the dots but there's no time to placate her.

Not when you're trying to punctuate your point, not when your mind whirls with ideas and thoughts and things you need to do and not when a hand slams harshly against one of the main windows unexpectedly.

Your eyes widen when you catch a glimpse of a strong jaw and long hair, and the room renews with fervored panic and relief as a familiar face comes into view.

It's Su-hyeok.

"It's Bare-su! It's Bare-su! Help him up," Wu-jin cries, opening the window with Cheong-san as Dae-su crosses the room to help.

Heaving, the three of them manage to pull the taller teen inside, patting him for injuries before Su-hyeok is turning around to pull someone else in.

Is that...

When Nam-ra climbs into the room behind him, panting and shaking as Su-hyeok finally collapses, the relief that washes over you is sudden but not unwelcomed because she's your friend, and you're so glad to see her alive and well.

Nam-ra and Su-hyeok being alive means that others might have gotten away, that some of your classmates may have hidden themselves in other rooms around the school.

As much as you'd like to try peek outside to see if anyone's hiding though, you should really check in on Nam-ra first.

It seems the sentiment is mutual, because your desk mate saddles up to your side. More familiar with you than anyone else that's found sanctuary in this room.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly, flecks of blood still splattered on her face.

"Could be better," you reply just as quiet, tilting your head slightly in a tired nod.

The others have flocked towards Su-hyeok to hear what happened outside, and with him and Nam-ra bringing a moment of reprieve, you think you should at least smile. Maybe even crack a small joke as you normally would with your desk mate, but you don't.

"Glad to see you're okay, though," you say instead, readjusting your bag. "We could use a Class Prez right about now."

Eyes drifting to your bag, Nam-ra's brow wrinkles for a long moment before she's meeting your gaze a little more purposefully than before.

Ah.

"Well I'm here, and you are too, VP," she says in her usually smooth tone, face relaxing into something calm and yet curious.

"I'm assuming with something in that bag that might help?"

©️ @intothemultifandom 2025

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 [𝟐] || 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞

<< Previous Chapter || 2.1k Words Quick A/N: Thank-you so much for your comments and support! I’m blessed, humbled, and hope you enjoy. 🐺

Growing up, your Dad used to love telling stories.

Between bonfires and late nights at the rec center, everything you learned about the history of your people you learned sitting at the heels of his feet.

When you and Leah were five and six and refused to share your toys, you remember how he sat the two of you down and spun a tale of the wicked basket woman who feasted on the flesh of disobedient children.

You cried, and although she’ll deny it, Leah did too.

The summer Seth caught his first ever salmon on the Quillayute, you remember the story about the great thunderbird who could carry a whale in its claws and whose beating wings could make thunder that he shared off-handedly, seperating its head and bones to throw back into the river.

Harry Clearwater didn’t just love telling stories.

He was good at telling them, too.

Of all the memories you had of him and the stories he told, though, the memory that stood out to you most was of the time your Mom took Leah and Seth up to Neah Bay and it was just the two of you at home.

Without Leah there to tease you about being scared of his stories, namely the one about the Cold Ones, you remembered asking how he knew so many.

How he could remember and recount them all, even the scary ones.

“Stories are how we record our history,” he began thoughtfully, settling at your bedside.

“The tales we have about Dask'iya and the Cold Ones may be dark, but they’re a part of our history so it’s important we remember them—which, you know, your Mom still goes on about me traumatising you and Leah with Dask'iya when you were munchkins,” his mouth began to curl, though it stopped before a smile could fully form.

Despite it, you remained transfixed, sitting up across him and tucked into your fading Lion King-themed comforter.

“I know it scares you sometimes when I tell that story because it’s not a pretty story, no, not a pretty story at all…but our history has never been pretty,” he trailed off, growing hesitant, then contemplative as the quiet settled.

For a long moment, silence pulsed between you.

Tender.

Meaningful.

And then your Dad looked at you, really looked at you, and whatever he saw must’ve settled something in him because he had straightened his shoulders then, just slightly, and continued.

“But if the story of the Cold Ones tells us anything, it’s that whenever there is danger, our people become what Q’waeti’i made us to be—brave. Strong.”

“Whenever you get scared, you remember that we come from wolves and us Clearwaters, well, we have the blood of the last spirit warriors of our tribe so even if the Cold Ones come back, we’ll be fine. We were made brave, sweetheart. Strong in every manner, okay?”

Sadly, you didn’t think about that night for a long time.

Had forgotten what your Dad had said, really, and the silver, gray and sand coloured wolves you dreamt of that evening.

Life went on. You grew a a little taller, a little older, and your memory of that night grew cloudier by the day.

But then he died, Leah and Seth phased for the first time, and what got you through the upheaval of it all wasn’t your own resolve, but rather, the sudden memory of that weekend.

To have Leah phase for the first time, sharp claws tearing ribbons from your arm, and then Seth exploding into a panicked blur of fangs and fur, had come as a shock.

Beyond the pain, you had been terrified.

Until the memory came to you, unbidden, and you forced yourself to breathe through the burning in your arm as your Mom packed your wound, all wet eyes and stuttered apologies as she explained what you had numbly pieced together.

Truth be told, the memory of that weekend got you through more than just that night because not only did you find out spirit warriors were real, but the Cold Ones were, too.

The day you looked at Paul (Paul who looked strangely different as he peered down at you in stupefied wonder, but otherwise the same) and you realized with a sharp breath that you were connected, that he had imprinted on you—suddenly you were eleven years old again, bundled up in an old Lion King blanket you hadn’t seen in years, Dad rumbling:

We were made brave, sweetheart. Strong in every manner, okay?

Leah and Seth may have been the ones to phase, but opening yourself up to Paul and the connection between you proved that you could be brave and strong, too, because despite the worry and despite the doubt, you stayed.

Of course, for all the bravery and strength you had, it turned out you could not measure up to the sheer power and force of a Cold One in the end, no matter how much you wished otherwise.

Because one moment you were singing softly as you drove, replaying the memory of Paul's mouth slotting against your own when you turned the bend and saw her.

Fire-kissed hair.

Eyes the color of blood.

Standing in the middle of the long and winding road the red-haired leech the Pack had been chasing smiled, a cold and bloody thing as ice filled your veins.

Frozen, you couldn’t tear your eyes away, couldn’t turn your wheel fast enough before something—

—slammed—

—right into the back end of the car.

Faster than it’d take to shoot a gun.

And then the world tilted, glass shattered, and louder than the the sickening crunch of metal was the raw, guttural scream you let out as you choked out a single name.

"—Paul!"

Agony lashes at his body.

The pain red-hot and burning him alive from beneath his skin.

The flames lick down his spine, his arms and legs beginning to seize and spasm.

And despite desperately fighting the change, staving it off long enough so he can get outside and away from his pack-sister, it's too late.

The couch he's laying on splinters, breaks, and Emily startles awake in the back room with a gasp, heart pounding in distress when everything explodes into sound though it is nothing compared to what Paul feels as he rises into his wolf form and howls, driven by instinct.

The dream of the Third Wife is still there, still fresh, and the burn he felt earlier returns with a vengeance as he breaks through the back door and tears into the trees behind the house.

The guys phased are already alarmed when he changes, confused when he latches onto your scent in a desperate fervor and pushes himself in your direction.

Paul, what the hell is going on? Sam snarls, scrambling to make sense of everything.

The four of them—him, Seth, Embry and Quil—had just caught Victoria's scent when Embry scented another, forcing them to split to expand their range of cover, Sam just about to summon the others before Paul phased in and howled.

When the rest phase in, they join with the same confusion, the same growing dread when they can only catch slivers of his thoughts.

Everything Paul thinks is too fast, too frenzied, but like a tap that hasn't been shut off properly, it comes through slowly.

Drip.

(You are the love of Paul’s life—his entire soul and heart.)

Drip.

(You are the reason his heart stays beating. The reason oxygen fills his lungs and the reason blood surges strongly through his veins.)

And then the the leak becomes water, and the whole dream bursts from the spout of Paul's conscious as the pack-mind is flooded with—

(A loud crash sounds in the distance, so loud that Paul slams his hands against his ears and grits his teeth.)

(“Why am I here?” he repeats, this time louder and more panicked as he surges to his feet.

Through the fire, the third wife stares at his face, her expression a little more troubled, a little more human, before the truth splits the air and his chest open.

“Because my husband will soon guide your imprint here, and if you want to save her, than you must to stop him before he succeeds—")

—Holy shit, Jared thinks, horrified.

Seth whines, staggers mid-run and crashes into a tree while black edges into Leah's vision.

The rest of the pack, on the other hand, reel with what they've just seen. What they've just felt because the memory of the Third Wife alone is enough to ring with an otherness their wolves know is true.

Seth, Leah, snap out of it! Sam barks, wrestling the swell of emotions that churns between them as Paul pushes himself forward, your scent growing stronger the closer he gets though it is accompanied by the faint scent of leech.

Bastards! Leah thunders, wild and crazed when it's clear what has happened, closing in on you from the opposite direction.

I'll kill them!

Her thoughts flicker between Harry and then you, and the desperation Paul feels is amplified when she and Seth remember that they already lost their Dad, that they cannot lose you, too.

Not like this.

Vaguely, he catches Sam ordering Quil to shift back to get your Mom, Emily and the Elders.

Get an ambulance and Chief Swan too, Jake booms, panting as he and Jared tear through the West and East respectively.

Everyone falls into position, and if he were more coherent he would have focused on keeping Seth and Leah upright, keeping them grounded, but he isn't. So he doesn't.

Instead your boyfriend continues to run, forcing one paw in front of the other at a time with nothing but your name on his tongue and the memory of you—I’ll be back in the morning. Okay?—holding the last threads of his sanity together.

When you come to, everything hurts.

There's a sharp pain from your left thigh that sparks nausea at the base of your throat, and there's something soft and wet behind your neck as you struggle to open your eyes, though you manage, just barely.

