#fic: chrysalis
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
dapper-lil-arts · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
The Chrysalis x Cadance pairing is so much funnier if its a polycule
11K notes · View notes
crowtrobotx · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Y’all!!!! Look at what @perhaps-relax surprised me with today! đŸ„ș It’s Karl and Kris from my fic Chrysalis! I cried in the club ngl. From this reference:
Tumblr media
41 notes · View notes
namebrandpessimist · 10 days ago
Text
Yall the one fanfic I was following that had a regular schedule is over now and I feel empty how will I live without the assurance of a new dose of jonmartin every thursday afternoon 😭😭
Go read the chrysalis phase on ao3
Spoilers in the tags
26 notes · View notes
ashleyfableblack · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
"Okay
 what about this one?" Queen Twilight tapped a hoof on the page. With a soft glow of her horn she drew out the complex symbol in the air as she sounded it out. "Vah
 Lahk. Varahk? Varrac!"
Chrysalis smiled. "Perhaps
" She sleepily craned her neck to study her most recent clutch of eggs. A sticky green resin held the precious charges in place, dangling from a nearby rocky overhang. As the wind funneled through the natural arch, they gently swung, rocked as a baby in a crib.
With a puff of her cheeks she blew a gust of glittering pinkish light in their direction. The love energy swirled around the eggs like an octopus ink, clouding the air in a warm soupy fog before it was absorbed into the tiny grey orbs. The as-yet-unborn gobbling up the nourishment from their mother. Chrysalis gave a sleepy yawn and began to slowly drift to laying on her side,. She wondered if they, too would have violet eyes like their little lavender pony other-mother.
"Chryssi?" Twilight gave her wife a gentle prodding with her wingtip. "Honeybug?"
"MRZussaffm
" Chrysalis's eyes struggled open.
Twilight gave an pleading grin at the pitifully adorable sight of the little larvae nuzzled around her bughorse bride as they tucked into the translucent tresses of her cobweb-mane. "Chryssi
?"
Chrysalis chittered to one of the larvae and gave her an affectionate nip, removing a flake of molting chitin. "I'm sorry, beloved. I'm just-" she yawned again . "You know your pony naming conventions are so unnecessary to our changelings. They're hatched knowing their designations through the hive-mind."
Twilight pouted with a pleading smile as she leafed through the pages of the incredibly ancient book. "I know it's a point of cultural confusion between our races, beetlebum. That's why I'm trying to incorporate more of your culture and try some names more familiar to your people and your people's history- while at the same time educating myself on the Ancient Equish language and history." She held the book aloft in her magic with a prideful flourish, still carefully keeping her place in its pages. "THUS, we are using one of your old journals from the pre-Sucrosian Period!"
Chrysalis sighed and gave a playful roll of her eyes in surrender. She had to chuckle. When Twilight was like this, she truly couldn't deny her little wife anything. She watched with interest as Twilight opened her old journal. Two of their larvae quickly skittered from the navy waves of her wife's mane to climb on the millenia-old manuscript. Excited to help their ponymother, they chittered happily, holding the page in place with their forelimbs.
"So
. Varrac?" Twilight asked with a bright, curious smile.
"Well, she was good with snakes."
Twilight looked from the ancient book to one of the tiny changeling larvae cuddled into her crest of alicorn chest-fluff. "Are you a 'Varrac'? Are you going to be good with snakes?"
The tiny face lit up like a Hearthswarming bonfire at her ponymother's excited smile. She hissed out her tiny forked tongue and wiggled her little caterpillar-like rump of a tail segment. Twilight fawned with motherly pride and nosed at the tiny changeling babe. "I'll bet you will be. Of course you will. You look just like a Varrac."
Chrysalis adored moments like these, lazy afternoons together with her wife, watching her excitement and pride as she learned new things. Pouring over old volumes of any sort, Twilight came to life in a whole other way. Knowledge was her passion.
"Let's see here
 What about
 This one, V
.Vaaa
.Varghan?"
Chrysalis peered over the tome. "Vabam. As I recall she 
was good with secrets
. good at telling them anyways."
Twilight crinkled her nose at that thought. Looking to one of the larvae she shook her head. "That doesn't sound like you, does it?" The tiny changeling babe tilted her head. returning her ponymother's smile and shake of the head. "No. You're not a Vabam. That's an honest little face if I've ever seen one. Hmmmm
."
She continued pouring over the swirling, magical symbols. With Chrysalis tutelage she was learning the art of reading them but still, the practice was FAR more complicated than any language she'd ever encountered. Deciphering the symbols was as much mental wrestling as it was arcane finesse, even compared to the darkest and most ancient of pony magics. "Okay, what about
 Sssssurgat? No. I remember you said something once about that one. She liked to pick locks or
. Oo! Suluth! What about that one, Chryssi?"
After a few moments of silence Twilight looked up from the page. "Chrysalis?"
She chuckled. Chrysalis had dozed off. Their tiny charges, nestled secure in the tucked chitinous hooves of their armored queen-mother, mirrored her gentle snoring.
"Oh well." Twilight sighed. With a curling of the enchanted waves of her mane she drew the larvae gathered around her into her crest of chest floof. "I guess that can be enough for today."
The alicorn queen softly shut the tome. With a mother's love, she gently carried her little buggy babes with her as she sidled over to the slumbering bughorse. After a few moments of ooching she eventually found her way into the creche of her wife's limbs and In the enchanted air of sweet summer breeze the royal family drifted off together.
92 notes · View notes
drarry-reccage · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
before a fall by @eleadore (65k, E)
tags: slow burn, eighth year, everyone is allergic to apologies and that's how we like it
The stubborn chill of winter finally gives way to spring. The days get longer, packed to the brim with activity, but everything becomes indistinct next to Draco Malfoy, blurry and not quite there while he stands in stark relief, the long, long line of his neck and his proud back. The fragile curve of his skull. Harry likes to cradle it when they kiss, take the impact of the hard stone against his knuckles when he shoves Draco up against the wall.  "Stop that," Draco says, while Harry's palming the fine hair at the back of his head, kneading at the divot where it meets his neck. His eyes are closed, but Harry likes to look at him. "Stop doing that."  "What?"  "Holding me," Draco says nonsensically, and jerks his head back to prove his point. Harry keeps his crushed hand just there, between his head and the wall, and Draco's eyes snap open. Then narrow. "Stop it, Potter."  Another jerk. Harry's knuckles are going to bruise.  Draco bites when Harry kisses him and then, quite abruptly, softens and moulds into him like a lover, hands under his shirt and tracing over the sensitive skin of his back, scratching just so, gentle. After, when they've ended up on the floor catching their breath, he will reach over to take Harry's hand and examine the bruises, curious. He'll press on them and when Harry winces, look rather pleased.  He remains capricious, even in this—especially in this. The more Harry learns of him the less he knows. 
(rec by @garagepaperback)
85 notes · View notes
chrysalis-thestateofchange · 4 months ago
Text
*â€ąÌ©Ì©Í™âœ©â€ąÌ©Ì©Í™* ── | “Snapped” | ── *â€ąÌ©Ì©Í™âœ©â€ąÌ©Ì©Í™*
Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)
Tumblr media
Atlas surveys the streets below, sure he must be dreaming.
Taking up the entire back wall of the hotel room is a long, shiny floor-to-ceiling window.
A window.
He can’t remember the last time he’d seen one. The warehouse, despite its many floors and levels, didn’t have any. Not ones that led outside, anyway. And definitely not ones as grand as this one. It was nothing but the same steel-gray walls along every hallway, stretching on endlessly, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. His bedroom had been like that too: four bare, gray walls, not a single window in sight.
But here — here he can see it all.
The darkened streets stretch out below him, bustling with cars and people. It isn’t as crowded here as it had been when he’d first drove with Wren this morning, less people around to watch. Still
 It’s beautiful.
Outside. He can really see outside.
Wren’s van sits out in front of them in the parking lot, the pale white of the paint glistening from the streetlight overhead. Wren had slid into the parking lot only fifteen minutes prior, flashing a sleek credit card in his direction, proclaiming it was for “emergencies only”, before leading him inside the hotel. It’s a nicer place than the rest of the buildings he’s seen today — much cleaner than the McDonalds — with shiny elevators and smooth marble floors, a few people bustling around in the hallways; kids and adults alike, smiling and laughing with each other. 
Now settled in their hotel room, he can spot a few men gathered on the corner of the street, little wisps of smoke drifting up into the night air around them from their cigarettes. They’re laughing loudly, throwing their heads back, mouths spread out in a grin. Atlas wonders what it’s like, to laugh like that.
He stands there in silence, simply taking it all in, eyes flickering towards every person that passes by on the street, to every car in the distance. They are all but blurs of colour in the darkness of the night, the illumination of streetlights casting a dull glow over everything, the lights from nearby shops slowly starting to flicker off as the day falls to a close.
Atlas is pulled away from the serene view at Wren’s eyes on him.
They look up at him from their spot criss-crossed on the floor, face curious as he meets their gaze. They pat the spot beside them, expectantly waiting for him to sit.
He hesitates for a moment, scanning their expression for any hint of hostility. He still isn’t sure what to think of them. They’re brash and rude — not to mention stupid — but then again, they’d genuinely tried to help him, hadn’t they? Slowly, he obliges, taking the seat next to them.
Wren fixes their gaze back onto the street below, pressing their forehead into the glass. “How old are you?”
Atlas bristles at the question. “You first.”
All day they’d been asking things like this, trying to
 get information out of him. He guesses it’s what anyone would do, he is a practical stranger, after all. But a part of him can’t help but feel on guard at it. He isn’t supposed to tell people about himself, isn’t supposed to give anything away. Especially to someone from outside of Eden. Though, he guesses, he isn’t a part of Eden anymore either, is he? Those rules don’t apply to him anymore.
Not after he left them.
Wren sighs, but for once doesn’t push, instead opting for answering his deflection. “Fine asshole. I’m fourteen.”
Atlas falls quiet at their answer, weighing his options. Eden’s rules don’t technically apply to him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he really cares about Wren, either. It isn’t like they’ve ever been nice to him before now. Still, it isn’t like he’s going to gain anything from being so prudent with them. And telling them his age can’t be that bad
.
“I’m fifteen.” He relents.
Their head jerks towards him at his answer, eyes going wide in shock as they mumble, “You’re just a kid.”
Atlas’ gaze doesn’t leave the window, his face still a perfect mask of calm, the only movement coming from him being his eyes as they scan the different buildings outside. “I’m older than you.” He points out.
Wren clicks their tongue loudly and shrugs, tearing their face away from the window again to glance at him. “Yeah. I’m a kid too.”
Atlas focuses on a particular car — a deep maroon in colour, with a dent in the side, little chips along the paint. He places all his attention on it, taking nice, even breaths, holding back his urge to scream at them. He’s never felt so miserable, so helplessly alone, in his entire life. “My age doesn’t matter.” He responds, voice clipped. So just shut the fuck up already.
