#crisscross ancient

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can’t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give? 

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage. 

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too. 

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring. 

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway. 

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep. 

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air. 

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?” 

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?” 

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child. 

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but- 

Namjoon would be a good father. 

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach. 

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button. 

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you. 

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in). 

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty. 

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image. 

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-” Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 6

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note:

Just a heads-up that the next part of this series will offer two reading options due to sensitive topics in the upcoming section. There will be the original post titled "Keep Moving Forwards, Part 7" with the unedited content, and another version titled "Keep Moving Forwards, Part 7, Summary" that summarizes the material to avoid any discomfort.

For those who have asked to be tagged, you will be automatically tagged in the summarized part to ensure no one accidentally encounters content they might find triggering or uncomfortable. If you are tagged and wish to read the original, please visit my main page when the next part is posted tomorrow at 12:00 PM EST. The two options will be posted simultaneously.

Thank you for your support and understanding. I'll see you tomorrow.

This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Days blurred together as you continued to heal. Azriel made himself scarce, sending Anthea to check on your progress and report back to him. However, he still ensured your meals were slightly more palatable than the standard fare of the training camp, often adding fruits or sweets when he could. Over the next two days, you shared your meals with Anthea, who only ever took a bite or two before refusing any more, despite your encouragement. Neither of you asked many questions, and your interactions remained brief. You no longer needed help turning over, but your body was still weak, limiting you to short walks across the room.

On your first attempt to walk, you collapsed, and Azriel appeared like a shadow to help you up. You quickly pushed him away, determined to maintain your independence. You also began hiding knives under the mattress and storing non-perishable food in the bedside drawers, preparing for the day you could leave. Your stash included two apples, a pear, and some rolls. Not much, but it was a start.

By the fourth day, you had enough strength to get out of bed and look out the window. The camp outside was a bleak sight. You could see distant mountain ranges, but the camp was nestled in a clearing deep in the woods, a space likely carved out by the Illyrians. The thought of ancient trees felled, sent crashing into the mud for this camp turned your stomach.

The camp itself was a muddy mess. To your right and left, you saw other log cabin-like structures similar to the one you were in, each with pointed roofs and a few windows. Below, the ground sloped down to rows of small, mud-splattered tents on wooden platforms. Footprints crisscrossed the muddy ground, and soldiers moved up and down the hills. In the center of the tent village was a larger log structure, which seemed to be the mess hall, where soldiers gathered at mealtimes.

Scattered among the tents were slightly larger tents, likely for higher-ranking soldiers, and raised platforms with canopies, tables, and chairs, their purpose unclear. On the edges of the camp were fenced-in pens where soldiers, each with their hulking wings, practiced sword fighting. They took great pleasure in knocking each other into the mud and continuing their fights with fists, resembling wild animals.

A particularly ostentatious Illyrian soldier often removed his shirt during fights, choosing to battle bare-chested, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. You half-wondered if only the strongest survived because they were killed before they could even make it to battle.

You noticed very few females around, and the ones you did see were in the same state as Anthea—battered, seemingly brutalized, and sneaking between rows of tents. They quickly retreated to hiding spaces or even into the woods at the sight of a group of males. Over the next few days, you watched Anthea tread a careful path from the mess hall to your cabin, ducking behind tents and listening intently for male footsteps before scurrying like a mouse to the next sheltered area. Every female seemed fearful of the soldiers, and it wasn’t hard to piece together why.

It rained incessantly here, with daily torrential downpours turning the meadow into a muddy quagmire. Despite the rain, the soldiers carried on with their training. Many ventured into the treeline in groups, disappearing for most of the day or night and returning either exhausted or invigorated. You never saw anyone without wings coming or going from the camp, making you acutely aware that you might be the only non-winged creature among them.

Once Anthea decided you had spent enough time wrapped in bandages, she brought you new clothes. She apologized for the fit, noting that they only had sizes for males, and these were the smallest options available. While they hung from your body and required extra rope to keep the pants up, you were grateful for the offer. Azriel continued to flit in and out at random times. In your time spent at the window, you often saw him leaving early in the morning, wandering into the tented area, and entering the larger tents. He rarely interacted with the soldiers, maintaining his role as Spymaster, keeper of the High Lord’s secrets.

On the seventh day, Anthea brought your breakfast and wished you a good morning as she set it down on the bed. You remained curled up by the window, but as she dropped the tray, you called over your shoulder, “I think I would like to go.”

Anthea paused, turning to you. “Go where?” she inquired.

“Just go,” you replied, stretching your legs out and standing to investigate the meal. You picked up a piece of toast with purple jam smeared on it and met her eyes, which widened slightly at your request.

“I don’t understand. Where do you want to go?” she asked again.

You shook your head slightly. “Go away from here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, picking at the scabs on her hands.

You chewed and swallowed the toast, the rhubarb and strawberry blend coating your tongue with its sour deliciousness. “Not sure yet. I just need to get moving. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Anthea looked at you, still utterly puzzled. “You... you can’t leave.”

You stopped chewing, placing the toast back on the plate and wiping the crumbs on your pants. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“No one leaves,” she stammered. “They always bring you back.”

A lump formed in your throat. It wasn’t that you couldn’t leave; Anthea just couldn’t imagine a world where anyone could. “You tried to leave?” you asked.

Anthea nodded, her gaze cast to the floor. She didn’t elaborate, just continued nodding.

“What happened?”

Anthea shook her head slightly, pressing her fingers into a wound that oozed around them. She didn’t speak.

“Did they hurt you?” you asked.

Anthea still didn’t speak, just shaking her head as she found a new scab to pick at.

“Anthea,” you said, reaching for her to stop her from scratching. She took two steps back immediately, running into the swords and axes poised at the edge of the fireplace, sending them clanging to the floor. Azriel appeared instantly as Anthea dropped to the floor, trying to pick up the weapons while apologizing profusely. He looked between Anthea and you, trying to piece together what had happened. Anthea continued apologizing until Azriel knelt beside her and began picking up the weapons too. She whispered her apologies again before Azriel placed his hands on her shoulders. She jumped slightly, and her eyes seemed to glaze over.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Nothing is wrong.”

Anthea nodded, tears filling her eyes as Azriel released her. She quickly stood, glanced at you with a tear rolling down her cheek, then briskly walked out of the room, covering her mouth with her hand. You turned to the window and watched her exit the house, heading into the nearby woods.

Azriel finished placing the weapons back in their spots before turning to you. “What happened?” he asked.

You watched the treeline for a second, and when Anthea didn’t reappear, you turned back towards him. “Nothing,” you said.

Azriel looked around the room, then back at you. “You’re standing.”

“Yes,” you replied.

“That’s,” he paused, stuttering slightly, “that’s good.”

You nodded before taking a few steps toward him. “I want to leave.”

A flash of emotion crossed Azriel’s face, but it was gone before you could read it. “Where are you going?” he asked.

You looked up at him, noting how he towered over you, forcing you to crane your neck to see his face. “It’s none of your concern.”

Azriel sighed, running his hand through his hair—a gesture you had begun to notice he did when nervous or uncomfortable.

“Look, I-” Azriel started.

You interrupted him, “I appreciate what you’ve done, and you’ve been very generous. I just think I need to move on.”

“If this is about what happened earlier-” Azriel started again, but you cut him off once more.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you noted. “I just want to be on my way and out of your hair.”

Azriel paused, searching for the right words. “Let me at least get you where you want to go,” he finally said. “It’s not like your journey was going well the last time.”

You scoffed lightly. “There’s no need for that.”

“Please,” Azriel insisted.

“If I say no, will you make me stay?” you asked.

Azriel paused. “No. I won’t make you stay.”

“Good,” you replied. “I want to leave then. Today.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Azriel glanced out the window as clouds began rolling in for the daily downpour. “It’s going to rain soon.”

You didn’t bother looking out the window. “Then I will leave after.”

Azriel looked back at you, his eyes pleading. “Can you just wait a few more days?”

“What am I waiting for?” you asked shortly.

“Just give me some time to plan.”

Your brows furrowed. “Given you aren’t coming with me, I don’t particularly understand what you need to plan for.”

“Just, please,” Azriel pleaded, his eyes filled with yearning. “Stay a few more days, and then you can leave.”

You ground your teeth, feeling like a caged animal. “Fine.” There was no way you could push past him, and it was clear he could outrun you if you tried.

“Thank you,” he said, his face relaxing slightly. He ran his hand over his face. “What happened with Anthea?” he asked again.

You stopped, annoyed he repeated the question. “I asked her if I could leave, and before she could answer, she accidentally knocked down the swords.” You pointed to the weapons now restacked.

“Got it,” Azriel responded. He glanced at your half-eaten breakfast. “Are you done with this?” he asked.

You nodded, crossing your arms, the bruise on your side causing a pang of pain.