You're half-ejected from the vehicle, your flimsy excuse of a belt having snapped from the socket, sprawled in a broken mess as something slick and warm seeps against your ribs.

"...'rgh," you swallow, wincing when your vision grows too sharp before blurring again at the edges.

It feels like the world has just spun on its axis, like gravity has decided to play a cruel trick on you because you can’t tell the difference between up and down anymore.

You only know that you can see the sky as you lay there bleeding, and that no matter how much you wished it so, your body wouldn't stop hurting.

Above you, the moon echoes your sentiment.

Swollen, bruised, and bleeding pale moonlight—it is the only thing you can focus on before sound returns to you, and you catch a rustle nearby.

Panic licks at your heels, sharp and biting, and you moan again. This time more frightened, still in pain, as whatever caused the rustle finally moves into your line of sight.

From the darkness of the trees, a lone wolf emerged, stepping from the thick line of shadows with fur the color of obsidian, nothing like the coats of any Pack member you'd seen.

It's not anyone you know, that much you can think in a daze, but it's not an ordinary wolf either because there is something old in its eyes, a human weariness that doesn’t seem to fit under its skin.

Shifting, you try to open your mouth, try to form words so you can beg for it to stop. Explain that you wanted stillness, and that the more it moved, the more your vision darkened.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't find the words and the edges of your vision continued closing in.

The pressure in your ears and behind your eyes grew tighter, more unbearable, until all you could see was the Wolf's muzzle leaning directly over your face and you blinked, stupified.

Before you could choke out anything—a moan, cry, gasp—the Wolf huffed down at you, its breath warming your chilled face (when had you grown so cold?) as suddenly, almost as if by magic, the pressure began to ease.

To your growing wonderment, warmth spread from where the Wolf had breathed onto you, feeling returning your face and then your fingertips, before gradually reaching the rest of your body.

Quietly, the Wolf retreated as you wiggled your fingers, returning to its spot right in front of you as you reached out blindly, digging your fingers into the dirt before slowly rotating your body.

The pain, which had been paralyzing, had faded into a numbness that you could work with, the realisation enough to propel you into action.

To get out, to find safety, your siblings and Paul.

Inch by inch, you slowly dragged yourself out of the wreckage of your car and towards the Wolf, the beast standing guard as a looming sentinel before you finally, finally, were out.

Your fingers, still tremoring, knotted itself in its fur, and groaning, you pushed yourself onto your knees first, and then, much more shakily, onto your feet, arms winding around the thick of its neck as it waited for a breath, before slowly, very slowly, it began to move.

Grateful that you had been found, that this beast was familiar in the way all spirit warriors were familiar and could protect you from the red-haired leech, you kept your face pressed against its pelt, trusting your silent companion to guide you away.

And as you walked together, not once did it occur to you to look over your shoulder.

If you had, you would have realized that things weren't quite what they seemed.

Would have realized that although the Wolf was familiar, it was still something other, something your Dad would have had a story for.

Because still laying in the wreckage of your turned over car—eyes closed and face pale—was you.

Notes:

With the exception of Stephanie Meyer's characterization of the Cold Ones, the legends referenced in this chapter are in fact from Quileute folklore. Please see here to read more on Quileute folklore.

Despite critical acclaim, the Quileute people that inspired the Pack have not received any financial compensation from the franchise. As such, I find it prudent to share that there are ongoing efforts to relocate the Quileute people from a Tsunami zone which requires money and that within our capacity, what we can do to show support is educate ourselves on the situation and, if we can, donate to the tribe's efforts. You can read more and donate here: Quileute Move to Higher Ground Project.

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@wildcatglove13 @smileysunshinesworld @queensandwitch2000 @olivewisp @gamingwolfcharlie @sunsetevergreen @92-tillinfinity @gigglegraveyard

@intothemultifandom ©️ July, 2025

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞

SUMMARY: The Pack always knew imprints were a sacred thing. But when you're hurt, the imprint bond blurs the line between life and death. It makes for some interesting conversations with ghosts from the past. || multi chapter-fic PAIRINGS: Paul Lahote x fem!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: Clearwater!Reader; human!Reader; domestic fluff; hurt

2.6k words || 20/07: Chapter 2 is published (linked below) 🐺

Your siblings could tear into flesh, could break his bones if they so wished (and Leah had wished, had almost done it too before Sam intervened)–and yet, Paul considered you the most dangerous Clearwater out of all of Harry and Sue's children.

And it wasn't because you could flit between girl and wolf or because your teeth could rip into jugulars, but because you were you.

[Name] Clearwater: daughter to Harry and Sue, born a year after Leah and two years before Seth.

Before that night, your parents never intended for you to be keyed into the tribe's secret. It was only ever meant to be Seth, who they all anticipated would phase eventually.

But then Leah exploded into a four-legged beast with fanged teeth and matted fur, had shredded the Couch you'd been sitting on–and gods, if you hadn't moved when you did her claws would've gone deeper in your shoulder than it had–before Seth shifted, too.

The night had been a mess, to sum it up simply.

The pack link was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of grief-anger-hurt-blame that Sam ordered those who could get caught up in it all to phase out.

To give your siblings some semblance of calm, however futile, and to make sure you and Sue had help dealing with the aftermath.

The last thing the Pack needed was for someone to visit in the morning to find half the house's occupants missing, one partially mauled and the place looking as though it had been burglarised.

So Paul had phased out along with Jake. Jake, who came with his Dad's strength and his Mom's warmth that it brought Sue out of her shocked stupor and Paul, who didn't know what else to do other than turn your way.

Across the room, you were using the meat of your thighs to push the shredded couch towards the door. Single-handedly steering the couch outside whilst being mindful of your left arm which was bandaged over your chest, smelling of chemicals and iron.

He had expected tears. Had expected to scent the air for undertones of shock, fear or distrust as you grappled with the reality of seeing your sister and brother turning into something dangerous.

Of having two strange boys who could do the same clambering into your humble four-bedroom abode to see if you or your Mom needed help, but there was none of that.

Instead, you continued moving, holding yourself up by sheer force of will that Paul’s wolf stirred beneth his skin. Curious. Intrigued.

You hadn’t acknowledged him nor Jake when they had come in, but Paul moved toward you anyway. Body on autopilot as he followed an invisible path his wolf already seemed to be on.

"Here, I can help you with that," he said, bending down to lift one end of the couch.

On the other end of the long couch, you’d glanced at him for only a moment. A single moment to thank him politely, face solemn and eyes deep and soulful, that Paul struggled not to collapse to his knees then and there.

Because in that split moment, when your eyes met his for the very first time since he shifted, Paul’s universe ended and then began again with you at the centre of it all.

[Name] Clearwater: his imprint—his very human imprint—more dangerous than wolves and bloodsuckers combined after only a single glance.

After your siblings, your arm, your Dad—Paul thought you would stay far away from the Pack, maybe even La Push altogether.

Maybe you would find a job in Forks or somewhere else and hightail it out of there. Or maybe you would apply for a scholarship to some college on the other side of the country.

Instead you had done the least expected thing.

Despite what Paul thought, what he feared, you stayed; and then, you started coming around.

First to Sam and Emily’s where you spoke to his Alpha for an hour the first time you came, and then to Emily during all the visits after.

Sam was good at shielding his thoughts most days, but the gratitude and brotherly love he felt for you echoed in the bond for days after the first visit.

Every now and then you’d head over to drop off some spare clothes for Seth, laughing at one of Jared’s dry jokes before engaging in some light conversation.

About the Pack, about your siblings and how they were adjusting.

Their lives, Paul's life, before and after.

When Jake sheepishly admitted to falling behind in school, you’d settled on the dining room table, ushering him and Embry to do the same, too, as you carved out some time to come over and help them.

You even hung around on days Leah ran patrol, staying through dinner to act as a buffer between her, Sam and Emily when the tension grew too thick for the rest of them to breathe through the evening.

Paul had done a good job existing on the sidelines during it all, respecting Leah’s don’t you fucking force her into loving you by telling her, you sick bastard and Seth’s kinder plea to let you get used to the pack and him first without the weight of an imprint just yet.

But then one day you met his gaze, saw the poorly concealed reverence, devotion and warmth and instantly put the pieces together.

And because Paul knew better than to assume what you would do after all the times he had thought wrong, he did nothing.

He didn't think, didn't panic, didn't fear. Even when you asked if he imprinted, voice soft and eyes searching, and he told you the truth, Paul did nothing but be as he always was when it came to you.

Open, honest, and trusting that you wouldn’t hurt him if you felt even a fraction of what he felt.

And his ancestors must have seen fit to reward him for it because after he was done explaining, you stayed.

You stayed; and then, you gave him a chance.

The red-haired leech was still on the loose, and the pack's energy waned the longer she danced around them. Not that they weren’t trying.

She was simply too fast, too slippery, constantly evading them as they hunted her to no end. And since they hadn’t caught her, Sam figured it was best to amp up patrol to four per shift.

Even if meant older wolves like himself, Paul, Leah and Jared had to double the hours of their still-in-school members to compensate.

Paul understood, of course, but considering Leah couldn’t handle dealing with Sam it was Paul who was stuck being berated and vilified by her any time she so much caught an echo of you in his thoughts.

And Paul thought about you. Constantly.

The only reprieve he had was in moments like this, when their shift was over and Leah ran home along with Jared and Jake all the while you drove over to deliver Seth’s clothes for the following morning.

But Paul was exhausted tonight, so much so that he could barely keep his eyes open as you cuddled on Sam and Emily’s couch.

“Stay,” he murmurs lowly, being mindful of Emily sleeping in the other room. Sluggishly, he tightens his arms around your slender waist, a half-hearted attempt to get you to sink into him further, not that you would.

You may have been on good terms with Sam and Emily, but Leah was still your sister.

And even if you wanted to fall asleep encased in your boyfriend’s heavily corded arms, you wouldn’t.

“You know I can’t, baby,” you laugh, quietly, stroking a thumb over the apple of his cheek.

