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stardust-swan · 2 months

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Finding Your True Archetype Part 1: Spring

This is the first post in a series where I copy and paste information from the stylist David Zyla's book Color Your Style. His archetype system covers way more different types of woman than the quizzes you find online that have 5-10 results and he gives you advice on styling yourself for your archetype. I never 100% related to any of those online quiz results but I instantly felt very seen when I read about a certain Archetype in Zyla's book.

Zyla categorises his different archetypes into four categories: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. This post will only discuss the Spring archetypes, but I hope to make posts for the other archetypes soon. If you don't find your archetype in this post, you likely will in a future post.

Terminology Zyla uses throughout the book to help you understand this post better:

First Base: The color found in the ring around your iris; your most formal and powerful neutral; your version of black .

Second Base: The color taken from the darkest shade of your hair; a warmer and less formal neutral; your version of brown.

Third Base: The color seen in the lightest version of your hair; a playful and informal neutral; your version of khaki.

Essence Color: The color that harmonizes your skin tones and reveals your most genuine, open, and essential self; your version of white; wear it when you are having an intimate conversation, when you are meditating, or when you want to be completely open and honest.

Romantic Color: The color reflected by your flushed skin, which reveals your passion, your sexual energy, and your romantic self; your version of red; wear it on a hot date, a romantic evening, or any time you want your passion to show.

Dramatic Color: The color taken from the shade of your veins, which shows your power, your charisma, and your sense of authority; your version of blue; wear it on a job interview, for a formal presentation, or any time you want to make a strong impression.

Vital Spring: The Prom Queen

Celebrities: Kristin Davis, Eva Longoria, Susan Lucci, Rachael Ray.

Motto: “That sounds like fun!”

Secret Superpower: Charm, charm, and more charm. The world’s hostess! Invite a Vital Spring to your dinner party and you guarantee a great evening for all: She will keep the crowd entertained while you are slaving in the kitchen.

Kryptonite: When it’s no longer fun, she often doesn’t want to play anymore.

Nature Image: Zinnias, French parrot tulips, Gerbera daisies, pompoms.

Artists: Mondrian and Matisse for the high-contrast primary colors.

Charming Contrasts: High-contrast outfits and accessories will always make the Prom Queen look terrific—a red scarf to set off a black coat, or white polka dots on a blueberry-colored umbrella.Her look is even better in “surprise” contrast that leads you to expect the unexpected. She might consider a vivid dramatic-colored coat lining, or a First Base outfit and shoes punctuated with a romantic-colored handbag, or an energy-colored enamel charm on her bracelet.

Fabulous Fabrics: The fabrics are crisp and include cotton piqué, cotton sateen, faille, bouclé, patent leather, and satin.

Signature Scent: Citrus: It’s brisk, bold, and does not linger.

Must-Haves: The Prom Queen favors a Chanel-inspired bouclé jacket (she may even splurge for a real one!), nautically styled gabardine pants, a slim pegged skirt, a button-front blouse with pearl buttons, and a crisp cotton belted shift dress. Her silhouette is clean in line and efficient with a dash of costume elements thrown into the mix. Though her look is crisp and refined, all of her favorite pieces are reminiscent of vintage styles and possess an air of “I get things done.” When it comes to styles, she’s most at home in a 1950s look: crisp, clean, with a little bit of movement. Think swing coats and swirly skirts, perhaps contrasted with a structured purse. Frequently sought-after in social situations, Vital Springs also do well wearing conversation pieces: a charm bracelet, for example, or a dark vintage-inspired coat with a bright high-contrast lining.

Must-Avoids: The Vital Spring should avoid burnished colors or ensembles made up of muted, blended colors and fabrics. She’s always best in high contrast with a touch of novelty. And she should pass on the cowboy boots and anything oversized. Cowboy boots have too many varied lines in them and actually are more of a design suitable for Autumns. The woman who wears them has a kind of I-roll-up-my-sleeves-and-shoot-pool-with-the-boys quality. This does not describe the Prom Queen, though she will be game for pool—but sporting a pair of capris, a crisp blouse, and a small neck scarf. She always keeps her playful femininity, no matter what she’s doing. As for oversized items, the crisp pert lines that favor this type illustrate her efficient I-get-things-done manner, whereas oversized connotes an I’ll-get-to-it-but-right-now-I’m-just-hangin’ mentality.