Azriel picked up the tray and left, leaving you alone in the room once more. It was clear your request had bothered him as his anxiety left hard rock in your stomach. You wouldn’t be staying long, certainly not a few more days.

Authors Note: Thanks for all the continued support from the following readers who asked to be tagged!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantasyreader28

[cvlutos]

OUR FAIRYTALE ENDING

✡︎ May.09.2023 | 2.3K| Commissioned by @starstruckcaptain

✡︎ Yandere! Kalim A. | Fem!Reader

✡︎ Yandere | Angst | Kidnapping | Stalking | Obsession | Lovesick | Different POVs | Timeskips | Noncon | Smut | Blood | Manipulation | Etc | Proceed with Caution, My Love.

✡︎ Synopsis: It started with a simple fairy tale, the devolved into a obbesassion, the became an illness. One that has no true cure.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five |

“A true love kiss that seals is binding. Ties to lovers together. No matter the odds.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The thick pages of the large hard-covered book are heavy in his small hands, placed heavily in his lap, as his wide garnet red eyes dart quickly across the old, yellowed pages, reading the old fading ink. He hears the gentle rustling of wind that dances through wooden wind chimes, creating gentle clattering as he focuses on the pages. Lips a gap in utter awe with the old fairy tale.

The young heir is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the ancient library, sitting crisscross beneath a dust-covered wooden desk, using a long wax candle, placed upon a golden hand-held candlestick, using the gentle orange flame to light the small corner of where he sat and give him the ability to see. Still dressed in his silk pajamas and barefoot as he sits upon the plush velvet cushion, one that he dragged from his bedroom with the help of his faithful servant and closest friend, Jamil Viper, who has currently disappeared somewhere in the library, though Kalim, knows he’s always near.

He always is.

Yet that isn't what the young heir cares for, not at this moment. He wants to fall in love like the prince in his story does. Who is so kind and sweet, who gives to the poor, who sees the good in everyone. The prince in his tale showers his love in gold and jewels, and dances within sunlit days and cool moonlit nights away. Who holds them close and seals their love with a kiss. Yes, this is what he desires more than anything.

To get married to his own love. To his princess.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Shall I have you for all my own! Yes, I shall slay dragons, fight demons, and save you for all you are! Because I love you! And what is stronger than love?"

— Childhood Fairy Tale

“Do you think soulmates exist?”

Kalim walks along the towered wall, arms outstretched as he balances, placing one foot in front of the other, with Jamil by his side, holding the young heir’s belongings as they walk around the large vibrant courtyard, wasting time before Kalim's next school lesson, which is history. One of Kalim's least favorite, since the tutor is quite rude.

The large grassy courtyard is filled with unique plants--ranging from distant flowers, that fill the air with a rich fragrant aroma, and lush green bushes that hid colorful berries, to elegant and giving fruit trees, that Kalim occasionally takes from, filling his stomach with fresh oranges and plums.

“I don't see why they don't exist.” Jamil’s answer is simple, honest—like he hadn't bothered to think about it more than a mere moment, allowing Kalim to indulge in his fantasies, while he focused on making sure Kalim didn't topple off the stone wall and hurt himself. Which he knows Kalim wouldn't care about, wanting to immediately visit the palace doctor, desiring to be spoiled and given a handful of sweet candy for listening so well. Obviously trying to avoid the stern history tutor. While Jamil knows the doctor will send him to be scolded by his parents for being so careless about the young successor's health.

Which is something Jamil would rather avoid.

Charcoal grey eyes occasionally glance over, watching the heir’s feet skip and balance on the wall, occasionally wobbling, which nearly gave the young retainer a heart attack.

“I wonder where my soulmate is! She just has to be thinking about me!”

Not paying attention to Jamil's clear nervousness and annoyance with constantly having to divide his attention, Kalim continues hopping and bounding along the old wall carelessly. White hair shifting in the mild breeze as the loose clothing he wore sways and is pulled by the wind. Earning a delighted laugh from the young successor follows the wind’s pull, carelessly falling off the wall in one fluid motion. Jamil’s face pales as he rushes to the other side, jumping over the fence, still carrying the heavy school bag. Watching Kalim lay on his back, unphased as he lands in plush grass. Staring up at the bright blue sky, arms spread out gaily.

“And when we met Jamil! I'll give her the sweetest kiss! Then we’ll get married!”

Jamil bites his tongue and merely nods in return, gently placing the bag on the ground, taking the moment to sit in the shade of the stone wall, listening to Kalim laugh away. Letting the young heir to the Asim Family have his daydreams. Cause eventually, he will be saddled with reality, a harsh reality.

Even Kalim Al-Asim is not untouchable to the world of arranged marriages.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Even in your faults of delusion. I shall cherish you—clear your mind of horrors and love you eternally.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The pen scratches along the paper, held by a shaky hand that moves across the page, quickly and frantically. Barely aware of what he writes, but knowing he has to write down what he remembers of his dream. A dream so vivid that it seemed real—that it was real. His milky white hair was in complete disarray, with drool decorating the side of his lips, and sweat coating his skin. The cool desert air does little to cool him, as the windows remain open, giving a clear view of the bright full moon that barely illuminates his pages. He can barely see, barely make out the words he writes messily, still in a half-sleep daze, but he needs to remember.

It’s late in the night, and he's awake before either Jamil or any of the other numerous servants checked on him, eager to serve every whim and need. While only the two guards were stationed outside his door possibly awake, but quite unaware of the quiet rambles of the heir, who drew a messy portrait of the woman in his dream. He sits upon the plushness of his bed, with a leather-bound journal in his lap, filled with other dreams of this same woman and stories that were written poorly but stories he adores that speak of you and him.

You have filled his life unlike any other.

Kalim dreamed of a pretty woman with pretty eyes. A woman that loved him, that desired him, heart and soul. That threw herself into his arms and held him so desperately. Cupping his face and whispering over and over and over how much she loved him. How she'd wait forever and ever and ever for him. Those dreams would matter less once they met.

The brain is a cruel thing.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“If you do not love me, then I accept that your feelings are your own. But I cannot deny mine, my pure feelings of want! I will love you. Forever.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

There’s slight worry in his ways, a slight obsession that fills Kalim, as he turns woman after woman away, only holding eyes for one and giving no other a chance. Holding out for the woman he loves and loves him in return.

Still, kindness is etched into his being, rejecting each in utter honesty, speaking of why he cannot love them. Each woman leaves with nothing but understanding, that leaves with the feeling of rejection... Dull.

Leaves each to hope and to find love in one who's as devoted as he, as Kalim speaks of nothing but his true love. As his presence alone emits such devotion and passion with great fervor that you would think that his love was real.

That all he speaks was truth. That this mysterious woman was real—and she is. To him.

Jamil is the only one aware of the truth, the only one aware that Kalim lives within his own lies—within his own delusions.

Yet he keeps such thoughts to himself.

Allowing the young heir to ramble on and on, to speak endlessly about his beautiful, enchanting lover, to show sketch after sketch and mourn that he could never recreate her beauty, but once he found her, he would know immediately. Jamil says nothing, merely sits, and watches Kalim flip through his journal, page after page filled with nothing but her, her, her.

A Her without a name.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

Night Raven College does nothing to curve his growing obsession. To stomp out this flame that burns and festers within his chest.

"I had another dream."

Jamil tries to keep his placated look, only sharing a brief look behind him, watching garnet eyes look utterly lovesick. Remembering not of his outbursts that follow after he awakes from his dreams—dreams that have Kalim waking up screaming—sobbing his eyes out in pain as if he was being stabbed and ripped apart. Screams that frighten the other dormmates, as their housewarden wakes up covered in sweat, tossing off his blankets and pillows in mass hysteria. While others desperately call and usher Jamil into the room. Who forces the others out as he holds Kalim onto the large bed, forcing his body to go limp from exhaustion. Sobs turning into faint mumbles, silently wailing about how badly he needs them, how he could die from the simple pain of being far from them, and how fate keeps them apart.

"It hurts," he cries, it hurts that he can't be with his love. Eyes fluttering close. After so many years, it's so painful to dream. Nights that force Jamil to remain by his side, forced to console his "friend" who doesn't want kind words but merely wants her.

And in the mornings, it is no better.

With Jamil ushered his heir awake, gently shaking his shoulders, waiting for Kalim to open his eyes—to open his eyes to the waking world. Only for him to throw tantrums, sobbing and begging for Jamil to let him go back. To let him her. "Please, let me see her. Please", Kalim sobs, body limp as Jamil practically drags him from bed.

Kalim wants to spend his days in his fantasy only.

His retainer does well to avoid the topics of love and dreaming, doing well to keep Kalim, for the most occupied with anything else. Leaving no time for Kalim to think about her--you--for a moment.

Yet sometimes this obsession seeps through the cracks. Slipping past the several walls Jamil has built to keep him sane.

Kalim's voice is a whisper amongst the sea of people, walking side by side with Jamil, who carries his and the heir's bag with a tepid look, more focused on navigating through the many students and not be late to their next class. Wanting Kalim to do anything but speak about you.