Wren rolls their eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration. “Yeah. Did they tell you that too? Did they tell you it doesn’t matter that you’re a literal kid?”
Atlas stiffens. “That’s none of your concern.”
Wren sighs and leans back on their hands, still staring out the window. “Fine, whatever.” They go silent for a long moment before a thought suddenly occurs to them. “What’s your name? Do you have a name?” They ask, glancing back towards him.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He says coldly, unable to hold the exasperation from leaking into his voice. Wren seems to have that sort of effect on him; he never feels quite so defensive or angry as he does when he’s around them.
Wren huffs, sagging forwards and resting their forehead upon the glass once again. They seem unable to sit still for more than a minute, constantly fidgeting and moving around. Atlas has never found something quite so irritating. “Look, I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But we can’t do anything unless you trust me a little. At least enough to give me your name.”
“I don’t need to give you anything.” Atlas replies rigidly. He decides that he in fact isn’t going to tell them anything. He’s out of Eden now, so that means he can choose. There are no rules against that, not anymore. And Wren is definitely not his superior. He likes it better this way. That way they can’t use anything against him. That way he still has the slight upper hand.
Wren lets out a long, hard sigh, rocking for a minute before flopping all the way back, lying flat on the scratchy carpet. “Okay. Whatever.” They mumble, closing their eyes.
Atlas doesn’t move.
Wren thumps their feet on the floor rhythmically, disturbing Atlas’ peace. “Fine, I don’t need to know your name. Do you have a favourite colour?” They ask, glancing towards his hair, a shaggy mullet with burgundy streaks littering throughout it. “Is it red?”
“Is yours blue?” Atlas counters, still annoyingly refusing to answer any of their questions. He can’t stand it — can’t stand sitting here, with them, can’t stand their constant chattering. He wants to be at the warehouse, with Cato, with Ira; wants to be in his dorm room, curled up on his cozy bed. Wants to be training, the familiar feeling of his staff in his hands, strength surging through his core. He wants to be at home.
You left that, remember? He chides himself. That isn’t your home, not anymore.
“Very clever. Did you figure that all on your own?” Wren asks, pulling him from his thoughts.
“It doesn’t take a genius.” He grunts, not once glancing toward them to meet their gaze.
“Sarcasm.” They mutter. “You dye it yourself?” They gesture vaguely towards his hair.
Atlas answers with nothing but a curt nod, hand subconsciously raising to fiddle with his hair, a dark red strand twirling around his fingers. 
“Me too. I’ve spent too much money on box dye.”
Atlas hums. He still remembers with perfect clarity the first time Ira came over with box dye and helped him with his hair — almost as if it was just yesterday.
He had been twelve. She’d swung into his dorm room with a small grin, waving the box around like it was pure gold. It had been, to him. He remembers, up until then, he’d barely even had belongings to himself. No books beside his textbooks, no notebooks or paper besides the ones supplied to him for his lessons. No souvenirs, no nothing. His room had genuinely been bare. Just a bed and a small desk pushed into the corner. Wren had commented on the absolute emptiness of his room, but it was nothing compared to back then.
So when Ira had offered to dye his hair, he’d been over-the-moon. For as long as he could remember, her hair was always done up in some interesting way. A streak of colour, or ombrĂ©, or jaggedly cut in a way that Atlas wished he could pull off. He remembers how excitement coursed through his bones as she helped him chop off his ordinary, plain black locks for the shaggy mullet that he then kept for the past three years. That pure, child-like excitement
 it was the best feeling in the entire world.
Wren doesn’t take his lack of a response as a sign he isn’t in the mood for a conversation, simply continuing to talk. They might as well be talking to themself, for all that it matters. “The first time I dyed my hair, I bleached it without instructions. It was so bad, it started falling out of my head.”
Atlas still doesn’t react, simply winding his hair around his finger, over and over and over again. Its soothing, almost. Something to focus on. 
Wren continues. “I had a big bald spot on the side of my head for the entire first part of 6th grade. My mom bought me this hair growth stuff for bald guys. Didn’t work at all.”
Atlas doesn’t give them a second of his attention. He stares out the window, watching out into the streets below, half-forgetting to blink. He wants to be out on those streets, walking. Free. It has never been a thought he admitted — not in full extent — but out of everything in the entire universe, that has always been his dream. To go out, by himself, no watchful eye of his commander or the judgemental gaze of a scrawny insufferable rebel. Just him and the quiet of the night, the chill of the breeze cooling the back of his neck. Calm, contented peace. 
Wren’s gaze doesn’t leave him as they sit up, scooting closer to his side. “Hey
?” They ask, leaning over slightly and waving their hand in front of his face. 
“Hm?” Atlas hums, his piercing gaze falling upon them. This is the closest they’ve dared get to him, only inches apart. “What is it?”
Wren furrows their brows at him. “You went all zombie on me.”
“I was listening.” Atlas says dismissively. What he really wants to say to them is “shut up, I do not want to talk to you right now, or ever, for that matter”, but he holds his tongue. He wants to do many things — shove Wren away from him, scream at them, beat their annoying face until it’s black and blue, run away from them and never come back — but that does not mean that he can actually do them. He’s stuck with Wren, as much as he hates it, so the best he can do is try to tolerate them. For now.
Wren frowns but shrugs, brushing past it. “Okay.” They say, leaning away to resume their position of resting their forehead against the window, letting out a heavy exhale as they do so. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”
Atlas focuses his attention back upon the window, watching outside in silence for a second. If he was to be honest, he’d say that he really couldn’t care less if Wren told him anything about themself. But he knows that’s not what they want to hear. “Whatever you would like to tell me.” He says with the slightest of shrugs. We are not friends. He thinks. And we will never be friends. There’s nothing you can do or say that will ever change my mind on that.
Wren rolls their eyes with a loud and dramatic groan. “That’s not how this works. I’ve told you plenty and you won’t even respond.” They say, shooting him a scowl.
Atlas hums. “What would you like me to say?” There’s a reason I didn’t answer, you dunce.
“I dunno man. Usually you’re supposed to acknowledge what someone’s saying.” They say with another loud huff. “Whatever, you get a free pass because you got brainwashed.”
Don’t fucking speak to me like that.  
“I’m not brainwashed.” Atlas mutters, side-eying them.  
Wren clicks their tongue and scoffs. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, but you kind of are man.”
Atlas scowls. You’re a naive, stupid child that thinks they know everything because they managed to steal a few fucking files. You’ll never amount to even a sliver of what I am right now, even if you spent your entire life trying. Pull your head out of your fucking ass.
“You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do.” 
Atlas’ words only cause Wren to shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot more than you.” They point out matter-of-factly.
Atlas is so sick of Wren’s constant comments, their know-all attitude. Their audacity. All he’s had to deal with this entire day is their snarky quips, poking and prodding, rubbing salt into his sore wounds.
He should’ve known better. They’re a rebel, after all. Rebels are cruel, apathetic. Why would they care about what he’s lost, what he’s sacrificed, leaving with them? A homeless middle schooler with a clunky, dirty van that barely operates on its own. And he’s supposed to just be grateful, accept their treatment with the same grace he always holds. 
They don’t have a single clue about what his life was like, the hardship and struggles he’s had to endure. They don’t know how much he gave away, just to join their shitty little grandiose delusion of “revolution”. They make him sick.
Fuck, I’m so tired. 
He gives them a hard glare. “No, you didn’t.”
Wren narrows their eyes at him, giving him a skeptical glance before sighing. “What-ever.”
This finally snaps Atlas’ resolve.
It isn’t their dismissal that does it, more an accumulation of the last day. He should know better than this, should know better than to snap at them like he does, but suddenly the burning anger that has been boiling, slow and steady, in his chest all day is exploding out of him, hot as flames. Unrestrained.
“I hate you.” He spits, whipping around to glare down at them with pure hatred shining in his eyes. “At least Eden treated me kindly. At least I belonged.” His voice shakes, emotion slipping through in a way it hasn’t in — he doesn’t even know how long. Years? A decade? Forever? “At least I wasnïżœïżœt stuck with an insolent child.”
His words come out quick and sharp, a part of him almost too scared to even say them. He can’t remember ever speaking out against someone in his entire life. He isn’t supposed to — it’s against the rules. He’s supposed to keep his feelings in check; a soldier who can’t keep control over themself is as good to Eden as a ticking time bomb. Soldiers are polite. Soldiers are obedient. Soldiers don’t voice their own opinions. Soldiers don’t have opinions — don’t have emotions. For all of his life, he has been this: The perfect soldier.
But what had that gotten him in the end?
“You don’t know anything about what it was like.” He says coldly. He has to admit to himself, actually voicing what he’s been thinking the entire day
. It feels kind of good.
Wren’s eyes widen slightly, a look of shock that gives Atlas the slightest hint of satisfaction evident on their features. They slowly tilt their head up to look at him again, the words hanging lowly in the air between them, turning the atmosphere thick with tension.
Finally, Wren breaks the dreadful silence. “Yeah, I get it.” They say, pausing for a moment, as if they were for once going to put in a sliver of thought before they spit out some crude insult at him. “I don’t expect you to like me. And I don’t really care if you do.”
Their face is calm, voice even as they speak. It feels as if they are addressing an explosive child, not a boy who has spent the last fifteen years of his life carefully pushing down his true feelings for what matters, who always does what he’s told without questions, who works and works and works. Who doesn’t know what it’s like to experience true relaxation — true peace.
“I may not know what it was like,” they say, the slightest bit of exasperation in their voice. “But I know what would’ve happened if you stayed.”
It’s like a slap to the face. Atlas pales, the thought of the files — the videos; the horrific images of torture, torture that he would’ve endured, torture that Eden had been doing on its own soldiers for years — causing his mouth to instantly snap shut.
The smug feeling dissipates just as fast as it comes. There is no rebuttal to their statement. Although he never would admit to it, both he and Wren know that they are right. What had been waiting for him after today
.
He doesn’t even want to think about it.
In one swift movement, Atlas jumps to his feet. His hands are shaking as he roughly turns on his heel, stalking out of the room and making a beeline for the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he feels the careful control he has over his emotions slip through his fingers, anger burning in his chest fiery hot, flushing his cheeks red.
He fucking hates it here.
The door slams behind him with a sharp bang.
He is shaking as he enters the bathroom, his entire body trembling, the weight he’s been holding upon his shoulders for too long finally cracking away at his perfectly poised exterior, slipping him under the waves of unconstrained emotions he has tried so hard to dull. His control is dissipating faster than he can manage, the short rapid breaths through his nose doing nothing to cool the fury within him. 
The stress of the past 24 hours — no, the entire past month — have taken their hold on him, sending him spiraling down a well of no return. He is untethered, boundless, suffocating in the infinite unknown of space. And there is not that usual rough calloused hand to pull him back to safety, reassurances of warmth and belonging easing him back to reality. 
