#and how this applies to the mosaic too!

[asofterhibou]

This post from @spiders-hth-is-an-outlier making it as good a time as any for a The Magicians brain dump I guess: like the post says the Qualice reunion scene is a weird and weirdly perfunctory scene, and honestly who knows what the writers were smoking for those last two episodes, but. in the secretly good show in my head, the scene is perfunctory and not particularly romantic because it's not really supposed to be, or at least the main purpose of the scene is not exactly Quentin and Alice's romance. To me the narrative problem/tension of Qualice at this point in the show is not whether they love each other. They do. They've said it and shown it in multiple ways, there's not really any need for romantic declarations. In fact Alice made a romantic declaration at the end of s3 on the muntjac, saying that Quentin was the one she loved etc. And then still destroyed the keys in Blackspire, which Quentin clearly takes as a personal betrayal, why he can't trust her. In s3 Alice loves Quentin but she doesn't trust him, not with her feelings, or with her secret plans. Which is where the many many parallels of Alice and Eliot in s4 begin! If the plot of s3 (magic gone and fairy takeover) is mostly the consequences of Quentin and Margo's choices in s2, the plot of s4 (the monster and the library) is mostly the consequences of Alice and Eliot's choices at the end of s3 (with help from Fogg). In s4 Alice and Eliot are both prisoners, and they both escape their prisons, in different ways. And a lot of the tension of this scene for me, which is linked also with the flower scene, is - can Quentin escape his prison? He's repeating the same story he told himself in pilot episode, that false dichotomy: there is the escapist dream of Fillory/fantasy/magic where Quentin finally finds the secret door and becomes someone he wants to be, where his life becomes something he wants it to be, which is childish and must be left behind for the cold hard wasteland of the adult world, of harsh reality, and you just have to suck it up and deal with it. I don't think this scene feels particularly romantic because it's not supposed to be: Quentin says he can forgive Alice, can change his notions, his expectations, but he's still trapped. He can't see the third option yet, in the garden he says: isn't the idea of Fillory enough, but does he see it yet? It's not the idea of Fillory, it's his idea of Fillory, Quentin's idea, when it says in the magicians books that the world might be a wasteland but we are not, we're the source, there's no oasis out there waiting, we create the oasis ourselves.

Tldr this scene has Quentin and Alice getting back together but it's not actually about them, it's about Quentin's fucked-up-ness. Does the show actually know this? could not tell you if you paid me.

[sakkiichi]

NOT IF IT’S YOU.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Luka, Seele x gn! reader.

genre/cw: angst to fluff, feelings of not being good enough, mentions of blood & injury, but soft comforting vibes.

✧ JING YUAN

Muffled cries and a darkened room are all the company you wish for tonight.

You messed up.

You utterly and completely fucked up.

Not only were you not able to catch the stellaron hunter, but you also got severely injured.

In your defense, the guy was skilled with that wicked sword of his.

And yet, that doesn’t make you feel any better.

Pressing your hand down your bloody side, you reach home.

And for the first time since you started dating him, you really hope the general is already asleep tonight.

The creaking of the wooden door makes you cringe when you enter the main hall, memorized steps guiding you to the bathroom.

Hopefully you’ll be able to patch yourself up without making too much noise.

A low purr greets you when you reach your destination’s door.

“Shhh, Mimi, please…” you utter, weakly, patting her fur with the hand that’s not soaked in blood. “Be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” The lion purrs again, as if unsatisfied, sensing something’s clearly amiss.

Wincing, you close the bathroom’s door behind yourself, pent up tears blurring your vision as you rummage the cabinets for disinfectant and some bandages.

“And just about what do you think you’re doing?” A familiar baritone sternly asks.

You stop in your tracks, a roll of bandage in your bloodstained hand.

“Jing Yuan…” you meekly manage. “Sorry I woke you up.” You lower the dressings in your grasp, defeated.

“You’re bleeding yourself out and me having woken up is your first concern?” He asks, disbelieving, leaning off the doorframe, walking towards you.

“I’m not bleeding myself out, general.” You respond through gritted teeth, your tone harsher than intended. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

And yet, the pained hiss you let out begs to differ.

“Let me see.” Your lover prompts, placing a calloused hand on your shoulder.

“No!” You pull away from his touch, something you had never done before. “I already told you, it’s just a scratch, it’s not worth worrying over, I’m not worth worrying over...”

“Don’t say that again.”

Jing Yuan’s tone leaves no room for argument, steely as the spear he wields. His usually soft amber eyes are akin to raging embers now, glueing you in place, a gelid chill running down your spine.

“But it’s tr-“

“Don’t. Don’t let me hear it.” The arbiter general cuts off, his voice a contrast to the tenderness with which he takes the stained gauze from you.

And under the warmth of his touch, you let yourself be shielded by the rainfalls of lightning with which he’d struck down any who dared hurt you.

Careful hands remove your sticky shirt, a deep gash criss-crossing your abdomen in ominous shades of crimson. With as much softness as he can muster, your lover applies antiseptic, stinging pinpricks in his wake.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” You mumble, voice milliseconds away from breaking. “It’s trouble, I’m trouble, I failed the mission and now you have to patch me up and take care of m-“

Slightly parched lips land on yours, ardently, as if wanting to cauterize the raw soreness from your open wound. Jing Yuan’s hands settle on your waist, like stitches putting shards of you back together, your brokenness, a myriad of pieces glued back into a colorful mosaic.

And in his healing hold, you let yourself fall, because you know no matter how small the pieces, by his side, you’ll find a way to solve the puzzle.

“You are never trouble to me.” Is your general’s affirmation when he pulls away, leaving a lingering kiss on your brow as he begins wrapping your gaping wound.

Perhaps this once, you’ll believe it, you think, as the ache dulls and exhaustion starts to take over.

✧ BLADE

The moment you see his weapon fly out of his grasp, all caution is thrown to the wind.

You weren’t used to the sight of him anything but defeating with ease any who dared to cross him.

Yet now, he bleeds.

Staggering to the side, Blade tries to reach for his discarded sword.

To no avail, for he drops to his knees, sickly crimson pooling at his feet.

Whatever cursed fragmentum creature he’s parrying against will land its last strike.

You can’t imagine a world without Blade. Without Ren.

Not like this, not ever.

The next sound in the desolate battlefield is the clang of metal against metal and your strained grunts.

“[Y/n]…” your lover musters, barely any strength left in his usually steely tone. “Go…”

“Like hell I’m leaving you here!” You yell back, your muscles sore from blocking the enemy’s fatal blow. “I’m not abandoning you, Ren!” A lone tear slides from the corner of your eyes, because of the effort or the thought of a world where you don’t get to wake up by Blade’s side, you are not sure.

“[Y/n]… I’m done for.” He coughs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up!” You scream, now locked in combat with the creature launching their piercing weapons at you.

You manage to dodge a few of its pounces, ducking and parrying as best you can.

But eventually, their chainsaw-like armament grazes your collarbone, your sky shattering cry hurting Blade more than the deadly wounds he bears.

You can’t let this end here.

Mustering strength from aeons know where, you impale your own weapon into the monster’s middle.

Flecks of fiery dust fly around you, before the construct goes up in flames, the image burning in your teary gaze.

“Ren!” You call, running to kneel by his broken form.

“Why?” The stellaron hunter wonders, ebony hair plastered to his face, deep night skies shadowing the underside of his ruby eyes. His bleeding hand reaches to cup the side of your face. “Why did you save me? I’m rotten.”

If it wasn’t because the guy is quite literally holding himself together in tatters, you’d be slapping some sense into him.

Instead, tears stained in yours and his shades of red careen down your cheeks.

“You are not! You never are! And you never will be to me!” You fling your arms around him, holding his weakened body as close to your heartbeat as possible.

Blade never believed in angels, but tonight, you might as well have been one. His savior in a battlefield where he otherwise would have breathed for the last time.

✧ DAN HENG

Night stars and daylight seem to mingle together lately.

Aboard the astral express, you find yourself buried in work. Records from expeditions, blueprints from parts of the train you need to memorize should they need repairing, leads and clues on the whereabouts of the stellaron hunters… the lines of text begin to blur before your tired eyes, eliciting a sigh from your lips.

It might be good to go grab a coffee, you muse.

But looking at the time, you should work for a while longer without distractions, you really could use a breakthrough in the stellaron investigation… Everyone’s working so hard, and the last thing you want is to be dead weight.

As you stretch your arms and attempt to re-focus on your task, three knocks resound through your room’s quiet.

Resignation makes itself apparent on your tone when you ask:

“What is it?”

“It’s just me.” A familiar voice, smooth as a breeze combing through greenery states.

“Dan Heng!” A relaxed smile tugs at your lips, as you get up from your desk to let him in. No matter how many galaxies you transversed, Dan Heng’s presence was always the brightest constellation to you.

Now, it’s not like you can admit your feelings to him, but you’ll enjoy this fond closeness you have now while you can.

“You’re still up?” You prompt, more of a statement than an actual question. “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest.

“Work.” You sheepishly say, with a mirthless smile.

“Have you eaten?” The dark haired man questions, the lilt of his tone indicating he is very much aware of how you have indeed not dined.

“Uh… I drank fruit juice and coffee? A while ago?”

Now it’s his turn to sigh in exasperation.

“How many times will it take of me repeating it to you for you to take care?”

“Sorry.” You lower your head. You know your friend is right and you’ve been neglecting yourself, but can you be blamed? The amount of work you took on is hefty, to say the least.

“Since you aren’t doing it yourself, let me take care of you.” His aquamarine eyes pierce through you, but they hold a warm gentleness to them. Every time you get lost in his gaze, you feel like you’re swimming in luminescent lakes under a thousand starry nights.

However, the reverie is short lived.

When you feel his hand around your wrist, pulling you out of your airless room, a shadow of guilt lodges at the back of your mind.

“Dan Heng, I can’t let you do that.” You stop in your tracks, averting your gaze, not allowing yourself the pleasure to dip in the profound waters of his eyes.

“Why not?” The boy’s hold on you slackens a little.

“You have enough work yourself, I can’t burden you anymore…” You mumble the last part, but it doesn’t escape him.

“You’re not a burden.” The wielder of cloud piercer assures you, incisively.

His hold on you tightens a little, his hand descending to find yours.

“But surely you’d prefer spending your time doing something more fun or, I don’t know, useful, at least…”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He responds. His hand squeezes yours in silent reassurance.

You could get used to his touch.

You’d like it very much, actually.

Instead, self-doubt robs you of your voice again tonight.

“Why?” Is the question echoing in between the corridor’s walls.

“Because I like- no, because I love you.” Is Dan Heng’s confession, cheeks matching the maroon of the maple leaves you’ve sometimes studied together.

Loud heartbeats and frenzied euphoria mingle in your chest, your hand squeezing his this time.

“What? Really? No, don’t get me wrong, it’s good- I mean, thank you- I mean, are you sure? Because I’m flattered but- Well, I love you t-“

Your speech is cut short by familiar hands steadying your shoulders. Dan Heng heaves a shaky breath, then:

“I’m going to show you how sure I am.”

A second later, his lips carefully, tentatively, envelop yours. It’s hesitating, and your noses bump a few times, but, to you, it couldn’t be any more perfect.

Your hands find themselves clinging to the front of his shirt, his still poised on your shoulders.

And as you leave fields of stars behind and enter new woods of shining asteroids, you finally let yourself submerge in the pools of jade contained in the mysterious man’s gaze.

Taking a break was certainly worth it, is the thought crossing your mind, as you lean in for another less innocent kiss.

✧ LUKA

“Ouch!”

“Stay still, Luka.”

“But it stings!”

“Oh and the blows you took out there didn’t?”

“But I won, right?”

“You always say that, yet at what cost?”

That is the currently ongoing conversation (or scolding, depending on how you look at it); the same one that repeats every week, after every victory he achieves in the fighting ring.

Because no matter how many times he emerges as victor, Luka always comes back to you beaten up and bruised. Bloody sometimes too, and you can only be grateful for no fractured bones.

You were no healer, but you still remember the first time you saw him fight.

—

It was his first ever combat, against a much bigger opponent.

Luka was smiling when his arm was lifted announcing his victory, and yet, you will never be able to shake off the sight of his concealed flinches every time his chest rose and fell.

His bruised ribs didn’t escape you.

In the same way that you didn’t miss the redhead lingering for a while after the crowd had dissipated.

Those coughs of his naturally wouldn’t let him go too far.

“Hey, are you alright?” You approached him.

“Sure, I’m fine!” The fighter tried to smile, only for it to turn into a fit of coughing that didn’t sound good at all, especially not with how he keeps holding his sides every time his ribcage so much as slightly stirs.

“No, you’re not fine.” You scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. “You have a black eye, your ribs look bruised and you’re limping. How is that being fine, again?”

“I’ll get through it.” He smiled. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light of the venue, akin to patches of clear sky in the soot-filled air of the underworld.

“How exactly? Passing out from pain? Come on, sit down, I’ll patch you up.” You offered, hurrying around the rundown gym, in search for something resembling a first aid kit.

“You don’t need to-“

“No buts.” You stated, leveling him with a gaze, pointing at him with a newly acquired roll of bandages.

—

“You know, you don’t have to waste your time on m-“ he tries to retort now, summer ocean eyes averted, his usual smile replaced by a frown you’re not fond of.

“Luka.” You stop him before he can continue his self deprecation.

“But you could be doing so much bette-“

“I won’t hear it.” You cut off, applying more pressure than needed while disinfecting a cut on his cheekbone. “We’ve already talked about this. You keep getting roughened up on the battlefield, I’ll be here to patch you up. No buts.”

A smile crosses the redhead’s face, the swirling typhoons in his gaze calming down to ripples over a lake. But still, some clouds linger over the surface, no sunlight quite filtering through in harp like beams underwater.

“Don’t you get tired, though?” Luka ventures, hesitation and bashfulness lacing his tone.

“Never when it comes to you.” You assure him, without having to think twice. “And no buts.”

“No buts, huh?” The corner of his lips curves upward, the cheeky smirk you always adored back. “But what if I asked you to kiss it better, would you?” The fiery haired warrior teases.

“Oh, you…” And yet, you can’t hide the wide smile helplessly illuminating your features.

Softly, your lips brush over each of the clean bandages you applied.

And Luka could swear your lips are better than any painkiller.

“There, all healed.” You whisper when you pull away, enchanted by the lights dancing in the sapphire expanse of his stare.

“Not yet.” He breathes, pulling you to him by the hand, your weight falling against his bare chest.

“Luka…” Is all you can muster before he’s kissing you full on the lips, his hands on the small of your back, the softness of his skin and the iron-hardness of metal making your every hair stand on end. You cup his face tenderly, brushing sweaty auburn strands away, as you drown in the colliding waves of his intense tide.

“Now I’m all healed.” Are Luka’s words when he pulls away, dopey smile adorning his bruised face.

You’re definitely never getting tired of this.

✧ SEELE

By moonlight, she waits.

From her vantage point on the rooftop of Goethe Grand Hotel, Seele counts down the seconds for your return.

She’s noticed.

Your leaves in the dead of every night, when you think everyone’s sleeping soundly.

Your returns before dawn, covered in dust and bruises.

The puffiness and redness of your eyes, the shadows under them.

In the starless silence, the butterfly stills her wings, listening to the steps crossing Boulder Town’s plaza.

With a swift motion, the wildfire fighter steps down from her perch, leaning against the hotel’s front wall.

“Good night to you too.” Seele calls.

Your eyes widen in shock. Why is she here now? She wasn’t supposed to see you in such a state.

“Seele! You startled me…” You try for a reassuring smile, as if to say ‘hey, everything’s fine’, but alas, when it came to you, nothing escaped Babochka.

“Cut the act, will you?” She scoffs, a hand resting on her hip. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Nothing’s going on.” You meekly answer, tone cold and distant.

Your girlfriend’s violet gaze dilates, concern overtaking her frown.

This detached iciness… This isn’t like you at all.

But Seele’s forte were never hugs and promises for better days to come, no. A fighter honed in battles for a mere glass of water, she always knew how to hit you with honesty, a scythe shredding the rainclouds dampening your light.

“So, are you going to keep looking miserable and isolating yourself?” She scoffs. “Be for real, you are barely talking, you leave at ungodly hours every night and you look like you’ve been crying for ages every morning. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong already?”

You heave a breath, the simple action exhausting.

“I just… I don’t feel like I deserve anyone… I’m not a good enough fighter, I’m not smart enough, I don’t really… I’m not proud of my personality and just…” you inhale, the night breeze unbearably frigid, even though the weather’s not even cold. “These nights, I’ve been going into the mines, to try and help, I guess, or to avoid thinking…” your shoulders slump.