Kalim doesn't notice his friend's disinterest, used to Jamil's silent air, and far too deep in his mind, far too in love with the idea he has built.

He continues talking.

“But this time it wasn't in the courtyard, but the school gardens.” There’s an optimistic tone in his voice, one that makes Jamil sick. He says nothing, as Kalim walks with a certain breeze in his step as he moves, unconcerned by the weird glances he got as the two glid through the crowd, a delighted smile upon his face. Jamil gives a short hum, letting Kalim know he was somewhat listening, which Kalim believed was highly important. Jamil had to listen, and he had to absolutely like his lover, and care for her as his retainer cares for him.

Which is something Jamil has heard numerous times, from long-time friends to distant guests he was sure that Kalim would never see again. And under any other circumstances, Jamil would give a blunt ‘Absolutely. A friend of yours is a dear friend of mine’, with a deep bow, while easily lying through his teeth with a faux sweet tone, something that Kalim would believe without any worry.

Yet this time, Kalim was serious.

Garnet eyes were unmoving, and lips pressed together, sitting more poised like a ruler--like a king that deserved respect. Kalim was not asking, nor making a random comment nor gesture of goodwill. He was demanding that Jamil swear it--swear upon his oath that he made to Kalim since the day he was born. To vow that he would care for his love.

Forcing Jamil to not see him as an overly innocent man who was hopelessly in love, but as the next heir of the Al-Asim Family who had found his future bride. He, whose word is absolute. And Jamil did, pressing his forehead to the cold marble ground, swearing upon his life to care for her. And after a moment, Kalim was satisfied, returning back to his carefree self a moment later.

“Jamil… She said she was here. Waiting for me to find her.”

Kalim stops, the halls clearing slowly. His gaze stares out into the school courtyard below, standing silently in the open stone halls, wind rustling through his hair as he gathers his thoughts before the large open windows. His hand clutches the ends of his shirt with nothing but a grin.

A chill runs along Jamil’s spine, staring at Kalim with unrevealing eyes, lips pressed together as he gives a firm nod. Inching to move as he watches garnet eyes fill with something unlike him while searching his retainer’s before frowning.

“You don't seem happy—”

“I am.” Jamil’s words are quick, watching the dark look unfamiliar look disappear quickly, his smile automatically returns. Unable to hide his happiness nor remain still, he practically lunges onto his closest friend with a tight hug, squeezing tightly.

“You’ll help me find her…” Kalim speaks, but he follows with a gentle sigh and a headshake, “I know you will.” It’s a command. One that isn't forceful, nor threatening, but an expectation.

Jamil is his servant after all.

“Of course, I will.”

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[gosecretscribbles]

Rise August Day 2: Karai

“– and I thought Raph was going to back down until Leo mentioned his teddy bear collection.”

Karai frowned slightly.  “He…collects bears?”

“Yeah!  Stuffed animals, you know –” Mikey scribbled in the air with his fingertip, etching the outline of a teddy bear.  The bright orange outline shimmered in the dark space of their shared ninpo.  “He used to have over two hundred, but the Shredder kind of destroyed most of them.  He’s up to twenty now.  Anyway, Leo threatened to portal them all into the Hudson if we followed him on patrol tonight.”

Karai sighed.  “How illogical.  Wasn’t he the most injured by the Krang?”

“Yeah, but…”  Mikey shrugged.  “I think that’s why he wants to patrol by himself.  He hated the crutches.  I think he wants to test his limits without worrying about us watching.  Well – me and Raph watching.  I think he forgot that Donnie records, like, everything.”

A sudden shimmer of teal sparked over Mikey’s orange form.  He grimaced. 

“Aw, man.  I think that’s Barry.  I told him we could do an extra mystics lesson tonight since we don’t have patrol.”

“Hmm.”  Karai shifted uneasily.  “Mystical forces can be deadly.  Do not let yourself grow overconfident, Michelangelo.”

“Not you, too!” he huffed.  “I get babied by everyone in the family.  But I’ve got just as much ninjocity as any of my brothers and three times the razzmatazz.  I know what I’m doing and I know when to stop – and when not to stop.”  He held out both hands.  They were still crisscrossed with faint scars, but here in the darkness, the scars glowed a molten yellow. 

Karai placed her hands over both of his.  “You do,” she said gently, warmly.  “And I have little doubt you will achieve mastery beyond any Hamato before you.  I simply do not wish you to master too much too quickly.  Those with great talent are often called upon to bear terrible burdens.”

Mikey’s eyes softened even as he flashed her a cheeky grin.  “Don’t worry, Uncle Ben, I promise I’ll go slow.  For now.  Spider-Angelo out!”

He squeezed her hands and vanished in a crackle of orange fireworks.

She sighed.  Ninpo mysticism could translate centuries-old Japanese and modern English, but not cultural references.  Or perhaps her progeny were also part-spider…?  With the way Michelangelo flung his chains, she wouldn’t be too surprised. 

She stood and stretched.  The dark space of the ninpo began to fade.  The space around her filled instead with a green landscape of rolling hills, forests, and rivers, an echo of the Japan she had been raised in.  The afterlife could take many forms.  When she had been released from her self-inflicted prison, her dead descendants had been charmed by her descriptions of the original Hamato village, and had recreated it here.  With modern additions.  Electricity was a marvelous invention, as was plumbing.  Even so, the rice paddies in the south had been set up according to ancient and well-proven agricultural science.  No one needed to eat, but there was something deeply soothing about growing a food so familiar to every generation of Hamato.  Her keen eyes picked out her father leading a few children through the paddies.  Telling them stories, likely as not, to teach them about their history.

She moved to join them.  Then Michelangelo’s words came back to her.  Leonardo was patrolling alone tonight. 

But no Hamato need ever be alone.

Karai closed her eyes and rekindled her ninpo.  She let her senses stretch once again into the dark space where their mystic energy touched across generations, across the very boundary between life and death.  It only took her a moment to find him.  When she opened her eyes, the space around her was dark once again.  Leonardo was in front of her, his own eyes closed, legs folded in a traditional seiza. 

She nearly spoke.  Then she recognized the look of concentration on his face.  He was frowning slightly.  His blue outline flickered and fuzzed like a sputtering fire.  Ah.  So he was attempting to activate his ninpo to visit her.  It was a good try, and he was very nearly present.  But, just in case…

It took a moment of intense concentration.  Then Karai stepped into the mortal world.

She was merely a ghost here, dissolved from the waist down into pale green smoke.  But she could see and hear well enough.  Leonardo’s blue ninpo outline was superimposed over his mortal body.  She looked around.  He was sitting on some kind of tall structure, square, with a rattling metal box at the opposite corner.  The city stretched out around them.  She walked the perimeter of the…rooftop?  Was it a roof?  It was very high.  A good vantage point, she decided, and easily defensible.  She would wake Leonardo if danger arose.  Until then, the nearby structures and the streets below were empty, save for a few stray cats.   She returned to her position in front of her many-great-grandson.

“Leonardo.”

“Gah!”

He jumped.  His outline vanished for a moment, and in the mortal world he nearly fell over.  He righted himself and reappeared immediately. 

“Gram-Gram!  I – uh, didn’t think that would work?”  He grinned widely.  “You look good!  No surprise there.  Good looks run in the family, am I right?”

She raised an eyebrow and sat down.  “I doubt you ran off on your brothers solely to compliment your own face.”

“I didn’t run off on – wait – Mikey told you?  That little snitch!  That’s it, his oil paints are going in the Atlantic, I swear to pizza supreme –” 

His outline winked out again.  His mortal form bent over, panting.  She waited calmly.  His ninpo reappeared a moment later, flickering more so than before.  He smiled crookedly. 

“Sorry, Gram-Gram.  Just debating how many turtles are going to live to see voting age.”

“Was your trip tonight that important?” Karai asked mildly.

“Uh, yeah!” He gestured grandly to the skyline.  “I wanted to admire the view.  New, improved, and Krang-free.  I don’t, uh.  Did Mikey tell you about the Krang?”

“He did,” she said quietly.  “I then realized the true identity of the oni who possessed my father."

“Whoa, whoa, time out!”  He made a T-shape with his hands.  “That suit was Krang tech?”

The pink face of the grinning oni swam in front of her mind.  She suppressed a shudder.  “Yes.  I regret that you inherited such a terrible enemy because I was not strong enough to stop him.”

He spread his arms, grinning.  “No worries, Gram-Gram!  Anatawa hitori ja nai.  You aren’t alone, either!  It took a whole generation of Hamato 2.0 to bring him down.  Plus a heroic sacrifice by yours truly!  But, uh –”  He leaned forward, like they were going to share a secret.  “From one prison dimension escapee to another, how do I, like, not do that next time?  There were like, zero facial products in there.  The Face Man slash Leader would like to keep these supple scales intact!”