His reflection glares back at him, only inches away. The boy in the mirror is a shameful thing, cheeks all blotchy and red, flushed by his rage; eyes glassy and tinged with tears, squinting with a determined will to force them back; his chest is heaving, uncontrollable gasps slipping from his lips. 
He hates it. 
He hates all of it. He hates the perfectly tidy bathroom, too similar to Eden, with its sparse toiletries, carefully unordinary, and pale gray walls, no decorations adorning them. Too similar to what he left behind — what he’s missing so desperately. 
He hates not knowing what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to act. Before today he had every single second in every single minute carefully and methodically planned out, his whole future set in stone, just waiting for him to arrive. And now he is lost, his plans of a picture-perfect future set aflame, all notions of normalcy or structure crumbling to ash with it. He is a nobody, with nothing to his name.
Useless. He’s fucking useless.
He hates these new emotions swirling up inside of him. He hates being so fucking angry, every breath of air igniting his insides, erasing this perfect persona he has crafted so delicately for himself. He hates this new life, hates this stupid smartass kid who thinks they know better than he does, thinks they’re somehow greater and better because they didn’t get roped up into a corporation like Eden, didn’t fall for the sweet-as-honey lies, the manipulated comforts. He hates living in a van, hates having no home. 
But most of all
.
He hates himself. 
· · ───────── ê’°àŠŒÂ·âœŠÂ·à»’ê’± ───────── · ·
“I was gonna shower, asshole.” 
Wren stares at the closed bathroom door with a scowl. The boy has shut himself in there and it looks like he’s not going to come out anytime soon. Great. Just what they needed. 
They sigh, standing up and flopping back onto the bed with a groan, their body limp. The mattress bounces underneath their weight, creaking in rhythm. The blankets are smooth, though not cozy and gentle like the ones they have back at home, impossibly soft to the touch. But they’ll do, much more comforting than their worn-down sleeping bag rolled up in the van, which is much overdue for a wash. 
They stare up at the ceiling, eyes bleary from exhaustion. It is in this quietness, a sort of rest washing over them for the first time all day without the boy’s tense presence to bother them, that the realization dawns on them that they haven’t really slept properly at all in weeks. At Eden they were on constant alert, left with the choice of camping out in their van half a mile off-grounds or cloaking themself somewhere ambiguous, body forced into a small, impossibly cramped crawl space no one would think to search. And this morning they woke up far too early for their own liking, the boy’s piercing violet gaze disrupting their dreams. 
They groan, turning their head towards the bathroom door. The water isn’t even running. “Hey,” they call out. “You gonna shower? Or can I?” 
They wait and the air is left brimming with tension as silence stretches out, no response coming from the other side of the door. “Hello?” 
The sound of slight shuffling is the only noise they can catch. 
They frown, sliding off the bed and going to stand in front of the door; their eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled taut. “Dude, you good?” They ask, voice louder this time, fist brought down in a light knock. 
An explosion of fury booms from behind the door, ripping the next words from Wren’s tongue. 
“SHUT UP!” The boy screams, unbridled rage cracking his voice. It is deafening, hitting Wren with a truckload of emotion that has evidently been pushed down for far longer than he’s capable of withstanding. It's a violent kind of rage, one that’s dangerous to get caught up in. A stark contrast to the quiet and polite attitude from before — Wren is almost unsure if it came from him. “FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE.”
Wren flinches slightly at his outburst, the anger coming unexpected. Their eyes are wide and they are still for a moment, lips parted slightly. Shit. 
With a sigh, they turn away from the door. If he wanted to be left alone, then Wren would leave him alone. That bursting, uncontrollable anger is one they are all too familiar with. It’s no use in trying to comfort him, they’ve never been very good at that anyway. They’re sure their presence is only making his breakdown worse.
They turn and shuffle through their bag, pulling out a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt. They carry it to the door before dropping it in front of it wordlessly, and returning to sit on the bed. 
The bathroom is quiet for a second, so quiet that Wren thinks the boy has calmed down. They listen out for any further sound, and it’s at that moment that a large crash cuts through their hotel room. There’s a deafening bang, the sound of smashing glass shattering from behind the closed door. Wren gasps as a series of muffled thumps follow, clattering and clanging alerting them of the destruction reigned upon the bathroom. 
The sound of running water hisses from the tap and Wren grimaces, wiping at their face, their exhaustion settling in. They kick off their shoes, curling up under the covers. This should have been expected. 
They can shower tomorrow. 
Tumblr media
Masterlist || Previous || Next
TAGLIST \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will
★ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ★
A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter â‹†Ëšàż”
─ O.A. .ᐟ
29 notes · View notes
oros-ash3s · 5 months ago
Text
Takes place in the RIKIYO GEUN arc
.àŒ‰â€§â‚ŠËš
Atlas struggles with his mental health very heavily by the time he is 20. He is a man who is in many ways still a boy, having been thrust into a war before he could even properly speak, given no time to develop, to grow into himself. He has been groomed into this since he was 5-years-old, having all of his ideologies and opinions influenced by those who had superiority over him. By the time he is 16 he has not shed these beliefs, even if he has abandoned Eden. He carries them with him every single day, viewing Wren and Alastair as his duty as a protector first, and his friends second. He simply doesn’t know any better.
By the time he is 19 he has been kidnapped, tortured, and stripped of his memories. His identity is a huge part of who he is, and it’s one of his main struggles throughout the story. He has lived his entire life putting up a persona of who Eden wanted him to be, and when he has his memories entirely removed, he is left to wonder who exactly is he? Even after he recovers from his amnesia he doesn’t know the answer to this question, a hollow spot left inside him from the damage that Eden ensued.
Enter the Rikiyo arc.
As much as Atlas has tried his best to recover from his time under Eden’s command, it's difficult for him to properly do this when he doesn’t have any access to professional help or a strong adult support system in his life. He’s in the middle of a war that he did not have any decision over being a part of, and as something such as a war is, he is not allowed to rest for very long.
Just after he turns 20 he is called on his first big mission in over two years. He, Wren, Alastair, and the two leaders of the Alliance, Kokoa and Kau’i, are sent to infiltrate one of the Cardinal’s temples and gather intel about the Congregation of the Chosen. They’re supposed to free any humans that are being kept, and destroy the temple.
The mission is a disaster.
It in many ways is what leads to Atlas and Alastair’s inevitable fallout. Although things had already been tense between the two after Alastair’s month-long stay with a certain scientist, but this is the final nail in the coffin.
Unlike many of the other foes the trio faced together, Rikiyo is nothing like them. Because Rikiyo has her sights set on one thing and one thing only: Alastair.
Atlas is used to being the centre of attention. From the minute he was taken to Eden he was treated as this important figure, told over and over that he’s a hero. He still believes this at 20 years old, even if it is a very black-and-white way of thinking. People have always wanted something from him. Whether it be Eden, who wants him for his powers and strength, who wishes to mold him into a weapon to turn the tides of the war. Or it be the AOM, which held him to very high regard when he first arrived with Wren and Alastair. Wren and Alastair have always looked up to him, seen him as their leader. He has this notion that he still needs to be their leader, even if he’s
. changed.
But Rikiyo doesn’t even acknowledge him.
.àŒ‰â€§â‚ŠËš
It is Atlas’ voice that cuts through this scene of horror: “Let me take his place.”
He is standing still, jaw set. There is a fiery light present in his eyes, a flash of foolish bravery that these four walls don’t see often. His fists are clenched and he has his chin pointed, danger flickering across his face. He stares at the woman looming over Alastair as if she is an ungodly beast — which is in a way completely true. He stares at her as if he is only seconds from marching over and ripping her limb from limb.
Alastair stiffens, an ugly feeling washing over him. He lets out a grunt of protest, a sort of angry desperation shining in his eyes, “Atlas, you don’t know—”
“Free him.” Atlas cuts him off sharply, still staring straight ahead. There is a tenseness in his brows that Alastair knows all too well, this stubborn look in his expression that tells him all he needs to know: Atlas has made up his mind and there’s nothing they can do to stop him. “Free him and take me instead. I’ll be your prisoner. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you let him go.”
Rikiyo doesn’t bat an eye. “No.”
Her words are clipped and sharp, as if he is a lowly bug, an annoyance that is doing nothing but interrupting her from her fun. Her golden gaze is still fixed on Alastair, piercing through him as if he is a prize, or, perhaps, her next meal. She won’t turn to look in the other boy’s direction.
Atlas’ expression wavers, his anger quickly dissipating at the harshness in her answer. He blinks, his calm composure beginning to fade. It is as if he has never heard these words before, as if he didn’t even consider the idea that Rikiyo wouldn’t accept his offer. Sacrificing himself was the only option. It was what he did, what he had always done. He is supposed to be the saviour; the hero. If he is not the one enduring the suffering, then what is the point? What is his use?
“What?” He croaks, suddenly nervous. Surely he misheard her. Surely there has been some sort of mistake. There had to be. He’s supposed to save Alastair. He needs to. “I said I’ll take his place, I’ll be your servant instead—”
“And I said no.” Rikiyo doesn’t allow him to finish. Her back is still turned to him, not allowing him to even try and decipher what she’s feeling. What she’s playing at.
A small noise escapes Atlas’ throat, desperate and confused. He swallows hard, his usual level-headed tactics and calm defiance not the thing that next leaves his lips, but instead a horrified question. “Why?”
“Because,” Rikiyo cards a single slender hand through Alastair’s hair, her smile gloating; cruel. The boy shivers underneath her grip, terror freezing him in his spot. “I don’t want you.”
She says it like the answer is obvious, like even an idiot could have pieced it together. But to Atlas, it couldn’t make less sense. She’s supposed to want him. He’s stronger than Alastair, he’s more of a threat. He’s powerful. He has so much to give her.
So why doesn’t she want it?
And why does he
. Wish she did?
.àŒ‰â€§â‚ŠËš
Atlas doesn’t know what to do when he isn’t wanted. He as a person has been shaped by the mentality that he needs to be wanted, needed, used, at all times. He needs to have a purpose, needs to be serving someone.
But it is the Rikiyo arc that he is completely tossed to the side. Every act of defiance is met with complete indifference. For once he is not the thing being used against others, but instead on the receiving end. If he acts out Alastair will be punished, killed.
And it is this long, tiresome month at Rikiyo’s temple that Atlas has the realization that he isn’t needed. Eden doesn’t want him anymore — he’s defected, useless. He’s no help to his friends. He can’t lead them or protect them like he used to. He’s impulsive and unstable, driven by fear that he previously thought he didn’t hold.
He isn’t a hero, or a saviour. He isn’t a good person at all. He’s a lonesome man with the blood of hundreds on his hands. He can’t do anything right, can’t even do the one thing he has always known: Fight.