Personality and Spirit: There’s a good reason why Vital Springs have that Prom Queen image—they’re the most charming, outgoing, and friendly of the Archetypes. They’re the kind of people who become best friends with everyone in the room five minutes after they walk in, and others often develop crushes on them. That’s no surprise: They radiate the kind of energy and magnetism that draws people in, and no matter what the situation, they tend to lead with a smile. With her independent spirit, the Prom Queen functions best when given a lot of leeway, but don’t worry—she’ll charm her boss and colleagues into an arrangement that works well for everybody.

Early Spring: The Playful Princess

Celebrities: Angela Lansbury, Gwyneth Paltrow, Chloë Sevigny, Naomi Watts.

Motto: “How amusing!”

Secret Superpower: An instinct for what’s most important. Count on the Early Spring to always get to the heart of the matter.

Kryptonite: Not being appreciated—that causes the Early Spring to droop like a wilted flower.

Nature Image: Crocuses poking their tips up through the snow, gladiolus, iris.

Artists: Monet and the other Impressionists, whose cool saturated pastels are perfect for Early Springs.

Charming Contrasts: For the Playful Princess, light and easy low-contrast is best. As this palette is very gentle, I would suggest never wearing more than two groups of her colors together at the same time. For example, a Third Base suit could be paired with a pastel romantic blouse, as well as jewelry, shoes, and a scarf that pick up these tones, perhaps in different values. The Early Spring should use pattern in the way it is seen in Monet’s The Water Lilies: small, delicate brush strokes, each dollop of paint slightly blended into the one beside it, giving the overall impression of a landscape seen through a train window on a rainy day. Confetti patterns also work well for her. No eye-popping high-contrast patterns, please—they just don’t suit her gentle palette.

Fabulous Fabrics: Cashmere, organza, suede, and especially, crisp cottons. No other type looks as good in a crisp winter-white cotton blouse.

Signature Scents: Gentle, flowery, soft, and powdery—but with a slight kick, such as jasmine.

Must-Haves: The Playful Princess favors a simple polished-cotton pastel Agent 99 trench coat, Hollywood waisted pants, a slim waistband-less skirt, a crisp cotton blouse worn with a thin belt over it, and an updated version of the shirtdress with the collar popped up. The demure, playful Early Spring can pull off a beret or even a cloche hat, something sleek and close to the head. She’s the type for whom blouses with bows were invented, and for a little light-handed playfulness, try chinos embroidered with a novelty design—but no belt loops, and with a back zipper, please! Her wardrobe suggests a cool, sleek, playful elegance, someone sweet and flowery—but with a kick. While she can wear clothing derived from masculine dress such as trousers, all her garments need to be curved and adapted to her feminine shape. Adding a slight dose of irony doesn’t hurt, either.

Must-Avoids: Denim. Although the Early Spring looks great in slim trousers with no waistband, she has a terrible time finding the right pair of blue jeans—because they don’t suit her! She needs to avoid anything even remotely masculine. Hence, our Early Spring should pass on the men’s-style trench with epaulets and patch pockets as well as on popping printed patterns. The original version of this trench is too masculine and too literal; and high contrast prints are too harsh for her delicate coloring.

Personality and Spirit: Early Springs are ladylike, yes, and somewhat proper, and perhaps even demure, but they’re also blessed with a lively curiosity and a strong sense of fun. There’s an appealing coolness to the Early Spring, the slight formality that often marks someone with beautiful manners and that air of “to the manner born,” but there’s also a playful, inquisitive nature lurking just below the surface. Count on the Early Spring to show up at that all-important job interview, impeccable in a dove-gray suit and a pearly white blouse—and then to tell a silly joke that surprises the interviewer into delighted laughter. A good girl she may be—but she’s got her share of pluck.