She searched his eyes.  “Leonardo,” she said slowly, “why do you think there will be a next time?”

“I don’t!  Krang Prime is not getting out.  Soon as my power’s back, I’m going to drop the key into the sun.  But if I’d handled the key in the first place –”  He seemed to catch himself and consciously relaxed, leaning back on one hand and twirling the other in the air.  “I’m just saying, I’d rather avoid the whole sacrifice play.  I don’t want my brothers thinking it’s their turn next if I can’t ‘Fearless Leader’ the problem away.”

“Sacrifices are sometimes inevitable,” she said slowly.  “But a good leader makes that choice wisely.  All actions necessitate a trade.  If you choose to strike, you choose not to defend.  Even doing nothing is a choice, if the cost to act is too great.  The best choices use the strengths and weaknesses of yourself and your team to minimize risk and maximize effect.”

Leonardo’s casual posture hadn’t changed, but his eyes were now steady and focused.  Even his ninpo was shining more clearly.  It made him look older.  She could see the leader he would become written in his gaze.  

She also saw the mark of the prison dimension.  Her own soul bore it, too.  Intense isolation, however brief, reshaped them into creatures of solitude, until it was both natural and inevitable for them to isolate themselves still further.  After all, her she sat, high on a hill and far from her newly established village.

“Good leaders,” she continued gently, “also stay connected with their family.  Breaking bread and sharing stories keep you attuned to their needs.  What do your brothers need, Leonardo?”

He tilted his head, thinking.  Then his face lit up.

“Pizza!”

She threw back her head and laughed.

“What?  They do!” he protested.  “It’ll suck Raph out of the gym and Donnie out of the lab.  I’ll even get a bunch of toppings on the side so Mikey can assemble each slice of pizza differently.  Then we’ll turtle pile in the living room to sleep it off.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said warmly, wiping her eyes.  “Very well.  Enjoy your meal, grandson.  I had better help my father with the children.”

Leonardo grimaced.  “There’s dead Hamato kids?  That’s messed up.”

“The Krang are merciless in every iteration. Many of them passed at the hands of that cursed suit.  But they will have full lives here, free from further tragedy.”

“Here’s hoping the same for us.  Um.”  He leaned forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around her.  She froze.  She couldn’t really feel him, but she felt his arms, their ninpos buzzing pleasantly against each other.  “Love you, Gram-Gram!”

He vanished with a bright blue pop.  She exhaled sharply, releasing her mystical hold on both the mortal world and the shared ninpo space.  It had left her more exhausted than she expected.  She sat for a moment, breathing the sweetness of the clear mountain air, the warmth of the sunlight.  It wasn’t quite the same as the mortal world.  But it was grounding nonetheless. 

Well.  Time to take her own advice. 

She stood and began making her way down the hill toward the paddies.  Her father was acting out a story that involved great splashing, to the delight of the dozen or so children now gathered around him.  One of them saw her coming and waved.

“Obaasan!” she cried.  “Jiisan says you were talking to the kappa!  Do we have kappa brothers?  Can they swim with us?”

“One day,” she said.  “Would you like to hear more about them?”

“Yeah!”

She smiled and went to join them.  

[blueiscoool]

Roman Fort Defended by Wooden Stakes Discovered in Germany

For the first time, archaeologists have discovered well-preserved sharpened wooden stakes used to deter attacks from enemies at an ancient Roman military camp from the first century CE.

Researcher Frederic Auth from Frankfurt’s Goethe University discovered the spikes at an excavation site in the German town of Bad Ems.

Installations of these martial-looking wooden structures, comparable to modern barbed wire and metal bird spikes, have been referenced in literature and by Julius Caesar. But prior to Auth’s discovery, none had been found.

Experts believe the military had a presence at the site specifically because of the Romans’ investment in the lucrative precious metal mining operation there, which would need defense against sudden raids for the valuable raw material. But Goethe University archaeology professor Markus Scholz said further research is necessary to verify this theory.

The university’s archaeology department has been overseeing a multiyear excavation project in the area focused on the Roman search for silver ore in the 1st century CE and the establishment of two military camps.

A hunter’s observations of color differences in a grain field, a sign of subsurface structures, triggered the excavations in 2016. A drone photo found a track crisscrossing the field that was actually a double ditch, framing a Roman camp. The spikes were preserved through the area’s damp soil.

According to a statement from the university, geomagnetic prospecting later revealed a 20-acre military camp with about 40 wooden towers.

Auth also led a student team to discover a smaller military camp made of wood that held approximately 40 men, located two kilometers away.

Notably, the spiked wooden defense structure was discovered on the second-last day of the team’s excavations, along with a coin minted in 43 CE. The coin was proof that the military structure could not have been built in connection with ancient Roman fortifications known as the Limes, which were built around 110 CE.

By Karen K. Ho.

[whencyclopedia]

Abbey of Saint John at Müstair

The Abbey of Saint John at Müstair, located in the village of Müstair in Canton Graubünden, Switzerland, is an early medieval Benedictine monastery dating to the late 8th century CE that became an abbey in 1163 CE. It is renowned across Europe and the world for its beautiful, intact medieval design and decor, and UNESCO designated it as a World Heritage Site in 1983 CE as a result of its splendid mix of Carolingian figurative murals, Romanesque frescoes, and ancient stuccoes. For over 1200 years, the Abbey of Saint John at Müstair has remained a Benedictine religious community.

Origins

The Abbey of Saint John in Müstair (German: Benediktinerinnenkloster St. Johann; French: Abbaye Saint-Jean-des-Sœurs; Italian: Monastero benedettino di San Giovanni; Romansh: Claustra benedictina da Son Jon) is set deep within the southern Swiss Alps in the Val Müstair, which is in Switzerland's Graubünden Canton. Müstair is the only Swiss territory to be in the Adige Basin, and it is Switzerland's easternmost village. The town of Müstair lies very close to the Swiss-Italian border in South Tyrol, and it is also close to the Swiss-Austrian border at Nauders, Austria. The Abbey of Saint John in Müstair is roughly 130 km (80 miles) from Chur, Switzerland and 65 km (40 miles) from Merano, Italy.

According to local traditions in Graubünden, Charlemagne (King of the Franks from 768-814 CE; King of the Lombards from 774-814 CE; and Holy Roman Emperor from 800-814 CE) founded the monastery at Müstair in the late 8th century CE. Legend states that as Charlemagne traversed the Umbrail Pass between the villages of Bormio and Santa Maria following his coronation as King of the Lombards in nearby Italy in 774 CE, he survived a snowstorm. There and then, Charlemagne decided to establish a monastery on the spot to commemorate his miraculous survival. Dendrochronology confirms that the wood used in the construction of the monastery was felled around c. 775 CE, so the legend could indeed be true. It is likely, however, that it was the Bishop of Chur who founded the monastery at Charlemagne's royal behest; Chur was the traditional capital of Graubünden and remains the canton's largest city too.

Aside from any miraculous survival and piety, Charlemagne undoubtedly recognized the region in and around Müstair as one of strategic and cultural importance. Lying between the trade- and pilgrimage routes, which crisscrossed the Alps between Switzerland, Germany, Austria, and Italy, Müstair was an ideal location for a Benedictine monastery that could operate as a hospice, accommodating pilgrims and travelers in the regions of Valtellina, Tyrol and Engadine. As a religious institution and center, the monastery would be able to tend to the religious needs of the local community as well.

Continue reading...

[phantomskeep]

I really, really love Clockwork as a character. He's legit my favorite DP character (besides Danny, but even then they're pretty equal). Anyways, have an excerpt from Putting the Fun Back in Funeral chapter two :) (Should be finished by the end of this upcoming week!)



... A sarcastic reference to the Observants trying to murder Danny should not have made Clockwork laugh.

Danny eyed the other with obvious suspicion. “What’s funny about that?”

The older’s form aged up as his chuckles died down. “You simply reminded me of when the Observants came to me about this very issue.” Clockwork loosened the grip on his staff and used it to lazily jester towards Danny’s throne. “They came to me months ago, warning me of how our timeline was going down the most horrible path. Danny Phantom, a half-dead ghost child with too much power taking the throne? It was something out of a nightmare for them.”

When Danny’s eyes flitted nervously downwards, his body unconsciously curling in a defensive motion, Clockwork used his staff to gently lift his king’s head. Pupilless red eyes met burning green, and a comforting expression graced the middle-aged ghost’s face. “My King, they were very wrong. This is the best possible timeline - one with such a powerful king who wishes only for peace? Whose Obsession isn’t one of power, or rage, or a burning greed, but of protection? Danny, this is the best timeline, the best era - and it is because of you. The Observants are correct with many of their findings, but they can make mistakes like any other being. Their power resides in control.” Here Clockwork paused, a mirthful feeling brushing against Danny’s calming one. “This is something I know you are very aware of. They fear the lack of control they will have during this timeline. It was their goal to gain control of the throne through you, but I’ve made sure the Observants failed every time.”