He has no purpose.
.àŒ‰â€§â‚ŠËš
You're free to have everything you can see
All that you want from me
Free to be all that you want to be
Do what you want with me
— Step On Me by The Cardigans
Tumblr media
taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk
36 notes · View notes
hurricanek8art · 4 months ago
Text
Nightmares and Memories: a Legacy of the Sith one-shot
In which I am apparently posting fic now? I DON'T KNOW. I've had this drabble written since the rumors about a certain someone's return started a few months ago as a "just in case" and now it's really relevant and I'm hopped up on Celebration excitement and frustration over not being able to solve that art problem. SO FIC. I GUESS. *INTERNAL SCREAMING*
Agent Chrysali Vidoi is used to nightmares, what with all the ghosts from her past and skeletons in her closet—but some are worse than others, and this one might be the worst of them all, because he's the only one left that she's genuinely afraid of. Set somewhere around the beginning of 7.5's story. Spoilers for that and some of 7.6 obviously abound. Sticking most of it under a read more because of that, and also because I'm slightly terrified and it's less of a jumpscare when I open the SWTOR tag. 🙃
...I need some kind of divider graphic for summaries for if when i post more writing instead of just a line of these (~~~) thingies i forgot what they're called...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This wasn't right.
She was on the deck of his flagship. The Eradicators were outside the viewport. This wasn't right. This was all space flotsam.
This wasn't right.
This.
Wasn't.
Right.
"Hello, Agent."
Chills went down her spine. The air flew out of her lungs. She turned, trying to draw her blades, her blasters, something, but it was too late. In a heartbeat, she was in the air though nothing was touching her, pinned to the bulkhead like an insect. She couldn't struggle. She couldn't even move.
"It's been a long time," he said, unreadable behind the featureless mask. His hands were folded behind his back, she could feel his eyes upon her. Sweat rolled down her face. Tears poured from her eyes. Don't, please don't, don't look at me, don't—
"You have changed in our years apart. Grown stronger, I think. You have something to lose now, something to fight for. It's emboldened you. Made you even more dangerous."
No, please, no, no—
"Oh, do not concern yourself with that. I do not come seeking revenge," he said coolly, taking a few steps forward. The pressure in her lungs, the fear in her mind, increased with every micrometer. "At least, not yet. Not now. I wanted to see how you've changed before I make my move."
Her heart pounded in her chest, in her throat, in her ears, but still she was trapped, and he grew ever closer, faces centimeters apart now.
"I have waited all this time. Planned. Strategized. Looking for the perfect moment to finally strike. I believe that time grows close now. So close I can almost taste it. I am coming, Agent. I shall return."
Her voice struggled to leave her throat. "Why... tell... me?"
"I chose you all that time ago, did I not? You and I are alike. Made unique from our peers. Alone in the galaxy because of it." His mask was almost touching her face, it was so close. She couldn't breathe. "You defied my offer before. But I am generous. I will extend the offer to stand by my side once more, and once more only. I trust you to make the correct decision, when the time comes. Goodbye, Agent. Until we meet again..."
Chrysali's entire body shuddered and jerked as she awoke, gasping for air. Strands of hair stuck to her face with sweat, loose pajamas clinging to her skin, and her heart hammered and thudded against her ribs. Chills went up and down her bare arms, the soft red light of the cybernetic nodes studded along her arms and shoulders steadily blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark in the bedroom, and awareness of where she actually was began to sink in. She was safe, she was home, he wasn't here—
"Chrys?" Theron mumbled sleepily. He must've been woken up when she sat up so suddenly and shifted his arm around her. "Everything okay?"
She fought to steady her breathing, still searching the room. "I—the flagship, the Eradicators—Jadus, he was there, he spoke to me—"
He groggily sat up with her, awake but not quite alert. "What do you mean?"
"He was—was talking about returning. He wants me to serve him again. I can't—I won't—I—"
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," Theron said quietly. He put an arm around her, rubbing her arm soothingly. "Sounds like another bad nightmare. You've had these before."
"This one was so real," Chrysali breathed, panting slightly.
"But it's gone now," Theron soothed. "C'mon, let's go back to sleep, we've got a busy day tomorrow." He glanced at the chrono on the opposite wall and groaned softly as he laid back down. "Today. We have a busy day today. In about five hours."
Right. They were still tracking Shae, however poorly that was going. And Chrysali was still putting feelers out with her old network to dig up more dirt on Heta Kol, see if they could tackle that part of the problem from a different direction. Lots to do.
"The human cost is acceptable. The only alternative is to let Jadus escape—and do worse down the line."
"The human cost isn't acceptable to me!"
She shuddered at the old memories, trying to push them away. It was so long ago now. And Lana had tracked Jadus briefly during the Zildrog incident, he was somewhere in the Unknown Regions, minding his business on his own little planetoid. He wasn't an active threat. They were okay. They were safe. She was safe. Theron was safe.
Chrysali settled back in, head in its usual spot on Theron's chest so she could listen to his heart, hand rested against his ribs and over the scar tissue from Nathema. Theron was already back asleep, arm instinctively back around her and settled just right so he could feel her breathing.
They were safe.
It was just a nightmare.
It had to be.
Slowly, uneasily, Chrysali drifted off back to sleep
17 notes · View notes
h4amarch · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
just sketches for now, i’ll render these later when im not on 4 hrs of sleep
Me when I make a whole in-depth Magical Kel AU but with 3 pages of worldbuilding and a lawful good mascot alien character with a complex motive and a hivemind
Don’t worry about it
13 notes · View notes
patchworkpoltergeist · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Queen Chrysalis wants the changelings restored to former glory. Cozy Glow wants power and freedom. They both want a family. There is a simple way to solve all of these problems. Provided, of course, a moment or two of discomfort.
In which Chrysalis and Cozy Glow have a girls' night, watch sports, and come to an agreement.
CORONATION DAY IS LIVE. Second half goes up tomorrow.
As per usual, I'm a bad judge of how hard I hit after staring at a draft for months. Nothing above a T-rating, but mind the tags. As with Honesty Hour, we're entering in flavor country.
(Everybody say thank you to my friend Zee for making me a cover c:)
11 notes · View notes
twisparklez · 10 months ago
Text
i swear like forever ago there was this youtube video of chrysalis and luna in college and luna was like emo and chryssy was like some preppy girl and it was so cute and they were totally dating and it’s been plaguing my mind and i need to find it and
15 notes · View notes
dapper-lil-arts · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
It's finaly ready to begin-- My biggest fic yet, Across the Shimmerverse! Drawing this poster took more time than it took to write 5 chapters lmao. And I actually got some friends to help out with it too! @frogkimmy My gf drew three, Magician Shimmer (Near top left!) Fluttershy druid (right next to her) and Pirate Shimmer (top right) @zoeyhorse drew Starlight glimmer (Top left)
@yaspup9000 drew plenty, Princess Moondancer (Bottom left) Starswirl (top) and Alicorn of Chaos and joy Pinkie Pie (bottom right) And even Zecora (Center) @prrplefungi drew nightmare moon, (top right gorgeous!) LunaSnow drew Vampire Queen Rarity (left) And Sunset and Tempest (top right) And the rest, comically, was all me, lmao. Here's some zoom ins under the cut!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Click for better quality! There you go! This poster was waaaaaayy too big. But hey, it looks nice.
932 notes · View notes
crowtrobotx · 11 days ago
Text
I'm not crying, you're crying. Two and a half years, 250k+ words, and Chrysalis is finally done. If you've stayed with me on this journey: thank you, thank you, thank you. I am... very proud of myself, sad, ecstatic. Lots of things. Mostly just in awe that my silly little OC x Canon ship resulted in this, and deeply touched that anyone beside me cared. The final chapter is a dedication, and I so wish I had the time to write out a personalized thanks to every single person who encouraged me along the way.
Tumblr media
Chrysalis Ch. 36 and 37 are up on AO3!
🩋
37 notes · View notes
eywaseclipse · 1 year ago
Text
Guys the original script for ATWOW is not canon. I repeat it is not canon. The edits and revisions made for the theatrical release happened for a reason. Everything excluded in the final version is because the original script was the original version. Think of it like a rough draft. đŸ€—
46 notes · View notes
mlkydrms · 6 months ago
Text
Lives Under The Moon
Tumblr media
🌙 BTS OT7 (Half-elf Druid Namjoon, Changeling Bard Seokjin, Tiefling Bard/Wizard Yoongi, Water Genasi Ranger Hoseok, Aasimar Paladin Jimin, Tiefling Sorcerer Taehyung, Human Fighter Jungkook) 🌙 Chrysalis Moon (level 7), D&D AU (Homebrew Setting) 🌙 9852 words 🌙 Genre: ?, Slice-of-lIfe Fantasy I guess 🌙 Notes: Jimin and Seokjin are non-binary and I use they/them pronouns for them in this fic, A focus into party dynamics [Taegi(seok), Jikook, Namjin mainly], POV shifts [entire work is in 3rd person, don't worry]. Unnamed cameo by the TXT boys. Also, this work is of fictitious nature and characters act within their own directions and values. They do not mean to be real views of the people they have been inspired and named by. 🌙 Warnings: Hobi is injured but we don't focus on that too much, Hatred of Self, Insecurities, Yoongi started as neutral evil pre-canon, Recounting of an old story (Inclusion of Magical Mental Manipulation, Background character death, Guilt of Murder), Some God talk, pretty much infodumps. Very Dialogue heavy so if that is not your cup of tea please move on. 🌙 a/n: Reposted from the previous blog and AO3
Summary:
The party of Chrysalis Moon set up camp off the road after a tiring encounter, the city still a day's travel away. They take shifts for the night watch in pairs. In the light of a campfire and under the eye of the waning crescent moon, the members find themselves pouring part of their souls out to each other in the hours of night.
[ Past | Master | Future ]
[Read in the Garden?]
Tumblr media
"Is this a good spot?" Hoseok casually mentions.
The rest of the party stop their horses. The cart squeaks to a halt. The group looks around. It is just a grassland with a lone tree by the side of the dirt path. Far into the distance they can see the edge of the forest line. It looks as good a place as any on an open road.
"Sure. It's going to take another day to get to the city. And we need the rest. We'll take the night." Namjoon walks his horse off the road.
Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook guide the cart out to a cleared out area near the big tree. It seems that other travelers that took this road had the same idea before them. Hoseok stays in the cart as the three try to guide the cart horse in the right direction. He holds his left arm close to his body. Namjoon and Seokjin find themselves tying up their horses around the tree.
Yoongi hops the cart and walks away to a space a few meters from the lone tree. He settles down on the grass and pulls out a clear crystal bead from his component pouch. Under his breath, he begins his ritual.