Floral Spring: The Wholesome Flirt

Celebrities: Doris Day, Barbara Walters, Reese Witherspoon, Renée Zellweger.

Motto: “Live for today.”

Secret Superpower: Making the most of every moment.

Kryptonite: Realizing that she is making a mistake in the middle of making it and then becoming self-conscious.

Nature Image: Daffodils, hyacinth, and tulips.

Artist: Fragonard.

Charming Contrasts: Wholesome Flirts do best with crisp contrast. Offering relief from head-to-toe color is good, such as a crisp blouse in her shade of white peering out from under an energy-colored suit accessorized with a pearl necklace. In such an outfit, the white doesn’t punctuate, but rather gives the eye a break from all of that energy color and creates a halo around the wearer’s face, enabling the Floral Spring to win the attention that she loves.

Fabulous Fabrics: Though she is feminine, the Floral Spring’s fabrics need to stay crisp. Camel’s hair, gabardine, eyelet, and organdy are best.

Signature Scents: Sweet and floral. Even when she’s all grown up, she might try a strawberry-scented lip balm.

Must-Haves: The Floral Spring favors a brightly colored peacoat, slim trousers with side slits at the ankle, an A-line skirt, a cute sweater set, and a shift dress covered in pastel paillettes. These are the garments that flatter the Wholesome Flirt, with her ultra-feminine, always flirty nature. She enjoys incorporating costume-y elements into her wardrobe—such as a bow-shaped clutch or sandals decorated with a bumblebee buckle—but all her choices need to be frothy and flirtatious, never influenced by anything practical unless it’s a reinvention of something practical, such as the revamping of a sailor’s peacoat in a vivid color with theatrically sized buttons.

Must-Avoids: Austere or severely styled clothing. This woman must always wear clothing which complements her carefree, flirty, feminine nature. Hence, the Wholesome Flirt should pass on camouflage cargo pants and one-shoulder gowns—the pants are too serious and the one-shoulder gown, too asymmetrical, which makes her look imbalanced and, oddly, staid.

Personality and Spirit: Like the coquettish beauty batting her baby blues at two men in Fragonard’s The Swing, this Archetype embodies the words feminine and flirtatious. The Floral Spring sometimes seems like an enchanted creature who lived in a garden all her life and somehow decided to venture out into the world of more ordinary mortals. Like many of their Spring sisters, the Floral Springs are charming beyond belief, but their charm is always genuine. If you feel good in their presence, it’s because they really do see the best in everything and everyone, including you, and they have a gift for making you believe in the magic that seems all too apparent to them. That may be why they’re the most flirtatious of the Archetypes: If life is a garden, why not sample every flower?

Buoyant Spring: The Life of the Party

Celebrities: Cameron Diaz, Goldie Hawn, Queen Latifah, Amy Poehler.

Motto: “How interesting!”

Secret Superpower: Enthusiasm. Everything fascinates her.

Kryptonite: Sometimes that all-encompassing enthusiasm can become just a little . . . well, scattered.

Nature Image: Sunflowers, buttercups, daisies, button poms, cosmos, tuberoses, foxglove.

Artist: Matisse, for the high-contrast use of color.

Charming Contrasts: The Life of the Party needs a pattern somewhere in her outfit or accessories in order to tie together the entire look. She can unify a romantic-colored shirt and Third Base capris with plaid sandals that feature both of those colors. As an extra plus, those sandals are also a wonderful conversation-starter!

Fabulous Fabrics: Poplin, organza, embroidered cotton, linen, stretch satin.

Signature Scents: Sporty, invigorating, perhaps with a hint of eucalyptus. A splash rather than a cologne works better, as it is lighter and less serious.

Must-Haves: A blazer cut to the high hip with an accentuated waist is the perfect garment for the Life of the Party, as are capris, a turtleneck with short puffed sleeves, and a metallic brocade shift dress adorned with feathers at the hem. Savoring life to the fullest is what she’s all about, and she needs her wardrobe to reflect this.