Danny’s eyes widened, a small gasp escaping his lips. Tears welled in his expressive eyes as he tackled his mentor into a monkey-gripped hug. The older ghost chuckled, easily returning the embrace. His form shifted, aging quickly as he ran time-wrinkled hands along the young king’s back.

“I had suggested a boarding school, of sorts.” Clockwork whispered into his apprentice’s hair. “A chance for you to go and stretch your proverbial wings. This other dimension has an old friend of mine who has offered to continue with your teachings, and the Earth there has many different protectors you can learn from. Of course, there are still duties you will need to attend to.” The old ghost broke from Danny’s clinging hug, looking the twenty-one year old king in his eyes. “It will be dangerous. There are many different forces who now have their eyes on you, my King. But know that if you choose to go this route, you will always be able to access the Infinite Realms and the dimensions attached to her.”

Danny discreetly wiped his eyes, nodding in agreement with Clockwork. A burning determination danced in his eyes as Danny’s gaze steadfastly stared into his most trusted advisor’s. “I need to explain things to my family, at least a little bit. Tell them I’m going on a mission for you at the very least - but I’ll be back. I’ll go to this other dimension and do what I can to be a better king for my people.”

[mmmm there's more stuff in the actual chapter here but for noooow LARGE TIMESKIP]

... However, instead of joining in the festivities like the others on the Council of Ancients, the time ghost had another important meeting to attend. Clockwork allowed the quick passage of time to overcome his form, aging him down like an ancient phoenix recently reborn from its own ashes. His young body turned to face the newest ghost king’s throne as a maelstrom of blue energy rapidly crisscrossed around his form. Wild winds whipped Clockwork’s pale purple cloak as a dark clock-hand appeared behind him, sweeping in a large clockwise motion to reveal a swirling blue and teal portal. The sound of a striking old grandfather clock echoed hauntingly across the empty room of Phantom’s Keep as the hands reached the metaphorical twelfth numeral. When the clock-hands began their descent backwards in time the Master of Time was swept under them, disappearing into the portal of his own creation. The hands again struck the midnight position with the last thrum of a dull, heavy, monotonous clang - once again leaving the now-empty room with the wistful cry of an old clock.

On a different world - one full of heroes, aliens, and otherworldly forces fighting vicious battles for justice - a smog-filled city held within the dark heart of an old ghost was just starting to awaken. When Clockwork’s portal faded from view, time snapped back into place. Loud honking filled his ears as the Master of Time floated above a striking clocktower, his back turned to the ever-moving bay that lapped at the shores of such an inspiring city. A low voice caught Clockwork’s attention, but he did not turn to face the ghost.

“Clockwork, perfect timing as always.” The voice was lofty, easily gliding over syllables with an ease born of hundreds of years.

The purple-cloaked ghost tilted his head in a small greeting, his own words spilling past smiling lips. “It is my pleasure - as always, Lady Gotham - to be welcomed into your haunt.”





:) I'm very excited to post this chapter!! Finally getting into those awesome DPxDC storylines I have planned out!!

(Also, I’m currently high-fiving baby-me for deciding on using “PhantomsKeep” as a username. Cause now I can name-drop myself in my own fics! And I laugh every time >:D )

[assortedvillainvault]

ok if acceptable I'm dropping one more before closing time

"I remember you" with a reader being the reincarnation of someone the Horned King once loved

*Clutches chest* ROOOSSEEE-

This hurts me. In like, the best way. Here we go, modern reincarnation because I low-key would like to get lost in the Welsh Mountains forever (I have deadlines).

Also please forgive the Google translated Welsh at the end I did not have the time to look up proper medieval Welsh and asking someone real to translate would have been good to think of before I started operating on 5% brain. If anyone following me is a native Welsh speaker pls DM me or leave a comment and I'll correct Google's attempt.

The Horned King x Reincarnated!Reader : 'I Remember You'

You have no fucking clue why you're here.

'Here' being the Ass-End of Nowhere, Wales. No phone reception, no services, no people and no tourists. Except, uh, yourself. Obviously.

You got up, drove out, picked a random direction between two hills and. Started walking. You don't even know why.

You just know that there's something further into the mountains that your soul is ITCHING to get to. You've always felt it, but recently ignoring it has started to feel like being pulled through barbed wire.

The ground is rough and uneven, tussocks and hidden rocks threaten to turn your ankles every other step. The trees that twist their way along the crevices of the high moorland are all but draped in moss and thorns. The mountains arching up behind them are unwelcoming, cold and cragged.

It's...eerily quiet. No birds, no people...even the sheep seemed to stop at some hidden border a few miles back. Just the low moan of the wind accompanies you.

As you walk, you find yourself stealing glances at the sky. You tell yourself it's for birds - Kites and eagles maybe - but you have to keep a strange disappointment down that it's nothing larger. What are you expecting for fucks sake? Dragons??

You're so busy scanning the skies that you topple arse over tea kettle down the next scree slope like a graceful spaghetti mannequin with a screaming feature.

You manage to scrabble and hiss to a stop, skin on your arms and legs scraped raw. And upon looking up suck in a breath that has nothing to do with your sliced up hands.

It's as though a giant scooped the earth away and set it on fire for good measure. Bare reddish black rock contends with a bitter snarl of dead grasses and lonely tree corpses. Beyond lies a dessicated crevass that looks like a lake drained away overnight.

Beyond that, is a castle.

You blink and tear the vision that seared across your eyes - of a fully fleshed gothic fortress - away. What lies before you is a ruin. The bones of the structure, at best.

The barbed wire in your soul is all but yanking you toward the ancient structure. You don't notice that the path you tread towards it is one you can find without looking, despite the terrain.

The bridge, rotted and rusted as it is, is mostly secure. You keep your weight to the bolted metal crisscrossing the wood as you make your way across, slow and steady and feeling as though phantom archers have their sights on you from atop the wall.

As you pass under the archway to the courtyard, you shiver violently. The feeling of passing under so familiar that it almost clawed it's way out from your skin.

The very air seems to hold it's breath as you make your way deeper into the crumbling structure. Water drips from the stonework, the doors all long since rotted from their hinges. Tools lie forgotten on the cobbles. If it wasn't so creepy it would be an archaeologists dream.

Why does no-one around seem to know this is here? Why is this place so undisturbed?

You stumble into what must have been the Great Hall.

Cold sunlight shafts through holes in the ceiling, the corners in absolute darkness. Skeletons lie in piles across the floor, roughly around where large tables should have been, weapons scattered akimbo as though they didn't even get a chance to use them before they fell.

Your eyes are dragged to the dias. There's a body on the throne.

It's slouched, slumped, as if whoever this was had thrown themselves back on the seat and collapsed in exhaustion. The mothbitten red robe and fur stole is strung with spiderwebs connecting them him to the throne, but this isn't what yanks on the barbed wire in your soul.

The pair of great, regal thorn like horns protuding from the figures hood are angled towards you.

Your feet carry you forward.

The figures face is obscured but you know it, the fingers curled loosely still with flesh, after all this time, no weapons around the dias but no evidence of wounds on the body as if he would need them, as if they could ever lay a finger on their King-

Your hand trembles, reaching out to touch the nearest horn irrestisably, not even daring to breathe.

The corpse lurches.

An arctic vice closes on your wrist, bones grinding as he yanks you to your knees on the stone. His fist is impossible to pry loose even as you scrabble at it, nails ripping at leathery hide- heart pounding-

His second hand closes on your neck and you freeze.

Twin red lights blaze from under the hood. Pupils in a black socket that focus hazily on your face, blinking as if rising from a dream that still has its hooks in him. The hand on your neck squeezes and you gasp, eyes bulging, wrist forgotten as you plead with your hands against the unstoppable force around your neck.

Brows twitch as he watches you struggle. Marginally, the fingers loosen and you suck in air, sounding like a broken bellows compared to the cathedral-esque empty quality of the air passing through his chest.

Gently, reverently, knarled fingers parse hair from your forehead. You didn't even realise he'd released your wrist. Your throat remains in his grip.

You meet his gaze as the last of the fog clears from his sockets. His voice, rusted and broken from disuse, still rumbles from his throat like a shuddering landslide.

"Rwy'n eich cofio, fy annwyl."

"I remember you, my dear."

[ancientstuff]

Interesting article on the Phoenicians and trade in the Mediterranean.

[badhabit-life]

This is a kuffiyeh and it is Palestinian. The design is comprised of three different patterns, each symbolizing an aspect of historic Palestinian livelihood: bold borders represent ancient merchant routes, wavy lines olive leaves and the main crisscross design fishermen’s nets.

[aliensupersyn]

JJK Chapter 253 Action Guide

Chapter 253 on TCB

A LOT happened this chapter, and this post will be mostly focused on describing the action sequences.