Seele sighs, the bite in her tone completely faded, concern and care lingering as the indigo pigments of a butterfly caught in your palm.

“You can talk to me, you know?” She says, softer this time, her hand finding your blistered one from these last days.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to be a bother…”

“You never are, silly.” Your lover flicks your forehead, wrapping strong arms around your trembling form. “You never are.”

Quiet sniffles escape you at her warm embrace.

You had missed this.

You had missed her.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Seele utters, barely above a whisper, like a monarch’s flutter.

You nod, wiping the tears that started falling, glinting in your lashes like doomed satellites.

“I love you, never forget that.” Is your partner’s promise, with the moon as witness.

For the first time in weeks, you would fly in the sweetness of dreams tonight. By her side.

[rustytrident]

beelzebub who has obscure knowledge because he cares so much about his brothers' interests, they become his, too – or, a slight beelzebub character study at 3am because i need it and so do you.

beelzebub who can name every constellation in the night sky of all three realms, who knows both astrology and astronomy, who has read all of belphie's essays and research papers, who was there when they were written.

beelzebub who knows how to play (and cheat, and win) about every casino game, who knows how to do fast math even if he doesn't really care for it, who checks the fucking stock market every morning to see if mammon's mood will be affected by it or not.

beelzebub who knows the difference between the scent of white and red roses, who knows how to properly do your (and his) makeup, who has memorised which products are good for his complexion and how many times a day he needs to apply sunscreen, because asmo swears that the fridge light hits him as much as the sun would have in the human world.

beelzebub who can quote jane austen and poe and shakespeare and euripides from memory, who makes references from books that were destroyed with the library of alexandria, who knows about every breed of cat there is, who listens to satan explain whose fur is the thickest and whose the softest.

beelzebub who will rewatch tsl for hours, who will carry boxes upon boxes of games upstairs, who will (poorly) draw ruri from memory, who will know how to play most games levi hyperfixates on and the plot from most anime he has rambled about.

beelzebub who knows even the most bizzare of genres of music, who can taste the difference between a thousand year and a thousand and one year aged demonus, who immediately recognises the jazz song lucifer is playing when he wants to spend quality time with him but doesn't want to disturb him.

beelzebub who, if you ask him about his interests, will reply that he doesn't really have any, who will search within him for an ounce of self, who will give up after a while because he is six beings in one, and he doesn't know if there's room for one more.

beelzebub who decides that it's okay to be a mosaic of his favourite beings, who finds out that he has been carrying seven in him all along, who gazes in your – a human's – eyes and understands why she fought and why she fell and why she tried so much.

beelzebub who, in his spare time, will go in the human world to visit museums and archaeological sites and long abandoned villages, who will reminisce about when everything he just saw was once new and shining, who will retrace the steps he took aeons ago, alone this time.

beelzebub who often feels lost, who grieves and eats and grieves some more, who carries the memory of his sister because he once read that one truly stops existing when they are forgotten, yet smiles when he sees red roses and shiny coins and old books and video games and cursed records and the starry sky, who sighs into your neck right before he falls asleep and promises to never forget the way your skin feels under his.

beelzebub who, without you asking him, tells you he likes flowers and animals, who likes everything the sun touches, whose eyes glimmer when you ask him to tell you about yarrows and their meaning and their colours, who will explain in a heartbeat, just for you.

beelzebub whose self is a wounded one, a fighting one, whose self is a memory box he just keeps adding into, a scrapbook of eternity's erosion, who finds happiness in the little things, in the simple things, who binds his family together.

beelzebub who loved and loves and will love until there's nothing of him left, until he is the last one remembering, until the night sky is no longer a painting, but just an accumulation dead stars.

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

It was a trope that you had read over and over in books — never once did you think it would apply to you, and you’d be stuck in the same vicious circle of pining over your best friend, Bucky. But then, he came home one night after a rough shift, grief-stricken and in pain, and he proceeded to change everything.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☤ Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☤ 2.1k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☤ Angst, fluff, pining, confession ჻჻჻ TROPE: Best Friends to Lovers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☤ Happy Birthday to me! 🥹

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ☤ Can You Hold Me by NF, Britt Nicole ☤ The War by SYML

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ☤ @allcapsbingo 𝗚𝟭 — Second Chance at Love — Masterlist ☤ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗢𝟭 — Mutual Pining — Masterlist ☤ @sebastianstanbingo 𝗜𝟰 — Roommates — Masterlist

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The apartment you called home was eerily quiet. It wasn’t for the lack of noise per se, no – it was because your roommate was out on shift, and for as quiet and reserved as he was normally, it was like the veil parted and revealed a new side of him in the comfort of your shared abode. 

Bucky Barnes, the built like a brick shithouse EMT that you called best friend for far too fucking long – his words, not yours – was out with his work husband, Stevie, on night shift while you lazed about in your bedroom after cooking up a batch of chocolate-chip cookies for when he returned home.

For years, you had shared an apartment and coexisted as nothing more than best friends that were joined at the hip, and for years, you had longed for more. 

Pride had swelled within your chest the very moment you had watched Bucky receive his degree in Paramedicine and then move through college with practised ease and speed unrivalled by the rest of his peers. You had watched Bucky’s mother, Winnie, clap and cheer at the graduation ceremony, her work partners right behind. 

It was natural for Bucky to have wanted to follow in his mother’s footsteps, and given Winnie was one of the biggest names and highest-ranking members of the Paramedicine force, he had big shoes to fill. Working through countless hours as an EMT had almost ruined him, and you had stuck to his side like glue through the doubtful hours and held his hand when he wanted to quit. 

And, by some miracle, after many years, Bucky had landed himself in the role of a Paramedic, and not just any – he was just under Winnie in the ranks. 

As Bucky’s best friend, you couldn’t be prouder of the tattooed, long-haired, brute and loveable idiot. 

Your phone chimed next to your head, and you yawned, groping for the device blearily. A single text from Buck: otw home, made you sit up in bed, wincing as your back stretched and ached from the exertion earlier. 

The sun had started to set during your nap – a painted mosaic of ambers and pinks painted your already colourful walls. 

“Alright,” you sighed, stretching. “Let’s get organised.” Your voice carried in the empty apartment; echoing off the walls filled with pictures and art. 

Slowly, you ambled your way into the kitchen where the cookies you baked earlier were resting on a cooling rack, and you smiled. Bucky had a sweet tooth and you knew after any long shift he would crave something sugary, something ridiculously sweet that the thought alone would give you cavities. 

You pulled the blanket over your shoulders tighter around you to shield yourself from the chill in the air, and began to place the cookies onto a plate – the neat arrangement of a heart.  

As you were finalising the heart a few moments later, you heard the thud of heavy boots at the front door and then the creak of the worn hinges as the door swung open. “Hey, I’m home,” Bucky called, his voice hoarse from use. “Where are you?”

“Kitchen,” you replied, still fiddling with the cookies. “How was your shift?”

Bucky appeared in the doorway, his dark undershirt tight over his chest, and the rounded collar of the garment showed the tattoos that sprawled his chest and neck. Long brown hair cascaded down his neck to rest atop the strong line of his shoulders, and his uniform, normally pristine and shining, sat rumpled and dirty on his huge frame. The jacket of said uniform was over one of his arms so his colourful tattoos were bright under the kitchen light. 

Heavy, dark bags under his normally bright eyes told you all you needed to know, and you frowned. “Oh, Buck,” you sighed. “That bad, huh?”

He winced, shrugged, and moved from the doorway to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and gulping half of it down in one pull harsh chug. “Yeah. That bad. I’m gonna shower, can you–?”

“Yeah.” The plate of cookies was heavy in your hands, but you smiled. “I can. Go get cleaned up and we can chill.”

Bucky heaved a sigh and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, his hand running through his hair. It was hard seeing him so drained, but it was his lifeline – Paramedicine was his calling, and like hell would you try and convince him to stop. 

The living room lit up with the light from the TV just as you heard the water start running. Documentaries were the go-to when Bucky was like this, just mindless noise while he decompressed from a tough shift – you pulled up one of his favourites to play once he was comfortably settled on the couch. 

You made your way to the blanket chest that doubled as a coffee table and pulled out his favourite sherpa blanket – the plush fabric a royal blue in colour with a black underside. It was a gift you had given him for one of his birthdays, and he treated it with such love and respect that the blanket was just as soft as it was when it was brand new. 

The water down the hallway shut off and you sighed heavily, mentally preparing to bring your best friend back to reality – to make him feel safe and loved. You placed the folded blanket on one side of the couch before you took a seat on the other side, leaving plenty of room for him to lay down. 

Bucky appeared a few moments later, his hair damp and hanging in strands around his handsome face. “That was quick,” you observed, looking up at him. “Feel better?”

“No,” he mumbled. His feet carried him to the couch, and he flopped down onto the cushions with a low grunt. “Need you.”

Your heart lurched, and you frowned once more. “‘Course, bubs,” you soothed, settling yourself against the back of the couch. The blanket over your shoulders shifted as you moved, and you tucked it under your thighs just as you patted the top of them. “C’mere. We can just watch some TV while you chill, alright?”

Bucky hummed and shuffled up the couch, his bulky frame almost making the flimsy piece of furniture almost rock with his movements. “We need a new couch,” he huffed, and you chuckled. 

A moment passed of you carding through his damp hair with your fingers – content to watch the sprawling eternity of space on the screen, when Bucky spoke. “Thanks for this, love,” he said quietly. You paused your movements, and then placed one hand atop his head, the other on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome.” 

Bucky shifted until he looked up at you from your lap, his eyes soft with concern. “I didn’t ask–how’re you feeling? How’s the pain today?”

“As it always is, bubs,” you replied softly, shrugging. It was true. The pain you dealt with on a day-to-day basis was no different – no better, no worse than it normally would be, and you counted that as a blessing. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me none, okay?”

Bucky frowned up at you. “But you’re my best girl,” he urged, “‘course I’m gonna worry about you.” To your absolute and utter shock, his hand that had rested on his stomach moved to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “And I hate that you’re hurting and I can’t do a damn thing to help, baby.”

Tears filled your eyes at the words, and you pulled back. “No, don’t go,” Bucky rushed, his tone pleading. “Please, don’t. I-I need to-” He cleared his throat, licked his lips and, “I have been wanting to ask you for so fucking long-”

The world froze, and then imploded. Your heart, once so strong and valiant, thumped and ached with the need to jump from its safe haven behind the bones and muscle of your chest. “Bucky, I- Look, you’re my best friend, you know that-”

“Let me finish,” Bucky pleaded again, his hand now moving to grab hold of yours – his grip tight and unyielding. “Please, just lemme finish-”

The ugly, foul feeling of shame and guilt twisted up your spine and curdled your stomach, and before you could clamp your mouth shut against the wave, you blurted, “Is this pity, Bucky? Is this pity for me–for how I am?”

Horror flashed across his face and morphed into such acute sadness it made you wince. “It’s not, I swear it’s not. I’ve fucking wanted you for so long, I just couldn’t–I couldn’t work up the fucking courage to ask.”

Bucky’s mouth worked furiously as though he couldn’t find the words. “Bucky, I-” You tried, but he shook his head.

“Please, this is real, I know you’ve been hurt by others, but this is real–would I lie to you?” he asked. The desperation in his voice wounded your swelling fury, and you shuddered out a gasp. “Would I lie to the woman that’s been through hell and back with me all these years–to the woman that holds my heart in her damned hands without even knowing?”

The words cracked and trembled as they left his lips; an admission he hadn’t planned on making. 

“Please,” Bucky whispered, voice broken. “Please, let me–let me love you like you deserve, baby.”

You sobbed; the tear tracks down your cheeks suddenly burning against your skin. Your hand came up to wipe them away, but Bucky’s hand got there first – his thumb brushing gently at the skin so no trace of sadness was left. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” 

The couch creaked as Bucky sat up, his bulky frame now propped up next to yours. 

“This-This is s-so out of the blue,” you hiccuped, sniffling. “What happened–?”

“I saw something today, love,” Bucky said quietly. You felt the warmth of his arm over your shoulder, and you eased into his side. “And it made me realise just how-” He sniffled, and you looked up at him to see tears welling in his eyes. “It just made me realise how fucking lucky I am, and how much I love you. We don’t always get second chances, and I’ll be damned if I am letting you slip through my fingers–not when you’re right here with me.”

You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer. For years you would have done anything to hear those words from him – time had eroded such desperation and urge, but had never tampered and lessened the desire. 

To finally hear them and out of nowhere, it was too much. You curled into Bucky’s side, and sobbed heartily, gripping onto his shirt for dear life while he rocked and soothed you; his own tears landing in your hair. “I’ve got you, babydoll–I’ve got you,” he whispered – a chant only for you. 

“I’ve wanted- Needed this,” you sobbed, still gripping his shirt and arm like he would fade away if you slackened your grip. “Bucky, I- Please-”

“Just lemme hold you, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed, and his grip tightened around your shoulders. “C’mere, sit in my lap. I think we both need this.”

Bucky manoeuvred you carefully into his lap, mindful of your sore and aching joints until finally you settled against his chest, your eyes directly in line with the tattoos peeking out from the neckline of his sleep shirt. “There we go, baby–comfortable?”

You hummed an ascent and traced your pointer finger over the intricate lines over his neck before you moved down to his bicep, following the swirling designs and bright colours. “How did you know?” you whispered, terrified of the answer. “How did you know that you- that you wanted me after all this time?”

There was a comfortable silence as you waited for Bucky to answer. You were content to sit there in his arms knowing that after all that time, what you had wanted all along was right there. It was within reach.

“I knew the moment I came home that day, all those years ago, when you greeted me at the door with cookies; the softest smile on your face. It was a hard day; it was my first call out for a welfare check.” Memories flooded your mind – you recalled helping him out of his uniform and just holding him close while he cried at the painful, aching loss he had seen, the pure pain from his grief. “And you cared for me. Like no one else had.”

“Always have, bubs,” you murmured, placing your hand over his heart where the beat was steady, strong. “Always will.”

The answering kiss to your forehead worked on your simmering fears, and dissipated them like smoke. “Just as I will love and care for you, babydoll. Always.”

No, you will not look at me and say that I am dealing with my pain and medical trauma through writing. We are gonna ignore that.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Three: Harboring a Fugitive Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 10.3k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: Long haired Jimin, Strong language, blood, main character injured, main character beaten (not explicit), fighting, argument, near death experience, angst, fluff, backstory time, flashbacks, I’m putting PTSD on all of these because poor reader is suffering, I love Taehyung so much, I forgot how much I missed his playful attitude, brooding Jimin as always, crying, hurt/comfort, I hate Ahn, let me know if I missed anything A/N: This rewriting has been more fun than I thought it would be. I think the next chapter will have the most changes thus far, but I am still trying to keep everything as close as possible. Thanks for reading!

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I was jolted awake by a frantic pounding on the front door. My eyes cracked open, and the sting of exhaustion made them burn like hot coals. As I surveyed the room, I realized I’d been changed and cleaned, but Yoongi’s presence was conspicuously absent. Jimin, too, seemed to have vanished, though I couldn’t recall when Yoongi had arrived. Sleep was already slipping through my fingers, the relentless knocking dragging me back to wakefulness.

With a groan of protest from every muscle, I limped to the living room. Shiloh’s gentle breathing from her nest was the only sound beside the incessant banging. It struck me that she must have been utterly spent to have slept through it all. At last, I reached the door and threw it open, only to be greeted by one of the most heart-wrenching sights I’d seen in ages.

Kim Taehyung stood there, a broken mess. His hair was a tangle of knots and his body was a bruised and battered mosaic of purples and blues. I forced myself to straighten up, though my exhaustion made it a struggle. As I guided him inside, my heart shattered at the sound of his sobs.

Ahn had clearly done a number on him, and the rage that simmered beneath my surface was nearly overwhelming. But Taehyung was in no state to handle my fury. His suffering was both physical and emotional, and I needed to tend to him first. As he choked out the details of his ordeal, I listened with clenched teeth.

After we left, Ahn had dragged Taehyung into a secluded room at the palace, where the beating began. It was as if the old man believed he could pummel the boy into submission. The thought nearly made me scream. Soon, three others from the council joined in, and though some had protested, none had the courage to stand against it. Sol had been taken from him, her screams echoing in his ears.

“I’ve got your face,” I muttered, dipping back into a jar of salve. I’d already applied two jars to his face and neck. “Strip down. I need to check for infections.”

Taehyung nodded through his tears. I didn’t let myself stare too long, though it was impossible not to see the condition of his battered body. I focused on his stomach, my hands working with a rough, frustrated rhythm.

“I can’t believe this,” I grunted. “Why did you let them do this to you?”