Must-Avoids: Hyperformality—and not only in clothing. The Buoyant Spring also has the urge to do something zany to break the tension at a party that is too stuffy. The results may be, um, problematic—or they could be delightful. The Buoyant Spring needs to pass on the chiffon caftan and motorcycle-inspired looks. The caftan would make her seem like a dowager, and no matter what her real age, the Buoyant Spring is always young at heart. Also, the caftan feels a bit too grand for her. At heart the Buoyant Spring is the girl who genuinely enjoys kicking off her shoes at the end of the day. Any article of clothing that conveys an aura of queenly grandness feels too serious for this fun-loving type, especially since it limits so severely the number of fashion choices she can make—no belt, no skirt, no scarf, just a pair of sandals and some jewels. As for motorcycle-inspired ensembles, while the Life of the Party is fun and game for most anything, a boots-and-leather look hardens her I-love-being-a-girl silhouette and limits her opportunity for the adornment of her favorite fashion element: herself!

Personality and Spirit: Playful, sporty, and energetic, the Buoyant Spring is brimming over with high spirits and good cheer. Her buoyant energy lends itself more to shorts or capris than to a full-length evening gown, though when she does put on that fancy dress, you may be surprised to realize how pretty she is. The Buoyant Spring is always a marvelous cheerleader. She knows how to draw other people out, encouraging them to express their most cherished ideas—and then she knows how to make those ideas sound brilliant.

Mischievous Spring: The Pixie

Celebrities: Tyra Banks, Bernadette Peters, Rosie Perez, Rihanna, Julia Roberts.

Motto: “Everything I really want eventually comes to me.”

Secret Superpower: Huge confidence in herself.

Kryptonite: Expects everyone to come to her, which means sometimes she can be a bit selfish—perhaps even more than a bit.

Nature Image: Lily pad, buttercup, bluebells.

Artists: Landscape artists who paint the French countryside.

Charming Contrasts: Gentle contrast is best for our Pixie, but she can handle more contrast in a single outfit than most of the other Springs can manage. For the weekend, she might look for a longish belted tweed coat in her energy color over a short skirt and tights in her Third Base color, accented by a metallic and energy-colored purse, metallic earrings, and a few favorite odd mismatched bracelets.

Fabulous Fabrics: Lightly textured knits, brushed cotton, embossed suede, organza, crisp cotton, piqué.

Signature Scents: Narcissus, hyacinth.

Must-Haves: A softly tailored short anorak, short-sleeved knit sweater with self-belt and collar, slim stretch cigarette pants, miniskirt with pleated hem, bouclé knit hooded cardigan, and halter-style printed maxidress create the pixieish look of the Mischievous Spring. Our Pixie always needs the element of surprise incorporated into her mischievous style or else she looks out of place. A well-fitting dress with very simple lines is fine for New Year’s Eve, but she would need a marabou shrug or a feathered headband in order to keep the outfit from seeming too stuffy.

Must-Avoids: Big ruffles at her cuffs, which just look silly waving all over the place. The Mischievous Spring should also avoid wide-legged trousers, full-skirted gowns, and layered dresses, all of which tend to make her look like a little girl playing dress-up or like a delicate pixie drowning in waves of fabric. She should also avoid a too-polished head-to-toe look as well as any garment or accessory that proclaims, “I am serious.”

Personality and Spirit: When I think of the Mischievous Spring, I think of the sound of jingle bells: This pixieish creature evokes everything that is frolicsome and fun, and like all Springs, the Mischievous Spring is charm personified. She often works quite hard, but unless you pay close attention, you may not realize it: She may create the impression that a battery of elves magically completed her assignments overnight. The Mischievous Spring sometimes seems like the ultimate free spirit, but somehow, she always meets her deadlines, shows up on time, and comes through like a trouper. It’s just that her process for getting there might drive more organized types insane. She’s the kind of woman who can show up at a party looking stunning even though she just bought the dress that morning and then couldn’t find the right lipstick and had to borrow a neighbor’s. No matter how she got there, she always looks fantastic—and there she is, ready to share her mischievous sense of fun with everyone else at the party.