Maki and Sukuna continue their 1v1 throughout the city. Sukuna fires a world dismantle that Maki jumps over and clashes with Sukuna. He's likely reinforcing his body with cursed energy, which is what produces the clang sounds with Maki's blade. I've seen others say that Sukuna uses dismantles to parry swords as well. The dismantle that Sukuna fired hit the building behind them and begins to fall.

Sukuna continues defending against Maki's slashes, locking them both in position, and the building falls where they stand.

I surmise this building was a car garage? That or these cars were on the street already. Sukuna and Maki both dodge the fallen building in time. Maki dodges the cars and Sukuna appears behind one to catch her off guard. Sukuna used these same tactics against Gojo: obscuring his opponent's vision to get an upperhand on them.

I love this idea that Sukuna doesn't fight fair when he's serious!

Maki still sees him and the dismantle he's firing behind the car.

Maki dodges the dismantle, but the car explodes and sends her flying into the building across the street. (I think it's funny Sukuna's ancient ass was counting on a car exploding to help him lmao).

Sukuna races through the building to come behind Maki. He's fast!

Sukuna catches Maki and immediately cleaves her! Maki's fighting back but Sukuna's keeping her at bay with his other two hands.

Ino attempts to intervene but Sukuna quickly sends dismantles at him.

Sukuna kicks Ino again and notices that Ino didn't attack with Nanami's weapon.

Ino falls out the window and Kusakabe attempts an ambush from above. Kusakabe crashes through the ceiling and on top of Sukuna!

Sukuna reacts in time and blocks the attack with his arm. Sukuna begins to pick up Kusakabe, but Maki is seen running back into frame in the last panel.

Maki bomb rushes Sukuna through the wall into a new room. Within moments, she's reached Sukuna again as he's flying mid-air. She aims for the pillar Sukuna's flying towards after her initial rush. Maki's so fast that it startles Kusakabe, and he only sees the end of her cape!

Maki connects to the pillar in time and sends a shockwave so powerful that it throws Sukuna again! He hits yet another pillar.

Maki goes to work slicing up the pillars around her as Sukuna recovers from her attack. This all must happen in literal moments, given the few panels all the action takes!

Maki begins to launch the cut concrete with her feet towards Sukuna, but he's now awakened and seen her strength. Sukuna has become even more serious. Maki has dodged all of his dismantles and his cleave seemingly had no effect on her, as she's faster than before.

Sukuna gives up on using his usual cleave and dismantle, stops healing himself with rct, and focuses all of his cursed energy into physical reinforcement. Maki was going faster than him and he needed to catch up! He disappears the literal instant the concrete projectiles began flying towards him.

Sukuna quickly grabs Maki and pushes her through the building. This is not a cleave, as it's not the crisscross pattern, nor does it have the cleave onomatopoeia that denotes that specific CT. At this point, Sukuna has decided that his CT will not cut it to defeat Maki, this monster before him! He must match her physical prowess or she will continue to overtake him.

Sukuna tears part of Maki's flesh from her face, reflecting his ideas about flesh and bone. Interestingly enough, Maki's so durable that Sukuna can only manage to tear the flesh from her skin, but he refers to her power as the bone. Foreshadowing something?

My theory that Sukuna and Maki are foils is proven to be true by Sukuna's words here. He respects Maki as the embodiment of physical strength, while he is the ultimate model for jujutsu.

They both fall from the sky and onto the street yet again.

Maki reacts to a full speed and fully powered Sukuna attempting to overwhelm her speed and strength with his own. She strikes with SSK, but Sukuna blocks it yet again. (Is he blocking these or is he just suffering the damage?

Again, he grabs her SSK by using cleaves to avoid it's damage so she can't swing it while he prepares his punch.

Confirmation that Sukuna was 100% serious and in the zone against Maki as he lands his first black flash in the entire series. Maki blocks it with her hand, covering her stomach from the blow.

The blow sends Maki flying away through the rail.

Poor Kusakabe.

[fiercestpurpose]

Friends at the Table season breakdown

Friends at the Table is an actual-play podcast focused on critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interaction between friends.

But this post is for anyone who's ever thought, "What is Friends at the Table actually about?" Well, it's about a lot of different things, depending on the season.

Seasons of Hieron -- Autumn in Hieron (S1), Winter in Hieron (S3), Spring in Hieron (S5)

Using DungeonWorld as its main system, this is closest to DND style high fantasy with adventurers of different races who come together to go on quests

What starts as a series of fetch quests escalates until the dead don’t stay dead, the nature of existence is brought into question, and the world itself is in danger of dying.

Follow a team of morally ambiguous adventurers as they fuck around only to find out!

Starring: an evil woman with an eviler sword, an orc who shows us why true neutral is in fact the evilest possible alignment, a snake oil salesman, a paladin who accidentally serves three different gods, and more!

Counter/Weight (S2)

Giant robot season #1

Cyberpunk/space opera/mecha anime

It’s the Cold War in space. Two long time enemies, Liberal Democracy Land and Corporation Land, recently banded together to stop the Empire of Fish Aliens.

Now, our story is set in space Berlin, on a planet divided between the two reluctant allies

Follow a parking robot, an exiled fish alien, a hacker, and a former pop idol as they try to survive as mercenaries and fight off giant robots with their own giant robots.

Marielda (S2.5?)

Steampunk heist season

A mini-season, set in the ancient past of Hieron, but it works as a standalone.

A group of criminals rob God. This sets them off on a dangerous path that will determine the fate of all of Hieron.

A story about the power of information and the power of access to information. Featuring trains, azaleas, ghosts, divorce, and clarinets.

Twilight Mirage (S4)

Giant robot season #2!

(The giant robot seasons are set in the same universe but several thousand years apart. They're loosely connected but can be enjoyed separately.)

The contemplative, wondering nature of Studio Ghibli films meets the teeming space opera of Star Wars

The Divine Fleet is a great utopia that has lasted thousands of years, powered by their machine gods. But one-by-one, these machines are dying off. Can two teams of specialized government agents save their gods and their way of life? And if they can't, how will all the people of the Divine Fleet find a new way forward?

Featuring the greatest Friends at the Table character of all time: fat, purple-furred, bisexual catgirl in sexy lingerie who rides a motorbike, runs a speakeasy, and can alter reality with her mind

Partizan (S6) (And Palisade, its sequel, is S8)

Giant robot season #3

Twilight Mirage is set explicitly in a utopia. Partizan is set explicitly in the middle of an exploitative empire. The guiding question here is: How do you even begin to imagine the possibility that such an empire could fall?

At the center of a galactic empire made up of rival states, we follow two groups: a mercenary squad that specializes in theft and sabotage, and a group of criminals under the control of a young and spoilt noble. But everyone has their own agenda, and as the empire hurtles towards civil war, who will get what they so desperately want? And who will lose it all?

Also, of course, they are in giant robots

Sangfielle (S7)

Horror fantasy

Sangfielle is a land of sprawling plains crisscrossed by semi-sentient malevolent trains. Strange things from the past or future come out of the mines, old and new gods alike appear in unexpected places, and you are always at risk of losing your life, your freedom, or simply your self

Nature vs. technology horror where both nature and technology can be equally horrifying!!

Characters include: a grotesque eyeball that possesses people but only consensually, a giant goat person whose life's purpose is to kill trains, and a junk mage who keeps taking things he shouldn't

Bluff City (Bonus season)

What if Atlantic City was Even Weirder

A series of one or two shots that are loosely linked by their location and come together to tell the story of the city. Each story uses a different system and so each one has a slightly different feel.

The paranormal, the surreal, the gritty, the desperate, and the outrageous rub shoulders in Bluff City, in stories featuring superheroes, ghost hunters, murder mysteries, and a priceless one-of-a-kind bird.

Things that the show is always about, no matter the season:

Religion — Always. From DND-style gods to robot gods to Catholic God to weird old gods you dig up from the mines, there are lots of gods and lots of people worshipping gods in different ways.

Labor issues and political issues surrounding control, propaganda, surveillance.

Weird body stuff/weird identity stuff — clones, consciousness transferred into different bodies, robots that influence your thoughts, robots that bond to your body, being seven thousand bees in a trench coat, etc

Having fun with different ttrpg systems! They use a lot of different systems on the podcast

Aesthetics, just like generally, and especially fashion. Action stops for twenty minutes while everyone goes around and describes what their character is wearing in exact detail. It’s fantastic.

Fun, silly, or unique names, ranging from "Lazer Ted" to "they marked scars of light in pitch; born in fiercest purpose, and beheld as the signet sealed upon our pact"

Critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interaction between friends!

[scala-ask-caelum]

Xehanort sat in the window nook, leaning against the partial wall surrounding the glass. The curtain tickled his shoulder as the slight breeze ruffled it. In front of him lay that same old game board, black and white checkered spaces crisscrossing almost mesmerizingly, pieces strewn about in a methodical placement of his design to contest with his friend’s. His play had barely gotten him out of check; Eraqus is serious today, he mused.