Hoseok walks away from the party and does a once around to check the perimeter. Jimin follows him from close behind. They worry for the still injured ranger. The burns of his left arm are still fresh. None of them have any spare healing spells left for the day and all of their healing potions have been used days ago.
A wide black dome appears around Yoongi. The dark black slowly changes to a dark green to match the grass of the open field. Jungkook enters the dome easily with a bunch of dry wood and sticks to make a campfire with. They don't need the heat with the dome up but it was more for atmosphere and light.
The camp is made quickly with all of them doing their own part. The night falls on them quicker than they expected. The darkness fills the sky as they doff their armours onto the cart before entering the dome.
Seokjin helps Yoongi with taking his leather armour to the cart. They try to enter the dome again but they get shut out. They smack the dome with a closed fist.
"Yah! Yoongi, let me in."
There is laughter that comes out from the dome. With how much time they have spent together, they recognise it as the owner of the dome. Seokjin curses Yoongi out. They try to smack the dome again but this time their fist goes through without a problem. Seokjin falls through with the momentum.
"Ugh, I hate you."
"I just needed a good laugh." There is a toothy grin splayed across the Tiefling's face.
Seokjin picks themself off the ground and dusts the dirt off his clothes. "Yeah and I get to be the butt end."
Yoongi apologizes. They sit around the fire with tired smiles. There is a hanging tension around them but no one speaks up. They just chew on their respective rations.
Seokjin turns in first, choosing a space close to the edge of the hut. They pull up the hood of their cloak and lies down facing away from the rest of the party. They go to sleep with the rest of their cloak covering over their body like a blanket.
Namjoon scoots over somewhere closer to the older. He looks over the rest of his members. All of them are looking at their own thing, not wanting to make eye contact after their earlier battle. They should talk about it but no one is ready for the discussion. Namjoon wonders if they even would.
"Evening shifts?" He brings up a different topic.
Yoongi pulls out a book and opens it up. He places it in front of him and unties his component pouch from his belt. "I'll take the first watch. I have spells to work out."
"Would you like me to join you?" Hoseok offers.
Yoongi shakes his head. "If anything, you need all the rest you can get, Seok-ah. I'll take the shift alone."
The rest of the boys nod. Jungkook and Jimin lie down where they are. They say their good nights before drifting off to much needed rest. Hoseok hesitates to rest even when Yoongi tells him he should.
"Hoseok, just rest. You need it. You can take a watch the next time we are on the road." Namjoon says.
"Oh, okay."
Jimin suddenly sits up and raises their hand. They stutter momentarily, trying to connect thoughts that have already begun to drift off to slumber. They have been quite tired since the fight.
"Ah, ah—I'll take the next shift."
Yoongi nods and flips through the pages of a spell book. Jimin goes back to lying down on their back and falling straight to sleep. Hoseok laughs at that before turning to sleep on his side.
"Then, I'll take the last as usual." Namjoon says.
He places his druid focus in front of him like a line separating the rest of the party from him and Seokjin. He lays back. He counts the stars in the sky as he falls asleep.
In the quiet of sleeping bodies, Yoongi reads the spells written on the well made pages of the spell book. The writing is clean and neat. The words are rigid and conformed unlike the curvatures of the actual spells that are alongside them. He follows every line and tries to understand how the spell works. His fingers follow the arcane symbols along the page. It is not hard for him to connect the aspects of the spells. He stops.
Yoongi watches the scenery of the dark sky change as clouds pass by. The grey tone on their underbellies contrasts with the silver peeking from above them, reflecting the light of the shining waning moon. He spots the little twinkling stars on the big canvas of dark navy. He spends a few minutes trying to connect some of the constellations in his mind. It is like connecting patterns of arcane sigils.
He looks down at his book. A book. It is not his.
There is a quiet shift from over the campfire. Yoongi looks over. Taehyung is curled up. Yoongi squints.
"You're still awake." Yoongi closes the book on his lap.
Taehyung rolls over onto his back. He does not try to hide it. His eyes turn to look at Yoongi through the fire.
"I couldn't sleep. Mind if I watched with you?"
Yoongi shakes his head. He watches Taehyung sit up from where he was lying down right across from him. He stares right at the sorcerer who watches the flames of the campfire. He is curled up with his legs tucked against his chest and arms circled around them.
Yoongi focuses on the features of the younger Tiefling. The light and shadow cast by the fire shifts on his skin. He can see the reflecting outlines of brass scales lining his cheeks. They are much more noticeable in this light. He looks up to Taehyung's head. The dark brown horns that protrude from the front of his head curl along the skull to the back before the sharp tips point upward. They are very different from Yoongi's own ram-like ones.
He looks at the accessories that hang on them. Small gold chains dangle from the root of the horn to the tip, lined with little emeralds and amethysts hanging off from it. Thick brass bands on his left horn glints in the shifting light of the fire. Yoongi feels jealous of how unabashed Taehyung is about his ancestry, both of draconic bloodline and fiendish nature.
The fire suddenly turns from its bright red to a sickening green. Taehyung's slitted eyes are glowing. His fingers are twitching against his tan skin in a pattern. The fire dims in light but the shape does not change.
"Taehyung."
The younger snaps his attention to Yoongi. The fire grows.
"Taehyung, snap out of it!" He hisses loud enough to make Taehyung cut it out but not quite to wake everyone else.
"What?" He blinks. The magic fizzles out and the campfire returns to its original form. "Oh... I'm sorry."
Yoongi looks out of the dome. He does not want to see the guilty look on Taehyung's face.
"I'm sorry about earlier as well."
"It's ok. You are still getting used to the extra power. It was not your fault. Getting stronger can be quite a feat."
Taehyung laughs quietly. He tightens his hold around his legs. He is starting to think again.
Yoongi looks up at the moon. There is still quite a while till the next night shift. He can't just fake wanting to go to sleep. He closes his eyes for just a second before focusing again on Taehyung. The afternoon's events were not his fault.
"There is always a lot going on in the middle of a fight. You didn't know that he was there. He was in your blind spot. The trees were heavily clustered. He didn't know you were going to do that."
"But I still hurt him. I should have paid more attention. I have to pay more attention. They always told me I lacked focus."
Yoongi sees how Taehyung is looking at the sleeping figure of the ranger. Hoseok is completely asleep without a care of his surroundings. Yoongi looks at him as well. The little Fae fish are just swimming slowly along the length of his body. Their translucent being reflecting part of the fire making them glitter like the goldfish they are meant to represent. Two of them hover over the wound. The fabric of his sleeve is burned off and so is the side of his cloak. Yoongi notes that he will have to buy the Genasi a new shirt and cloak when they get into town in the next few days.
"He will recover, Tae. I'm sure he does not hate you for it."
As if those are the keywords that activate the sorcerer, Taehyung looks away from Hoseok. His body turns to face the rest of his members sleeping in the hut. He turns his face away from Yoongi as well. A jewelled accessory falls against his shoulder as his head tilts.
"How would you know?" Taehyung whispers.
"Because I've hurt him, intentionally. He's still here around me."
Taehyung does not shift. Yoongi's hand reaches down to his component pouch. The snake tongue that is inside has not been touched for a long time. Yoongi debates if he would ever use it again. The wood crackles in the fire. Yoongi throws another piece of wood in to feed it.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't hurt him physically." He scoffs. "He would have knocked me unconscious faster than I could pull something from up my sleeves. I used Suggestion."
Taehyung slowly turns his head to look at Yoongi as he tells his story. Yoongi has a forlorn smile.
"He trusted me too much back then and I used it to get what I wanted. No regards to him, to his feelings."
Yoongi reaches out, and tugs and pulls the air. He uses the same spell Taehyung had mindlessly used earlier to make images in the campfire. A small vague figure of a ranger appears, shooting their bow made of flame. Another figure, a dull man with what looks like a flute prances around behind them. Yoongi crosses his hands and the figures come closer to one another. Taehyung's attention is fully given.
"I was never a good person to begin with. He knew that and still he trusted me. I couldn't understand how he could put so much faith into someone he barely knew."
Suddenly, the figures disperse into a vague representation of a forest. "We were wandering in the wilds. It was somewhere I had been. I knew of its secrets with the tales that float through my circles. Spoken words of treasures and power hidden away. The maps were in my hands. So the stories were mine to weave."
Yoongi continues the movements of his hand. Taehyung is impressed with the way the older Tiefling does it even though Yoongi learned the spell far later than he had. Every finger moves gracefully and the flames move along like puppets on a string. He wonders if the elegance is the product of Yoongi's expertise with musical instruments.
"I took him far into the wilds where a group of people lived peacefully. They were crafters. Enchanters that made weapons for travellers that knew of their work. Good people that worked for trade. I told him they were bandits."
The image of the flames swirls. Yoongi stops. The book on his lap is now heavy as he recalls the story. It is not his book. It is a book he picked up from a body that could not fight back any longer.
"In the shadows, I watched and planned. I prepared every string, tuned every note. I made sure that I had the upper hand and controlled the beat and tempo. I was the grand conductor."
Yoongi gives up on illustrating the story. This was not some tale he could just spurt out like entertainment. This was his guilt that he still holds on to. So, without the use of the campfire, he tells the actual story.
"We found it. Hoseok found it. As I had thought, having a ranger beside me made it a much quicker search. Hoseok was cautious. He believed the lies I fed him but the fantasy was easy to break. We took a day to stake out the small area."
Yoongi remembers it as clear as day. Elves and Gnomes puttering about the small place. The happy chatters that float through the air as he and Hoseok stalked the place. He remembers the way Hoseok was slowly falling out of the threaded tale Yoongi had told him.
He tells Taehyung about the doubt Hoseok slowly filled with. The unsettled guilt stirs in his stomach once again. A sickness that Yoongi doubts he will ever run away from.
"I saw it in him. The resistance was already growing. I was stubborn. I was going to get what I wanted that day. I tightened my hold on my snake's tongue. I told him—Suggested that we take them out. I suggested it was for the best because they were bad people before he could doubt me even more. Said that they hurt a lot of people. Lied they hurt me before. I was the evil one."
"You're not evil."
"Even as I tell you this story, you believe that?"
"Yes. Evil people do not feel remorse for the things they did. They keep doing it. They don't care about the people around them. You care."
Yoongi smiles. "If I was a good person, do you think I would be here telling you this story? Telling you that I made a good man kill innocents just because I wanted something that I knew I could never have? Smiling as I do so."
Taehyung straightens his back and crosses his legs. There is a frown on his face. Again, Yoongi manages to fill a person with doubt. His heart feels heavy.
"I didn't think that it would work. It shouldn't have worked but he—Hoseok never set a single foot into the settlement. I didn't allow it. I wouldn't risk Hoseok getting hit. I wouldn't risk the spell being broken. In the evening, I entered the main building alone. Hoseok was out in the trees. I was out of his sight. I could do what I wanted. I could say what I wanted. My plan was going through so well. I told them what I wanted. I intended to give them a choice. And when they said they would not give it to me, I started."