Tawny Spring: The Maverick

Celebrities: Amy Adams, Carol Burnett, Ginger Rogers.

Motto: “I am my own trendsetter.”

Secret Superpower: Being just a little bit ahead of the curve and bringing other people along with her.

Kryptonite: Sometimes she just can’t get past that one niggling detail—the fly in the ointment, the one thing that tarnishes the whole. Frustration with something relatively minor can sometimes spoil the whole thing for her.

Nature Image: Poppies, green euphorbia, yarrow, pear blossom, ranunculus.

Artists: Renoir, Rousseau.

Charming Contrasts: As befits a Maverick, the Tawny Spring puts together diverse elements in a way that she couldn’t possibly explain to anyone else. Clearly this type will also put together her contrast levels in precisely the way that she wants to! Her “find” of a vintage 1960s tranquil-colored blouse is made fresh and interesting when worn over a Second Base turtleneck and paired with skinny-fit Second Base trousers. Mavericks take warning: Never wear shades of the same color, as the exchange of energy between the similar shades is not dynamic enough, creating a muddy effect.

Fabulous Fabrics: Pony, light popcorn tweeds, embossed leather, knit fabrics.

Signature Scents: She will probably favor a mixture of citrus and spice. She is eclectic, so she will probably have several small bottles of different scents. None of them will be floral or powdery.

Must-Haves: Our Maverick favors an updated military-styled jacket, boot-cut trousers, a miniskirt worn with tights, a vintage 1960s blouse, and a button-front knit sweater dress with contrasting collar and cuffs worn over a tank. After all, her motto is “I am my own trendsetter,” and what better outfits to choose than those that allow her a fertile field for her creative vision. The Maverick is eclectic in her style and is best in slightly theatrical pieces. She is the type that can easily wear a feathered cloche, fingerless gloves, or a plaid capelet—and even better if they are all worn at the same time! If her outfit looks like a costume from the forest scene in Shakespeare’s As You Like It, the one in which shepherds and shepherdesses frolic, she will love it. She will find it difficult to pass a vintage clothing store without stopping in.

Must-Avoids: Clothing that is uniform or “matched,” such as a matching blazer and skirt. This type should never own a suit; she needs to make a statement by putting together diverse pieces in unexpected ways. She should also pass on the long flowing skirts and any clothing influenced by minimalism. She is too “ready for action” and her energy is too high for the languid I-go-with-the-flow quality of drapey soft chiffon, which in any case suggests genteel beauty, rather than the Tawny Spring’s air of sprightly fun. Finally, no minimalism for the Maverick: When you strip this energetic creature down to monochromatic minimalism, she will feel and act as though she is at a wake.

Personality and Spirit: Quirkiest of all the Spring Archetypes, the Tawny Spring is nearly impossible to pin down. She has a habit of zigzagging from one activity to another. Yet she’s reliable and trustworthy, and there’s a method to her madness. The Tawny Spring views the world not through rose-colored glasses, exactly, but let’s say through teal-colored ones: a unique, distinctive perspective that is all her own, and that to everyone else seems slightly askew. When everyone else sees the forest, she notices that one little branch over in the corner, where a rare tropical species has just built its nest. Then she wonders why no one else can see that little sliver of teal-colored feather that tipped her off—it seems blatantly obvious to her!

That's all for now, doves. Next post will be on Zyla's summer archetypes 😊

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chimcess · 8 months

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→ Chapter Nine: Landscapes Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 10.2k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, nosey birds, Moland is a lot of fun to write about, (sorta) theft, home sickness, magic, very tame A/N: Don't know how I feel about this chapter. It was a bit difficult to write. I think you'll understand why in a moment. Thanks for reading!