Your boyfriend chuffs at your words, blearily opening his eyes, before shifting forward so that that you can cradle his jaw.

A tide of emotion rises beneath your breast because even with everything happening, you’re so grateful for these stolen moments that you lean in, all petal lips and strawberry-flavoured gloss and Paul almost groans when your lips meet in a soft, unhurried kiss.

If it were up to him, there would be no red-haired leech and golden-eyed freaks. Just you and him and the taste of strawberries forever.

"I also think you should just crash here tonight," you tell him when you come up for air, slowly beginning to untangle yourself from his embrace.

For a moment, the muscles in Paul’s arm grow tense, and you know your boyfriend enough to know he’s about to protest. Or worse, get up to follow you.

Because if you can’t stay, then he’s going to force himself to escort you home anyway, even when he’s dead on his feet.

Gently, your hand drifts to the centre of his chest to keep him down.

“Em should have someone close by, and I’m going home to Leah anyway,” you remind him, lips curling at his small pout.

"And you can't even open your eyes properly, so I'll be back in the morning. Okay?"

Ordinarily, your shapeshifter boyfriend would move your hand away, before insisting he at least keep you company on your car ride home.

But as always, you’re right.

Paul’s tired. The kind of tired that should be impossible for someone like him, but it’s true.

So when you lean forward to press another kiss to his jaw, murmur quietly one more time for him to stay, that you’ll be okay, Paul relents.

The scent of you in the air, on his lips, is dizzying enough as it is. How can he possibly protest when all of it makes Paul want to–

"–M'okay," he slurs, eyes fluttering once, then twice, before shutting completely.

When he comes to, Paul remembers the scent of strawberries, your honeyed laughter and the lingering warmth of your touch.

It's enough to make him smile, before he blinks. In shock, then in confusion, turning around to take in his new surroundings.

Weird, he thinks.

Usually, when he dreams, he dreams of you.

On the beach, laughing as you kick up saltwater, before Paul runs after you and down the shore. Under the stars, a heated mess of tangled-up limbs, Paul in you and the feeling of you everywhere.

Sometimes, he even dreams of the two of you, together and years older, a little boy with his face and your smile held in your arms while a younger girl made in your image clutches to his pants.

But this time, though, there's none of that.

This time, he's in the middle of the forest, legs planted as if he were a tree himself.

All around him, there is a cloud of mist. Thick and encompassing, strange if not for the unnatural emptiness of the forest.

There are no cicadas clicking. No birds chirping. The forest, forever filled with even the quietest of whispers and groans, is dead silent.

That is, until Paul hears it.

Somewhere in the distance, a single voice hums something old, something ancient, the voice swelling into a song that shakes Paul to his core because he’s not alone.

He’s not alone.

The realisation is enough to spur him forward, Paul managing to take a step forward and then another, walking slowly through winding trees and thick mist before he ends up in a wide clearing where a bonfire has been lit.

Before the bonfire, still singing, sits a lone woman dressed in a traditional buckskin dress with a gentle face and two long braids.

She makes no move to indicate that she’s heard him. But the fire illuminates her face with an otherworldly glow, accentuates the way her throat flexes as she sings, the words sounding clearer now that he’s right in front of her.

It’s an old song, he remembers, one that has endured time and colonisation and everything in between.

He contemplates interrupting her, at first, uneasy by the strangeness of this situation. But then he inches closer, his wolf urging him to sit on the empty log across from her.

And so the woman sings, and Paul waits and he listens, because something in him, something instinctual, pulls at him.

Tells him that somehow this is real, that this is important.

And because the last time he felt this way was in the moments before he looked at you, Paul waits for the song to finish.

“The youngest of my sons made this song,” says the woman says after she stops singing, still watching the fire burn.

“The song opens up a door between your world and here, which my son used to communicate with us.

My older sons would listen to him with me here when he sang. They would even sing with him before he joined us, and they all left this place together."

The flames burn a little brighter, and the woman falters. Tilts her head, as if listening for something only she can hear.

And when she hears it, whatever it is, Paul catches her expression flicker in the firelight (grim, resigned) before she resumes, this time a little more hurried than before.

"But I didn't follow. I couldn't," the woman says, finally lifting her head to meet Paul's gaze from across the fire.

"Not without Taha-Aki."

And oh, Paul thinks, struck dumb.

Because painted in shadows made by the flames, the third wife–a woman he's only ever known through stories and legends–stares at him solemnly, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze.

“My husband’s spirit still roams your world," she says, ignoring Paul's clear shock.

“He guides all spirit warriors here when their time comes, and their imprints, too. This is where they rest for a while before they move on. But never does my husband come with them, though. Too ashamed, I think."

"Ashamed?” Paul asks, speaking for the first time before he stops himself.

The woman before him and Taha Aki were more than wife and husband.

They were imprinted, tethered together by the same forces that brought Paul to you. The same forces that wouldn't have put her in his dream unless there was something wrong with the imprint.

And there could only be something wrong with the imprint if something was wrong with...

"Why am I here?" he asks slowly, dread wrapping itself around his heart–painful and suffocating–as the third wife's face turns sad. Pitying.

…No.

"Why am I here?" he repeats, this time louder and more panicked as he surges to his feet.

Through the fire, the third wife stares at his face, her expression a little more troubled, a little more human, before the truth splits the air and his chest open.

"–Because my husband will soon guide your imprint here, and if you want to save her,"

NoNoNONONO

"–than you must to stop him before he succeeds."

A loud crash sounds in the distance, so loud that Paul slams his hands against his ears and grits his teeth, trying to convince himself that this isn't real.

That it's not the sound of your car folding in on itself that he hears in the distance, glass shattering into thousands of pieces.

It can't be, he thinks, agonised; and yet, it is.

Because the truth is that you're out there, somewhere in the wreckage of it all.

Paul knows it.

Feels it.

"How do I do it?!" he cries, turning to the ancient woman with wild, frenzied eyes when his ears won’t stop ringing.

(You’re screaming).

"How do I stop him?!"

(You’re crying).

The third wife at least has the decency to look regretful, before turning to look over her shoulder and into the long and dark forest.

“Have you not been listening?” she answers, cryptically.

And before Paul can snarl, beg, whatever he needs to do to get more than that (because what kind of bullshit answer is that), a howl echoes in the distance.

On autopilot, his body begins to shake, tremor, the air beginning to shift all around them before–

"Trust me Paul Lahote, you’ll know what to do," the third wife says, still looking into the unknown.

“–But you need to wake up. Now."

When I tell you the brainrot would not leave me alone for this one. But anyway, please feel free to comment, tag & repost. 🐺

©️ @intothemultifandom 2025

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[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 || 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐝𝐚𝐬)

SUMMARY: Your brother always knew you were a good kid. PAIRINGS: Lee Chun-ho x sister!Reader ; Kwon Il-ha x f!Reader WARNING/TAGS: Canonical character death; Angst AUTHOR NOTE: Takes place during Ep 5: "Maesong City University"

1.8k words

You were a good kid.

Truthfully, Chun-ho expected you to be harder than you were. With Eomma dying shortly after your birth, Appa skipping town not long after and him just starting his mandatory conscription by the time you were left with Harabeoji, Lee Chun-ho expected you to be a lot more angry and disobedient when he returned to take you with him.

Kids who didn't have parents to discipline them often were, he'd heard.

But Harabeoji was, well, Harabeoji.

"I may be old, but don't forget I raised your Eomma," Harabeoji smiled, eyes warm as you shuffled at his side, eyes darting between the two men curiously.

You'd spent nearly your entire childhood with him–longer than Chun-ho had anticipated–but he'd been offered a more permanent role with the military, one that meant staying a lot longer to plan taking you in and raising you with military benefits, and Harabeoji hadn't minded your extended stay.

Chun-ho may have inherited your Eomma's face, but you had her mature and easy-going spirit.

Raising you was easy, Harabeoji told him whilst you packed, because you were a good kid. Something Chun-ho got to see for himself overtime. In your spare time you liked drawing, listening to lofi music and reading.

When you were with Chun-ho, you liked testing out new recipes for the two of you to try, asking him about anything interesting happening at the base and joining him to watch the sports movie he'd play after a long day, nestling into his side to watch, too.

You hated bean sprouts, horror movies and washing the dishes but didn't mind drying so long as the space between you was filled with idle chatter.

Of course, like any other siblings you two had your fair share of arguments, too.

Sometimes you played your music a little too long into the night. Chun-ho was guilty of tracking muddied boots into the apartment, and you didn't understand why he'd wanted you to drop judo as an extra curricular, didn't understand the way the floor gave way beneath his feet the day you came home, face bruised and swollen.

But like Harabeoji and like Eomma, when you got upset with something Chun-ho said or a new rule he imposed you didn't yell or break things like Appa used to do (and Chun-ho, before conscription straightened him out) but would instead act rationally. Disappearing from Chun-ho's side before returning when you calmed.

You studied hard, joined extracurriculars that challenged you (as you'd defended judo), kept yourself surrounded with good people and updated him on anything he missed when he was gone.

Above all, you were happy.

Never lamenting on Eomma's passing or Appa's abandonment or faulting Chun-ho for his own shortcomings.

Truly, when Harabeoji said raising you was easy, he wasn't kidding.

Chun-ho was grateful.

Grateful that you'd grown up so normal and healthy, and that in your time together he got to see you come into your own hobbies and interests.

Grateful that you were always so easy with him, although convincing Harabeoji to let you join your class in mandatory training was anything but.

Chun-ho knew what the training was for, as prettily disguised as the government made it be with their promises of CSAT credits in lieu of early admission.

He knew just how dangerous and life-threatening the Spheres really were and had already proven to be, with Young-Hoon's needless death marking the beginning of the end.

Which is why when the Spheres finally attacked Sungjin High School and your platoon was forced to evacuate, Chun-ho was infinitely more grateful that you were right there with him.

Always at his side, even when at times he wished you weren't.