His friend sat across from him on the other side of the board, one of his legs dangling while the other was bent in a half crisscross. Xehanort moved himself into a similar but mirrored position, with his left mimicking Eraqus’s right. He became conscious of his left hand’s movements, fingers curling and uncurling slightly in thought.

Eraqus’s next play put him back in check. Xehanort calmly slid out of it. The pieces’ movements and position relative to each other hardly kept his attention nowadays.

Instead, there was a question on his mind. Their most recent class had an air of urgency to it, like the subject matter was of the utmost importance. Therefore, the tabletop discussion among the rest of the class consisted mostly of the lesson. But another matter pressed on Xehanort’s mind, one he wished to discuss with Eraqus alone.

Now he finally had the chance.

“Have you heard of the ancient Keyblade War?”

[gococogo]

Day Eleven: Vampire/Blood

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist will come after October

Synopsis: Shay and Haytham are out on a longer voyage than usual. Haytham hasn't fed in a while and his hunger is getting to him. He doesn't want to attack Shay crew, so the Captain gives himself up.

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Assassin's Creed Rogue

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Blood/nsfw/Anal/Desperation/Biting/Vampire

The storm had caused havoc across the Morrigan. Some sails are torn and are having to repaired as they go. There wasn’t too much damage due to Shay’s sailing though. Any other Captain with less experience and less determination would have had their ship been ripped apart and thrown about in a storm like that. Yet Shay had gotten them out of there in one piece. But, it was still enough to set them back a couple of days… or three.

And it was enough to send Haytham over the edge.

It was that night of the news of delay that Shay found the Grandmaster in his quarters looking over his fleet reports with his back turned to him. Shay closes the door behind him with a click and locks it.

Haytham’s red eyes snap to him over his shoulder.

Knowing what the Grandmaster is, isn’t some secret within the Templar order. A creature of the night that feeds on the blood of humans to sustain their well beings. Nightwalkers and lovers of the moon. The British adopted the name vampire many years ago and the name stuck.

It should have scared Shay when he first heard that the Grandmaster of the Colonial American Rite was a vampire, but he only found himself intrigued in the unknown. He had seen a city fall to him disturbing an ancient site from people that lived millions of years before them. What is it to say that unfathomable creatures that don’t obey human laws might live among him.  

And this wouldn’t be his first blood donation to Haytham.

The Grandmaster looks away, as if ashamed that Shay already knows what’s coming.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Haytham speaks lowly.

Shay moves forward, assuring the other with a hand on his upper arm. As far as Shay’s knowledge goes, Haytham was not born a creature, he was made. Turned when he had saved his sister and Birch’s last act on Haytham was a sin that would take him to the bottom of hell.

It was late one night when Haytham had told him the tale. Because he knew Shay wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry. Many other vampires are thousands of years old. But here Haytham is, still reasonably in his human years.

“The storm came by surprise. We couldn’t have expected it,” Shay tries to reassure even though he knows his words do little.

And in fact, it only has Haytham scowling downwards at the table where his hands grip the edges tightly. Shay’s hand falls from his arm as he steps away. He makes his way over to his weapons and clothes rack while unbuckling all the straps that crisscross his body. He neatly hangs them up before shrugging off his heavy coat and doing the same. Then follows his vest, the leather armour he wears and then lastly his shirt, all folded up and placed away.

He can feel Haytham’s eyes on his back but it isn’t anything romantic or alluring. It feels predatory. The delay in returning back to New York has set Haytham’s feeding back. Shay knew the risks of having him aboard and having such a tight schedule and yet he thought all would be fine yet here they are. Haytham had told him he had fed before, but this, this is different.

It’s not that Shay dislikes this. He would gladly give himself up to Haytham to save any of his crew meeting a much less pleasant fate. It is just the pain. His hand subconsciously runs over the nape of his neck where fresh scars lie from Haytham. The first time was the worst. But Shay will never admit that.

After kicking his boots off, he keeps his pants on and walks over to the bed. He sits down on the edge and meets hooded red eyes from across the room. Haytham hasn’t moved an inch. He reminds Shay of a cougar waiting to pounce, hunched over and staring without breathing.

“Come here, Haytham,” Shay coos over. “No need to be standing there with a frown.”

At that, the vampire huffs in annoyance and bows his head, his shoulders slouching. He takes off his hat and places it atop of the fleet reports and his cloak soon follows neatly folded. He walks over silently, his feet almost not making a sound against the floor of the ship. He stands in front of Shay, looking down his nose at him.

As much as Haytham wants to act or look like his vampirism isn’t affecting him, it is visible that is jaw is clenched and his hands are tightly fisted. And he isn’t talking. He’s more silent than usual and that only means his mind is running like a ship sailing at twenty knots through a thrashing storm.

As if doing this a million times before, Shay begins unbuttoning Haytham’s coat and undressing him. The one thing that they’ve figured out to make this a more pleasant experience for Shay is through sex. When Haytham is only completely naked is when he leans down to Shay. But it isn’t for a kiss. Shay stops him with two fingers over his mouth and slowly pushes him back.

“Can’t get greedy now,” Shay firmly yet softly states.

Haytham’s mouth is slightly parted and two sets of fangs can be seen. It’s almost like looking into the mouth of an animal. He licks Shay’s fingers before taking them into his hot mouth. His fangs threaten to pierce his skin as he sucks on Shay’s appendages. There was one time that Haytham had bitten down, lost in his own world and nearly took his fingers with it. So right now no one would give Shay shit for being a little weary as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. But his dick likes this, hardening in his pants.

Haytham’s red eyes stare intently at him as he makes work of sucking his fingers. When Shay bids it enough, he takes them out and shuffles up the bed. Haytham quickly follows, his eyes never leaving Shay for a moment. Haytham takes off Shay’s pants a little too eagerly before he comes down face to face with him. He licks his lips, staring at Shay’s own.

He opens his mouth to say something but Shay brings him down for a kiss instead. Haytham’s fangs graze against his lips, threatening to make him bleed. But Shay pulls away as Haytham’s teeth snap together centimetres away from his face.

“Enough of that,” Shay teases.

Haytham huffs slightly before he pushes Shay back on the bed. He parts his legs, shuffling himself in between them so that their dicks are flushed against each other. Shay is already hard and ready but if they go too quickly, there’s a risk of Haytham loosing control. And with a hungry vampire breathing at your neck, that’s the last thing Shay wants. He doesn’t want to end tonight with his head on the other side of the room away from his body.

Shay grunts as his ass is propped into the air. Haytham doesn’t waste any time by licking a strip over his ass. A shiver runs down the captain’s spine as Haytham’s silver tongue does it job of loosening things up. His tongue dives into his ass, hot and wet and-

Fangs prick at Shay’s cheeks and he flinches slightly. But Haytham feels it and stops, looking up at him from under his brow. He stares as he continues opening Shay up for the main course. Haytham’s mouth ventures up to his inner thigh, one hand cradling his leg as if it’s something delicate. His plump lips a breath away over his skin. His fangs a little too close to comfort but Haytham wouldn’t…

Before he knows it, fangs are sinking into his inner thigh. Without a warning. Without a notice. And Shay can’t hold the shout that escapes his mouth. The way his body convulses and how he instinctly grabs on Haytham’s hair. He groans as he feels his own hot blood dribbling down his thigh only for it to be licked up. He breathes heavily, trying to control himself and collect himself. But it is very hard. The thigh is much softer than the neck.

“Christ, Haytham,” Shay sneers.

Haytham would apologize but he knows damn well that he isn’t truly sorry. His lust and hunger got the best of him. He knows how to control himself yet every time he’s around Shay, he can’t help it. Especially when Shay is so willing to give himself up to Haytham. It’s a problem yet it’s a problem similar to a drug. A very addictive one at that.

The vampire sucks and licks at the bite mark until it stops bleeding, giving a small kiss before moving away. It still canes, the pain throbbing through Shay’s thigh but it’s manageable. He’ll just be walking with a limp from for the next few days.  

Haytham litters kiss up Shay’s stomach, to his chest then up his neck. A hand slithers down to his own cock and he lines himself up to Shay’s hole. He doesn’t want to wait any longer, he can’t. He dives into Shay a little too forcefully, pushing a deep, pushing a shaky grunt out of the Irishman. Shay holds onto Haytham’s shoulders, nails digging into skin. He pants loudly and shows his discomfort. But he doesn’t say stop.

Roughly, Haytham moves. His thrusts are short and uncoordinated. He’s desperate to get to the main course. Shay stops him before this gets too out of hand. He grabs Haytham’s face with both hands and makes the vampire look at him. He stops dead and his jaw is clenched so tightly that Shay can feel it.

“When was the last time you fed?” Shay asks, his voice all but a whisper.

The shaky inhale that Haytham does is all Shay would need for an answer. But he waits, because he wants to know how long Haytham has been holding out.