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Namjoon pov

I stood in the cramped boat house, the scent of Bridd lingering faintly but unmistakably fresh. It was a small concession I could offer Jimin, a flicker of hope in a sea of frustration. Hoseok had instructed me to search outside and follow the trail, a task I’d already performed yesterday. Jimin, in his usual manner, insisted on a double-check. Today’s search yielded better results; I could discern the subtle shifts in the scent. Bridd had stood exactly where I was standing no more than forty-eight hours ago.

“She’s long gone,” Hoseok’s voice echoed clearly in my mind, despite the distance between us—five miles at least. “Wonder where she went.”

“Taehyung mentioned Viridi Gramine,” Hyuna interjected, her focus sharp and unyielding as she scanned for any trace of Bridd. “Do you think she might be headed that way?”

“Doubt it,” I said, tracing the scent from a small cot on the floor to a rusty fridge. “I don’t think she was ever planning to visit our cousins.”

Hyuna mulled over this, while Hoseok wrestled with guilt. We had all chided him for it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had been able to speak to Bridd and Jimin, none of this would have happened. Apologizing for his perceived failure, the younger wolf returned to pondering Bridd’s whereabouts.

“Not far,” Hyuna mused thoughtfully.

“She could be out of Moland by now,” I said, my tone edged with concern. “I have no clue which direction she might have taken. She could be lost out there.”

The thought unsettled us all. Hoseok, knowing Bridd’s limited experience with the outside world, worried about her lack of navigational skills. Without a map, she was likely adrift. Hyuna, however, believed in Bridd’s survival instincts. If she had to fight, she could, and her shifting abilities would serve her well. Most likely, she had flown over the swamps and into Clarcton—an efficient and practical choice.

“That makes the most sense,” Hoseok agreed, his mental voice tinged with resignation.

Following her scent outside, it abruptly stopped at the small deck adjacent to the house. She must have shifted from there. We had hit a dead end. Hoseok let out a frustrated huff, while Hyuna attempted to calm him. I could now catch my sister’s thoughts, fraught with anxiety and worry. Yeong-Mi had always been prone to migraines and panic attacks; her stress was palpable.

“Shut up,” she snapped at me, her irritation clear but tinged with underlying stress. “He’s right, oppa,” she addressed Hoseok. “You can’t blame yourself. We all know who’s really to blame for this.”

Sol’s face flickered in her mind—distorted and unfamiliar. Yeong-Mi’s memory of Sol was tainted, a far cry from reality. She had no intention of facing the Luna again anytime soon, a sentiment Hyuna echoed with a delighted giggle. Hoseok mumbled something about Sol only trying to help, but none of us paid it much mind.

“Sol can’t bear all the responsibility,” I gently rebuked my sister. “Bridd still made the choice to run off.”

“If she had just minded her own business,” Mini barked, her frustration boiling over, “Bridd wouldn’t have fled! God, how could she say that to Jimin Oppa when we all know how stressed he’s been?”

“An idiot,” Hyuna snapped back, her anger flaring once more. “Between Bo, his brother, and the copiae, the guy hasn’t had a moment’s peace.”

I had tried to remain neutral but found myself agreeing with Hyuna. Sol had overstepped her bounds. Taehyung’s reaction to her misjudgment offered some solace. The boy had yet to touch his mate since Jimin’s frantic panic the night he discovered Bridd’s empty bed. Rumors of their constant arguing since her disappearance were spreading through Bangtan.

“Eun-Jin mentioned that Jimin said Bridd was heading to the Ozryn mountains alone,” my sister added. “I haven’t been around him since she left, so I don’t know the full story, but he’s devastated.”

Hoseok growled at Jimin’s name. Mini defended her favorite alpha while I reminded him of the bigger picture. Sol’s misleading information had set off a chain reaction. Jimin’s reaction, driven by incomplete information, had resulted in his current turmoil. Hoseok vehemently disagreed until Hyuna asked him how he would have reacted if he had believed she was going off to harm herself after recovering from an injury.