Admittedly though, in the aftermath of the chaos, of the bloodshed and massacre, the realisation that there were still things he hadn't known about you was something Chun-ho did not expect but something that crept up on him during the long nights spent overseeing your platoon.

In the two months your platoon stayed waiting in the downtown Sungjin Military base, Chun-ho learned that Kim Yoo-jung and Jo Jang-soo were perhaps two of your closest friends. Always the first to gravitate toward you during trainings and during lunch.

Though Yoo-jung could get overwhelmed at times with her role as Class President, Jang-soo seemed to be your other half, your main confidant—a constant in a class that seemed to shift around you.

One such force was Yeon Bo-ra, a spirited girl who was all sharp glares and sharper words and everything Chun-ho expected you to be once upon a time.

The past two months may have been hard on everyone, but you'd endured it with the surety of someone who had your family close by. A luxury not everyone had, as Bo-ra liked to point out.

Surprisingly, as often as Yoo-jung and Jang-soo came to your defence against Bo-ra during one her tirades, it was the natural ease that existed between you and Kwon Il-ha that had Chun-ho more intrigued into your place amongst your peers.

One night during dinner Il-ha had given you his bottle of water, hands brushing against yours longer than what was necessary.

It was there that Chun-ho realised that there was something, something more, between you and the usually hot-headed boy.

Your cheeks, usually pale, had been flushed as you accepted the bottle with an appreciative smile. Falling back into your conversation with Yoo-jung all the while Il-ha watched you with the kind of calm and attentiveness Chun-ho hadn't seen in him until then.

It had been a brief interaction, one your brother couldn't place exactly at the time, but the sincerity was there all the same, lingering in the space between you.

Chun-ho hadn't expected it, but seeing you with a first crush, teetering on the edge of something more–well, Chun-ho considered it a small mercy, all things considered.

Even if the War seemed endless and bleak, seeing you just be a kid was something your brother would always cherish. Now more than ever as he stands in the long abandoned classroom of Maesong City University, ready to die.

The room your brother's trapped in is quiet.

Where your platoon waits in the Seolbong Building across, is not.

Somewhere out there, in the desolate campus building, the mechanical and otherworldly whirring of the Spheres looms closer.

It had been risky, luring the Spheres in the neighbourhood to Maesong City University so they could blow them up with the bombs they'd made from dynamite and depleted uranium. But it had to be done.

And as this War had shown him, the kids in your class–yourself included–were made of stronger stuff.

In spite of the danger, of the fear and uncertainty he was sure you all felt, your class carried on, sticking together and covering each other when it mattered most.

As your Commanding officer, it was a humbling development but as your brother, it was reassuring and relieving all in one.

Knowing you were across from him, safe as you could be surrounded by your friends and platoon, Chun-ho felt nothing but calm serenity. And then–

"–Sir please," So-yeon's voice crackles through the device, wet and choked. "You promised."

The sound of her voice, so young and so scared, drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the abandoned classroom where he almost falters.

But then the rational side of him wins out, and your brother thinks about your class and of you, of how you're somewhere in that room with So-yeon, and reminds himself that just like your class, he can be strong, too.

Firmly, he presses down on his mic.

"I'm sorry I can't protect you until the end as I promised," Chun-ho says, finding his voice.

"And for dragging you into this war as an adult. At first, I thought you were disobedient kids. But now that I think about it, I'm so grateful and proud of you all."

Through his walkie, Chun-ho can hear the raw grief and sorrow of your platoon. Different voices whimpering, crying and begging him to change his mind; but he can't, and he won't.

Quietly, he calls your name. Blinks away his tears as he listens to movement on your end, before a quiet voice rasps:

"Oppa?"

In your next life, Chun-ho resolves to tell you more often how much you mean to him. Resolves to spend his next life making it up to you everyday for leaving this way.

There's so much Chun-ho wishes he could say, but time is a privilege he doesn't have so your brother settles for something shorter, something only you'll understand.

"You have been the best sister I could have asked for. And the time we had together, it was glorious. So live well, okay?"

It's not goodbye, but Lee Chun-ho is confident those are the words that will bring you the most comfort right now. The words that will give you the strength to do what the others can't do in this moment.

And he's right.

In another life, Kim Yoo-Jung would've stepped up to initiate the bomb as Class President. And if not her, than Sergeant Kim as your brothers' second in command.

But in this life, you're here.

And because you've always been a good kid, you press the button in Yoo-jung's place.

And your brother? Well, your brother closes his eyes, and smiles.

Chun-ho's latest pick is playing on the TV. It's an American move: McFarland USA, or something like that.

You're tucked into his side, all warm and lazy contentment and outside, there is the quiet patter of rain.

"Oppa?" you ask, when the movie reaches a lull.

"Hmm?" he replies, tilting his head toward you.

In the next few months, you'll be taking the CSATs. Graduating high-school before making your way into the big wide world. It's a scary thought, daunting really, but you're confident that whatever you do your brother will support you.

There is one thing you'd like to know, though.

"What if I still don't know what I want to do after school?" you ask, hesitant.

Your brother blinks, as if momentarily surprised, before his face relaxes. "I think by the time CSATS are done, you'll have an idea of what you want to do. You're the smarter one between us, so you'll be fine."

"You think so?"

Chun-ho smiles, playfully knocking your knees with his.

"I know so," he repeats, sure and confident.

"And if you're still unsure, don't focus too much on what everyone else is doing and think about what you like. Sometimes, the best thing we can do in life is find what we love and follow it to glory."

"Is that you how feel about the Military?" you can't but press, curious.

Chun-ho lets out a quiet laugh, eyes soft and gentle as he takes you in. "Not just the Military," he says, something meaningful in his tone, right before a bang resounds from the TV.

"– Now shush, it's starting to get good!"

©️ @intothemultifandom January, 2025

[intothemultifandom]

𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐄 [𝟐] || 𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐮

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"Don't tell Ms. Park."

Gyeong-Su watches you rummage through the drawers in the infirmary, torn between confusion and an odd sense of fascination as you swipe bandages, creams and other loose items into your bag.

"Assuming whatever is wrong with Hyeon-Ju can't be spread, I'll return everything to Ms. Kim later and apologise. And I'll take complete responsibility if anyone asks," you explain in a hushed voice.

"Not that I'm hoping things will go bad, but I think it'd be good to have some supplies on hand just in case, you know?"

Gyeong-Su bites down his grin when you look over your shoulder with an almost sheepish expression. As if suddenly struck by your nervous rambling.

Your cheeks are flushed, and your nose is crinkled and everything happening is so unlike you but still so cute that Gyeong-Su reminds himself to thank Bare-Su for shoving him after you when he did. Even if he's now involved in whatever this is.

Truth be told, if it were anyone else raiding the infirmary just now, Gyeong-Su would've intervened right away. Told them to stop what they were doing before alerting Ms. Park or Ms. Kim once she was back, but it's you.

You wouldn't be Vice President if you didn't have everyones' best interest at heart and didn't think things through.

And if what happened this morning with Hyeon-Ju has you rattled enough to gather some supplies for your class, just in case, than who is Gyeong-Su to stop you?

You said you'd return it later anyway and apologise to both the school nurse and your homeroom teacher, and maybe Gyeong-Su's a little biased, but you're not exactly the deceitful type.

Besides being smart and sensible, you're honest, kind and so very pret–

"–Don't worry VP., your secret is safe with me," he says finally, saddling up to your side and, daringly, plucking the tube of anti-sceptic cream from your hand to shove into his pocket. A show of camaraderie in this odd endeavour of yours.

"Still never thought I'd catch you stealing from school, though," he can't help but tease. "How scandalous."

Ms. Kim wasn't in here when you arrived, and neither was Hyeon-Ju.

You'd seen her loaded into the back of an ambulance, Ms. Kim likely helping her. So call it a split second decision, but you figured now was as good a time as any to get some supplies while you had the chance.

You were just lucky Gyeong-Su, somehow following after you, was the kind of person to trust first and then ask questions later.

"Is it stealing when I said I'd return it later?" you retaliate, lip beginning to curl.

"And since you're here, hiding some cream in your pocket, doesn't that make you an accomplice? If I'm stealing, what are you doing, huh?"

Gyeong-su swallows down the laughter that catches in his chest, surprised by the teasing lilt in your tone.

He doesn't argue back, though.

He's too fixated by the small, relieved, smile you flash his way as you resume your search.

When you slide back into your seat, Nam-Ra doesn't point out that you've come back with no cleaning supplies nor does she comment about how much heavier your bag is when you hook it back onto your side.

Instead, your very kind and very merciful Class President arches a brow that says I hope you know what you're doing before she turns back to her work, deciding not to bother.

It's expected of her, really, and for the first time since you've set out to befriend her, you're glad for it.

Because you're not sure how to explain what you did in the infirmary.

On the other side of the room, your accomplice doesn't say anything about the first aid supplies in your bag and in his pockets either when he settles back into his seat.

Gyeong-Su doesn't even tell Cheong-San, whose eyes flit between the two of you with an almost delighted glint in them which you firmly ignore, thinking over the risky gamble you just took.

You hope, if the supplies aren't necessary after all that you can apologise to your homeroom teacher and the school nurse in private.

Because if someone like Joon-Yeong or Dae-Su found out what you'd done, caught a whiff of the irrational fear behind your actions than you wouldn't hear the end of it.

You may be our Vice-President, you can imagine Joon-Yeong chiding you. But this is ridiculous!

Fortunately for you, Ms. Park isn't in class when you return so there was no need to explain where you'd gone off too.

In fact, when she returns (which is a lot later than you were expecting), she doesn't question why everyone is huddled in the groups that they're in or why most of the class is congregated around I-Sak.

If anything, she's more focused on grabbing the locked box containing all your phones, something not everyone notices.

"Can I have my phone back?" Na-Yeon asks, eyes beginning to narrow as she picks at her chipped nail polish.

Immediately, all eyes are back on her, but Ms. Park wouldn't be a teacher if she didn't know how to remain undaunted by the weight of your stares because she presses her lips into a thin line, clutching the box even tighter.