Taehyung winced as I pressed too hard on a tender spot. “I didn’t want to fight,” he said. “I don’t want to rule with violence. Fighting and shouting… it’s uncivilized.”

I laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “So, you let them do whatever they want with you? You’d let them kill you?”

He was silent, unable to answer. 

“If you want to be taken seriously,” I said, opening another jar of salve and rubbing it into his chest, “you have to stand up for yourself. Your idea of civility doesn’t align with the old guard.”

Taehyung’s expression darkened, and he looked genuinely troubled. His naivety struck me hard, and I felt a surge of anger. If Ahn were here, I’d deal with him myself. How dare he orchestrate such cruelty? The thought of him parading around while a child suffered made my blood boil.

While I agreed with Taehyung’s ideals, the others would never accept them easily. He needed to fight if he wanted respect. Chief Ahn would never allow a different kind of leadership. My anger flared again—Kim Taehyung was far more worthy of leadership than that miserable excuse for a man. An epiphany hit me: no one else was as suited to rule Foxglove as Taehyung, with his diplomacy and kindness.

“I understand,” I said, wincing as Taehyung flinched away from my touch. “But you can’t let them push you around. Their views of manhood are archaic, and though your village knows it, fear makes people cling to the familiar. Ahn exploits that fear to boost his own ego.”

Taehyung’s gaze was inscrutable, his eyes following my every movement but revealing nothing. He seemed to be weighing my words carefully.

“I wanted to fight,” he confessed, his voice a whisper of shame. “I wanted to kill them all, but then they’d win. I’d become the man they wanted me to be, but the village would fear and resent me like they fear Ahn.”

His introspection was unexpected but not unwelcome. I’d never heard him speak with such depth before. His voice, deep and smooth like molasses, carried a melancholy tune. It was a stark contrast to his youthful charm, making me remember he’d only turned eighteen a month ago.

“Isn’t running away also letting them win?” I asked gently.

Taehyung sighed. “I had no choice. Ahn was trying to stir up enough trouble to force someone to challenge me for Sol. No one took the bait, so I managed to slip away. Jong-gyu helped me get out, and Eun-jin told our mother I was leaving.”

Taehyung’s siblings always seemed to feature in his stories, and their importance to him was clear. Jong-gyu, only eleven, and Eun-jin, just six, were his little anchors. The thought of them plotting an escape for their eldest brother was heartbreaking.

I wiped my hands on my nightgown and stood up. Taehyung was smeared in salve, and the bruises were already fading. His ribs would need more time, so I headed to the kitchen, searching for a healing potion. I didn’t have the energy to make one from scratch at this hour.

“Why did you come here?” I asked softly.

Taehyung sighed. “Because I knew you’d help me.”

The pity I felt for him returned with a vengeance. Imagining him hurt and abandoned, unable to trust anyone else, made my heart ache. I found an old potion in the back of a cupboard, checked its scent, and decided it was still good.

“You can stay as long as you need,” I said, handing him the potion. “Sol is my friend, and I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

Taehyung seemed relieved. He drank the potion, curled up on the couch, and was asleep almost immediately. The sight of him, so utterly exhausted, made me stifle a laugh. I began extinguishing the candles and tidying up the used salves. I’d need to prepare more soon.

Exhausted and still recovering from the ceremony, I dragged myself back to bed. Shiloh was waiting for me, her feathers ruffled in disapproval.

“How many times do I have to tell you to take your bedrest seriously?” she chided.

I groaned and collapsed into my bed. It was warm and inviting. Shiloh flapped to her nest, feathers drifting onto my sheets, but I ignored them. I was used to the constant cleaning by now.

“It was Taehyung,” I protested weakly.

“I don’t care if it was Fenrir himself at the door, you need to stay in bed—”

“Shiloh,” I warned, “Swîgian âstillian.”

The owl grumbled, but I was too far gone to listen.

The pounding at my front door was relentless, dragging me from a restless sleep. Groggy and stiff, I rolled over with a groan, my body protesting every move. Outside, a cacophony of angry voices pierced the morning quiet, and among them, someone was calling for Taehyung. That was the spark that ignited my fury. Furious and aching, I summoned my magic to lift myself out of bed and threw on my robe.

Taehyung was curled up in a tight ball in front of the sofa, barely stirring as I stormed past him to the door. Shiloh’s frantic screeches filled the air, demanding I retreat back to bed and let the wolves handle their own mess. But when their politics come knocking at my door, I had every right to give them a piece of my mind.

With a deep breath to steady my rage, I squared my shoulders and thrust my arms forward. The front door exploded off its hinges and crashed into whoever was standing behind it. Namjoon barely flinched as he shoved the door aside with a practiced swipe, his eyes wide with shock. But I wasn’t finished. I began to sing, a storm of objects swirling around the room in a chaotic dance. Namjoon staggered back, but this only fueled my anger further. Shiloh’s voice cut through the chaos as a fierce blue flame erupted from my palm and hurtled towards the wolf.

“Hwæt−hwugu ðrîstian êow?” I roared, the magic dissipating as my singing ceased. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Hoseok and Jimin flanked their brother, their expressions a mix of concern and annoyance. I knew I’d regret attacking them eventually, probably the moment they left, but in this moment, I couldn’t bring myself to back down. No one was going to come here and intimidate me. The rational part of my brain screamed for me to stop, breathe, and listen, but the louder, angrier voice wanted to shatter them all. Taehyung had been battered and bleeding last night, and yet none of these so-called protectors had lifted a finger to help.

“Bridd—” Hoseok began.

I cut him off, my gaze locked on Namjoon. He stared at the ashen spot where the flames had struck, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. My anger burned hotter, and I felt a fresh wave of pain in my back—clearly, I had overextended myself with the magic. My body was struggling to heal, blood seeping from old wounds.

“Sê ðafian êower m¯ægð teohhian êower weorðfulnes?” I roared, my eyes blazing. “Sol chose him. The Gods chose him! Do you think you’re somehow superior to them now? Are you so blinded by your precious Chief’s biases that you’d let this happen?”

Namjoon swallowed hard, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Of course not. I—”

“You listen to me,” I sneered, cutting him off. “If you ever have the audacity to come banging on my door again, I swear, I will not show you the same mercy.”

Namjoon stammered, unable to form a coherent response. I could feel my strength waning, the red haze in my vision receding. Shiloh’s persistent shouts to come inside and let Taehyung handle things himself were drowned out by my determination. No one else was here to protect him if things turned violent, and I’d never forgive myself for leaving him exposed. I stood tall, though my stance was more relaxed now, my anger still simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re here to speak with Taehyung,” Hoseok pleaded. “We have no intention of fighting with you or him. Namjoon needs to deliver a message.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Taehyung’s voice cut through the din. 

“I’m fine, Bridd,” he said, his tone calm but wary. He stayed behind me, peering cautiously at the intruders. “What’s the word?”

“Don’t be angry with me, cousin,” Namjoon began, stepping forward.

I instinctively moved to defend Taehyung, taking up a protective stance. Namjoon halted, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender while Hoseok stood beside him, and Jimin remained still, his gaze fixed on me with an unreadable expression. If I was thinking clearly, I might understand his wary posture, but in my agitated state, it only stung.

“I have challenged you,” Namjoon said, and all thoughts of Jimin vanished.

“Quare?” Taehyung’s voice was thick with disbelief and hurt. “What have I ever done to you?”

Namjoon’s expression softened, but I readied myself to protect Taehyung at all costs. No one was going to harm him—not while I had breath in my body. Sol was my friend, and I wouldn’t let anyone, especially not someone like Ahn, destroy their lives. I knew Namjoon well enough to anticipate his attempts to play both sides for peace, a trait I despised.

“So no one else would,” Namjoon said, trying to convince Taehyung. “We’re trying to buy time to come up with a plan. I swear, I have no intention of fighting you.”

“Putasne me stultum esse?” Taehyung hissed, his body radiating heat. “You’re trying to take Sol from me!”

Namjoon’s face went pale. I felt a surge of pride for Taehyung, agreeing with his rage. Namjoon’s arrogance, coupled with his obsession with Sol, made it hard to believe that the challenge was solely for Taehyung’s benefit. The other two wolves’ skeptical expressions confirmed my doubts.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Taehyung,” Namjoon pleaded, his agitation growing. “I mean what I say, even if you’re too dense to understand it.”

Taehyung growled, and I had to steady my racing heart. I needed to shield him inside. Namjoon could leave, and I would be exposed to the sun if he chose to exploit that. Still, I held my defensive posture. Taehyung was done talking, and both Hoseok and Namjoon waited for his next move.

Suddenly, Shiloh burst out of the house with a loud screech. The chaos unfolded in a flash. Shiloh lunged at Namjoon, who transformed into a wolf mid-air. Taehyung’s massive frame surged forward, and before I could react, I was thrust into the sunlight. My face slammed against the front steps, and the sun’s rays seared my back. Pain shot through my ankle as metal cut into my skin.

My skin felt like it was on fire. Screams erupted uncontrollably from my throat as I struggled to focus on Shiloh. I saw her turning towards me just as a large, russet wolf nudged her aside. Hands grabbed me, pulling me back inside. My body trembled with pain, my vision filled with white as I screamed. All around me, voices clashed, but the pain consumed me.

“Quid irrumabo facimus?” Hoseok shouted.

“Nescio,” Taehyung’s voice sounded choked with tears.

My eyes rolled back, the agony overwhelming my senses. The ceiling came into view as I raised a trembling hand. Black feathers had pierced through my skin, and I cried out in fresh distress.

“Recedite ab ea!” someone screamed, but the words were indistinguishable.

“Licuitne futura est?”

Something was happening nearby, but all I could focus on was the searing fire inside me. I knew the pain would eventually subside, but I needed something to help ease it. My mouth opened to speak, but only screams escaped.

“It burns,” I managed to grunt through the convulsions.

Hands touched me, but my vision blurred. Sleep was impossible, and my body was in its worst state yet. Between the ceremony, the magic use, and the sun exposure, I’d be out of commission for a week—or more.

“Move,” Shiloh’s voice cut through the chaos.

Through my half-opened eyes, I saw not an owl but a radiant woman standing before me. Her fiery hair shimmered like it was underwater, and her skin glowed with a diamond-like brilliance. She looked like an ethereal vision, and I reached out to her. Her tears sparkled as she gently touched my hand.

“Slêpte,” she whispered, her fingers brushing my arm.

A wave of relief washed over me, and I sighed deeply. I closed my eyes, curling up next to Shiloh. Exhaustion hit me all at once, and I could hear growls and frantic voices, but they were far away. Someone was crying, but I was too tired to identify who it was.

“I’m going to put you to bed,” the woman whispered softly. “Where you belong.”

When I finally dragged myself back to consciousness, the smell of cooking food was like a beacon in a fog of confusion. I was back in my bed, with memories of the night before slipping through my fingers like sand. Shiloh had been there in her spirit form—so ethereal, so beautiful I imagined her future self would be just as mesmerizing. With a groan, I forced myself upright, my body protesting with every movement. No one would harm Taehyung while I still drew breath, and I clung to the hope that he was safe and sound somewhere in my house.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I grabbed the door frame for support. The stove was ablaze, a pot bubbling away on top, filling the room with the rich, smoky aroma of applewood. The kitchen sparkled, cleaner than it had ever been, as if someone had swept away not just dirt but the very chaos of my life. The scent of lemon mingled with the sharp tang of onions, a strange comfort in the midst of this turmoil.

“You should be in bed.”

The voice, coming out of nowhere, made me jump. I whipped around to find Jimin sprawled in my recliner, looking unusually somber. Taehyung stood by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on me with a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place. Hoseok and Namjoon were absent, and my heart sank at the lack of familiar presence.

“Where’s Shiloh?” I demanded, stumbling forward and clutching the kitchen island.

Taehyung was at my side in an instant, his touch gentle but insistent. “Please, don’t push yourself, Bridd,” he said softly, guiding me to the small loveseat.

Jimin, ever the thoughtful one, draped a blanket over me as if I were a child. He must have been busy while I slept, rummaging through my things. Glancing at my hands, I saw the feathers had been replaced by jagged scars, a cruel reminder of the price I’d paid. My heart sank at the sight, a pang of sorrow tightening in my chest. Jimin’s hand covered mine, offering a silent comfort.

“She stepped out for a while,” Jimin said, his voice rough, like he’d been yelling. 

I remembered my anger towards him and Namjoon, but now it seemed distant, irrelevant. Seeing Jimin’s weary face, I knew he’d been affected deeply by the events. He was no longer the faceless alpha from my anger-fueled memories but someone I felt genuine empathy for. Taehyung’s presence, however, still rankled. Namjoon’s arrogance had hurt him deeply, and no matter his intentions, the challenge he issued had only made things worse.

“Is everyone alright?” I asked, trying to focus on the present.

Jimin shrugged, “Everyone but you. Namjoon and I had a disagreement before he left, but he’ll be fine.”

I scowled at Jimin. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting.”

Jimin’s grin was faint but reassuring. “Don’t worry, amica. I won.”

“Doesn’t change my feelings.” I grumbled, turning to look at Taehyung. His face was a mask of confusion, his eyes betraying an inner turmoil. The fleeting glances he shot between Jimin and me hinted at a struggle to make sense of it all. He winked at me, and I looked away, wondering if he’d caught onto my feelings.

Was it possible he had seen more than I intended? I knew Taehyung was perceptive, his mischievous nature hiding a sharp awareness. But right now, I was too exhausted to dwell on it. Jimin’s presence was a balm to my troubled mind.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay here until Taehyung decides what to do,” Jimin said, surprising me.

“What for?” I asked.

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” Taehyung interjected. “I didn’t realize you were so close, and I was overwhelmed.”

I shook my head, dismissing his apology. “It’s not your fault, Taehyung.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung scoffed. “You’re covered in scars because of my actions, and now my cousin is angry with all of us because of the fight. Hoseok said it’s best if we stay away from the village for a while. We can’t go back home.”

This news didn’t surprise me. I had no intention of letting Taehyung leave my cottage anytime soon, but Jimin’s exile was either a self-imposed punishment or Hoseok’s attempt to cool Namjoon’s temper. It made sense—challenging Taehyung was hardly a diplomatic move. 

Jimin suddenly produced a letter from his pocket, catching me off guard. “I found the letter your friend sent you.”

A spark of recognition flickered. “Wendy!” I exclaimed.

Jimin looked almost bashful, his discomfort evident. I tugged my arm free and hurried to my coat rack, desperate to retrieve the letter. But before I could make it, Taehyung’s arms encircled me.

“Taehyung, let me go,” I demanded, struggling against his hold.

“Sit. You’re hurt,” he pleaded, guiding me back to the sofa.

Frustrated, I bit his arm, causing him to yelp and release me. I landed on the floor with a thud, glaring up at him.

“This is ridiculous,” I complained. “You come into my home, rifle through my belongings, and now you won’t let me read my own letter? She’s my friend! If it’s important, I need to know.”

Jimin sighed, frustration etched into his features. “If you’d had a bit more patience, I could have handed it to you. It’s in my pocket.”

“If you’d just said that instead of staring at me like I’m an idiot—” I retorted, hobbling back to the sofa and grabbing the letter from his hands. “—I wouldn’t have gotten up.”

Jimin’s glare was sharp but silent. I settled into my spot, Taehyung’s weary gaze fixed on me. The need to apologize for my earlier actions was there, but I fought it. He had overstepped, and I had reacted. Still, the urge to make amends lingered.

The letter from Wendy was a balm to my troubled thoughts. Her words painted a picture of her own struggles, and as I read, my heart sank. She was thinking about not coming back hom after her sister’s wedding. She didn’t think Jin would take her back and that she had ruined his and Yoongi’s friendship. Shiloh must have gone to find her after reading the letter. I mentally thanked her and began to draft a reply.

Wendy, darling,

I’m relieved to hear from you. The events here in Bangtan have been tumultuous, and I’ve hardly had a moment to breathe. The ceremony has left me weary, and I hope you can help me unwind once you return. 

Forget the fools who have caused you distress. Remember the things that truly matter: your mother, the sisterhood, the coven, and the forest. No one else can tame a magindara or purify the sea like you. Don’t let trivial matters deter you from enjoying life. I’m thrilled about Nixie’s engagement and wish I could be there with her.

But life has charted a different course for both of us. I’m scared, Wendy—every day brings new fears—but I embrace it all, the sunshine, the flowers, the wind. As Aldara said, “Fear reminds us that we’re alive.” So, don’t give up just yet. Keep swimming and return home. Talk to Seokjin; he will understand. Yoongi holds no ill will. Release your fantasies and root yourself in reality.