“She’s alone out there,” Hoseok grunted, his resolve wavering in the face of his wife’s reasoning. “He should have never let that happen.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jong-Hyun, Jungkook’s older brother, chimed in, having returned from his eastward search. “They’re both stubborn, and I doubt Bridd would have allowed him to come along. Ji-Hyun mentioned they had an argument the afternoon she left. He feels partly responsible for what’s happened.”

I growled, “That boy’s attitude is going to get him hurt. Is that why Callisto’s been even more irate than usual?”

Mini laughed, “I think that’s just how she is around you.”

We shared a laugh, the tension briefly easing. Hyuna and Hoseok had found each other, and my sister was their next stop. She was almost to Syrena, and the couple wanted to go for a swim. We declined their offer—I had no desire to be a magindara’s next meal. Yeong-Mi chose to wait with us, keeping an eye out for any elves.

I drowned out the cacophony of voices, focusing instead on the faint, elusive trail I was following. The swamps were vast and treacherous, a labyrinth where finding Bridd seemed almost impossible. Fear gnawed at me. I hoped to God she was out there, safe and vigilant, though I knew she wasn't invincible.

I sat by the murky water, staring into its depths as if it might offer some answer, until Hyuna’s voice broke through. Taehyung was looking for me. My father was worried about a group of elves spotted in the northwestern corner of Moland and needed me out of the forest. Jimin, stubborn as ever, refused to come home. Taehyung needed my help to strategize. Hyuna had looped back to meet me near Bridd’s now-destroyed cottage.

“We’re leaving him out here alone?” I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice.

“Of course not,” Hyuna replied, her small red form bristling slightly. “Jong-Hyun and Hoseok are keeping an eye on him. He’s deep in the forest somewhere.”

She was disappointed about their postponed beach trip but chose not to dwell on it. I tried to offer some comfort, imagining them swimming and laughing together another day, but she waved it off. She was grateful, but the thought of discussing it further would only trouble Hoseok.

“And he hasn’t found anything?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Hyuna confirmed.

As I stepped into Bridd’s clearing, the sight of the wildflowers struck me. Her garden was a riot of colors, an oasis of beauty amidst the desolation. Her cottage, surrounded by a lush garden of vegetables, fruits, and herbs, seemed almost surreal. A porcelain birdbath stood at the front, perpetually full, as though enchanted. The perfect, curated meadow seemed a divine attempt to keep Bridd from sinking into despair. Hyuna lay in the grass near the ruined house, her face etched with sadness. Taehyung had said an elf caused the damage. Bridd’s scent still clung to the remnants of her home, but it was fading.

“I wanted to go inside,” Hyuna said, her gaze fixed on the gaping hole in the cottage’s front. Her sadness was palpable. “But I don’t think Jimin would appreciate it. This is the only place that still smells like her.”

“He’s been here,” I said, noting the strong, fresh scent of Jimin. “Is he sleeping in there?”

She nodded. “I think he’s trying to fix things up. Jungkook mentioned it to Cadoc. Jimin’s obsessed with getting everything right before she comes home.”

We exchanged a look. Neither of us held out much hope that our little bird would return soon. I had more faith in Bridd’s survival skills than Hyuna did, but neither of us knew when—or if—she would come back.

Hyuna recalled her trips to Bangtan when she lived in Viridi Gramine. The Ozryn mountains were harsh, unforgiving, and lethal. Despite her royal lineage and traveling with the most skilled guides, there was always a risk she might not return. After finding Hoseok, the thought of crossing those mountains had never crossed her mind until her mother fell ill.

I had never traversed the Ozryn myself, but Hyuna’s memories sent a chill through me. Bridd might very well perish out there, and no one could prevent it. I considered suggesting that Jimin and I abandon Foxglove to search for her, but a single glance from Hyuna wiped the thought clean. We couldn’t leave the village without more information.

Bridd’s death would shatter Jimin, and Taehyung and Sol’s marriage—already strained—would likely fall apart completely. The Park family would never be the same. I desperately hoped she would return to her senses, but deep down, I knew she wouldn’t. The fierce determination in her eyes when I visited her cottage after Sol’s birthday spoke volumes. Bridd had more fire in her than Hyuna realized.