"I'll be deciding on whether to return your phones after lunch," she says finally, after a moment.

"I'll be meeting with the rest of the faculty to discuss what's happened, but given the delicate nature of this morning–it would be best for the school to address this situation first before I give you back your phones. This is so you don't prematurely give out the wrong information."

You understand her reasoning, of course, but you don't like it. And judging from the frowns from a few others, you're not the only one. But Ms. Park is the teacher, so what else can you do?

Slowly, your eyes drift from your teacher back over to Gyeong-Su who seems to be ignoring an inquisitive Cheong-San, and you find that if there's any consolation, it's that you don't have to hand in the supplies you're both carrying just yet.

Of course, it seems your luck has run its course because just when he turns back to meet your gaze, eyes sparkling in that see? I haven't told kinda way, Ms. Park calls out to you and Dae-Su as the bell begins to the ring.

"Can you two find something to clean up Hyeon-Ju's blood, please?" she asks, turning out the door before you can object.

Nam-Ra laughs lowly by your side as you splutter, because she's sadistic like that. In fact, you take what you said earlier back. Your Class President isn't kind or merciful. And you hope she can read it just as well on your face as you flick her ear when you pass her by.

Dae-Su waves you over to his table with a grin as you join him, laughing at the sour face you're making before you leave together.

And going on this unplanned excursion would've been fine, you think, if not for the fact that by the time you and Dae-Su do find the nearest custodian closet, that's when the screaming starts.

©️ @intothemultifandom December, 2024

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[intothemultifandom]

𝐊𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀/𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐊𝐄𝐘: angst - 🗡️ || fluff - 💞 || romance - 💋 || multi - 🫂 || family - 🍀

🧟‍♂️ 𝐆𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆-𝐒𝐔 (𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃)

Auld Lang Syne - Class 2-2’s Vice President: VP. In which the sensible Vice-President does their best to keep their little band of survivors alive. // 🫂 Click here to read: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

In a Matter of Seconds - In a matter of seconds, [Y/N] is infected protecting Gyeong-su, he is reminded of their 100 day celebration, and his heart is irreparably broken when you are forced to say goodbye. // 🗡️

👾 𝐋𝐓. 𝐋𝐄𝐄 (𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋)

Glorious (Ft. Sister!Reader) - Your brother always knew you were a good kid. // 🍀 + 🗡️

[intothemultifandom]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐊𝐄𝐘: angst - 🗡️ || fluff - 💞 || romance - 💋 || multi - 🫂 || family - 🍀

💥 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐠 (𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐬)

The End is Near - The gift of foresight had served you well, until it doesn’t. Rescuing you from an unpleasant vision, your love knows exactly what to do to bring you back to the present. // 💋 + 💞

💥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫 (𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫: 𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫)

Le Toloa - If you were only ever created to serve Arishem, it did not feel like it. Not when you’d grown to cherish your people in the South Pacific and the entirety of Earth as reverently as you did and not when your heart, artificial or not, belonged to a man from beneath the sea. // 💋

💥 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐚 (𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫: 𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫)

Servititude - In the aftermath of The Blip, you and Attuma–warriors turned interim leaders–bond over loss, grief and the weight of two different worlds. When the second blip occurs, those who’ve returned decide to wage war. Unaware of the relationship you’ve forged in their absence. // 💋 + 🗡️ 

[intothemultifandom]

𝐓𝐔𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐊𝐄𝐘: angst - 🗡️ || fluff - 💞 || romance - 💋 || multi - 🫂 || family - 🍀

☂️ 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈

Even at the End (Allison, Five, Viktor) - Based on this prompt: "Coming from a complex family means dealing with complex emotions. Fortunately, you’re not the favourite sibling without reason. Or, even at the end, you’re there when they need you most." // 🫂 + 🍀

☂️ 𝐁𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒

Titles - The thing about Klaus Hargeeves and the titles he had was that, for all the bad and bloodied ones he’d accumulated over his weirdly-long-but-should-have-been-shorter lifetime–nothing hurt more than becoming a stranger. // 🗡️

First Impressions - You meet a different version of your Ben. It makes for one hell of a first meeting. // 🗡️

🐦‍⬛ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒

First Impressions - An immovable force and an unstoppable force meet before the end of the world. // 💞

[intothemultifandom]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐊𝐄𝐘: angst - 🗡️ || fluff - 💞 || romance - 💋 || multi - 🫂 || family - 🍀

🦇 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐜 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢

Divine Beings - Though there is nothing funny about meeting your destined mate on the opposite side of the battlefield, you had to admit the irony of him having cherub-like qualities when you were the half-Angel was pretty funny. // 💋

🦇 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢

You're a Supernatural Being - Based on this prompt: "You’re the supernatural mate of one of the most elite members of the Volturi guard." // 💋 + 💞

🐺 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞

Divine Intervention - multific - The Pack always knew imprints were a sacred thing. But when you’re hurt, the imprint bond blurs the line between life and death. It makes for some interesting conversations with ghosts from the past. // Ch1 | Ch2

[intothemultifandom]

𝐂𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐧 (𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, "𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬") 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒 || 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓

"The body under the cloak—which was darker, almost black—was slim and androgynous. But the face was too pretty for a boy. The wide-eyed, full lipped face would make a Botticelli angel look like a gargoyle. Even allowing for the dull crimson irises...Edward dropped his arms and relaxed his position as well but in defeat. "Jane," he sighed in recognition and resignation.”

“...The boy in the pearl grey suit could have been Jane's twin. His hair was darker, and his lips were not as full, but he was just as lovely."

[intothemultifandom]

𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐄 [𝟏] || 𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐮

SUMMARY: Class 2-2′s Vice President: VP. In which the sensible Vice-President does their best to keep their little band of survivors. PAIRINGS: Han Gyeong-su x Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: reader insert, character death, swearing, canon divergence, pre-relationship, angst + more 

1.3k words  || Next Chapter >>

Harabeoji lays on the hospital bed, unaware that the world continues without him.

You're his only visitor today. The room is cold, and his heart monitor fills the silence since you won't.

You don't know what to say, where to start.

Do you tell him that he needs to wake up? That since he fell sick, your step-grandmother used his coma as an opportunity to move everyone from your family home (sans yourself) and that her son, your half-uncle and proxy, is already making deals to have the line of succession passed to him instead?

Seoul is too far from Hyosan for you to visit him, to remind him to keep fighting and to keep vigil at his bedside, but they moved his treatment here anyway. Have already brought themselves a sky-line apartment right in the centre.

If you told him that they've left you alone, that they've left you behind, would that be enough to wake him up?

On your lap, you've brought a collection of Western comic books you've been reading to practise your English and since you need to fill the quiet somehow, you pick one out to read:

The Walking Dead, it says.

If Harabeoji finds your pick distasteful, he doesn't say.

(You wish he would).

In a class-room setting, the Vice-President is meant to ensure that there is strong communication between the Class Reps and the President. When the President is absent, it is up to them to act in their stead. To lead the class through ever-changing situations with a clear head and mature outlook.

At times, you enjoy being responsible for such tasks. The position gives you a sense of purpose on days when you feel set adrift, makes you feel more present as you tend to your responsibilities and resolve minor conflicts. Those are the days you feel like an ordinary student, responsible only for the happenings of your class.

Other times however, it's a bitter reminder. Of Harabeoji who's counting on you to do good, of the dynasty you're set to inherit in his name and of the interests you've had to sacrifice in favour of activities more appealing for Universities overseas. Like being Vice-President.

Joon-Yeong insists you should have been Class President when the positions are first announced. It's unfair Nam-Ra gets the position because of her Mother's bribery when you're not only first in class but have given up more to commit to your school's night self-learning programme and your new role.

He says it with an air of indifference as he crosses his arms, but his eyes burn behind his glasses. You think it's because losing the Presidency to a friend will make the loss hurt a little less, and because it would excuse you from not hanging out with him and the others as much as you used to.

You don't point it out to him, though. Joon-Yeong has to come to his own conclusion for things to stick. Instead, you make a show of pointing your finger right at his nose as you order him–and the others watching–to call you "VP" henceforth.

It's not much, but if you show that you're not upset with the position you're given then your friends have no grounds to be angry on your behalf. You just hope that overtime, they'll come around about the Class President you do have in the meantime.

You did in the end, hadn't you?

Speaking of your Class President, Nam-Ra always complains about the music playing on your headphones whenever she slides into her seat next to you, but it doesn't stop her from leaning over your textbook to assess your work.

You respond by turning your volume all the way up so the melody of Auld Lang Syne rattles your ears, mouth curling when she nods begrudgingly at your answers.

There isn't much she'll find to begin with, but it's routine; Nam-ra grumbles about your music in the morning as she looks over your work (way better than her rhythm techno beats, mind you), and you pretend this isn't her odd way of showing her friendship.

Silently, you offer her a piece of Poki from your half-opened bag, your own show of friendship, and she accepts the treat after a long, drawn out moment. Even though she doesn't say anything, you can see her face soften in the corner of your eye, and beyond the obvious, you're glad that she's not actually mad about your song choice for today.

"Wake me up when Ms. Park comes," you say after a moment, falling into your normal position as you cross your arms over your textbook, cushioning your head as you close your eyes. Nam-ra predictably grumbles at your command, but doesn't make a move to disturb you.

And drifting off, you hope that today is another calm day.

It's not.

Hyeon-Ju's bloodied entrance is too shocking for the day to be anything but calm.

Even when she's whisked away by Ms. Park, Su-Hyeok and a few others to the infirmary, the shock gives way to unease and the feeling settles under your skin before you can do anything about it. It makes you itch to do something, anything.

Ms. Park instructs you all to resume studying but hearing what Hyeon-Ju said and seeing her state in general, more than half the class group together to brainstorm what happened between your classmate and Mr. Lee.

Nam-Ra seems to be the only one actually studying and while it looks like you are too, with all your pens laid out and your head tilted down to your book, you're actually listening in on the chatter around you. Pulling out your stationary was just a show of solidarity, if anything.