We’ve all made mistakes, but we can mend our friendships if nothing else. If you truly wish to be with Jin, then go for it. He has long pursued you while you focused elsewhere. I want our circle whole again, with everyone finding their happiness. So go ahead. Even if I’m afraid, you need not be.

Missing you dearly,

B

I watched as the letter dried, my body easing into a more bearable state. With renewed energy, I rummaged for an envelope. Shiloh would usually handle sending things, but I was alone in this. Grabbing my ceremonial bag, I sifted through it until I found my meteor powder. Taking a deep breath, I began sketching Wendy’s face. My hand moved with practiced ease, though my heart pounded with anxiety. 

With a final incantation, I threw the powder onto the parchment. The paper vanished in an instant. I mumbled a hope that it reached her safely.

“That was so cool!” Taehyung’s voice broke my reverie.

I chuckled. “Not as cool as my own magic, but it will have to do. I can hardly feel anything in my body.”

Returning to the couch, I curled up beside Jimin. He looked worried, a sentiment I hadn’t expected from him. I had probably done more harm than good with my earlier actions, but for now, I would let it be. 

“She seemed upset,” Jimin said, his voice laced with concern. “I hadn’t realized your friends were involved in this way.”

I was taken aback by his empathy. “It’s been a thing since we were children. Don’t worry too much; she’ll come back, and they’ll figure it out.”

“Why aren’t they together now?” Taehyung asked.

“Because,” I sighed, “they don’t truly know what they want.”

Jimin served us a bowl of cabbage stew, plain but comforting. As I ate, I drifted into a restless sleep on the small couch, the unsettling dream I woke from fading as Jimin gently returned me to bed. I didn’t wake again until after sunset, finding solace in the quiet as the world outside continued its chaotic spin.

Taehyung was a surprising guest. He took care of the space, cleaned up after himself, and was generally a delight to have around. He was like a new breed of house guest, one who didn’t leave a trail of destruction in his wake. The supplies I had been sending to Foxglove had stopped—something Taehyung and Jimin didn't quite agree with, but that was their problem. They didn’t deserve my help if they were going to squander it. No one had come for anything lately, leading me to believe they were either boycotting my services or simply too intimidated by the presence of the wolves to make an appearance.

Wendy’s letter arrived the next morning, confirming she was on her way back. She’d even written to Jin, though I could only guess what she had said. Seokjin was notorious for spilling secrets, so I expected to hear all about it sooner or later.

I took a deep breath, opening my eyes to the sight of my altar. My magic had returned a few days ago, but I’d let it rest. Today was the first time I’d performed a ritual spell in days. I glanced over my shoulder, offering a soft smile to Jimin, who was napping on my sofa.

Our conversations since that night had been sparse, but Jimin was doing his best to help Taehyung devise a plan to win over the town. I thought it was a foolish endeavor, but I supported it nonetheless. Jimin’s reputation in the community was invaluable, and having him on Taehyung’s side significantly boosted his chances. I knew the pack missed both of them, and I hoped Namjoon would make an appearance soon. We had much to discuss, and I wanted to apologize for my loud outburst. No matter what anyone else said, I took much of the blame for that disastrous encounter.

“What’s a cah-dee-jo?” Taehyung’s voice cut through my thoughts, loud and inquisitive.

“A cadejo,” I corrected, rolling my eyes, “are spirits that guide worthy travelers.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “And if they’re not worthy?”

“They’ll eat them,” I replied with an ease that bordered on nonchalance.

Taehyung had taken a keen interest in my books after discovering something I’d written about the magindara as a child. He devoured them so quickly that I found myself fetching more from the cellar just to keep up. Despite his naivety, Taehyung was a bright young man with an insatiable curiosity. He never settled for a single answer and listened with rapt attention.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why not?”

Taehyung fell silent, returning to his reading. I found myself growing fond of him, wishing he could go back home. The way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings tugged at my heart. His parents must be in a constant state of worry.

After spending most of the morning sitting, I decided to make lunch. Shiloh was due back later that day. Wendy had mentioned that my familiar had arrived at her inn just before sending the letter, so I knew Shiloh was safe. Thinking about her stirred a mix of emotions in me. Exposing her spirit form was a dangerous risk, one I’d never have asked of her, but she had done it anyway.

I approached the kitchen window, whistling loudly as I began pulling out a pot and pan. Tomato soup seemed like the perfect choice, and I could whip up a quick loaf of bread to go with it. Moments later, Delinah appeared at my window. I glanced up from dicing onions, smiling at the deer.

“Morning, Dee,” I greeted.

She dipped her head. “Glad to see you up and about. You gave us all quite a scare.”

I hummed in response, tossing the onions into the pot along with three heads of garlic, some fresh herbs, and a splash of oil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jimin stirring on the sofa.

“I’m as good as new,” I joked, using a spell to light the stove. “Would you mind fetching some tomatoes from Seokjin’s garden? I’d ask Shiloh, but she’s out of the forest for the day.”

“Where did she go?” Delinah asked, tugging the cloth tote from the windowsill with her mouth.

“Northorn,” I replied.

“Northorn? What’s so important in that dreadful place?”

I laughed, helping her secure the tote around her neck. Delinah nuzzled my hands, and I promised her carrots upon her return.

“To answer your question,” I said, returning to the counter, “Wendy’s trying to run away, so Shiloh’s bringing her back.”

Delinah laughed, “Oh, that Wendy Byrd. She’s a wild card, that one.”

“But we love her.”

Jimin got up as soon as Delinah left, and Taehyung remained engrossed in my book about magical beasts. I took over the task of roasting onions and garlic, letting them caramelize over the open flame. The tomatoes would soon follow. I could hear the two men conversing quietly, but I chose to ignore them. Privacy in this house was a rare luxury.

Delinah returned swiftly, and I sent her off with a bundle of carrots. After roasting the tomatoes, I used my pestle and mortar to blend everything into a smooth puree before adding it to the pot.

“Bridd,” Taehyung called out. “Can I get your opinion on something?”

I nodded. “Ask away.”

“I want to write a letter to Namjoon, but I’m unsure how he’d take it.”

I paused, contemplating. A letter might not help much. Ahn and his tricks made it unlikely that any letter would reach Namjoon. With people actively looking for him, showing his face might only stir up more trouble. Namjoon’s challenge was official, and only revoking it would end the conflict. I had faith in Taehyung’s ability to defend himself if necessary, though his reluctance to fight was apparent. Namjoon’s determination was formidable, but I doubted it would come to a lethal confrontation.

“I don’t think it would help much,” I said. “You know Ahn’s methods. A letter might not even get through.”

Taehyung sighed in defeat, and I felt a pang of sympathy. I understood his predicament all too well. I remembered Aldara’s lessons in defensive magic, though I had never been able to strike her. It wasn’t until that fateful night that I realized my potential for harm. I shuddered at the thought, wishing no one, especially Taehyung, had to face such a fate.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” I said, mixing the soup.

“Me too,” Taehyung replied.

We ate lunch in silence. Jimin was unusually quiet, his mind clearly occupied. Being away from his pack for three days must have been weighing on him. Wolves were creatures of family, and the silence must have been particularly hard for him.

Taehyung didn’t ask anything more after that. He spent the rest of the day sprawled on the floor by the fireplace, devouring book after book, while Jimin gazed out of the windows and scribbled in a journal. They stayed inside, avoiding the outdoors. I managed to complete a few chores, practice some new spells, and jot down notes in my grimoire. The atmosphere was stifling, and it wasn’t until Shiloh returned at sunset that the house stirred with activity.

In a flurry of feathers and screeches, the barn owl flew through my bedroom window, her voice echoing off the walls. I hastily threw my pen onto my grimoire, the black ink smearing across the pages in a ruinous streak. I didn’t care; Shiloh was back, and that was enough.

“Between those wolves and you witches,” she complained, “I’ll never catch a break.”

“Oh, Shiloh,” I cooed, opening my arms to her.

My familiar dove into my embrace, letting herself be fussed over. I petted her head, smoothing down her feathers. She leaned into my touches, and I couldn’t recall the last time I had smiled so broadly.

“You’re so strong and mighty, little one. I missed you dearly.”

She laughed, “I’m glad to see you up and moving again.”

“Where’s Wendy?” I asked, releasing her from my hug.

Shiloh flew into the kitchen, and I followed. She pecked at the leftover bread from lunch and took note of the wolves still lounging in the living room. She seemed pleased they were still there and gave a nod of approval to Taehyung. I chuckled at her antics.

“She’ll be back after her sister’s wedding.”

“Oh, wonderful!” I clapped my hands together in delight.

“Another pain in my ass,” Shiloh muttered.

And I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Transformation was always an adjustment. Even now, after all this time, I still felt disoriented by the process. On Taehyung’s first night here, he nearly broke down my bedroom door in his panic to check on me. If Jimin hadn’t reassured him, I was sure Taehyung would have been deeply traumatized. Tonight was the fourth night, and Taehyung slept soundly through my night terrors. Shiloh had gone to bed early, leaving Jimin as the only one awake when I flew in through the kitchen window.

He wore the same clothes he had for days—something I had hand-washed twice but he refused to part with. I had made clothes for Taehyung, but Jimin’s

 rejection of them stung. I never brought it up again, simply washing and magically drying them. Tonight, Jimin had removed his usual long cape, his socks and shoes were missing, and his belt was nowhere to be seen. His hair fell loose, cascading to his waist, and a simple headband kept his bangs out of his eyes. He sat at the kitchen island, engrossed in whatever he was writing.

“Hello,” he greeted, offering a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He looked worn out, more so than usual, and Taehyung snored loudly on the floor, rolling over without a care. Jimin continued to scribble on the papers, unperturbed. I hopped closer and peered at the writing, recognizing the familiar scrawl.

It was the paper I had used during my visit a few weeks ago. Seeing it brought a wave of emotions, my heart swelling with affection. The fact that he had kept it, carried it around, left me breathless.

I’m feeling better.

Not if it’s something you like.

I love blueberries.

You did nothing wrong, Alpha. I promise.

“It brings me comfort,” Jimin whispered, his voice trembling in the dim moonlight. “Knowing that you’re out there.”

I turned toward him and saw the tears streaming down his face, illuminated by the pale, ethereal glow of the moon. For the first time since I’d known him, there was a clarity in my own heart. I fluttered my wings and landed softly in his lap, pressing my face against his stomach. The warmth within me radiated, and I could feel the tension in his body slowly dissolve.

He clutched me tightly, his sobs coming in ragged gasps. What sorrow gnawed at him, I wasn’t entirely sure, but it was clear it had something to do with the turmoil around us. I melted into his embrace, his openness a balm to my weary spirit. I found myself yearning for him to hold me as a lover would, but I pushed the thought aside. Greed felt like a bitter pill to swallow, especially when it came to the emotional exchange I saw before me.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I understand them both, know that neither of them are happy with the way they left things, but I can’t do anything about it. I don’t want to leave Taehyung, but I don’t want to watch my friends tear each other apart over a misunderstanding.”

And oh, how angry I was with Namjoon, how much I wanted to slam him against a wall and scream until my lungs bled. But the truth was, I didn’t wish him dead. We were friends, after all, even if it was a strained, bloody friendship. The alpha allowed himself only two minutes of tears before he wiped his face and set me gently back on the island. He apologized profusely, his voice hoarse and filled with regret before he left the cottage, seeking the solace of the night.

I wanted to follow him, but I knew he needed his space. I glanced at the letter at my feet, feeling a shift in my resolve. What if a letter was considered offensive? They had beaten Taehyung senseless, exiled him, and made his family think he needed to be challenged to keep the pack in line. If a simple letter was the spark that ignited their fury, then I was ready to be the villain. I knew the chances of someone else intercepting Namjoon’s letter were high, but I had to try. I couldn’t bear to see Jimin’s tears again. 

Resolute, I gathered paper and ink, and began to write.

“Y/N,” Auntie whispered, her fingers tangling gently in my hair.

The sun was just a whisper on the horizon, the sky still a deep shade of purple. I struggled to pry my eyes open, moaning as I rubbed my face. Another yawn escaped me, my eyes fluttering shut once more.

Aldara chuckled softly, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Let’s make breakfast together.”

I shook my head, flipping over the pancake on the stove. In the dining room, Taehyung, Jimin, and the witches discussed the best fishing spots in Bangtan. Seokjin and Yoongi had dropped by unannounced, and while I was puzzled by their sudden visit, I assumed it had something to do with Wendy. Jin looked surprised by the presence of the wolves and asked to speak with me privately once breakfast was over. I heard Taehyung questioning whether vegan pancakes could taste good, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

I had adopted a vegetarian diet after Aldara passed. With the inability to leave my home, meat became a distant memory. Four years ago, after growing closer with the critters around me, I’d eliminated animal products entirely. It felt wrong to consume a creature I could have known.

“They’re not that different from ‘normal’ ones,” I explained, plating the fresh pancake. “I just use oat flour, bananas, and flaxseeds mixed with water. Everything else is the same.”

I could imagine Taehyung’s disgusted face, though it was hidden from view. His expressions of confusion, disgust, and anger were all shades of the same emotion. Yoongi laughed, and it brought a smile to my face. Yoongi and I shared similar lifestyle choices, though he indulged in fish with Seokjin from time to time.

“Why mix flaxseeds and water?” Taehyung asked, his bewilderment dripping from every word.

I handed him a plate, “It replaces the egg. You mix it with the banana and let it sit to thicken. A boy named Enver taught me. He lives in Moland and doesn’t have regular market access.”

Jimin’s curiosity perked up, “How do you get your supplies?”

“I go often,” Seokjin answered. “I always pick up things for Yoongi and Y/N when I go. Yoongi does the same.”

I nodded, “I have great friends.”

After breakfast, Yoongi invited Taehyung and Jimin for a walk in the forest. Taehyung’s newfound fascination with the local beings had piqued Yoongi’s interest, and he offered to show him a jackalope borough nearby. Jimin chose to join them to keep an eye on Taehyung. I could tell he was giving Seokjin and me the space to talk. As they left, I began clearing the dishes with Jin’s help.

We worked in silence, the rhythm of our tasks speaking volumes. Jin’s hesitation was palpable, a strange thing for someone so usually forthright. His mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to find the right words, but I remained patient. Wendy had a knack for throwing him off balance, and it was evident in his struggle to articulate his thoughts. 

Once the dishes were done, I wiped down the table and put away the toppings. Jin lingered, focusing on the dishes while I finished. Finally, he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Wendy wrote to me,” he said quietly.

I hummed, not quite ready to delve into the contents of her letter. Privacy was paramount, and I kept many things to myself. We were all too intertwined, and Wendy’s tendency to overshare made things complicated. Seokjin’s habit of spilling secrets didn’t help either. 

“She said she wants to be with me,” he continued.

I sighed, “How do you feel about that?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking lost. “It’s… complicated.”

I perched on the kitchen island, nodding, “I’m sure I can keep up.”

“For as long as I’ve known her, I’ve liked her in some way,” Jin said, his voice tinged with regret. “She’s never really felt the same about me, at least not as much as I liked her.”

Wendy had always looked away, said one thing and done another, never fully opening her heart to Jin. She admitted liking him, but her gaze often wandered to Yoongi. Initially, I thought Seokjin was reading too much into it, but the pattern was clear. Wendy’s infatuation with Yoongi had always overshadowed her relationships with others, including Jin. 

“I knew she meant it when she said she liked me,” he said. “But how can I be sure she’s serious this time? She’s been away, hasn’t seen anyone in months, and now she says she’s in love with me. What happens when she sees Yoongi again? Will her feelings still hold?”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Seokjin. His heart was true, but his seclusion had left him vulnerable. The world outside Bangtan was vast and filled with possibilities. Telling him there were other options wouldn’t help, though. 

“I don’t want to get hurt again,” he whispered.

“I know,” I replied, holding him gently. “I wouldn’t want that either.”

“How can I trust her words?”

I shook my head, “I’ve always seen you two as stubborn. You care deeply, but the toxicity is unbearable. If you want to try, see what happens. Maybe her time away or seeing her sister’s wedding changed her. Think about what she said and how it resonates with your own feelings.”

“She said she loves me,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice. “She said that after talking to you, she felt more confident to speak to me. It was the first time I felt her apology was genuine.”

Silence enveloped us as Seokjin looked down, deep in thought. After a moment, he asked to borrow paper and a pen. I obliged, hoping for a resolution that would bring him some peace. 

He sent off his letter soon after. I resumed sweeping and planning the day, knowing I had to address the supply chain blockage to the sea coven. With Shiloh still recovering from her trip, I would need to wake her for the delivery. Seokjin agreed to write to Cordelia to see if anyone could pick up the supplies. 

In the rare moment of quiet, I could sense Seokjin’s anxiety. I feared the worst but gave him the space he needed. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“I rejected her,” he said.