The vampire swallows, regaining some strength. “Three weeks before we voyaged out,” he softly responds, his voice cracking.

Shay’s lips thin. So that is why he’s so needy. So desperate to feed. He’s been holding himself together this entire voyage. Today was just his breaking point which is something not at all seen with Haytham.

A pit of guilt settles into the Captain’s gut that he didn’t notice anything. Yet, at the same time he knows he shouldn’t. Haytham has somewhat perfected hiding his vampirism. So, hiding his hunger until it gets bad would just be another thing he has worked on until flawless.

“You silly, silly man,” Shay finally responds.

This gets a short chuckle from Haytham. Which is a big win in Shay’s books.

“Alright now?” Shay asks before they continue on.

“I’m not some fragile antique vase,” Haytham grumbles back.

The man below him raises a brow. Haytham frowns deeply but it’s something along the way of amusement.

Haytham exits Shay so he can reach over the bed. He grabs one of the pillows and positions it under Shay’s back all so this is a better experience for the Irishman. Shay had taught him this little trick after learning it from the girls in Albany. He then reaches back over to Shay’s bedside table and picks out the small bottle of oil he keeps in there.

Truth be told, this isn’t for Haytham. He only needs Shay’s blood but to make this a better experience, the sex is needed. Haytham lathers up his dick with the oil and prods Shay’s ass with some so it isn’t as painful as before.

Haytham re-enters Shay slowly, with more care this time. The moan that comes form Shay’s throat is something that he didn’t know he had in him tonight. The oil does more wonders than just spit.

Haytham starts slowly, letting Shay feel good and let his body buzz with the pleasure. Letting him moan and pant with every thrust that becomes harder with each turn. Haytham comes down on his hands and knees, hot breath hovering over Shay’s neck. But he comes up and gives a small kiss to his lips. Telling Shay that he is here.

Shay holds onto the vampire’s sides as he moves to the nape of his neck again. The pleasure that holds onto him is only something he can get lost in before the next notion comes. He brings a hand down to his cock and strokes himself to the timing of Haytham’s movements. He relaxes his body, knowing that tensing only makes the first bite worse.

The vampire hesitates for a moment, his eyes grazing over the old and new scars that seem to litter Shay’s shoulders and nape. All perfect bite marks caused by Haytham in events such as now. He doesn’t want to think too much of it. Not when he’s starving.  

When the set of fangs sink into Shay’s skin, it isn’t something out of those romance novels he’s read. It hurts. Shay’s body tenses up as he fights his inner self to not push Haytham off of him. He has forgotten about his own dick and his holds onto the vampire for dear life as Haytham’s fangs sink deeper into his flesh. The pain is blinding. It’s almost too much with Haytham keeping an even pace inside of him.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he’s letting it out. And with his breath, comes out a pained cry. He can’t help it. Shay inhales in shakily, trying to control himself but, as Haytham drinks his fill. The burning pain only ebs down his chest and up his neck. He claws at Haytham, but the vampire doesn’t budge.

He can feel Haytham’s hot tongue lapping at the blood seeping from the bite mark. Pushing down so that more blood pools out. Shay grinds his teeth again, threatening them to crack. Haytham works carefully though. Not letting a drop slip down his body and onto his bed.

“Ah, Hay- Ngh…” Shay grinds out pass his teeth.

His head becomes dizzy, something familiar to what he’s felt before. The dizziness that comes with blood loss. He pants shallowly, his grip beginning to loosen and his dick beginning to soften.

Haytham pulls away, feeling Shay’s fight lesson. He licks at the wound that pearls blood. The taste sends a shiver down his blood. Metallic, coppery yet sweet. He licks and kisses until the bite mark doesn’t bleed profusely, but it still is something that will need attention. He did bite quite deep tonight. The scars will welt more than the others.

His thrusting pauses as he sits up to look down at Shay, who pats him on the thigh lightly. He looks pale, more so than he does usually.

“We can finish this later,” Shay groans out. “Clean me up, Haytham.”

Haytham pulls out and swats the pillow out from under Shay so that he can bring the man into a sitting position. He’s a little dazed but he can hold himself. He stays sitting while Haytham walks over across the room stark naked.

Any other time, Shay would soak in the view. But right now he feels so ungodly tired. He knows he can’t sleep just yet though. But the notion is so welcoming.  

When Haytham comes back, he wipes the blood that drips down his chest. He’s had his fill, even a drop more would be greedy. He dabs a rag with straight alcohol and places it on Shay’s wound. The Irishman hisses, seeming to wake up all at once.

“I-“

“Don’t apologize.”

Haytham frowns slightly. He continues dressing the wound the best he knows. All so that it doesn’t get infected. None of the others have ever gotten infected but Haytham doesn’t want to play his chances.

“Do you feel better?” Shay manages to mumble out.

“Yes.” The vampire pauses in thought. “I appreciate what you do for… this.”

“Mm.”

This, referring to his vampirism. This, referring to his curse. This, referring to his bloodlust. All that Shay is more than willing to help for. Something that Haytham -in his own eyes- doesn’t deserve but yet he receives.

“Lay down now, Shay,” Haytham murmurs. “Gist has the helm.”

Shay doesn’t lay down straight away though. He pries open one eye and looks to Haytham. He stares for a moment, at the red staring back at him that now seem to have dulled.

“Stay with me? Hm?” He asks, his accent making his words slurred together.

Haytham softly places a hand over Shay’s, his own cold compared to the living. He shouldn’t linger any longer than usual. Last thing he wants is to have the crew talking, or let along Gist.

But it’s Shay. The one that has given up so much for their cause. For the Order. For Haytham.

“Just for a moment.”

[shu-of-the-wind]

thinking about northeast gothic. getting up in a creaky old house and looking outside to find snow is stretching out for miles around your house and you can’t go anywhere for days. you hear coywolves in the woods around and you have to keep a rifle under your bed in case they try to eat your pets. sometimes you wonder if you’re going to have to use that rifle on the shadows that lurk in your driveway. every river you cross has a kahnawà꞉ke name that the dutch butchered, so you know you’re walking over stolen land. there have been so many battles crisscrossing your property that if you find a bullet or a knife or a skull in your garden, you just set it aside to cleanse and hope you haven’t disturbed anyone too badly, because there are people under your feet that hold so much resentment that it makes the woods creak. you go into a city and it’s a tossup as to whether the neighborhoods will be named after sicilian mafiosos, dutch colonizers, or revolutionary war veterans. every house has a historical plaque on it, and most of the history is rotten. there is Always a tiny italian bakery and there is Always an ancient nonna in it that has been there since your grandfather went into the same bakery sixty years ago. the cops and sheriffs hold sway over their jurisdictions like kings and punish people with the same lackadaisical cruelty. one family has owned the town council for six decades and you’re beginning to think they’ve made a deal with the devil to keep it that way. sometimes you wake up at night to find something looking in your window and you have no idea what it is, but you still have that rifle if you need it, so you just roll over and go back to sleep. the adirondacks are too close to dare asking too many questions.

[blueiscoool]

Rare Roman Window Iron Bars Found Intact in Mérida, Spain

In Mérida, Spain, archaeologists recently discovered an “enormous” Roman bath. But it is that inside these baths, in the area of the apodyterium or changing room, archaeologists have discovered yet another surprise: an almost intact iron bars on a window.

Mérida is home to a UNESCO World Heritage site that contains the remarkably well-preserved remains of an ancient Roman colony, Augusta Emerita.

According to the Roman historian Cassius Dio, the emperor Augustus, (27 BCE – 14 CE) founded Augusta Emerita after the end of the Cantabrian War, in 25 BCE and was the capital of Lusitania.

It soon became one of the largest cities in Hispania, with a territory of some 20.000 square kilometers, to which the emperor Otho added even more in 69. The well-preserved remains of the old city include a large bridge over the Guadiana River, an amphitheater, a theater, a vast circus, and an “exceptional” water-supply system.

Now, within these baths, archaeologists have found a crisscrossed set of iron bars that are “practically intact”, the Consortium of the Monumental City of Mérida said in a statement.

“Another exceptional find,” the consortium said.

The iron bars, which would once have covered a window, were found in the apodyterium or changing room of the baths.

The researchers reported that these bars were part of the deployment of the walls and the roof of the structure, hence the presence of other materials such as bricks, tégulas, and tiles. A similar iron grill was found during the work of the archaeologist García Sandoval, between 1962 and 1963, in the kitchen of the Casa del Anfiteatro.

The house of the amphitheater, dating from the 1st century AD. It is located outside the walls of Augusta Emerita, very close to the space used for gladiator combat and the theater.

“There is still a lot of archaeological heritage under the subsoil of our two-thousand-year-old Mérida that… awaits to be excavated,” the consortium said.

The Casa del Anfiteatro had a courtyard, a kitchen, and a mosaic floor depicting scenes of the grape harvest.

The iron bars will now be cleaned and restored so that they can be put on public display.

By Leman Altuntaş.