From what you gather, no one seems to say anything that corroborates your unease or the sense of foreboding that's taken root. Dae-Su's idea is perverse, Wu-Jin is quick to slap him on the back of his head, and I-Sak returns with a troubled face before the others can chime in.

At once, everyone turns their attention towards her, even Nam-Ra, but the weight of someone's stare grows heavy on the side of your face so you turn to other side of the room instead, catching Gyeong-Su's gaze just as he snaps his head back to I-Sak.

You're sure he knows you caught him staring at you because the tips of his ears are pink, and his posture is rigid as he faces the front. If you weren't feeling so agitated, your skin still itching, you'd smile at his embarrassment.

How long will he wait before he confesses?

"–What happened? Is Hyeon-Ju okay?" Wu-Jin chimes. He kneels next to I-Sak when he asks, and you begin tapping your finger on your desk when she speaks, pulled back to the matter at hand.

When you saw Hyeon-Ju last, the poor girl was delirious as she stumbled into the room, eyes fluttering as she tried to stay awake. Her face was bloodied, her hair was matted and when she collapsed by Ms. Parks' feet, she could could barely move.

However, the Hyeon-Ju I-Sak left in the infirmary sounds like a completely different person.

Having to be restrained as she thrashed on the bed. Hissing. Biting.

She scratched Ms. Kim, I-Sak says.

There's a cold sweat running down the back of your neck the more you imagine it, different scenarios flitting through your head in quick succession, but when I-Sak mentions some weird shot Mr. Lee injected her with, the agitation you feel reaches a crescendo.

You stop tapping, deciding that you need to see things yourself.

Nam-Ra glances at you from the corner of her eye, and you hope the look you flash her doesn't belie your nerves.

It turns out though that the Class President must consider you more of a friend than you realised (the kind of friend that you cover for), because her mouth twists like she knows you're up to something but doesn't push.

"I'll find a mop to clean up the mess," you lie, grabbing your bag.

"Hurry back," is Nam-Ra's cool reply.

Next Chapter >>

©️ @intothemultifandom  2024

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐮

SUMMARY: In a matter of seconds, you are infected protecting Gyeong-su, he is reminded of their 100 day celebration, and his heart is irreparably broken when you are forced to say goodbye. PAIRINGS: han gyeong-su x genderneutral!reader TAGS/WARNINGS: established!relationship ; character death ; swearing, angst + more

1.4k words

IT HAPPENS IN A MATTER OF SECONDS, so sudden Gyeong-su can hear nothing but the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears as you stagger away from Na-yeong, eyes wide in disbelief.

The shock and horror of what she'd just done had ended the cacophony of mania, everyone standing shock-still by the revelation that Lee Na-yeong had intentionally infected you right before them.

"Na-yeon, what have you done?" Miss Park asks quietly, eyeing the frantic girl warily as Su-hyeok and Nam-ra step away from her, the formers' hands clenched at his sides.

Your hand is still bleeding from where she'd dug her nails into the skin, your blood intermingling with the blood she'd swiped at you with her dirty fucking handkerchief and On-jo lets out a soft cry when a drop of red trickles from your nose.

"If you're so sure he's not infected, you can die with him", Na-yeon had cried, moving too fast before anyone could react.

"[Y/N], c-come here, you need to sit down," Gyeong-su manages to say through the tightness in this throat, breaking away from Cheong-san's side to stagger towards you.

"We need to get you a tissue," he continues, almost in a daze.

We need to stop the bleeding. Put them in the recording booth. They're not gone yet. We can still–

Before he can reach for your hands however, you step away from him, pressing yourself against the door as you shake your head firmly at him.

There are tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, and your face flickers with a multitude of emotions before your features grow ladden with grim resignation.

"–Stop," you say roughly, and Gyeong-su just knows that you've made your decision.

Now that you've been infected, you're going to walk out the door, determined not to stay long enough for him to convince you otherwise.

Because doing so would only hurt everyone more in the end, and the last thing you'd want is for them to see you turn.

(I-sak's blood is still on On-jo's collar.)

For the first time since he met you, your boyfriend wishes you were selfish enough to stay, selfish enough to fight everyone to stay by his side the same way he would if the roles were reversed, but it's you.

[First name] [Last name].

Always doing the right thing, even when it hurts. Even when he doesn't want you to.

Because you and Gyeong-su both know he won't ask you to leave, and you're stronger than he'd like to give you credit for when you make no move towards him.

"Han, please just stay there...I don't want to hurt you," you say quietly, unflinching when he shakes his head with a scoff that sounds too much like denial. "I need to leave."

"N-no you wouldn't," he insists, mouth trembling as his chest gives way to a choked cry. "Please [Y/N], get away from the door. Let me help...please just move away from the door..."

The wounded sound he makes makes Ji-min and Hyo-ryung flinch on the other side of the room, hands held firmly between them. A sentiment shared by even the more quiet ones of the group.

The truth is, they've all lost people today–teachers, classmates, friends–but none have lost someone they cared for this way, to something as preventable as a contaminated handkerchief and the paranoia of a crazed girl.

More blood drips down your nose in quick succession then, and while it is the final nail in the coffin for everyone in the room and settles your resolve, Gyeong-su doesn't want you to go.

Not like this. Not after everything you've been through and not after you were infected protecting him from your traitorous classmate.

[Y/N], how can you be so calm? He wants to shake you. Why aren't you mad?

"Cheong-san, y-you need to get my bag...there's a box with butterflies on it in there..." Though you've addressed Cheong-san, you keep your eyes locked on your boyfriend, committing every plane and edge to memory as you tell your friend what to do.

For a moment, Gyeong-su has no idea why you're telling Cheong-san about your bag, about this small box with butterfly designs before the memory comes unbidden:

It was your 100 day anniversary, and Han had saved enough of his weekly allowance to take you out on a date after school. While most boys his age would aim to take their partner to a nice restaurant and shower them with even nicer jewellery, he could do only so much with what little money he had. Fortunately, while most people would've raised their brows at dining at a chicken restaurant (in his humble opinion, nothing could beat the exquisite taste of Cheong-san's family restaurant) and then being cart off to an Arcade to blow off the rest of their money, you were unlike most people. In fact, when Han had won you a back of Butterfly-themed plasters instead of the cute [favourite cartoon] phone charm at one of the claw machines, you had only laughed fondly as you placed your hands in his. Grinning as his cheeks grew flushed. "Hey Han Gyeong-su, don't be too serious," you teased gently, bumping his shoulder as you held the box of bandages. "I think these bandages are way better. Plus, I'll keep it in my bag in case I ever need it." Before he could apologise again, flustered by your earnest words, you tilted your head, brushing your lips against his as his flush deepened.

It's a nice memory, one of the more simpler ones, and Gyeong-su is sure you remember that day, too, because your breath catches as you move your hand to the door handle.

"It's a pack of bandages, Cheong-san. You need to cover Han's scratch, and keep him away from Na-yeong. He isn't infected, but he needs to keep his scratch covered. Please use it for the others, too."

There's a raspy quality to your voice now, more urgent now that there's black veins blooming from your injuries.

If he weren't so madly in-love with you, Gyeong-su would assume that your calm and poise was unnatural for someone on the verge of turning.

But you've always held a quiet strength to you, and this display of extreme will is only a testament to your character. He's glad the others seem to realise it too because no one makes a move to accost you, trusting you enough to know what you need to do.

Still, the finality in your plea seems to seep through the cracks in his heart, because this time he launches himself towards you more frantically than before, stopping only when Cheong-san wraps himself around his waist, holding him back from moving any closer.

"[Y/N] please, you don't have to do this! [Y/N]! [Y/N]! Cheong-san, let me go! LET ME GO!"

Desperate, your boyfriend bucks wildly in Cheong-san's arms, begging to be let go and cursing his long-time friend all in one breath as he punches uselessly at his chest.

Cheong-san has always been surprisingly strong, but when Dae-su and Su-hyeok join him–there's no way for Gyeong-san to reach you, no matter how much he tries.

"Han Gyeong-su," you rasp, your voice cutting through the loudness and chaos.

Saying his full name is enough to make Gyeong-su pause, gives you enough time to say what you've wanted to say to him since this whole mess started. "Thank-you for our time together. I...have loved every second being your partner."

For the first time since you locked eyes on him–hand frozen as he holds it out to you, one last attempt to reach you–you move your gaze around the whole room, hoping that as your eyes meet theirs, your classmates know there is no blame from you, or anger.

You do not look at Na-yeon, or Miss Park.

There is only sincere hope that they all make it out, and gratitude for everything they've done for you until now.

Wiping the tears that have fallen with your uninjured hand, you scrub at your face before nodding to yourself, turning to the door before you finally pull it open.

"Thank you for everything, guys. Please make it out of here. Really. And please take care of Gyeong-su for me..."

Behind you, Gyeong-su's anguished screams grow louder as you step out into the Zombie-infested hallway, the door sliding close with a soft click behind you.

Though it doesn't beat the sound he makes when he hears the first of your bones breaking from beyond the classroom door.

©️ @intothemultifandom May, 2023

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐀 || 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫

SUMMARY: If you were only ever created to serve Arishem, it did not feel like it. Not when you’d grown to cherish your people in the South Pacific and the entirety of Earth as reverently as you did and not when your heart, artificial or not, belonged to a man from beneath the sea. PAIRINGS: Namor x Eternal!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: fluff ; light angst ; spoilers for Eternals (2021)

If you were only ever created to serve Arishem, it did not feel like it.

Not when you’d grown to cherish your people in the South Pacific and the entirety of Earth as reverently as you did and not when your heart, artificial or not, belonged to a man from beneath the sea.

In the aftermath of Ajak’s death, of Sersei’s frantic call that detailed what was happening–it didn’t take you too long to gather your belongings, to retrieve all the documents you needed just in case before you rushed behind your house, down the pathway and towards the secluded formation that was hidden deep behind your home.