“Oh, Jinnie,” I cooed, embracing him. “That was a hard choice, but I’m proud of you. You did what was right for yourself.”

“I can’t do it again,” he sobbed. “I just can’t.”

I understood his pain. Wendy’s emotions would simmer, and I’d deal with her later. Seokjin had alluded to remaining friends, but I knew it was a fragile hope. The past had carved deep scars, and I wasn’t naïve enough to believe things could return to how they once were. Still, I hoped for growth and reconciliation, even if it seemed unlikely. 

“I know. I know,” I whispered, soothing him. “We’ll get through this.”

Seokjin clung to me, crying as if his heart would break.

For the next three days, Jimin and Taehyung began to drift further from the confines of the house, venturing into the outside world with an almost frantic urgency. I hadn't heard a word from Wendy or Seokjin, but Yoongi made sure to check in daily. He was obsessed with the idea that I might be facing another unexpected encounter with the wolves, a notion I couldn't entirely dismiss but was resolutely prepared for. It felt as if Hoseok was staying clear to maintain some uneasy peace, though Jimin hinted that he was trying to sway Namjoon. So far, that attempt had fizzled, with Namjoon remaining as grumpy and resentful as ever. Taehyung, on the other hand, was steeling himself for a potential clash, spending his evenings in intense sparring sessions with Jimin.

Shiloh's waking hours had been creeping earlier each day. It wasn't the ungodly hours I was accustomed to, but noon was a far cry from eleven at night. Taehyung and Jimin were still grappling with my late risings. My magic, potent yet taxing, was stretching my limits, and I could sense my body struggling to keep up. My childhood had taught me that magic was a draining force, especially defensive spells. The incident with Namjoon had thrown me off balance, making it difficult to regain my footing.

Aldara used to fret over my fainting spells after our lessons. She said it was unnatural for a witch to be so overwhelmed by their own power, but over the years, I’d come to understand that my magic was an endless well, ever-flowing and never entirely under my control. Unlike other witches, who could regulate their magic output, I was left perpetually vulnerable and weakened. The constant possession and lack of control were the harsh trade-offs of my power. Still, a small outburst no longer left me as depleted as it once did. The last time I’d fainted from magic was the night I discovered the cottage on fire.

As I thumbed through my grimoire, searching for the potion I’d made to reduce anxiety, frustration gnawed at me. Wendy was due back tomorrow, and Cordelia had asked if I could send some to Syrena. I’d only brewed this particular potion twice, and it was still too fresh in my memory for me to recall the exact details. Wendy’s luck would have it that I’d send a shifting potion instead of a mood stabilizer, but I trusted Griselda’s recipe.

My worry for Wendy was growing. Though it was normal to go weeks without communication, I feared she might be upset over the situation with Jin. She must have suspected we’d talked and perhaps thought I’d instructed him on what to do. Or worse, she might have convinced herself that Yoongi had something to do with it. Wendy had a tendency to skew reality, and while I empathized with her, I refused to choose sides between my friends. I loved and respected them both and wished desperately to extricate myself from this web of conflict. After all, Wendy was the one who’d divulged our conversation to Jin in the first place.

My search for the potion left me exasperated. The cluttered chaos of my notes and haphazard scrawl made me wish for a clean slate. Whoever would inherit this mess of a grimoire would need a Rosetta Stone just to decipher half of it. In frustration, I slammed the book shut and decided to write to Enver. He was the only witch I knew who might have such a potion on hand. Rolling the paper carefully, I chanted a spell I’d learned from Pippa’s grimoire and watched as the paper turned to ash and vanished.

Pippa was a true oddball, her methods unorthodox to the point of absurdity. Her spellbooks, filled with incomprehensible diagrams and bizarre ingredients, were a testament to her brilliance. Aldara had always teased me about my fascination with Pippa, calling me the next “nutcase” and mocking my own disorganized grimoire. Still, no one could deny Pippa’s talent. The spell I’d used was a favorite of mine—simple, minimal energy expenditure, and highly effective. I was grateful to be done with meteor powder, even if I had invented that one myself.

The front door slammed open, jolting me upright and sending my heart into a racing frenzy. For a split second, my vision swam in black and white, but I quickly regained my composure. I shot a venomous glare at Taehyung as he swaggered into the cottage, followed closely by Jimin, who offered a sheepish bow before entering.

“It’s such a beautiful day!” Taehyung announced, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic flourish.

My eye twitched.

“Try that again,” I said with icy detachment.

Taehyung’s confusion was palpable. Jimin stood in the doorway, an amused smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his gaze lingering on me. I struggled to keep my eyes from lingering on his toned back and refocused on Taehyung.

“Try what again?” Taehyung asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Walking into my house like a civilized person,” I retorted. “You act as if you’ve never been taught manners. First, you put your filthy, muddy boots on my counter, and now this? Thin ice, Tae. Thin ice.”

Taehyung scratched his head sheepishly and made the necessary adjustments, gently opening and closing the door. Satisfied, I hummed and returned to my grimoire, mentally cursing the disorganized mess it had become. I longed to slap the younger version of myself who had thought this system would work. Groaning, I stood up and decided to relocate my work to the cellar.

“What are you looking for?” Taehyung asked, his face lighting up with curiosity.

The wolf enjoyed accompanying me and peering over my shoulder, even if he barely understood the Latin script. Jimin hadn’t asked to join but I suspected his silence was his way of being considerate. I wished he would just speak up.

“I need to find a spell for a friend,” I said. “One I wrote when I was twelve. It’s hardly legible now, a testament to my childish carelessness.”

Taehyung laughed and followed me without hesitation. His curiosity was endearing, a stark contrast to Jimin’s restrained demeanor. I wondered about their own childhoods—Jimin had been brave and reserved when we first met, his innocence a distant memory now. Seeing him again, after all these years, was like rediscovering a forgotten chapter of my own life.

“May I join you?”

I paused and looked up at Jimin, who had already begun descending the stairs behind Taehyung. I nodded. The connection we had shared the other night was still fresh, unspoken but undeniable. Jimin’s presence felt like a gentle thawing of the ice that had previously encased him.

After lighting the sconces in the cellar, I found Taehyung curled up in a corner, absorbed in one of Aldara’s monster books. She had been a legend in her own right— the first to defeat a Quietus, the monster slayer of yore. Her stories had become folklore, tales of bravery and struggle. The book Taehyung was engrossed in was one of her own, a collection of short stories about her adventures.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” Jimin whispered.

“It grows whenever we need a new bookcase,” I replied.

Jimin didn’t press for more details, his restraint a byproduct of the alpha etiquette he’d been taught. Taehyung, however, was a novice in those lessons, having barely started them before his exile. I sighed, thinking of Namjoon and my unanswered letter.

“Who was the first Bridd?” Jimin asked.

I smiled as I recalled the tale. “Her name was Rosette.”

“How did this family tradition even start?” Taehyung asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

Settling into my small desk, I gestured for them to sit. I remembered Aldara’s stories vividly, her hands large and comforting as she spoke of Rosette, the legendary Bridd. Rosette was a figure of beauty and resilience, her story a foundation for our lineage.

“Rosette came from the Foxglove Village, a place once teeming with shifters. She was the daughter of a merchant, loved and admired by all. Life was harsh in Bangtan, but relatively peaceful until the Quietus stories began spreading south.”

Quietus, those ancient air elementals, were the first settlers of Lustra, driven out by the Sarkans over a millennium ago. The attack on Bangtan was retribution for not aiding them, though they had soon reclaimed their territory.

“After the Century War with Etelin, the Quietus were reduced to living in swamps, their numbers dwindling. The few that ventured into the forest were either vengeful survivors or driven mad by starvation.”

Jimin’s expression showed recognition, while Taehyung remained enraptured. I continued, my voice carrying the weight of history.

“These creatures were unknown to the shifters, whose people had only arrived in Lustra after their island was destroyed. Their treaties were new, their numbers sparse. They had no knowledge of the siege until their village was ablaze.”

“The Quietus queen, Nerezza, had lost her youngest child to the Sarkan invasion. Her grief drove her to attack, wrongly believing the Reikans were complicit. In truth, the Reikans were skittish, lacking the courage for true conflict.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Taehyung interrupted, defensive of his ancestors.

“Yes,” I said, “your ancestors were strong, surviving the loss of their homeland and finding refuge here. But the Reikans were different, their settlers blending into your cultures, while the Quietus were formidable. Only one emerged as significant.”

“Rosette,” Jimin murmured.

“Yes, Rosette. A beautiful girl, her blonde hair and green eyes striking. She was a bird shifter in love with a fox. At just sixteen, she and a few others escaped the village’s destruction. Rosette, familiar with military strategies, directed them to safety.”

“She found herself in this very clearing, calling to the gods for aid. Despite the blizzard, she was enveloped in warmth. The gods offered her help in exchange for a solemn promise. She vowed to protect her sister’s life and, in return, her bloodline would become guardians of the forest.”

“And that’s when we lost our freedom,” I continued. “She woke up in this cottage, chained and imbued with new magic. After a century of solitude, she was given Jordana. We’re assigned a pupil and have sixteen years to train them before our transition to the spirit world.”

“Why can’t you shift freely, then?” Taehyung asked, curiosity piqued. Jimin smacked his arm, but I waved off the gesture.

No harm in asking.

“Our transformations are tied to the cycles of the sun and moon. The gods have a special fondness for watching us dance across the skies, like wayward comets caught in their eternal dance. We’re fortunate we managed to keep that part of ourselves as part of the bargain. Magic and shifting? They’re practically myths beyond these woods.”

Taehyung’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “Is it the same for real werewolves? The sun and moon stuff?”

I let out a laugh, sharp and dismissive. “No, silly. Werewolves are shackled to the full moon. Their first transformation turns them into mindless beasts. They’re as good as dead within three months. Nothing like what you and I are.”

Taehyung seemed mollified by this explanation. He often referred to himself as a werewolf, much to Jimin’s annoyance. I understood why Jimin would bristle at that. Real werewolves were born into their condition, their bloodlines ancient and unbroken. Werewolves, on the other hand, were made, not born, and their kind was dwindling in the Ozryn Mountains, starved out and hunted down. The last outbreak had been decades ago, swiftly contained by the dwarves of Idris.

When the story ended, Taehyung returned to his reverie with Aldara’s book, and I resumed my fruitless search for that infuriating potion. I hadn’t heard back from Enver; his response times were always abysmal.

Jimin wandered the cellar, tracing the spines of the books. The sheer volume was staggering. Aldara had penned over forty grimoires in her lifetime, each a testament to her expertise in defensive magic. Rosette had authored 120, Jordana had 205, and Griselda held the record with 223. I could hardly fathom such productivity. I’d managed only three grimoires so far, and was plodding along on a fourth. My youthful exuberance for magic seemed a distant memory now, replaced by a more somber approach. Overwhelmed by self-doubt, I decided to take a break.

“Your aunt was pretty amazing,” Taehyung remarked.

“Yeah, she was,” I replied, the word "was" hanging in the air like a specter.

As the evening darkened, we had spent hours in the cellar. Jimin skimmed through books with the quiet diligence of a scholar, while Taehyung absorbed stories from Aldara’s collection. I flipped through Pippa’s spell books, making small talk with Taehyung. His constant chatter was a refreshing distraction from the oppressive silence of the house.

Taehyung had gone up for a nap over an hour ago, leaving Jimin and me alone. He was huddled over a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, though he remained silent about my furtive glances. It was a rare sight to see him so relaxed, so unguarded. Shiloh had mentioned she was visiting Morla to update her on Wendy’s situation. Mumbling to myself, I let the pen and ink I’d brought down write in my spell book. Sometimes it was easier to let magic handle the tedious parts.

Amid the grimoires and dusty tomes, I made notes of potential experiments. They might not be as thrilling as Pippa’s wild concoctions or as direct as Griselda’s precise spells, but they were my own. I was rediscovering the joy of magic, a pleasure Aldara would have appreciated.

“Bridd?” Jimin’s voice broke the silence, soft and inviting.

I looked up, noticing how his hair caught the candlelight, turning dark gray with stray wisps floating around. I wanted to smooth them down, but restrained myself. Jimin’s expression was a carefully maintained mask, a necessity for someone in his position. Yet, I glimpsed a fleeting smile, a rare crack in his stoic facade.

“Why don’t you have anything here?” he asked.

“Everything I own is upstairs,” I answered. “It’s too much trouble to haul it all down here every time I need to work.”

He chuckled. “So, you do have a diary?”

I flushed. “All of us do. It’s the best way to keep track for our successors.”

I wouldn’t let him read mine. It was filled with thoughts I’d long preferred to forget. During my more turbulent years, I’d penned five separate volumes of angst and sorrow. The idea of anyone reading them—especially Jimin—was mortifying. They were raw, unfiltered, a record of my darkest fears and desires. Thankfully, they had gone unnoticed until now.

“Yours must be very interesting,” Jimin mused.

I shook my head. “Not really. Mostly just teenage angst. Nothing worth reading.”

I tried to sound convincing, but Jimin’s probing gaze made me uneasy. I began tidying up, stacking grimoires, knowing it was nearing sunset. I needed to get back to my room soon.

As I turned, Jimin’s arms encircled my waist, surprising me. My heart leaped into my throat. He was so close I could count the freckles on his nose, see the length of his eyelashes, feel his warm, heavy scent envelop me. His proximity was overwhelming. I gripped the desk, struggling to speak.

“Jimin?” I managed, my voice trembling.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

Our bodies pressed together, his hands behind my back, though his grip remained on the table. I glanced at his hands, one resting on the other. Shaking with nervous energy, I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“Can I?” His eyes were as dark and intense as a stormy night.

A shiver crawled up my spine. I nodded, breath catching in my throat. Jimin’s smile was tender, almost ethereal.

“I enjoy your company.”

I could only manage another nod, my heart pounding, my throat dry. Jimin’s face inched closer to mine. I held my breath, searching for meaning in his eyes. This was not the man who had been absorbed in reading moments before. This was something different, something potent and unsettling.

“I like being close to you. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his breath barely brushing my lips.

I knew I should have resisted, should have acknowledged the impossibility of our situation. Our lives were too tangled, our paths too divergent. He had a mate somewhere, and he’d forget me soon. Yet, despite all that, I shook my head.

“No.”

The kiss was unlike anything I’d ever known. Jimin’s lips were warm and insistent, igniting a fire within me. The heat was searing, electrifying, igniting every nerve ending. I clung to him, his embrace all-consuming. Everything I had feared, everything I had regretted, melted away. It didn’t matter anymore. Jimin was here, and he was mine.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze was soft, full of warmth and care. He nuzzled into my hairline, his touch a balm against the chaos. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

I was dazed but managed to nod. As if drawn by an invisible force, I sought his lips again. Jimin’s hands cradled my face, pulling me closer. Any gentleness evaporated when my tongue brushed his bottom lip. A low growl rumbled from him as he hungrily explored my mouth. His grip tightened, his leg gently prying mine apart, lifting me onto the desk. My fingers dug into his shirt.

A sudden chill shot through me, yanking me out of the haze of passion. I pulled away, and Jimin stepped back, understanding dawning in his eyes. I choked out a “go” and stood up from the desk. The first feather burst through my skin as Jimin fled the cellar, leaving me alone with my searing heart and the cold void of my own fear.

Translations:

Swîgian âstillian. - Be quiet.

Hwæt−hwugu ðrîstian êow? - How dare you?

Sê ðafian êower m¯ægð teohhian êower weorðfulnes? - Who do you people think you are?

Yfel am sorig. - I am so sorry.

Thither is êower hygd? - Where is your mind?

Belāda mē - Sorry.

Quare? - Why?

Putasne me stultum esse? - Do you think I'm stupid?

Sol a me auferre conaris! - You are trying to take Sol from me!

Quid irrumabo facimus? - What the fuck do we do?

Nescio. - I don’t know.

Recedite ab ea! - Get away from her!

Licuitne futura est? - Is she going to be alright?

Taglist: @greezenini​ @adventures-in-bookland​ @kthstrawberryshortcake-main​ @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin​ @yamekomz @chimthicc​ @michiiedreamer​ @amorieus​ @mima795​

© chimcess, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[nuesb]

how did you create the effect in the vram corrosion video?

there's quite a few things going on and i'm not sure which effect you're referring to, so i'll try to give a brief overview:

the scene is entirely made of a few 2d blender planes overlaid with animated shaders.

the mosaic effect is done with a procedural noise texture which is pixelated into chunks and then thresholded to show either the normal texture or a random other part of the image. there's another threshold applied for the fully black portions. (a small thing to note too is a slight jitter added to even 'normal' parts, it really helps things look alive despite being still images.)

the background datamosh is done with an external shader (not blender), but the main idea is it copies the image and distorts it with a sort of fluid simulation. when you leave it for a while, it has some cool looks! i keyframed another distortion on top of that for greater effect.

the last layer is just a grid with pixelated circles and scrolling animated to the music.

i hope this helps!

