#to devour

[seidreamblogs]

the lantern in the blue

a namjinmin story | 1.3k written for the moodboard drabble challenge by bts fanfic writers cafe on bsky

to read on ao3

The dream always starts with shells. Hundreds and hundreds of pretty shells, white ridges stained brown, sometimes blue, washed by salt water. He wades through them, picking out only the best to hold on to. At least until the ground trembles — as if shaking with fury — and he’s sucked under a tidal wave that brings him to another shore. There, sits a lantern, flame cast light a beacon through the woven cloth in the growing shadows on the sand.

This time, Seokjin lies on his back with his eyes closed, the sand moving around him as the water rushes over his body.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin hums. His body is too heavy to move, otherwise he would have held his hand out for Jimin grab.

“Seokjin-hyung, wake up.”

Seokjin frowns. But still, he tries. There must be sand on his face, gluing his lashes together.

“Seokjin—”

Seokjin gasps, eyes flying open to the sharpest silver blade being held to his neck. He would know, the hilt being one he engraved himself as a gift to Jimin when they first left the shores of their old home. A flex of his arms reveals that he's bound to one of the few chairs this ship has. Seokjin might be a little impressed with how well they’ve tied him up, but as soon as his mind can shake the final tendrils of sleep, the rope will be no match for him.

Another sword — one less sharp because no one holds the same craftsmanship — is being held to Jimin’s neck. He’s between two crewmen, one holding the pathetic blade to Jimin’s throat, while the other has Jimin’s hands behind his back with a grimy arm across his torso.

Seokjin swallows, knowing that if not for the fact the he himself is being held under Jimin’s sword, Jimin would have wasted no time to remove himself from the sailor’s grip. Now, Jimin stares at Seokjin’s neck through jet-black strands strewn over his face, eyes dark with barely concealed rage.

A dark laugh sounds from next to him, and Seokjin slowly drags his eyes away from Jimin to look at the person holding Jimin’s sword. He’s not surprised to find Oh Taewoong in front of him, grinning madly. They’re surrounded by the rest of the crew, the same madness mirrored in most of their faces emphasized by the light from the torches they carry. Seokjin laughs internally at the few that refuse to look at him, wretched gazes turned to the salt-worn planks.

Taewoong takes Seokjin’s focus as a sign to start ranting as he always does. Seokjin’s sure it’s the same nonsense he’s been saying for the past several moon cycles. His only regret is not taking his words a little more seriously. Just enough so that maybe Taewoong would have been on the other side of Jimin’s sword instead, and Jimin wouldn’t be in this situation.

A little more alert now, he flexes his hands, and starts to test the rope to find a weak part of it to unravel.

At some point though, Taewoong finishes his tirade, and Seokjin realizes he’s out of time. He turns to find Jimin now in another chair, bound just like him, but eyes only for him.

It’s okay, Seokjin-hyung.

But Seokjin will never forgive himself if they don’t make it out of this.

A new kind of urgency courses through him as Taewoong barks at other members of their crew — people Seokjin and Jimin used to trust with their lives. They step forward without question, low grunts filling the night as Seokjin and Jimin’s chairs are moved to the ledge.

It’s eery, how still everything is. Even the sails are lax without the wind to fill them, the boat just barely moving in the water. Seokjin had looked up at the same sails only hours before, Jimin moving between them with the sunset at his back.

There’s no moon tonight, the ocean an inky black abyss prepared to swallow them.

“Any last words, Captain?” Taewoong sneers.

Seokjin remains stoic, even though his hands continue to search along the rope, and spit flies into his face.

Taewoong scoffs, the sound echoed by other members of the crew.

“He always did think he was too good for us,” comes a voice — Im Jongyul, Seokjin’s mind supplies. Seokjin still remembers accepting him as a member of his crew when other ships didn't hesitate to turn him away.

The same words reverberate through the crew, voices a rising tidal wave of rage.

Seokjin’s fingertips catch on a frayed part of the string, turning to look at Jimin one final time as the voices crest in their rage. He sees the hand that pushes Jimin’s chair over the ledge at the same time that a weight knocks the back of his.

Seokjin tugs on the thread and takes a deep breath as the air whistles in his ears, just before they hit the water.

There’s no moonlight, and yet, Seokjin can see Jimin in front of him clearly. Where Seokjin stoically tugs at the rope which is unraveling much too slowly for his liking, Jimin thrashes, fighting with the little breath that he has left. Seokjin smiles — it’s just like Jimin to give his all in his fight.

It’s why he hurries to remove the last of the rope from himself, finally separates from the chair, and reaches for Jimin. Jimin, whose movements have weakened, his lips growing blue and his eyes half-lidded.

Seokjin-hyung, Jimin mouths slowly. I love you.

I love you too, Seokjin mouths back. I’m going to get us out of here.

His mind takes over where his body starts to give up, finally untying the knots and pulling the rope from Jimin's chair. But by the time Jimin falls into his arms, they’ve been in the water too long.

All Seokjin can do is pull Jimin to his chest and whisper a prayer.

He fights to keep his eyes open in search of the answer.

The end comes in the form of something of legend — something that hasn’t existed in a few centuries. Scales, beautiful, pearlescent blue scales tapering into soft brown fur, speckled with white, even in the inky water — the body of a deer — which leads up into the head of a donggyeongi.

An olnul.

The being heads straight for them, sharp fangs gleaming in the dark, claws outstretched.

Seokjin squeezes his eyes shut and holds Jimin tighter as he’s swept under.

The dream always starts with shells. Hundreds and hundreds of pretty shells, white ridges stained brown, sometimes blue, washed by salt water. Seokjin wades through them, picking out only the best to hold on to. Next to him, Jimin holds a net, doing the same. At least until the ground trembles, the water roaring with fury before engulfing them both.

There’s a figure standing on the shore, holding the lantern in between the dancing shadows.

It’s harder for Seokjin to get himself to his feet, then help Jimin up and let himself be pulled into Jimin’s side. The two of them trudge up the sand together, towards the figure holding the small beacon of light.

Even as the lantern illuminates their path, it does little to reveal the face of the figure holding it. Seokjin swears he catches sharp, pearlescent blue, nails on the long fingers gripping the top of the lantern. He’s more sure about the muscled arms, but the scales that seem to decorate the figures torso give him pause.

It must be a trick of the light.

At least that’s what he tells himself when he finally catches a glimpse of the figure’s face — framed by longer hair, a mess of blonde and dark brown streaks, and sharp eyes that appear to gleam with a hint of a familiar shade of blue. But it’s the smile that catches Seokjin’s attention, slow to grow in the shadows, dimpled even, and yet, there’s an edge to it. Four pronounced fangs, like those belonging to the donggyeongi, have Seokjin tensing in place, mirrored by the way Jimin’s hand seems to dig into his hip.

The same small motion doesn’t go unnoticed by the figure, whose widening smile is the only warning either of them get before the figure lunges for them and the light extinguishes.

[inkskinned]

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