He recounts the veiled threat he placed. He tried to reason but he did not try enough. Yoongi wonders if it was even a choice that he gave them. He knew that they would not divulge their practice to any stranger that walked through that wooden door.
"I had cast Thunderwave, made as much noise as the spell counted for. I busted out that door like I have been hit. I stumbled like some performer on a stage. I had to perform to keep Hoseok on my line."
Yoongi closes his eyes. He sees it behind his lids. The scene plays so slowly in his mind. The rumble of the spell as it quaked from his position. The clatter of items that fell on the floor. The small quake the walls had. He can almost feel the same rush of panic flowing through his veins as he ran out the door with a stumble.
"It went through so quickly. Sword in my hand, spells at the ready. One by one they came out their doors to their deaths. It seemed like I blacked out in bloodlust but I knew what I was doing. My hands shook. I still don't know if it was fear or just pure adrenaline that was running in my veins. All I saw in front of me were obstacles I could cut down."
He clenches his fist. He lets his sharp nails scratch at the skin of his palm. He gently scratches to remind himself that he is not back in his memories living a purgatory. He scratches to stop the urge to bite his nails. He calms his breathing. Some time, maybe, he could find a way to repay his actions.
"I counted how many of them there were. I counted down each body as they fell down." All of the faces flash through his mind as he continues. "I counted and kept time. I counted. I killed them all."
"How many?"
Taehyung's face becomes harsher. Yoongi can see the dragon that lives in his blood finding judgement. He somehow feels relieved to be under scrutiny.
"Thirteen. Thirteen people fell that day. All of them by my hand."
"Hoseok—"
"Oh no. He helped, but never the final blow. Only me."
Taehyung scans every muscle of Yoongi's face in the ever flickering light. There must be more. He knows there must be more.
"What was it that you wanted from them?"
"Magic. Spells. I wanted to learn what they knew. I wanted to understand. I didn't get it of course. All of their work was verbally taught. Not a scrap of paper to learn from. Everything so innate, like you."
Yoongi's hand feels over the embossed cover of the spell book. He follows the traces of circles and curves. He does not tell Taehyung that the book did not belong to him. He remembers picking up the dark covered book from the corpse of a learning mage. The hunger in him lessened for only just a second when he got it. The last person he killed. The one that begged for mercy.
"You killed them for nothing."
Yoongi nods at that. He looks up again at the moon. She is partially covered by dark clouds just like that night.
"I thought that I would have been dead by morning. Or at least have an arrow pointed right at my neck when I opened my eyes. Even waking up alone would have been fine but he was still there. Those anger filled eyes and the distrust that twinkled in the back of them."
A shiver runs through him. Hoseok shifts in his sleep. He mumbles something but neither of the Tieflings understood. The ranger reaches out to the ground and caresses the dirt.
"Hoseok stayed. He shouldn't have but here he is, far too trusting than he should be. He wouldn't talk to me for a while but he stayed. We could have turned to different paths but he kept by me."
Hoseok has always been such a confusing person to Yoongi. He has been all smiles and wonder. So when it changes all too suddenly, it is an obvious tell that something has gone wrong. He wears all his emotions on his sleeves. Yoongi knows how different they are. Yoongi knows how different he is to Taehyung as well.
"I remember questioning for just a second, such a split of a second, why did everything I planned go accordingly? No fuss, no wrong. The look in his eyes was why. A realisation hit me. The regret settled in so harsh. He didn't even have to say anything and I was begging to explain myself to him. Trust, a thing I played with so easily. Losing his trust was different from others."
"Did you travel alone before him?"
"I've always been alone. The people around me that I did talk to were just for me to use but I guess he stayed for too long. An attachment I didn't mean to make probably. After that incident, he understands how to read me like a simple children's book. He hasn't forgiven me. I shouldn't be forgiven but I am not hated."
Taehyung fidgets around with his jewellery. "I'm glad he is still by you."
"Are you now?"
"He's making you rethink who you are. You're becoming a better person. It's good that you have someone with you now. It's good to not be alone."
"If you say so."
Yoongi looks out, remembering what he is supposed to be doing. He scans the area again. The only thing outside making movement is the winds dancing with the tall grass. The landscape shifts gently with the breeze. The fire does the same. The stars are telling him it is time for change.
He looks back at Taehyung who is still thinking. Yoongi wonders if it is a force of habit from his days being under the Temple of the Platinum Dragon's care. He returns back to the reason why he decided to tell his story.
"If Hoseok can somehow not completely hate me for doing something like that, I think he already forgives you for an accident that you did not intend."
The reply comes softer than Yoongi expects. "Yeah, ok."
"If it still bothers you, you can just tell him. He is always willing to listen." Yoongi smiles softly. "He'll tell you that it is not your fault."
The older Tiefling gathers the book from beside his feet and places it right next to his hip. He places his component pouch on top of it. He is getting ready to pass the night shift over to Jimin.
"Thank you."
"There is nothing to thank here, Taehyung."
Taehyung tries to wrap his mind around the tale he has been told. Things have changed now that he knows but the sorcerer is not sure if it is for the better. Taehyung does not want to hate Yoongi for the things he did but it is not something that is not easily forgiven.
"A question." Yoongi hums. "Have you used Suggestion since?"
Yoongi looks up at him. Taehyung's eyes burn into him as he stares.
"I see it. You're right about doubting me now. I am not to be fully trusted. You have suspicions. Good. Keep them that way. I am suspicious of myself too."
"Answer me, please."
Yoongi holds a second before he answers. "No. I don't think I can."
Their eyes stay locked onto each other as the clouds move above them. They stay that way for a good minute. Yoongi knows what he is looking for. If it was him from months ago, he would have been resistant to show anything. He makes sure that he keeps the contact long enough for Taehyung to be satisfied that this night is not just another tale Yoongi weaved in sinister intentions. He is sincere. Taehyung breaks away first with a nod.
"Then, alright."
"Alright then." He brushes his hands on his clothes. "Wake Jimin. It's their shift next."
Taehyung silently nods. His heart feels much lighter.
He taps Jimin on the shoulder. The young Aasimar whines. Taehyung shakes their shoulders.
"Wake up. Night shift."
Jimin shifts but they do not really wake up. Taehyung shakes them harder. They mindlessly reach out to hit Taehyung but eventually, Jimin wakes up.
"Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. It is your and Jungkook's watch."
Jimin grumbles as they rub their eyes. They wave off Taehyung to his little patch of sleeping ground. They throw a small glare at Yoongi.
"I could take the shift alone."
"But company is always welcomed."
Yoongi turns in. He sleeps on his side so he would be facing Hoseok. He watches and counts the little fish before going right to sleep. Taehyung does the same, letting his mind wander into dreams.
The night is still. The moon is keeping her ever watchful eye on Chrysalis Moon. Jungkook grabs another log to keep the fire going. The wood that has been burning crackles at the new inclusion.
Jungkook looks at his watch buddy. Jimin is standing up and stretching out their limbs. Glittering sparkles shake behind them as the Aasimar stretches their arms up. Jungkook does not realise he has not shifted his gaze away from Jimin for a long while.
"You're supposed to be looking out of the dome, Jungkook. The night watch is supposed to be you looking out for ambushes, not looking directly at me."
"Oh, sorry. It's just, you look—"
"Enchanting?" They give Jungkook a glance. "Not like I haven't heard that one before. Someone would mention it at least once when I first meet them."
Jimin smiles sweetly. Jungkook still looks at them with awe. The Human fidgets with his hands. He keeps glancing from the fire to Jimin.
"Looks like you have questions."
"Ah, sorry."
"Stop apologising. It's not something you should be sorry for. If you have questions, ask." Jimin unties their hair, letting the strands fall where they may.
Jungkook hesitates. "How long have you had them?"
"Mm?" Jimin follows the young man's eyeline. "You mean these?"
The golden tracings of wings spread out. The glittering star-like lines shift and move like real wings behind them. Jungkook's eyes widen. His lips part gently. He nods. Jimin sits themself back down on the ground.
"Not long. It appeared after I finally took my oath to the Brawler himself, Kord. The same one that hangs from your own weapon."
Jimin lifts their wrist. They jangle the little charm of Kord's symbol on their bracelet. They also nod over to the halberd not too far from where Jungkook is sitting.
Jungkook looks at the hand-me-down. He reaches for the two carved symbols that hang at the end of the halberd. He touches the one that is the same as Jimin's. The wood is smooth and polished but has seen signs of battle. Little scratches are lined in the crest.
"This one isn't mine. It was already on Faithful Glory when it was given to me. I kept it as a reminder of my teacher taking me under their wing and teaching me how to fight. They're the reason I'm here. They suggested I go adventuring. It wasn't something I initially wanted to do, but I wanted to learn more. They told me I could learn more out in the world. That I would see others who know more and I could learn from. I've been learning a lot from all of you."
The celestial descendent listens diligently. "You follow Pelor then?"
Jungkook shakes his head. He pulls Faithful Glory closer and rubs the symbol for Pelor. The carving is newer, even with the scratches it has from fights. It is visibly made in haste with certain imperfections. He remembers the night he stayed up to make it before he left home. Jungkook thinks he might carve a new one to replace it. He looks at Jimin and smiles.
"This one is for my family. I am a farmer's son. This just serves to remind me that the Dawnfather watches over my family. I don't really pray to him other than to ask for my family's protection."
"It is kind of you to remember your family that way. I'm sure he watches them well."
Jungkook hums. Questions now run through the fighter's mind. Questions that seem to want answers from Jimin. Jimin invited the questions. Jungkook is curious. He wants to know. He always wants to know. He wants to understand a little more about the conflicts in his mind.
He plucks the courage and asks. "How did you find your God?"
"Find?"
"How did you choose to follow Kord? I've just prayed to The Dawnfather because of my family but..."
"You're not sure if that is right for you to do so?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't know what to ask of him or thank him when it came down to sending him prayers. It's not wrong but it does not feel right."
Jimin understands where he is coming from. Jimin had been in the same position years ago, wondering where they stood in the big world. They know they had guidance from the priest of the church. They are not sure how helpful they are going to be for Jungkook.
"I'm not a cleric. I'm not going to tell you to follow Kord because you fight with courage. I'm not going to tell you how great he is or things like that. It's something that you will have to learn for yourself."
"How?"
Jimin wonders how they can eloquently piece together the understanding of Higher Beings. This is not something they are equipped to do. They take in a deep breath and try to organise their thoughts.
"Some people find Gods or Patrons to guide their path. Some are found by them, taken under their care." Jimin looks at the ranger across from both of them. They watch one by one, the little fish hover around the ranger's sleeping body. "Some are taken, taught from young of faith. Others find God within themselves or others, choosing to find more strength in what they can do as mortals. Even a few think they are Gods themselves, trying to tangle other's paths for their own benefit."