[silawastaken]

I love seeing people compare music to their favourite characters and go like 'oh yeah this verse might be this character... and then this one is the other one... and then this little bit here is them both honestly. Or something like that' because I HAVE gone through every taylor swift song on evermore and folklore and compared it to skk. Sorry to be autistic on the writing account, but this is a fanfic writing account and I'm writing my second novel length fic about them so what did you expect.

folklore/evermore are very canon skk, and verge into fanon and some songs are the reason for very specific head canons, or some of the ways I write the way they perceive each other. 1989... DON'T GET ME STARTED OMFG HAVE YOU EVER LISTENED TO BLANK SPACE? I THINK IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO NOT HAVE AND OMG IT'S SO SKK CODED LIKE WTF. I HAVE VERY FIRM OPINIONS ABOUT WHICH LYRICS ARE THEIRS. Also the vault tracks literally exist what more do you want from me. 'i think about jumping off of very tall somethings just to see you come running and say the one thing I've been wanting' okay dazai pack it up you did that already, beast exists. 'i call my mom sister she said that it was for the best remind myself the more i gave you'd want me less' yeah yeah chuuya we know he left you get over it, it wasn't personal(think that line could go for either of them but the other line 'the way you faded till i left' feels more Dazai personally). Plus suburban legends. For personal reasons I struggle to listen to song without SPIRALING FUCK YOU THAT ONE PERSON SEHDHSSJNS but very skk as well 'we were born to be national treasures' is very soulmates of them. And out of the woods screams them in fanfic when they try to get better. Red, straight away all too well. They both remember it all too well. All too well skk cover with switching vocals anyone? The last time. The one with gary lightbody. Underrated song, is my favourite on that album, and SO THEM. 'this is the last time you tell me ive got it wrong, this is the last time i wont hurt you anymore' because they're fated to be together and are constantly drawn to each other and yet keep HURTING EACH OTHER RAGH. also 'we are never getting back together' is pretty funny and nice when applied to them. also state of grace. any taylor song with a mild drop of religious imagery is them cause yeah. but 'i never saw you coming, and I'll never be the same'... okay pack it up, we don't have time for your yearning. 'you were never a saint' (dazai abt chuuya) 'and i loved in shades of wrong' (bc hes toxic and doesnt know how to healthily like people) 'we learned to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts' (bc they continue anyway and stick it out, living with the pain of being bad for each other because of how deeply they care). I almost do. Dazai after leaving. moving on to more religion, holy ground. 'for the first time i had something to lose' 'and i guess we fell apart in the usual way, and the storys got dust on every page' AAAAAA IT'S THEM. Can't really speak on debut- but I've listened to our song and picture to burn and if picture to burn isn't a vengeful chuuya idk what is. BOY OH BOY SPEAK NOW.

excuse me. one moment.

Mine- literally a skk au

Sparks fly- 'the way you move is like a rainstorm and im a house full of cards, you're the kind of reckless that should send me running' that entire verse screams dazai's fascination with corrupted chuuya, and the whole song is well yeah

back to december- dazai when they reunite just trust me on it just trust me on it. the repetition was intentional, that's how serious i am. 'i go back to december all the time' 'I got back to december to make it all right'

speak now- might just be me but it really makes me think of teen skk in fanfic harbouring urges to ruin the others relationship for 'some reason. I don't know, seeing him with her just... irks me'.

the story of us- first verse is chuuya, second verse is dazai, and the third is them both because they're LOSERS and they LOVE EACH OTHER and FUCK I'm CRYING NOW. 'id tell you i miss you but i don't know how' EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BASTARD.

enchanted- self explanatory. for more context, i really think it's from dazai's pov in this case, could probably be both, but dazai fell first and harder so it's really like god he's been in love ever since he got kicked into that wall he wants him around forever. He held Chuuya's hand in the fight with rimbaud and then had all those close moments in the manga and went home to lie on his bed kicking his feet and giggling don't lie. (god im still crying this isn't helping)

better than revenge- they're both pretty vengeful idk it makes me think of iwsynttr for some reason

haunted- chuuya pov. 'i thought i had you figured out, something's gone terribly wrong' 'stood there and watched you walk away from everything we had' they're so sad, but the general idea of chuuya thinking he has figured out dazai and knowing how he thinks and then dazai just leaves suddenly and he's like 'Wow! I thought i knew you. How do i forget this'. 'wont finish what you started' bringing chuuya into the mafia then leaving it.

last kiss- 'you told me you love me so why did you go away' chuuya pov again oh god it hurts why am i doing this to myself? 'never imagined we'd end like this, your name, forever the name on my lips' yep yep ow.

LONG LIVE.- LISTEN. TO. THE. SONG. AND TELL ME IT'S NOT DAZAI AND CHUUYA. I COULD DO A WHOLE ANALYSIS ON JUST THIS SONG. 'promise me this, that you'll stand by me forever, but if god forbid fate should step in, and force us into a goodbye...please tell them my name, tell them how the crowds went wild, tell them how i hope they shine, long live the walls we crashed through, i had the time of my life with you' FUCK IT'S DAZAI AN HE'S IN LOVE WITH CHUUYA AND DOESNT KNOW ODAS GONNA DIE YET, JUST THINKS HE DOESNT GET TO KEEP ANYTHING HE WANTS. FUUUUUCK. THEY'RE IN LOVE AND DAZAI WANTS IT REMEMBERED PLEASE I'M SO SAD.

anyway, i can't pretend I'm normal about skk anymore i haven't even covered fearless, reputation, lover or midnights please somebody encourage me to actually write full things dedicated to each album and the most fitting songs from said albums please i'll do it and plus i need to actually gather proof for my autism diagnosis appointment so this would be a good way to to that probably. anyway yeah this'll never make it out my drafts lol

[primamchorus]

A Word in the Ear

The largest noble family at current, the Vox siblings are all trained in the way of being the Ears of the King. However, some of them see their role or would-be role much differently than one another. It may be a duty one is proud to bear. Or perhaps it is a burden too heavy to want to lift.

Word Count: 2,764

The hallways of the Fenestala Manor were cast in a mosaic of color -- light filtered in through the stained glass windows that told their stories. The man that walked down these halls was fully aware of these stories. He had to learn about them as he grew up within the walls of Insomnia. Each stained glass window depicted the myriad tales of the Oracles of Tenebrae throughout each of the generations.

He paused. He paused where he always seemed to on this route of his patrol.

There was a more recent stained glass window that had been installed over the last year. The man found himself surprised every time he looked upon it.

Upon the glass was a rendition of the current Oracle taking center, her hands locked in prayer as the sun's rays shone down upon her. Below her was the Oracle who could have been -- the Oracle who passed away. The Oracle who passed away was depicted as sleeping peacefully within the soil. Sylleblossoms surrounded the living Oracle.

Life within death. That was how the man viewed the imagery of the sylleblossoms surrounding the Oracle who lived. That, and the idea that the former Oracle was there to watch over and protect the younger.

That the Niflheim Empire would have allowed such a project… Word from higher up was that it was to keep Tenebrae from acting out.

So they claimed.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. The man adjusted his posture, and he steeled himself. For a moment, he considered straightening out his uniform that marked him as a high ranking official of the Niflheim Empire. The rhythm and the notable ‘clack’ indicated someone that either worked as one of the members of the Tenebraen council, or one of the residents of the manor.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the man soon looked over. A soft sigh of relief fell from his nose as he saw who it was.

“Lady Lunafreya,” the man greeted. He had conditioned himself not to do more than a stiff greeting -- much as he would have liked to have shown her the respect he felt she deserved. “It's unusual to see you without an escort.”

Unusual still was it that the manor grounds were so empty of even the few magitek infantry programmed to patrol them. Even if it was agreed that the manor would have only a couple dozen MT units, the man was always on his guard to play the part he threaded himself into.

“I've no need of them on my way for lunch,” Lunafreya replied. The man noted her well kept appearance; how she kept her hair pinned back, and her face applied with just some concealing makeup to hide any blemishes or proof of crying. Her clothes were also carefully picked and matched. She looked far too put together for a simple afternoon meal.

Lunafreya’s attention went to the window after she settled close to the man.

“You seem to pause here often, Aestus.” It was a casual observation from Lunafreya. Her voice was quiet so as not to travel to unwanted company. “Do you perhaps mourn for Stella? You knew her when you were children, did you not?”

“... We were close friends,” Aestus replied, equally as quiet as Lunafreya. His shoulders heaved with a silent sigh. “Part of me wants to be glad that she doesn't have to suffer through this. At the same time, her passing and the toll it took on Ravus still leads him to poor and brash decisions.”

“Ravus shows naught but contempt for me at times since Stella's disappearance.” Lunafreya’s gaze grew distant as she looked upon the stained glass mosaic for herself.

Aestus noted Lunafreya’s wordage and frowned slightly. He found it heartbreaking that she held onto hope that Stella was somewhere out there. However, he bit his tongue and stayed silent. He could only imagine that her hope was necessary under the conditions in which she lived.

“I can never be the twin that he lost, and he must view me as a villain for ascending to Oracle and taking her place in that respect…” Lunafreya continued. She drew her hands together, her attention never once leaving the mosaic -- or rather, the part of the mosaic that showed the Oracle who would have been.

“I wouldn't ever say he views you in such a way. He still cares for you.” Aestus returned his own gaze to the mosaic. “He lacks the ability to manage his emotions in a healthy way. But…he definitely still cares about you. If anything, he despises the thought of losing you, too.”

A soft hum of consideration was heard from Lunafreya. “I shall take your word for it. After all, the most I know these days are the walls of my gilded cage. Much as I would like to know the workings of my brother's mind, I can't say I know much more than the coldness of both his gaze and words in the time that he has become a tool for the Empire.”

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation between them as Aestus mulled over Lunafreya’s words. Her last statement struck him, and he cast his gaze downward to the marbled floor beneath him. Parting his lips, he finally replied, “hearing you say that makes me wonder if my wife and sisters think the same of me. You voice the concerns it pains me to think they might have in regards to me.”

“My apologies…” Lunafreya’s voice fell into a quieter tone.

“No, it’s nothing to apologize for.” Aestus drew himself back up into an attentive posture. “If anything, your concerns having been voiced so plainly remind me what I’m doing this for.”

Lunafreya flicked her eyes in Aestus’ direction before she looked back upon the mosaic. “I harbor no doubts of the capabilities of you and those back in Lucis who champion the same cause. I’m sure those you hold dear are fully aware of the stakes. Both for you and your home. I thank you for the risks you take each day in being here.”

A low scoff of amusement fell from Aestus’ lips.

“Have I said something funny?” Lunafreya asked, genuinely curious in her inquiry.

“It’s not that…” Aestus started in response. “The reassurance is appreciated. I just… Perhaps you should do well to heed your own words when it concerns your brother. If anything, perhaps play along with whatever he continues to show you in the way you know how.”

It was Lunafreya’s turn to scoff softly. Silence lingered once more between them. And then, turning toward Aestus, Lunafreya’s lips curved into a forced smile. “I fear I'm late for my lunch. I'm in need of an escort, after all. You’ve given me much to think about.”

The hint was more than obvious, and Aestus nodded in response.

“Of course. On your way, then, Princess…” Aestus swept his hand forward before Lunafreya started walking once more. Behind her, Aestus walked, ensuring a more tolerable venture for the Oracle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Prince Noctis!” A young woman hurried along the walkway that led up to the Jewel of Lucis apartment building, waving to grab the prince’s attention. Her black hair was drawn back and pulled into a more professional-looking bun. She was dressed in a suit and pleated skirt, black in color, and her eyes were a bright green. In her other hand, she held a sealed envelope.

“Vera… What is it?” Noctis slowed his pace, his uniform looking lazily thrown and kept upon his person since getting back from his classes. He was without his usual company of the future Arms, which led Vera to believe they were preoccupied with other obligations.

“A report from my brother,” Vera replied, holding out the sealed envelope. It bore the Niflheim insignia upon it. The seal filled Vera with no amount of pride, but his work was just as necessary as hers. Even if she worried constantly about the ‘what if’s and ‘if that’s of his position being stationed in Tenebrae.

Reaching for the envelope, Noctis gave a slight, purse-lipped nod while then tapping it on his opposite palm once he took it. Vera knew this look of his; a common expression when he received something he was not looking forward to looking at. Certainly, it was no delivery of a red journal from a peculiar black dog, but it was still something that needed his eyes all the same.

“Has my father been made aware of Aestus’ report?” Noctis asked, turning his attention back toward Vera.

“Lyra has made her delivery to the Citadel so that our father can give it to the king’s hand himself,” Vera replied. She brought a hand up, idly brushing her bangs out of her face. “But, um…if you want the more heartening news that I'm sure you're more interested in: Aestus has told us that Lunafreya at least walks the Fenestala Manor grounds with some freedoms at least.”

A relieved sigh left Noctis.

“Yeah? That is good, at least… I hate thinking Luna has little to nothing to do while the Niffs have control over Tenebrae,” Noctis said. He tapped the envelope a couple more times against his palm before holding it up. “But I'll have a look at this. Thanks.”

Giving a small nod and then a slight bow, Vera waved at Noctis. “I'll leave you to it, then, Prince Noctis. I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on. Not to mention school work that needs tending to. Tell Ignis I said ‘hi’ when he swings by!”

“Yep.”

With Noctis giving the final word in their brief meeting, Vera turned back toward the pathway that led to the parking garage to get into her car and drive back home. She dared not turn back to see what Noctis was doing -- if he tore open the envelope after she departed, or was saving it for when he ascended the apartment building to deal with it in the comfort of his temporary abode.

Once within her car, Vera brought an earpiece up and inserted it. She dialed a number on her phone and waited as it rang. Once the line was answered, Vera perked up.

“Nebby?” Vera greeted, a wide smile upon her lips. “Just got done with my errand. Did you still want to head out for some lessons?”

“Aren't I getting too old for ‘Nebby’? It sounds like such a kid's name,” came the response from the other end. “I'm almost thirteen! I can become a Crownsguard at this age like you, Lyra, and Aestus!”

“Alright, alright… If you don't want to be called ‘Nebby’ anymore, I'll just call you Nebula,” Vera said, turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. “Still, are you up for some hanging out in the city and getting some extra training in? I have some vouchers for that gelato stand you like.”

A snort was heard from the other end.

“You sound like you're looking more forward to it than I am,” Nebula replied. “But…getting something from Gellati's does sound good. I guess.”

Vera balked as she exited the apartment's parking garage. “‘You guess’?” Vera parroted. “Well, then I guess both these vouchers are for me.”

“No! It sounds very good, actually!” Nebula quickly said. “I'll be at the citadel.”

“Good. I’ll brief you on our training regimen when I come pick you up.”

“Do we always have to be training? Can’t we just take time to enjoy ourselves a little? This could just be a day out for us as sisters to have fun and grab a cold treat on a hot day.” Nebula’s tone indicated some form of exhaustion, and Vera could picture the pout on her face. Vera could agree with Nebula’s wants and desires -- after all, Vera herself remembered when she voiced the same request in perhaps even the same tone to their elder brother once upon a time.

“I wish it could be different…” Vera replied. She kept her eyes trained on the road, doing her best not to allow her mind to wander too much. “Tell you what, though… We have the rest of the evening, I'll take you to the arcade and we can binge all the junk food we want after just a couple hours of our training. How's that sound?”

Nebula laughed from the other end.

“Okay, deal. That sounds awesome.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The citadel was a lonely and miserable place as far as this teen was concerned. Much as she felt that was the case, she walked down the dark hallways, lit only by what felt like depressingly dim lights. In her hand, she held an envelope that bore the insignia of Niflheim.

Pausing, the teen looked at the envelope. It was so tempting to open it and view the contents within. She was not privy to the secrets it held. Not like her older sister. Being in possession of such concealed information made the secrecy of all of it that much more alluring to her. However, she sighed and restrained herself. It would have done her no good to get scolded by her father, let alone her sister.

Continuing down the hall, the teen soon came to a large, ebony door. She took a cursory glance around, almost as if uncertain she was at the right place even though she had walked these halls many times. She then read the placard upon the wall next to the door, scanning over her father's name in clear, crisp letters: PAX VOX.

Lifting a hand, the teen soon rapped her knuckles against the surface. No matter how hard she steeled herself for the response, however, the sudden, loud click of the door opening gave her a slight start. Thankfully, she was always able to recompose herself before stepping into her father's office.