In the cove you’d created decades ago, he waits for you as he always does. Somehow always finding his way back to your little hideout, again and again, as devoted as the waves that lapped at your shore.

Skin beaded with water, dark eyes pinned on you, always on you–the man you find does not match the names he’d been given over the past five hundred years, a fraction to your own existence. 

K'uk'ulkan. Niño sin amor. Namor. 

Legends only ever depicted him as one of two things: The merciless feathered serpent god worshipped by a long existing culture or the child without love, he who would light the world aflame if only he was not shackled to the ocean. 

Here in this refuge you’d created, however, you’d learned that he was more than just that. Had spent nearly four hundred years unearthing every cavern of his mind, body and soul.

Without saying it, you know his worry has guided him through the currents today. 

“I came to make sure you were unhurt after the Earthquake,” he says lowly, lacking the teasing lilt he often greeted you with. “But it seems you might know more than me already...”.

The armour you wear is dappered in metallic [favourite colour] with [complimentary colour] accents, something he has not seen before in all of your years together.

Wearing it not even a week after the world felt Tiamut’s movement is all the evidence he needs, a damning fact that the tremors felt all over the world are more than what they are. 

Slowly, Namor rises from the water and as he does, sea-foam bubbles around him, the worry you weren’t even aware had begun to fester dispersing just the same. 

“I take it this is not for pleasure?” he continues, his nonchalance contradicted by the twitch of winged ankles. 

“I’m afraid not,” you reply in lieu of your normal greeting.

His eyes linger on the glow of your hands, of the way your shoulders and arms are taught in a way he is unfamiliar with and you’re warmly reminded that he is not the only one who has been made bare before in this cove. 

As detailed as you can, you explain to him what you had learned in the past few hours: Arishem had created your family to evolve the human species, not for their own betterment; but so their progression could provide enough energy for a Celestial to emerge from the Earth’s core once the Deviants were eliminated.

The world is ending, you reveal, almost choking on the cold, ugly truth. 

When Sersei had explained it the first time, between rasped breaths and soft cries, you didn’t allow yourself time to lament what it all meant.

But now, seeing what you’ve come to consider the architect of your very being in front you, the truth unravels in a way that you cannot deny what it is.

An anchor that will drown you, or has drowned you already, considering all you’ve lost before. The people, memories, the love. 

"We’ve never fought a Celestial before,” you admit, thinking of Thena, anguished and desperate, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze, before you think of your people and of him. “But we want this planet to be our last. I want it to be my last.” 

It is not the words, but they might as well be.  

In an instant, Namor grips your wrist, pulling you back into him as you huff with surprise. 

His arms band around your waist, keeping you caged where he can nose along the column of your neck, hear the hitch in your breath at his closeness.

“If this is then true, tell me why I shouldn’t persuade you to stay with me?” he growls lowly at the base of your throat, easily shifting between calm and not, as fluid as the sea. “I could compel you to stay here where it’s safe, where you can stay here with me,”.

You can’t help but groan under the ministrations of his teeth on your skin when he begins to nibble, hands moving towards his face as you summon every ounce of sensibility in you to turn his head away. A hard feat, given the way your blood sings as slivers of his siren melody bleed into his words. 

“Because though you would rather see the world burn, you would protect your people by any means necessary,” you gasp, feeling your fondness for him swell when he stills, caught.

For Talocan, Namor would protect his Kingdom by any means and at any cost. Even if he despised the rest of the world and would gladly burn the surface asunder, he would not condemn his people to burn, too. 

You and your family, as splintered as they’ve come to be, are the greatest gamble he can take to save them and everyone else. Even if it means he can’t join you.

Silent in his defeat, Namor–sweet, enchanting Namor– tilts your head to his languidly, leaning forward and bringing you in a kiss that makes you both want to leave and surrender yourself to him all at once.

Humming, he slots your mouths together even more as he shifts you in his arms, and you have to swallow the moan the bubbles in your throat once he pulls away, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. 

“The ocean has given me many miracles, mi puksik’al. But it has also given me many tragedies...” he says hoarsely, after a moment.

Leaning his forehead against your own to stare you deep in the eyes, it’s a wonder he’s only ever been called cruel and monstrous things when he all he is is bewitching. Wondrous even as he pleads: “I cannot afford one more, [Your Name].” 

As he breathes, you press your nose against his and do the same. Feeling your heart break and mend all at once as you take life from his breath. 

When you first landed on Earth, you found that there was no greater resource on the planet than its ocean. Deep, vast and endless. A force that could give as easily as it took away. 

You’d revered it and its various forms the same way you did the man before you. Perhaps less than him now, you admit in this moment, when he leans back and brushes his lips against the crown of your head. 

“Come back to me,” comes the murmur. “Meent’ uts”.

Closing your eyes, all you can do is nod as you take in the scent of salt and tears, rasping, “E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai” as you surge upward to breathe him in once more. 

NOTES:

Since all the Eternals all belong to different ethnic groups, Reader is Polynesian. I imagine her living somewhere on the island of Niue, as it is a coral atoll and has natural coves and chasms already though you can imagine otherwise.  

The way Reader “takes life from his breath” when pressing their forehead against Namor’s references the Maori people and the action of the hongi, which recalls the Māori legend of the creation of the first earthly woman, Hineahuone. She was formed from clay by the creator god Tāne, who then breathed life into her nostrils.

“E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai” is a Samoan proverb meaning that life may take someone far from home but they will always return. Case and point: Reader and Namor. 

E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai = The toloa bird flies far, but will always return to the water.

I am not an expert in the Mayan/Yucate language, which I believe is the main language Namor speaks, but I’ve taken the following translations from various online sources and apologise sincerely if its not quite right. Please correct me where I’m wrong and I’ll note it down for future reference. I’d also appreciate any reputable linguistic sources for all my fanfics moving forward, but anyway:

mi puksik’al = my heart

Meent’ uts = please

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 [𝟏/𝟑] || 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐚

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of The Blip, you and Attuma–warriors turned interim leaders–bond over loss, grief and the weight of two different worlds. When the second blip occurs, those who’ve returned decide to wage war. Unaware of the relationship you’ve forged in their absence. PAIRINGS: Attuma x Reader, Wakandan!Reader, T’challa + Shuri Sister!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: angst ; hurt and comfort 

You lost your siblings during The Blip. 

T’challa had turned to dust right before Okoye, Shuri scattered somewhere out on the battlefield; and a weight unlike any other (the weight only your brother knew) settled around shoulders when the wind did not claim you, too. 

At only seventeen, you had been reduced to an only child by the snap of a Madman’s fingers. Expected to ascend the throne now that your older siblings could not. Not that you would, given your distaste of politics and the UN Embassy in general.

Where T’challa was King and Shuri led your scientific division, you had trained under the tutelage of the Dora Milage. Had become one of the best warriors of the country in spite of your youth, expected to surpass Okoye once you reached her age.  

Your natural skill had fuelled your desire to join the War Dogs before N’Jadaka had come into the picture (as Princess, you could not join the Dora Milaje officially), a dream you had to contribute to the safety of your Kingdom and your brother’s reign under the aloofness of being the youngest child.

In the eyes of the world that remained, however, this was not possible when your existence, your survival, received constant praise by Nations who hungered for someone young and naive to ascend the throne.

To their displeasure, you’d assumed leadership over the secret division of your country instead, entertained by the thought of Colonisers dictating what you did with yourself. Your amusement further peaked as you presented yourself publicly as Wakanda’s Consulate General alongside your natural title as Princess.  

With your Mother maintaining the throne and dealing with politics, you’d spent the first three years working diligently to forget your siblings’ absence. Your own grief and shame.

Someone had to stamp out the political unrest in your country, had to re-establish Wakanda’s spy-network in the midst of mounting political tension around the world.

And you had done it all at from seventeen to twenty, held together by the love of your Queen Mother and spurred on by the council of your closest confidants, Okoye, Aneka, Ayo and, surprisingly, the Jabari’s own M’Baku. 

The success of your network around the world had earned you the respect of many, though nothing cemented your legacy more than what happened during the Wakandan three-day-Massacre: 

The Marube Tribe were a relic of time, isolated from the rest of your country when they denounced the advancement of your technology.

Deep in the Mute Lands, they’d practiced old customs and studied even older texts where, in the shadow of Thanos’ terror, they’d turn to ancient techniques to make their warriors strong. Stronger than even the Black Panther. 

Since they could not ingest Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, a group of their men had etched it into their flesh. Tattooed the raw substance into the planes of their body so they could flow better with nature.

And for a brief time, it worked. The process had given them unnatural durability and strength, the ability to run faster than the wind and yet capable of moving the Earth with a stomp of their foot.

Only, Vibranium itself is radioactive unless tempered with a substance only Shuri and her division knew how to make.

And with your sister and her team gone, ashes in the wind; the Marube tribe, without knowing the consequences, inadvertently kickstarted what might’ve been the doom of your people with the creation of the Madmen. 

As Vibranium had become one with flesh, the radiation did not blister skin nor melt flesh from bone. Instead, it drove the person to madness, to a murderous rage that would not end and was made even worse by the indestructibility of their bodies.

In a single night, the Madmen decimated nearly their entire village before they took to their neighbours. 

When the missive came the following morning, your Queen Mother demanded only for the Dora Milaje to go, for them put an end to the madness before it reached the Golden City.

What she seemed to forget was that the last Madman you fought murdered your siblings, so you could not, would not, simply remain in the Palace.

And so as stealthily as you could for someone who’d learned many tricks from Nakia, you followed your warrior-sisters beyond the throne room, grateful that Okoye turned a blind eye when she caught you amongst their numbers. 

The battle against the Madmen had been a ruthless and bloody affair. 

The people who fought with you and against you were your own people; the land you fought on once roamed by your Ancestors; yet no amount of familiarity could diminish the brutality of war as the Madmen slaughtered your people in masses, pushed your team deeper into the battlefield and towards the centre of their ruined Tribe like wolves surrounding sheep.