Jimin pauses from their train of thoughts. Now thinking, they realise that the examples they are giving can be tied to one of each of the experiences the members of their group has. They turn around to look at Namjoon sleeping beside Seokjin.
"Or maybe you do not take heed of Gods and Patrons, or what divinity you can find in yourself. You just take in what the world gives you. You do not have to pray to a God. You do not have to ask for a Patron. Maybe you will find one. Maybe one will take you in. Maybe not at all and you are free to do what you will in the world without interference from bigger powers."
A rattling grows louder from the road. They both instinctually reach out for their weapons close to them. They look out behind them. A glittering fire in the form of a hanging lantern comes closer. It is a caravan driving down the main road. They just watch as it goes past.
The driver looks to be a very young Elven man with bright blue hair, dressed to the nines. The young Elf takes a glance to the hut. He does not slow down the caravan. There is another clatter and another figure appears from the hooded cart. The bright smile that appears on their face when the Elf sees the Tiefling brings one to Jimin's face as well. They must be close.
They both finally relax once the caravan is a little further away from their camp. The low lantern light is gently glowing down the road.
"How did you arrive under Kord?"
Jungkook immediately jumps back to the topic. Jimin holds in a laugh at the eagerness in his tone.
"I serve Kord because he was what showed me I had strength. He urged me from my lowest point and told me I was no coward. Things...happened in my village. They were things that I could have helped with but I didn’t because I was scared. I found that he showed me the strength and courage I had. I've looked to other Gods. I've tried to look within me on my own. It was only when I read teachings of the Brawler that I understood how to better myself."
Jungkook still looks at them with admiration. There is beauty in the way Jungkook looks to the world. Jimin wonders what words would come out of the innocent bunny like smile if he was asked questions about the world. They wonder what he would say about each of the people he is travelling with. Would they have half the beauty Jungkook holds in his heart if they were asked the same?
"I think you are very brave."
"Thank you. Being with Chrysalis Moon has been very helpful."
Jimin drags their weapon closer. Their hand picks up the soft leather string that is tied to the bottom of the scythe’s blade and proceeds to tie it tighter to the handle. Jungkook notices the gentle touches that linger on the empty string as Jimin works on Feather's Grace. Jungkook decides he might make a charm to hang on the string. He wonders if he has enough coin to get materials to make charms for the entire party.
"What is it like to be a paladin of the Brawler?"
"You're really taking my advice of questions seriously." They joke.
Jungkook laughs, embarrassed. He looks down and messes with his long fringe. Jimin pushes Jungkook's arm.
"I just haven't had people to talk to about it. Namjoon and Seokjin didn't seem to be the right people to ask. They seem so sure of themselves and they don't carry symbols. I didn't want to ask them. You're different. You carry your guide on your wrist."
"Well, my actions are still my own. I just hold on to my pledge as I do so. It gives me a direction. Gives me a handle of what I wanted to do with my life. I can see why you'd ask me. Namjoon seems to have other things going on his plate. I am not sure about Seokjin. You could also ask Taehyung. I'm sure he wouldn't mind being asked about Bahamut."
It is obvious from Jungkook's face that he is trying to make notes. The slow nod of his head together with the tilt of his head is endearing.
"Gods and Patrons are still beings with goals, you have to learn them. See where you stand. If your goals align with theirs and they help you guide your life, maybe that's where you'll be. If none of them suit your taste, it would be fine as well."
"Thank you, Jimin. Really. You won't mind if I keep coming to you about this, would you?"
"I'll help you on your journey. We all will. Just don't be afraid to ask, not just me. Maybe we'd find a library for you to start when we get to town."
"A library would be fun. Namjoon has been looking for one since I first met him."
"I think a lot of the party would like to be in a library for a while. But not Hoseok though. He'd probably want to stay out here in the wilderness."
Jungkook agrees with a quiet hum. He places Faithful Glory back to where it was earlier.
"But he's not exactly someone you'd leave to be alone. The Fae fish are not enough supervision."
Jimin laughs at that. They fall over, covering over their mouth to stop from being too loud. Jungkook had not meant it to be hilarious but it hit a nerve on Jimin's funny bone. Jungkook can't help but chuckle along.
The celestial descendent takes a deep breath in. They starfish out on their little patch of dirt. A shadow of a bird flies across the sky. Jimin reaches up with one arm and points out a bright star in the sky. They calculate the time with the position of the stars. They sigh. The night watch had passed them by quicker than they thought.
"It seems that our shift is closing up."
"I'll wake Namjoon. You can go back to sleep."
"Good night, Kookie."
Jungkook waits for Jimin to actually fall asleep. He lets the silence wash over him as he waits. He stokes the fire to keep it going for the rest of Namjoon's shift. He is aware of the quiet breathing of the people sleeping within the tiny hut. He looks down to the quarter staff that lays parallel to Namjoon's body. He has noticed the habit of the Half-Elf doing so, even when they take board in an inn. He reaches out over it and pats the older man on the shoulder.
"Namjoon? Namjoon, wake up. It's the last shift."
The druid wakes up with a few quick blinks. He groans as he tries to sit up from the ground. His back needs a good stretch. He wonders when he would be cut out to be able to sleep comfortably on dirt. How do the rest of them feel fine sleeping on the floor like this? He blames himself for losing his comfy bedroll at times like this.
"I've fed the fire so you don't have to worry about it going out the rest of the night. Hope your back's ok."
Namjoon finally realises who it is that woke him up. He is a little confused but nods all the same. He tells the younger to go to sleep as he tries to force himself to wake up his thoughts. It does not help with the surrounding being quiet and the fire's crackling being such a comfort. He slaps himself on the cheek as a head start.
He looks over at his designated night watch partner. Seokjin looks comfortable sleeping facing away from the rest of them. He mentally tempts himself to take the watch alone. The longer the silence drones without Namjoon having something to do, the less the temptation seems great. He does not have his books and notes to keep him distracted from the loneliness that is the night. He supposes it would be fine to wake the bard.
"Seokjin." Namjoon places a hand on their arm gently as he whispers their name.
They jolt awake with a gasp. A light sleeper by force. They grab the tip of their hood and pulls it further down their face. Namjoon gently squeezes their bicep as comfort.
"Hey, it's ok. It's just me. Last shift."
"Namjoon, you scared me."
The Half-Elf watches Seokjin sit up with their hood still up. He can see the tone of their skin change under the hood even in the lowlight. He frowns.
They stay the night watch in silence. What used to be unnaturally comfortable to them becomes disconcerting for Namjoon. He is thinking. He is always thinking but this time it bothers him far too much. Seokjin pulls the mask they have so quickly now. Even now that they are awake with only just the two of them, Seokjin keeps the face.
It crawls under his skin that Seokjin has to hide who they are to the others. Seokjin, strong Seokjin who loves to stand in the face of creatures with bravado, running away from them when they are watched with this Human face. It really does swirl in his mind how far back Seokjin stood in the afternoon combat the moment they got so close to unconsciousness.
Seokjin is not afraid of death. The way they have pranced around a battlefield next to Namjoon tells him well enough. He has been told by the person themself that they do not mind dying alone. The fear of being known as a Changeling is what rules their battles. But he does not understand.
"Why do you keep up the ruse with the others? Yoongi and I know. We don't treat you any different. I am sure the others wouldn't either."
Seokjin laughs. "You don't know that. You can never truly know what someone thinks until they tell you, that is if they choose to tell you the truth."
Namjoon cannot help the stare. Seokjin smiles brightly at him.
"I don't know what your feelings are of me. I don't know what Yoongi thinks of me. I would like to think that you both view of me nicely. That you treat me kindly for who I am and not out of what my race has been." They look out of the dome, far into the dark of the forest that he can see at the end of the field. Their smile slowly fades. "The world is not kind. It has never been."
Namjoon looks away from Seokjin. That was not something he thought he'd hear with how much life he performs his ballads. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. He wants to say it back, the world is not kind. The people in this world are not particularly kind. They are mean, prideful, selfish. They are human. The world is excruciatingly flawed and human. But not all of it is bad.
He opens his eyes to the view in front of him. A group of people, barely strangers now, sleeping under the same dome. All of them of very different backgrounds and goals but they are all gathered right there in front of him, asleep. They are all sound asleep.
"Do you trust us?"
"Excuse me?"
Namjoon reaches an open palm towards the Changeling. He leaves it there hanging but he does not look at it. He keeps looking at each of the members of Chrysalis Moon. From Jungkook, to Jimin, to Taehyung, to Hoseok and finally to Yoongi. All in a circle with Namjoon and Seokjin just outside of it. He looks at Crescent Snow that divides them from the circle. He knows he put the quarterstaff there himself but now it does not feel as arbitrary as he initially placed it.
"Do you trust us, Seokjin?"
He asks it louder than the mere whisper he did before. There is a firmness in the question.
Seokjin is taken aback. "I—I don't know what you mean."
The Half-Elf takes back his hand. He turns his body towards Seokjin.
"I trust them more than I would a random stranger on the road. I trust you."
Namjoon shuffles closer to Seokjin and takes their hand as if to test those words. Seokjin jolts at the touch. They ease at Namjoon's concerned features. They hold the given hand tightly between both their hands. They let Namjoon come even closer.
He cups the side of their face. His thumb brushes over Seokjin's bottom lip and he pulls it down. He knows how much Seokjin hates their teeth. They do not like laughing out loud, they hate smiling so wide, and all because of their teeth. Their sharp teeth that betray this costume so tightly fitted on their skin.
"Namjoon!" They hiss and pull back.
Namjoon keeps himself close to Seokjin. His hand remains by Seokjin's cheek. "The world is mean and dumb. It is selfish."
He looks at the Changeling but Namjoon can't really focus, not with the features of the face being so distinctly Human and only Human. He stares for a second before he closes his eyes. "It's angry, and sad, and confused. It's all the bad things but they are good too."
His hand slips down to the side of Seokjin's neck. His other hand reaches out blindly to the other's bicep and sits there. He takes a deep breath in.
"You are good. You are kind. You are strong. You are kind but the world is not. You are so kind but you can't...please everyone." Namjoon looks up into the brown irises. A conflicted smile tugs at his lips. "You can never please everyone."
Seokjin takes hold of Namjoon's wrist. He can feel the cold of their touch seeping into his skin. Seokjin pulls his hands away from them. Their face turns stoic.
"I am a Changeling, Namjoon. I am born to change, mould to what people think is the best of me. I am made to please. The features of a Changeling are a blank slate to create parasites that people trust so that they would let down their guard. We are made to blend in so that no one would suspect they have been infiltrated."
They do not let Namjoon say anything. Their guise shifts back to its original state. Their skin loses colour and Namjoon hesitates. The brown irises of the eyes bleed and pale into fully grey. The pretty brown hair darkens blacker than the night sky. The features harden and there is a light anger that is seated on the brow.