“Lyra. I assume you're here with news from Aestus,” Pax said, almost surprised to see the young woman at his door. He loomed over his daughter, his figure wiry, yet imposing. His grayed hair was in the familiar style of a neat coif, and his black, Lucian Council uniform was perfectly snug upon his person.

Pax's appearance seemed a relatively far cry from Lyra's. She had thrown on a blazer, not having cared to adjust the shoulder pads evenly -- only comfortably. Her button up underneath was wrinkled around the collar. Her hair was in a low, messy bun, only barely hiding that she briefly brought a brush through it to tame any obvious tresses.

“... Yeah. It came in just this morning from one of our couriers,” Lyra said in response, doing her best to keep the tiredness out of her voice. She held up the envelope, passing it off to her father. Her eyes lingered on the envelope for a time, her attention more fixed upon the insignia of Niflheim than the whole envelope itself.

It was then that a question bubbled forth: “... Aestus will come back home, right? Safe?”

A frown creased onto Pax’s face, and he turned away from Lyra to return to his desk. Silence made itself known in the room, the only noise being the chair rolling out from under Pax’s desk as he took a seat. All the while, Lyra stood there, unsure if she should say anything further or simply excuse herself at that point.

“... I won’t try to instill a sense of hope, Lyra. If you have to ask, then you know full well the risks involved with his role at the Fenestala Manor…” Pax replied. “It doesn’t please me to think that your brother could come back in a bodybag, or not at all. He could come back missing limbs, maimed, bloodied, and broken…and I would take that over having him killed.”

Lyra looked down at the carpeted floors, her frown creasing.

“All we can do is have faith in his capabilities and what we’ve all trained to become,” Pax went on to say.

“Right… Of course…” Lyra quietly said in acknowledgement.

A sigh fell from Pax’s nose.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Lyra. I know you and your sisters are close to Aestus -- and I simply don’t blame any of you with how it fell to him to look after the three of you,” Pax said. “I want desperately to tell you that everything will be fine. The truth is, that’s something even we can never know until we have the truth shown directly to us.”

“Yeah, I know…” Lyra said, her voice barely audible at this point. “I just…wish we didn’t have to do any of this.”

[stormkobra-5]

😂😂😂 It seems a lot of you want to know the filthy fantasies of the Moon Boys! Well...

@jupitersmoon167 @sweet-eclipse-of-mine @bit-dodgy-innit

Let’s start with Steven.

First of all, he definitely has a dom side. No you misunderstand me, he’s sweet as pumpkin pie like 99.999999999♾% of the time, and probably usually settles for a fifty-fifty flow during sex, is a softdom, or a sub. But, if he’s really fucking riled up, he’ll most definitely wreck your shit. I’m talking a pace that will leave you unable to walk, bruises, bite marks. (He always is still soft and cuddly with you afterwards though.)

Of all three Moon Boys, soft boi here is the fucking kinkiest. He’s the one most likely to tie you up, blindfold you, and fuck you to the point of overstimulation with a vibrator. (And he’ll stuff a gag in your mouth while he does it.) Or vise versa.

A lot of people think he’d be into roleplaying. But hear me out: primal kink. He’ll chase you down and slam you (gently) into the floor, wrestle with you, and then savagely get you onto all fours and have you like an animal. And boy, trust me when I say he loves it just as much in reverse. (This involves a lot of gently licking at each other’s throats afterward while cuddling— it seems to calm you both down.)

Now. Marc.

He’s probably the most vanilla of the boys. I say this because he has so much on his plate that slow, standard sex is most likely more calming for him than something extraordinary. BUT. That being said. The man has a breeding kink that, if put into sizes, would dwarf the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. He’ll growl into your ear about how badly he wants to knock you up, how beautiful you’d look carrying his child, etc. His hand is almost always on your stomach during sex, and if he has you down in doggy he’ll be sure to grind slow and hard enough so you can both feel him better if he applies pressure. (There’s never actually a real chance of him getting you pregnant, though, not without a lot of talk and a lot of planning.)

On top of a breeding kink, he has a marking/claiming kink. He’ll suck marks into your skin wherever is most visible, and litter your hips and chest with them— marking his territory. It has a bit more reason behind it, though: he’s terrified someone is going to steal you away from him, and he hopes that a mosaic of bite marks will put someone off. He trusts you, he doesn’t trust them.

Speaking of that marking kink... His favorite place to cum is inside you. Cumming on you is good too, yeah, but that can be wiped off. He feels better if he knows you’ve got a bit of him inside you that you can never quite get rid of.

Okay. Okay. Jake.

Despite popular belief, he’s not as kinky as people think— but, he’s not exactly vanilla, either. His biggest kink is exhibitionism. In the alleys, in a public restroom, a club, a restaurant, hell, even random rooftops. Jake can and will take you anywhere he wants (with your consent.).

Before you, Jake was a virgin. He only ever fronted to protect the boys or do Khonshu’s bidding, feeling more a thing than a person, until he fell for you. You had to teach him a lot of things, and sex, eventually, was one of those things.

Car sex. Since he never fronted much in the flat, his car feels the closest thing he has to a home. Whether it be slow, sensual lovemaking in the backseat with the windows fogged up, or rough fucking on the floor, Jake just wants to feel you in his home, too.

———

Despite how kinky (or not) they may be, though, the boys always make sure they have your consent for anything and everything they do, whether it be slow, sensual lovemaking that makes you forget your own name, or rough fucking that leads to marks and brief subspace. They love you, and want to make sure you feel safe and protected, always.

Spookable September

[zahut]

I hate talking about this because it’s something that should be obvious, but no matter how crooked the road was from Darwin to Hitler: Darwinism and eugenics smoothed the path for Nazi ideology, especially for the Nazi stress on expansion, war, racial struggle, and racial extermination.

When Charles Darwin presented his evolutionary theories in the 1840s, his ideas of natural selection were soon applied to humanity itself, Social Darwinists asserting that among the human “races”, some had reached a higher stage of evolution than others. Indeed, some human “races” were claimed to be biologically more fit for survival than others, possessing racial characteristics that distinguished them as stronger and more intelligent, even more beautiful than others.

According to Joseph Arthur Comte de Gobineau, a French diplomat and writer who in the 1850s published “Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines” (Essay on the inequality of the human races), the most intelligent human “race” were the Aryans. Now, like “Semite”, “Aryan” is a linguistic term, denoting speakers of the Indo-European language. Gobineau claimed the existence of an “Aryan race”, which was physically and intellectually superior to other “races”.

Gobineau’s ideas of racial inequality were combined with Social Darwinist notions that within humanity, too, there was a “struggle for survival” from which the “fittest” race would emerge as victor. Upon such ideas, Marr’s (coiner of the term Antisemitismus) notion of a Jewish “race” was founded. Now the existence of a Jewish “race” implied that Jews were a nation in itself, and not German, French or British nationals of the Mosaic faith. Nationalists claimed that as a “race” of their own, Jews could not and would not fully integrate with other peoples.

Modern antisemitism of the 1870s introduced a “scientific” element of racial theories, claiming that there existed a “Jewish” race inferior to the “Aryans”. The antisemitism of the Nazi movement evolved around such theories, elaborating on the “science” theme by bringing in biological terms and concepts such as the idea of a racial “body” upon which “parasites” preyed. But antisemitic propaganda of the Third Reich also made use of age-old clichés and traditional antisemitism.

Antisemitism, rather than a fixed structure of ideas, is elastic in the sense that from the core of anti-Jewish sentiment, the most diverse political and popular movements have managed to select ideas that attract and provoke. Having established a historic framework.

[cripplecharacters]

In the story I'm writing, a large portion of the characters are humans who can shape-shift into exactly one animal. As a general rule, their animal form usually resembles their human form, but appears at least adjacent to what is typical to the animal they become. How do I go about determining the animal form appearance of someone who has a chromosome non-disjunction, but whose animal form doesn't have the same typical number of chromosomes as a human?

Hello!

This is complicated and can be a bit tricky if the conditions the person has isn't really possible in the animal. For context of this ask I'm unfortunately not a veterinarian but i tried to do research to be able to answer it. I also hope I understood the question properly if not please feel free to resend and maybe a different mod who understands better will be able to help :) (smiley face)

The easiest and least scientific way would be to just apply the symptoms to the animal and ignore the fact that it isn't realistic (which I don't think would be too much of a problem considering they're a human shapeshifting). So if they as a person have widespread eyes or have very small ears, you could just apply the same to the animal. This will be easier done in a animal with a more humanlike face (like a cat or some dogs) rather than something like a fish or a bird in which case it would be definitely harder to conceptualize. But since it's fundamentally unrealistic i think it's fine if you get creative with it ! It would make the most sense I think because even the chromosome conditions that both animals and humans can have mostly have symptoms that are unrelated at best.

The slightly more scientific way would be to pick an animal that can have something similar to the disability the person has. For example cats can't have Down Syndrome because they don't have that many chromosomes but there are cats who visually resemble the human disability to some degree (like Monty the cat) for other medical reasons. If the disorder you're writing the character with also comes with lack of coordination or some kind of problem with movement then you could look up how cerebellar hypoplasia presents in the specific animal (it's present in many not just one species so theres a chance it could apply to the one you were planning to write). It's not perfect either but if you have trouble visualizing how that could look visually then this is a possibility.

The "most scientific" but also probably requiring you to change the exact chromosome disorder is to pick a disorder that exists in both the animal and humans like monosomy X, trisomy XXY, or some sort of mosaic combination. But the animal counterparts of these disorders have different symptoms than the human ones so it wouldn't be as obvious to the readers that their animal version also has the disorder (unless It's something like a cis male or trans female character with Klinefelter Syndrome shapeshifting into a small calico or tortoiseshell kitty, which i think is more obvious because these cats can't be assigned male at birth without the trisomy present). The only exception of that I was able to find (warning: it's a scientific paper) is monosomy X in dogs having some similarities to Turner Syndrome in humans (small stature, "younger" appearance, and excessive skin at the neck). But that's kind of it.

From the research I done so far for this ask it seems that a lot of different chromosome syndromes in animals cause it to be much smaller than it usually would be. So while it might not exactly translate from the human version it's something that could possibly happen if you want to be scientifically accurate.

I hope this answer was at least a little useful ! Sorry most examples were cats but they were the easiest to find references for.

(on a side note it makes me really happy you decided to look for an option for the character to not lose their disability when shapeshifting I wish i could be of better help..)

mod sasza

[turboweenie]

ocs as obscure references

i wanted to do Sahil, too so im doing him i don't care tagging anyone who wants to do the meme! if you don't have a pal who will tag you, i will do it. i will tag you also @rakofelo again, and @hhongsamie what's up. do lucian

ANIMAL: masked ermine ; barn owl

COLORS: peacock ; gold ; kombu ; skobeloff ; sarcoline ; lilac

MONTH: february

SONGS: i am not who i was, chance peña ; tell, son lux ; midnight dove, shawn james

NUMBER: 5

PLANTS: cinnamon fern ; pine ; rosemary ; lobaria ; mint ; sphagnum ; rue

SMELLS: clary sage ; ozone ; static ; wood smoke ; cedar

GEMSTONE: moss agate

TIME OF DAY: dawn

SEASON: the first frost

PLACES: the slick, mossy hollow of stone just behind a waterfall ; a hayloft at dusk in the countryside ; underneath a stretch of leather hide roped between rough-barked trees, watching woodfire smoke dissipate into the spit of rainfall ; flat-backed in the mud, a knee to the throat ; a crumbling mausoleum, waiting in silence for a century ; a tangle of limbs in the dark, huddled for warmth and companionship

FOOD: blueberry ; roasted acorn ; coney ; apple ; venison

DRINKS: cranberry juice ; chai

ELEMENT: air ; pure oxygen

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN(S): libra ☀ ; scorpio ❍ ; capricorn ↑  

SEASONINGS: cumin ; cardamom ; chive ; spearmint

SKY: nimbus cloud

WEATHER: light snow and rumbling thunder ; spring rain on the coast ; frost on soggy autumn leaves

MAGICAL POWER: barometric pressure 

WEAPONS: wooden staff ; bone knife ; teeth

SOCIAL MEDIA: an empty facebook that hasn't been touched since 2009

MAKEUP PRODUCT: white eyeliner ; blush applied anywhere but to his face 

CANDY: caramelized walnut

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: foot 

ART STYLE: classical mosaic ; textile embroidery

FEAR: rejection ; isolation ; the sun that sets and one day chooses not to rise again

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: will-o-wisp ; seelie

PIECE OF STATIONARY: a single, torn-out page of thick, unlined parchment

THREE EMOJIS: i still don't know how to do emojis on desktop

CELESTIAL BODY: comet

[lairofdragonagelore]

The Crossroads [DLC Trespasser]: Elven Mountain Ruins ,  Forgotten Sanctuary; Vallaslin Removal Chamber and Hidden Armoury

In the time of Elvhenan, this valley was a sanctuary created by Fen'Harel to give shelter to elven slaves. He rejected the divine mantle himself and taught the refugees the truth about the Evanuris in the surrounding towers. In the Forgotten Sanctuary, Fen'Harel removed the vallaslin, giving the now free slaves the chance to join his army in order to fight back against the pretender gods.

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

The Vallaslin Removal Chamber

Here, we find one of the murals of DAI [I make a deep analysis of all the murals in “Murals in DAI”]. For now I can say, briefly, that I’m not so sure if this one was made by Solas. 

We know his technique is not unique, it belongs to the ancient elves [proof of this is given by the archivist Banon of Skyhold in The Rotunda and the Fresco]. Technically, any educated elf of the past could have done it. 

We already saw how much of a romantisation of Fen’Harel was done in the mosaics of Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins, so this mural may perfectly be part of them as well. My main argument to put in question this is that we never saw Solas draw himself in the way he is presented here, so I’m a bit sceptical about his authorship.

This mural pictures Fen’Harel as a person wearing a wolf cape and a fine robe. The intricate patterns of the fabric makes him look more important, more “Evanuris”,  when he usually draws himself with the same kind of robes than the slaves are wearing: a black and green simple robe. I think there is an intent of idealisation of Fen’Harel by making his outfit fancy and more elaborated.

The figure is covering his face with a wolf mask [so, technically, anyone can take this role] and removes the vallaslin of the slaves. To me, this figure represents, ironically, a “priest” of Fen’Harel, a representative that embodies Fen’Harel’s (romanticised) ideas and shares and applies the power that Fen’Harel himself gave them [aka, the spell to remove the Vallaslin]. This figure could be a mage that knows the spell and removes the Vallaslin in groups of recently arrived slaves. 

We saw the removal of the Vallaslin in the romance scene of Solas: it’s a mere spell that doesn’t need any great material or fashion to perform, it’s easy and doable if you know the spell. Another extra detail to support this suspicion is the figure’s staff. That’s not Solas’ staff.

We know his staff from his tarot card (number 1), it is a kind of a “halla profile” with a very messy set of horns. In the mural of the red lyrium idol, he painted his staff (number 3) closer to the design of 1 than 2.  Staff 2 seems to be a generic branch made into a staff. 

Continuing with the mural, the elves come from a blue water pool which contains inside the shape of an elven orb.The water is drawn with undulating blue lines that can represent mere water, or lyrium pools [if we want to link this to The Horror of Hormak]. These waters are a product of the Evanuri’s power: from these waters, the elves come out, slaved and branded. Similar undulation can be seen in the vallaslins coming out of their faces, and in the borders of the aravels, giving us some hints to point out to The Horror of Hormak. These undulating lines appear too in the spheres of the Mural of “The Creation of the Veil” that we find in the Shattered Library. The relationship between undulating lines, orbs, and vallaslin seem to be rather consistent, and I trust this interpretation more than others.

Now, something that I will owe, because I have no idea about yet, are those white drawings over the heads of the elves. No clue what those could be.

For some unknown and unsettling reason, this mural has the face of the The Strange Idol repeated four times, with its mouth stained in (dry, I assume) blood. We have seen this exact circle with his face in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin and in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin, Elandrin’s Tomb. One of these heads holds the brazier from where you can cast Veilfire. 

Does this have any meaning? I’m not sure. We are not sure who this figure represents yet. The furthest we reached was Elgar’nan, thanks to the description in Signs of Victory as I commented in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara and thanks to the name of the zone [Elgar’nan’s bastion] where we find his statue in the middle of Elandrin’s Tomb. But we don’t know who named this place like that, so we don’t have anything truly reliable to identify this statue. So far, we can only suspect it to represent Elgar’nan, while some Tevinters considered it Dumat. More details about this unsettling figure can be read in The Strange Idol.

The Inquisitor and their companions make remarks about this mural: we are introduced here to the concept that the Vallaslin was a different kind of mark [this knowledge is only truly known by female inquisitors who romanced Solas]. For more details, check the post about “Murals in DAI”.