Just as you thought you had reached your end, had stood back-to-back with Okoye, Aneka and Ayo and readied yourself for death, Bast had smiled on you that day as the survivors of the massacre–women and children who’d hidden themselves beneath the ground–opened a hidden hatch and welcomed your group into their refuge.  

The Marube people may have denounced modern Wakanda; but they were Wakandan all the same.

For almost half an hour, you and the warriors huddled with them in the dark of their underground cave system where you’d grieved and planned, prayed for your Ancestors to see you through another day even when the Madmen waited for you above. 

It had been one of the Elders who survived, a woman named J’Kobe who weakly presented the idea of someone undergoing the same process as the men above to turn the tides of the battle. She who suggested bestowing a great power upon someone, anyone, so that they could end the Madmen’s bloodshed once and for all before madness took them.

It would be a sacrifice, went unsaid. 

As the determination settled on Okoye’s brow and Ayo and Aneka shared a sad, resigned smile (they’d realised too that the Madmen could not be beat as their weapons bent under the pressure of their strength)–you had stepped towards J’Kobe with the memory of your family and your people, the smile of a toddler who bared your brother’s name, as you knelt at her feet and offered yourself before they could.

Your siblings had been gone for three years, and in those three years you’d found no dignified way of joining them until then: ...though of course, you didn’t actually die as you thought you would. 

Even now, you could not remember what had happened down in those tunnels, how long your friends had argued against your decision before you laid on your back and then your stomach, the pain immeasurable as they and J’Kobe embedded the Vibranium along different areas of your body. 

Tattooed by your countries most fearsome warriors and one of the last practitioners of old, you did what many thought was impossible when you ascended the tunnels with fresh tattoos that glowed purple and a newfound strength to greet the Madmen as an equal match. 

On the third day of the three-day-Massacre, you gave your people a new protector as you stood over the Madmen who lay at your feet, defeated: 

Olumo, J’Kobe called you. 

Molded by God. 

After the battle had been won, and you’d marched with your Warriors and the survivors home to prepare to be put down, to apologise to your Mother one last time before calling Nakia; like the wind that did not claim you when your siblings disappeared, death did not take you in the end, too. 

Because your Father, his Father and so on, ingested Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, they’d altered their genetics and granted their children and lineage invulnerability to the radiation of Vibranium. 

Meaning you would not be lost to madness from the procedure after all, a stroke of luck for your friends who considered sacrificing themselves. 

Since then, you’d fought many battles as Olumo, the disciple of Ptah and Kokou. Had succeeded in many minor and major battles that helped you carve your own legacy as you fought for True Wakanda, your Vibranium tattoos a symbol of your service and devotion. 

There were days, of course, when the power you’d been bestowed stirred uncomfortably. Days where you felt restless in your own skin, plagued with the undeniable urge to move, run and fight. 

You’d always been a warrior than a leader. 

The Dora Milage, adored as they were, were supportive in this regard; always ready to give you an outlet to rid yourself of this feeling as you fought and sparred them in the safety of your Kingdom. 

Even M’Baku and his warriors, through a rare sight in the Capital, sparred with you when they could. 

It wasn’t until you met him, though, that you felt more alive than you’d felt in the past three years. Felt seen and understood in a way that your friends and Mother could not and would likely ever understand, given the power and responsibilities you now held. 

His name was Attuma, and he called himself the greatest warrior in the underworld. 

NOTES: 

• This is Part 1 (context; your POV) of a three-part-story. 

• Part 2 (snippets of you and him during moments in-between; his POV) will be coming soon. 

• Your background is inspired by the BLACK PANTHER #7 (Origins of Vibranium) + BLACK PANTHER #3 (#200 Legacy) 

• Ptah the Shaper is considered the god of metal alloys, mainly Vibranium whereas Kokou is considered the Wakandan god of War

TAGLIST:

@tommymcartney ; thanks for inspiring me to keep writing! 📝

[intothemultifandom]

in spite of what critics are saying about the last few episodes of the the walking dead’s 11th and final season, there were a few things that just hit different especially with the finale: 

SPOILERS FOR TWD “REST IN PEACE” 11.24!!

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daryl barricading judith in the hospital the same way shane did to rick in 01x01 – like father, like daughter and even brother because he also carried her the same way rick carried carl when he got shot

 actually, daryl carrying judith into the hospital to save her life vs how he carried beth out after she was killed. the FEAR he must’ve felt given the last time he carried someone in/out from the hospital.

any scene between them + carol (keeping this short bc i can write a whole novel about their scenes) 

luke dying & being comforted by magna, yumiko, connie & kelly (his og group) during his final moments; even though he wasn’t seen for most of the season, dan folger’s acting + that of nadia hilker, eleanor matsuura, lauren ridloff & angel theory was TOP-TIER 

people always die in twd, but up until luke, the newish members of the group didn’t really suffer a sudden and harsh loss like the group from earlier seasons until now

that’s why his death + the group’s raw grief hit different when you consider how this is the first time we’ve seen them have to mourn one of their own so suddenly and with walkers literally banging on their doors

the team up of eugene porter & gabriel stokes = the two characters who, at one point of the story, were the weakest and most cowardly members of the group. i mean, the parallels of how they started vs. how they ended are insane:

eugene, who lied to abraham and rosita about knowing how to cure the infection almost making himself a martyr by telling the truth about the common wealth’s corruption, and 

gabriel, who locked his congregation outside his church to die being the first to open the gates for everyone even when pamela’s people had their guns pointed at him 

if twd did anything right, it was the development of these two characters

even if i didn’t know christian serratos chose rosita’s ending, i still would’ve thought she had a fitting end as one of the original (and last) big hitters for rick’s group on the road

it wasn’t painful and gory like abraham or glenn, shocking like sasha’s or even bittersweet like carl’s in the midst of war– rosita dies a dignified and otherwise peaceful death after all the bloodshed is said & done

she sees her people are safe, knows her daughter’s in good hands and finally lays to rest after fighting on the frontlines for so long

even with her gone, her final interaction with eugene at her side really cements that he is her and abraham’s legacy because “i’m glad it was you at the end” 

(someone make baby rosie looking up to older coco because her mom was her namesake + uncle eugene canon right now) 

this post-war celebration dinner mirroring the what-if dream dinner from 7x01 about what could’ve been (credit to this article for the pic: here) also makes rosita’s death so poignant to me because negan had likened the dream as something that wouldn’t ever happen

it’s not the same exact group and it wasn’t exactly her dream, but the sentiment remains the same

in the end, peace was possible for the alexandrians after all & i’m so glad rosita got to see this before she went & re-joined the others who are no longer at the table 

negan & maggie now established as two sides of the same coin: motives, beliefs and and now shared trauma of being unable to stop their partner from being killed (or almost killed, in negan’s case) as they’re about to start a family

maggie was never going to forgive him for what he did, but that in itself gives so much more substance to their spin-off and i can’t wait to see it happen 

rick “we are the walking dead” grimes + michonne “it’s true. forever” grimes – welcome back. 

[intothemultifandom]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 || 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱

PROMPT: You’re the supernatural mate of one of the most elite members of the Volturi guard. SPECIES: Revenant, The Old Guard (2020)

FIRST MEETING 

➔ Despite being the only one without a gift, there is a reason Felix is a permanent member of the Elite Guard.

➔ The skills that once served him as a Roman General and Gladiator has served him tremendously as the Volturi’s executioner and as the decades pass, so too does the thought of ever finding his mate.

➔ When serving his Masters guarantee him a new opponent he can battle, fight and conquer with every deserter and law-breaker he delivers to true death, it doesn’t exactly occur to him that he wants a mate. 

➔ And then he finds you amidst chaos and bloodshed, holding weapons he has not seen nor held in decades and roaring in a language even older than himself as you cut down men thrice your size, body bathed in red, and he is mesmerised. 

➔ As a vampire, he always though of himself as more of a simple one. More eager to fight and feed than fight and fuck.

➔ That is until you grin at him through a blood stained mouth as you stand in the centre of the battlefield and more than just venom burns through his veins. 

➔ You’re cut down eventually, and before Felix can speed towards you from where he is (and oh, how he rages), the sword pierced through your stomach slowly falls out as your skin stitches itself back together and you’re back on your feet again. Fighting and maiming as if death were a mere friend catching your attention. 

➔ Felix, not for the first time since he stumbled upon you, wants. 

YOUR RELATIONSHIP

➔ When you do get together, instead of traditional dates, you and your Goliath-sized mate can often be found in the training room, sparring.

➔ Instead of basic hand-to-hand combat, it comes to the surprise of newer guards when they stumble upon the two of you fighting each-other with different types of melee weapons.

➔ Their surprise soon turns to intrigue as steel clashes with steel, thunder booming across the Castle and they witness what looks to be an unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object: She who meets death as a friend and he who serves him faithfully.  

➔ Of course, 9 out 10 times the intrigue soon turns to embarrassment and mild disgust when Felix eventually gives in to the wanton stirring in his venom as he disregards his weapons in favour of a completely new battle in mind. He wants more than he’s ever wanted before and with the fervour in your response, you want just the same. 

➔ Beyond sparring, of course, the two of you are more reserved with your PDA and often wise can be found in Master Marcus’ grand library on more quiet days. 

➔ There, you teach him languages of ages he’s never heard of whilst he educates you on Vampire laws and the Lycanthrope species (Oddly, another supernatural species you’ve never come across before) before you talk about your lives thus far. 

➔ Between each lesson and study, there are fervent kisses and ardent touches and giving yourself so vulnerably to Felix means that for every piece of you he gets, he gives himself completely in turn. 

➔ And so falling more in love with him becomes an easy thing. 

➔ The uniqueness of your relationship is that for all that Felix delivers others unto death, Death cannot claim you. Not completely and certainly not when you are possibly the greatest warrior Felix has ever come across. 

➔ Even though being what you are means you do in fact “die” for a short period of time, your mate has learned to remain unfazed knowing that it is not for certain and that you will return to him always; ready to take on the next big battle (or whoever it was that killed you first), together.