"Is this what you want to see?"
Namjoon does not miss a beat. "Yes."
"And what do you see?"
"You. Seokjin."
The way he says it is so genuine. The eyes locked onto theirs is so filled with sincerity. The anger grows.
"You are sorely mistaken, gentle druid." They lean into Namjoon's space now, grabbing his clothes. "Let me tell you what you see. You see a creature of pale skin. A colour so pale that it is whiter than even the top layer of fresh snow. You see soulless eyes that see right through you. They're hollow and starving, craving to be filled. You see teeth sharp like daggers, the only warning you'll ever see before they take you under."
Namjoon is unfazed by the simmering outburst. Calmly, he asks, "And who are you? Is Seokjin the image of a Human or the ingrained stereotype of a Changeling?"
Seokjin lets go of his collar suddenly. He falls onto his back. He sees the stars glittering out in the darkness. The moon smiles down upon him. The question rings differently in his mind.
Who am I then? Is Namjoon the Human or the Elf? Aren't I both?
The air in Namjoon's lungs leaves easier. He feels stupid. All of this is just a different reflection of himself. He covers over his face with his arm in embarrassment. It was not that he did not understand. He does, all too well. He just did not want Seokjin to be the same. They are stuck in between.
He knows he has his own mask that he puts on in the face of the council. It is the way he has to present himself in a strict conduct and not let them think he is not worthy of being the next in line to take over his father's spot in the head circle. The fake confidence he places to make him look like he belongs there. The act of having to be an Elf like that is the only thing he is and not that he has Human blood in him.
He then remembers his mother, his lovely mother. One of the few people that he does not pretend with. Her concerned brown eyes that shower him with love whenever he comes back from his library studies. The splint of guilt that happens when he sees her. And then he remembers the words whispered when he is barely conscious on his study desk.
Namjoon gets up from his laid position. Seokjin is still looking at him with slight confusion and anger. He takes in a big breath and says the things he had hoped to tell himself. The words that his mother always tells him instead.
"For all the kindness that you have given to an unfair world, I hope that you give that same kindness to yourself. For all the love you've poured into your songs and performances, I hope that you will give your true self the same love it deserves. And personally, Seokjin, I find you beautiful when you're just you and not the mask you put on."
He pushes the long strands of Seokjin's hair behind the Changeling's ears. Namjoon pulls himself away from Seokjin with a short smile. He stands up and dusts the dirt from his pants. He takes hold of Crescent Snow.
"I'm taking a walk to check the perimeter. I'll be back soon."
The dawn comes much slower than the evening did. Seokjin is tempted to count the seconds till the first light of day but they do not. They know it is just a paltry excuse for them to ignore the idea of what just happened between them and the druid. They shake their head when the thoughts finally settle. They change back to their human skin before the rest of Chrysalis Moon wakes up.
They breathe out the anger, a moment of silent meditation for themself. They clear out the useless thoughts. They have seen Namjoon. They have seen the way that he changes around people. It then becomes clearer without the anger. Seokjin sighs internally.
"Are you ok?"
Jimin asks Seokjin as they help tie Jungkook's hair up in a small top knot. Jungkook looks concerned as well. Seokjin sees that Yoongi and Hoseok are in the process of putting on their armour and Taehyung is playing with the campfire. Everyone has woken up.
"I'm fine."
"Did you and Namjoon get into an argument?"
"What makes you say that?"
Jimin shrugs. "Maybe the fact that he's not here. And also the fact that you had been spacing out. You didn't respond to Taehyung when he said good morning to you."
"I'm sorry. There's just a lot on the mind. It doesn't mean it has to do with Namjoon though."
"It's totally about Namjoon. There's the look in his eyes." Jungkook snides. "Just let them be. They'll work it out soon enough."
Seokjin picks up a tiny rock from the ground and throws it at the younger. Jungkook just laughs when it hits him on the shoulder. He has known Seokjin and Namjoon longer than the others and it is starting to show.
"Did you sleep well?"
Hoseok pauses as he awkwardly tries to tie the strings to his leather arm braces. "Yeah. It was a good sleep. It just has been awhile since we've camped. The ground was good."
"Still not used to a bed yeah?"
"The ground is much better. It feels very familiar."
Yoongi opens his palm in offering. Hoseok gives him his arm to tie the strings properly. The long fingers set to work deftly. Dart takes the opportunity to swim around Yoongi's arms.
"Taehyung ended up taking the night shift with me. I told him almost everything. He was worried about yesterday."
Hoseok tenses. "How is he?"
"Suspicious of me but he should be." His eyes drift to the sorcerer. "He'll talk to you. He'll want reassurance."
"You're not as bad as you think."
Yoongi gives him a look. Hoseok takes hold of Yoongi's wrist.
"You aren't. You're not evil. These people around us see that."
"But they don't know."
"So prove yourself in the present that you are not that thing you used to be. Be a better person in the future. Don't do it for me. Don't do it for them either. Do it for yourself cause you can prove to yourself that you are not that ruthless power hungry man. I know that already. That's what they know. It's now just for you to know."
Dart has made its way up to Yoongi's neck. It brushes the side of its body against the Tiefling's neck. Hoseok lets go of the older man's hand and dusts off his pants. He readies to put on the rest of the armour. Yoongi guides Dart gently back to Hoseok with a push of two fingers.
He turns away from the ranger. He sees Taehyung still stretching about at the fire. He thinks about the question Taehyung asked him just before they ended the night shift. He guesses that Hoseok is right about others trying to find good in him. Yoongi makes his way to join Taehyung in clearing the campfire.
"I'll try." He says to Hoseok.
"Trying is the best thing you can do to start."
Namjoon returns to the members of his party getting ready for the next trek of the way to the city. The tiny hut has gone and the Tieflings are milling around the small slowly dying campfire. Taehyung uses Control Flame to put the fire out completely with a swift twist of his hand. Hoseok is by the horses, stretching. Jungkook and Jimin are working around the cart. They are donning up their respective armours. Namjoon heads towards them, ready to put on his own leather armour.
Nearing the end of him putting on his armour, Seokjin tugs at the collar of Namjoon's shirt and pulls him away from the others. He stumbles along, confused. They pull him closer for just a second. They give him a short peck on his cheek and then pushes away.
"That was a mess earlier. You had no right to push into how I present myself to strangers. You have no say in the way I wear my mask when your own is such a mess the second you are greeting Land Circles. Ever take your own advice?" Seokjin frowns. "But...You are correct. I have been holding onto this face because I am scared."
Seokjin does not look Namjoon in the eye. Their hand suddenly keeps busy on Namjoon's collar, straightening it out and dusting it off. They tug at Namjoon's leather armour as if they are ensuring the druid is wearing it correctly. Which they have to, with all the strings tied like a child did it. They redo them as they speak.
"I do like this image that I made but it's not exactly me. I liked it better when I didn't keep it on around you. It felt safe to be a Changeling when I stood next to you. I'm not a Human. I am a Changeling but that does not mean I am a hunter." They tug the strings tight enough. Namjoon lets them, standing still like a child being scolded. "I will tell them in my own time, Namjoon-ah. When I am a little more comfortable with them, I will tell them. I trust you more than I trust them, only because I know more of you. And when I know more, they'll know more."
"Of course, in your own time. I'm sorry. I just—"
"Saw part of yourself in me that you wanted to somehow fix. You're good, Namjoon. You are a strong leader and you are smart. I don't think you need to fix much. I'm sure of it. And if you ever truly need help with it, I know I can be your comfort space too." They pat Namjoon's chest armour with all the necessary adjustments done. They speak loudly. "There you go. Now you're wearing your armour. You really have to be better with your knots, Joonie. It's like no one taught you."
Namjoon laughs quietly. He nods and thanks them. He watches them walk away to the cart to help Jungkook and Jimin push it to the path.
"Did no one really teach you?"
"Oh Gods! You are way too quiet for your own good."
Namjoon clutches at his heart as Yoongi walks up from behind him. Yoongi has a cheeky smile and a laugh on his lips. Namjoon wishes he wouldn't.
"I can teach you how to tie a knot down the road if you want to."
"Yeah, that would be nice. I should learn."
Hoseok busies himself around the horses. He starts untying the leads from the tree. Namjoon and Yoongi come by and take two of the horses to hitch them to the cart that is now on the road. There is a mention of teaching Namjoon how to hitch horses as well.
Hoseok laughs with a ‘good luck’ passing his lips. His little friends swirl around, stirring the air around his hair. Little strands float as if he is underwater. The bright joy radiates from him. The horse next to him whinnies. The sound spooks his fish for just a second. He pushes away Reed from in front of his face. The Fae fish hurriedly swims away from his line of sight. He reaches out to pat the pretty black horse on its neck.
"Uh, Hoseok."
Hoseok turns. Taehyung nervously fidgets with the braces on his arms. Hoseok tilts his head in question.
"I just wanted to apologise for yesterday's injury. How is it?"
Hoseok looks to the burn on his arm. "It's doing ok. It'll be fine. Nothing that won't heal in time. Why are you apologising though?"
"I was the one that burned you."
Hoseok smiles at that. He mentally tells his little goldfish to circle the Tiefling. They swirl around him in comfort. Hoseok takes a wandering hand and squeezes it gently.
"It was an accident, Taetae. It's not your fault. Things like this happen in a fight. You have to be brave and understand that injuries happen even from your own party. I'm not blaming you for anything. Don't hold on to this as guilt. If it helps, thank you for apologising and I've forgiven you. Now, help me get these horses ready for the road."
He notices Yoongi watching them with a slight smile on his lips. He gives Yoongi a gentle nod. He gives one back before being interrupted by a panicking Namjoon. Yoongi's face turns into obvious annoyance. Yoongi goes on to help out with whatever that Namjoon had accidentally done. He can hear the loud laughter of everyone else watching the scene.
Hoseok takes the reins to the black horse and pulls it over. He tilts his head in a motion to urge Taehyung to follow. His fish follow him one by one. Quiver, the smallest of the creatures, lingers for just a moment and bumps into Taehyung's cheek before catching up with the rest of its brethren. Taehyung lights up in relief and reaches out to get the last horse.
They move a little quicker now that they are more awake. They assign themselves to their respective places for their next league. Taehyung takes a horse, as does Namjoon. Seokjin chooses to take the same horse as the druid. The rest settle on the cart with Yoongi and Jimin in the driving seat.
Sitting in the cart, Hoseok takes time to feel the change in his team. Each of them look lighter in their steps, brighter in their smiles. All of them are still burdened with their own weights but under the light of the moon, beside a comforting campfire, they have slowly loosen a few of the shackles that hold them. He hopes that they will have more opportunities to let themselves be seen. Hoseok smiles to himself and thanks Selune for her watch in the night as he restrings his bow.
7 notes · View notes
legolastaint · 2 months ago
Text
New chapters!!!
3 notes · View notes