To activate the statue of Fen'Harel, we have to solve a small simple puzzle.  Curious detail, in front of the Sitting Fen'Harel statue we find a Stone in Razikale-Ceremony-style. This combination of elements will be repeated along the Crossroads and the small pocket worlds we visit: The stone that gives us a clue to solve the puzzle of the Sitting Fen'Harel statue is a Stone in Razikale-Ceremony-style. Mere reuse? I'm a bit lost with this stone since it appeared in the Fairel's burials. More about this stone was discussed in Razikale Ceremony and Dumat’s Warrior tablets.

Once we solve the puzzle, Fen’Harel statue moves, opening the entrance to the basement. We have access to the last mosaic:

It narrates what we saw in the previous mural: the removal of the vallaslin. For more details, read Ancient Elven codices; Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins.

As the mosaic disappears, it gives us access to the Hidden Armoury, where we see the arsenal of weapons that the rebels had to fight against the Evanuris.

In the Armoury, we read a report left by a qunari agent about an elven artefact in the box laying between Fen'Harel's paws. However, if we return to it and inspect it, we realise it is not elven [this shows how little Qunari know about elves and elvhenan craftsmanship]. Here we find Arrowwood which is associated with ... well, many things.

It speaks of a Ciriane tale, an alamarri tribe from which Andraste comes from.

We don't know the race of the main char of the story, we assume is human [but we know that the Alamarri have been mixing with other races without much problem, so they could be a half-dwarf].

He removed his heart to have mastery in the bow. There are two stories related to a creature that removes their heart: Korth, and the story that the elves narrate with the mural of the Titan: “The Death of a Titan”

This char shot the Sun, causing eternal night. This concept links him with Elgar'nan who fought the Sun or pushed it down into the earth depending on which unreliable story you based this on.

The queen of the Ciriane [called gothi] sent a messenger to the Witch of the Wild to stop him.

Depending on the story, the messenger never found the Witch and made a deal with a demon. Or worked for the witch and her daughters for a year. Or found the Lady of the Skies. In all three versions, we can interpret the same: the messenger found Flemeth [since she is an abomination with certain anomalies she qualifies as a demon for many tales. She is a also a witch of the wild, and she has a big potential to be the Lady of The Skies in some shape or form]

In all cases, the messenger received a coil of silk that he used to replace the string of the bow of the Arrowwood.

When Arrowwood tried to use the bow, his heart shattered and he became dust.

The queen took the weapon, encased it in an iron chest, and dropped it in the Nahashin Marshes.

Now, how and why a weapon of Ciriane nature, that has some resemblances with titans, Korth, and Elgar’nan, ended up in an ancient elvhen chest, from a time before the arrival of humans to the world? If it's not an elven weapon, it makes no sense for it to be here. And one can argue that this could be similar to the case of finding the Chapter ??? of Hard in Hightown in the Lower Archives, but I feel that such chapter makes more sense as a way for the devs to tell the players that whoever was left in the Fade, died in peace. It’s closure to a narrative. Now, this doesn’t make sense in that way either. One could assume this is just pure game mechanics and thinking too much about it is wasteful. It’s a good weapon after all.

Hidden Armoury

The first thing we see when walking downstairs is, besides all the weapons, a curious statue of two birds in a strange amalgamation. So far I'm aware, we never saw similar statue anywhere in the game [I tend to overlook Orlesian stuff, but I feel this statue would have got my attention anyway] .

It's two birds [maybe ravens due to their beak?] joined by their backs, and struggling to fly. The first idea that came to me when i saw it for the first time was the two ravens of Dirthamen: Deceit and Fear [if we indulge in the unreliable Dalish tales]. But it makes little sense. It's true that Dirthamen is present in this sanctuary more than we have expected, and he is also present in the first tower where we enter [ the Vine-covered Tower]. But what would be the meaning of placing his ravens, fused, in the armoury? This symbol here escapes me.

This place is filled with elvhenan weapons and armours [similar to the ones we saw Abelas and his elves wear in the Temple of Mythal].  

We find in addition to more Dalish supply boxes, Hallas statues that we know in game have been used by the Valmont family to create a system of locking doors in the Winter Palace, and three different kinds of rugs: 

One red and black, with geometrical patterns and small "fishes" in it. It's a rug we can find in Skyhold under the basic option [meaning, Skyhold may have had a link to the activities done in here]. On its corners we see two small dogs [?] attacking a simple-horned halla/deer.

There are smaller rugs in the rooms, featuring stars of 12 points. These rugs are the same ones we saw in the Temple of Mythal, placed in front of the Mosaics, giving the idea of being used to kneel and pray.  And a last carpet that, in a first impression, seemed to be Chasind, but it is not. It is an old red carpet which has a border pattern that looks like a half-sunburst [similar to the Chantry symbol indeed].

In terms of drapery, we find two main options: the typical Dalish drapery, with the "mask" that in DAO represented Mythal, with a pattern of spherical trees on the background.  And the second drapery that caught my attention was a series of ragged, discoloured flags hanging along the entrances of the armoury. It had a very curious symbol on it that I retraced. I've never seen this design. It looks a bit [with a lot of will] like "tentacles", which is not a big thing in DA series anymore, since in DAO the option of making the Old Gods as strange Eldritch creatures was removed due to the limitations of the engine or to add dragons instead. 

This symbol, however, appears in another place: in Skyhold, when you pick the basic decoration. Once more, it seems that Skyhold and this hidden armoury may have had some link in the past. Who knows if some of the broken eluvians in this place may have been related to Skyhold long ago. We also know that Skyhold was used by elves long time ago, and suffered strange damage, specially in the section of the jail, that the game leaves it free of any explanation [Prison Structural Evaluation]. At the end of Trespasser we know that Skyhold was Solas’ fortress at some point, so the link with this armoury is not that strange anymore. 

The eluvian to gets us out from this Armoury is flanked by two archer.

Extra Details

Along the exploration of these ruins, we find details worth mentioning.

The purple fire

In some parts there is a purple fire that, no matter what you do, it kills you. The only way to cross it is through powers that provide you invulnerability for a while, one of them is the use of discharge of the Anchor. What this means lore-wise?

This fire is visually the same kind of fire that the Archdemon from DAO breathed and it’s now Solas’ current power. I fear so much to connect excessively things that are unrelated, but on the other side, DAI in particular has proven to be such a detailed game, that something of the like, so visual, has a good chance to be intentional. I’m not going to say that Solas is an archdemon, because we still don’t know what truly is an Old God [the non-corrupted version of an archdemon]. We only know that Urthemiel was worthy to be protected according to Mythal’s actions, so the relationship of these powerful elvhen mages with these old dragons is not clear yet but the relationship seems to exist. 

The design in general

I like the design of the Elvhen banner and how it relates to Dalish and Tevinter design. That the Dalish banner is a more elaborated version of the Elvhen banner is not a surprise to anyone. It’s the same object with some extra “orlesian-like” ornamentation that can be justified for the years of coexistence between the Ancient Dalish and the Orlesians in the Dales, before the Exalted March. 

However, I think it’s worth noting how Tevinter design is, yet again, based on Elvhen design, specially the one related to arcane. Tevinter banner has a shape on its top that resembles an oversimplified raising dragon [like the symbol of Emerius, ancient Kirkwall] but it also can be seen as a thicker and compressed version of the top of the Elvhen banner. Both of them inspired, at the same time, by the shape of a dragon or an owl extending its wings. 

This comment is not meant to relate crazy lore stuff, but it is basically to highlight how the design of these objects is also related to the History they represents, and who co-opted what. Dragon Age Inquisition is such a detailed game in terms of design that, for that reason, I’m doing this extensive comparison and studies of the statues and art we see in it. It’s not mere whim, they truly worked a lot on this stuff. The director art and the artists who worked on this game, REALLY thought a lot how real life civilisations base their design, culture, and religion on previous ones, modifying them or mixing them with others, to the point that it’s hard to identify the original inspiration. And I’m truly convinced that DA series is a lot about the exploration of this concept in many levels and cultures. 

[onlyswan]

this is soo jungkook stans’ core. describes us all 😀 he’s the solution. sad? jungkook. feeling down? jungkook. lonely? jungkook. depressed? we got jungkook. happy? because of jungkook. truly this applies to all 7 of them (our happy pills ♡) i’m so happy that they exist in this world and got united as a team and reach their dreams together. istg i wouldn’t know where and who i’d run to if i feel all on those negative emotions if i don’t have them… yes, i have friends and family, but idk i just don’t want to pour all of those negativity towards them and make them see me all sad and depressed 🙃 ofc if they got too bad, i talk to my mom about it, but as for like sad and lonely (the ones that can come frequently from day to day), just watch some tannies contents and ✨boom✨*cured* :]

honestly i don’t know if it’s okay to feel this way about them, sometimes i’m scared of loving them too much that most of the times, being happy is something that depends on them. but at the same time, i know it’s because that they’re genuinely want to make us happy. like ‘happy’ is what they want to make us feel when we listen to their songs or think about them. so again, most of the times i just say “fuck it. happy is happy, no matter the source it comes from. who wants to be sad all the time? use bts to be happy”

oh artemis i’m sorry for rambling. have a lovely day!

-🌷

oh tulip anonie come get your hug voucher from me 🫂🎟️

i used to kind of feel this way before, especially at the height of the pandemic, but as i was getting to know the tannies in a much deeper level, i started seeing it in a brighter light. i think of the reasons the tannies has formed a strong bond with us because they are fans themselves, and they understand fan culture. they always talk highly of their favorite artists and how they inspired their dreams, motivated them to keep going when life was a storm. in the suchwita episode with tablo, yoongi talked about how he listens to epik high’s entire discography when he’s feeling drained with a lot of worries. it also makes me think of joon, who went to a museum one day because he was feeling bored in his hotel, and now his house is a museum in itself. and that one time when he talked about how he cried looking at a black and red and white painting because he thought the artist must’ve been feeling the same emotions he was having at that time. and he hopes his music can do the same for us.

of course there is always a line not to be crossed! but a part of life is discovering joy in the world around us (food nature sports arts media and all that jazz) and it just so happens that we find that very often in humans <3 after all, we are a mosaic of everyone and everything we’ve ever loved 🥹

[astro-wp]

The Moon

Some might say the moon is basic, saying it’s our closest neighbor and you can see some details even without a telescope.

You can’t be more wrong. The Moon is awesome! 🌝 Close up telescope images will show you astonishing terrains and surprising color variations. With some astronomical insight, it’s not hard to decipher the the moon’s secret past.

Now, let’s take a closer look into the moon image, shall we?

Btw, might want to check out some this warm welcome if you are new here.

(As a pianist, I highly recommend reading this blog while listening to Clair de Lune by Debussy)

What's on the moon? 👽

There’s so much to talk about the moon. How is it formed? Why we can only see half of the moon? etc. etc. This blog I’ll focus on explain what’s on the moon. If you ever go outside and look at the moon through naked eye, all you can really see are just dark and bright spots. In fact, back in the days, people used to believe that the dark regions are ocean just like the earth. That’s why they are still called ‘maria’ which means seas in Latin. (Yes, astronomers like to stick with the mistakes they made, and as all scientist they like Latin). And it turns out there are indeed mountains, but in the form of craters with dents in the middle.

How are they come to existence, and what determines their color?

It’s not hard to guess that craters were the result of collisions. When some small meteoroid hits the moon, it creates a dent, and breaks into pieces. Those pieces are called ejecta. Most ejecta stays in the crater, but some will fly off pretty far and form the slope we see around the crater. We call those ejecta blanket. I can imagine the collision heat them up like a real blanket! Those impacts from space create colorful glassy materials. As the image below shows, near the Aristarchus crater, the glassy deposit are blue as they contain titanium. If an area is geologically active, there might be dark yellow glass as you can see in the image below near the Aristarchus plateau.

Interesting enough, the maria are also formed by collisions, but indirectly. Those collisions were so big that it hits deep into the inner part of the moon (mantle), and brought out lava to the surface. As lava flowed across the moon surface, they cooled down and formed a type of rock called basalts. They usually have darker color as you can see in the Ocean of storms.

On a side note, be careful with your wording because meteor, meteorite, and meteoroid all mean different things! For a small space object, if it’s still in the space, it’s a meteoroid. It becomes a meteor when it flies through the atmosphere, and if it survives and is found on the ground, it settles as a meteorite.

Image Crafting 💻

I’m planning to write a stand-alone blog for the standard procedure of processing an image in Afterglow. Here I’ll just explain what’s special about the moon observation.

The moon is too big. Each image taken by the telescope of my choice would only take 1/9 of the moon. To get a full moon, I have to take in a 3x3 dithering pattern and stitch them together. This is way harder to get it done than it sounds. Since the telescope cannot point at where it’s supposed to point 100% accurate, we have to apply algorithm to identify which image goes where, and crop and zoom accordingly. That’s why you might see weird straight lines in the middle of the image because the software wasn’t perfect yet when putting mosaic together. Here are the raw images taken in a 3x3 grid pattern.

Moon phase is constantly changing. When it’s full moon, you do get the entire surface, but you miss out on the ‘terminator’ (the line that divides day and night). To get a full moon, I took two observations half a month a part to get both a waxing gibbous and a waning gibbous.

And that’s all folks! Hope y’all enjoy the moon and the especially the subtle colors!

[etruatcaelum]

On Salem’s Perception.

Grimm, as outlined in this post, are not (as is popularly believed) mindless killing machines, but rather eusocial organisms whose communication occurs at a molecular scale; a grimm horde is akin to a sapient beehive. Their sensory perception is very different from that of humans and fauni, or indeed any other living thing on Remnant. They cannot see, hear, smell, or taste, nor do they feel tactile sensation in the way that other kinds of beings do.

This, too, is not commonly understood, mainly because many grimm bear features that resemble sensory organs like ears or snouts, and people tend to assume that these structures are functional. However, the reason for this is that grimm—being just molded blobs of atrum—have no innate shape, no genetic blueprint, no real biology to speak of. An individual grimm will to look like whatever provided the animating spark that caused them to coagulate, which might come from anything that can produce aura. (Salem’s grimm take whatever form she wants them to take: the only limit is her imagination.)

Regardless of what they look like, all grimm perceive in exactly the same way: they ‘read’ the movement of subatomic particles and waves. To a grimm, the world is a vast, intricate, ever-churning mosaic of information; points of certainty in an endless weave of probabilities. The separation between macroscopic objects is, in this world, more like a density or temperature gradient.

They are able to differentiate things like color or sound, in that blue light has a shorter wavelength than red and sound likewise travels in waves; but they’re not seeing color or hearing sound, rather observing the motion.

Grimm are not creative beings. The God of Light had no part in their making and gave them no gifts. To use a metaphor, grimm are conversant in the cosmic assembly language but lack the capacity for abstraction, so the higher-level programming languages like the one that represents certain wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation as “visible light” and visible light as “color” is beyond their means.

Salem still possesses the full range of human sensory perception, and she has grimm perception layered underneath. The two sometimes intersect in strange ways—for example, grimm perception often causes her human senses to smudge together, leading to intermittent synesthesia—but for the most part she experiences the grimm perception as simply a literal sixth sense.

Because grimm don’t perceive firm boundaries between different macroscopic objects (including their own bodies), their spatial perception is phenomenal. Salem is nearly impossible to sneak up on: Summer and Ruby could do it with their semblances, and Ren could manage it if he had someone like May or Emerald working in tandem to deal with Salem’s human senses. Emerald by herself could also make herself ‘imperceptible’ to Salem (and ordinary grimm) by using her semblance to suppress Salem’s conscious awareness of perceiving her, which applies a different method to the same end.

Outside of special cases in this vein, Salem effectively has a minimap in her head. In Evernight, this ‘map’ is very large—if she concentrates, she can retrieve a loose impression of what’s happening on the coast from her home thousands of miles inland, through the horde’s leys—and in the immediate area of her house and the network of caverns below, highly detailed. If someone is in her home, she knows precisely where and what they’re doing. Elsewhere, her range varies depending on how often grimm frequent the area and whether she knows the local horde languages; in urban areas where grimm are rare, she has a rough general sense of things within about a block’s radius.

She can also perceive aura. This is how she reads people’s emotions, as emotion agitates aura and aura carries emotion. However, Salem does not have empathy (in the psychic sense) per se—rather, she ‘reads’ what a person’s aura is doing in the same way that one might read a person’s facial expression, tone, or body language to intuit their emotional state. Everyone’s aura is a little different, but there are common patterns and Salem is of course quite old, so it has become second nature to her to make these connections… although she can be incorrect, and she has her blind spots, just as no one interprets every person’s body language exactly right all the time.