“She’s never seen so much of the world before,” Hyuna whispered, her voice as if confessing a forbidden truth. “How can she know where to go if she doesn’t even know what to look for?”

“She has maps—”

“Maps that predate the industrial revolution,” Hyuna cut me off sharply. “That girl is lost, and you know it.”

I didn’t need to say more; we were in agreement. I reminded her of Bridd’s tenacity when threatened, recounting our fight outside the cottage. Hyuna chuckled, acknowledging Bridd’s fighting spirit but still worried. When Bridd was in the infirmary, the witches had mentioned her fainting spells. How could we be sure she wouldn’t collapse out there?

“We don’t,” I admitted. “We just have to have faith. For Jimin’s sake. For her friends’ sake.”

“And Bridd’s,” Hyuna added.

“And Bridd’s,” I agreed.

A distant howl pierced the forest, signaling it was time to move. Taehyung rarely shifted anymore, so it had to be urgent. Hyuna decided to accompany me and wait for her husband at the Temple, her thoughts wandering to the prospect of confronting Sol, though I chose to ignore it.

As we neared the village, I heard the voices of the other copiae joining the search. Ji-Hyun’s loud complaints about his sister-in-law’s dramatics stood out. Hyuna fought to suppress a snarl, her thoughts simmering with anger. The younger wolf quickly dropped the subject, but my distaste for him remained. Taehyung shared my sentiments and told the Park boy to head home for the day. Ji-Hyun managed to keep his thoughts to himself long enough to change, severing our connection.

“Irrumator,” Hyuna grunted, her thoughts shifting from Ji-Hyun to Sol.

I chuckled. “He’s young. Cut him some slack.”

“He’s older than Taehyung!” Hyuna snapped. “He should know better. What he said to Bridd was out of line. How can you defend him?”

I bowed my head, conceding. I respected Hyuna enough to avoid an argument, especially with the looming threat of war. Disagreements with her would mean disagreements with Hoseok, and that was something we couldn’t afford right now.

“It’s not defending him,” I said, trying to keep annoyance out of my voice. “I just think this is a time for unity. Arguing over something we can’t change is pointless.”

Hyuna huffed but let it go. I felt a small victory in that, knowing we needed to focus on more pressing matters. Taehyung’s thoughts reflected his inner turmoil. While he agreed on the need for unity against our shared threat, he was hurt and betrayed by his closest friend’s disappearance.

Sol stirred complex emotions within me. My yearning to lead had once blinded me to her true nature. When Taehyung was chosen over me, I was disappointed, but any lingering romantic feelings vanished. I was genuinely happy for him, even if my actions didn’t always reflect it.

Sol had always been obsessed with Jimin, her infatuation apparent in her teenage ramblings. Ahn had asked me to escort her while she shifted, and her incessant daydreams about Jimin were the last thing I wanted to hear. I found myself wanting to be at her side, to lead, and her thoughts of me were less than flattering.

Sol’s heartbreak over Jimin’s lack of interest was palpable. She had desperately sought his affection, willing to overlook her mates. Jimin, though kind and cordial, had rejected her advances. I understood now, and it made sense. He was deeply devoted to another.

Sol’s life took a nosedive into chaos the moment she found herself wrapped in Taehyung’s arms. At first, confusion and disbelief painted her world in shades of gray, but soon, that confusion melted into something pure, almost ethereal. It was as if she had been in love with him all along, as if it was written in the very fabric of her being. For Taehyung, the feeling was a mirror image of hers. Before Sol, his heart had been tethered to a local girl named Minji. But love, it seems, has a way of changing the script.

Still, Sol’s obsession with Jimin was almost automatic, a reflex she couldn’t control. They were closer in age than most of us (except Taehyung), though Jimin was still seven years her senior. He was always kind and thoughtful, qualities that drew her in like a moth to a flame. When she heard he might be in danger, she rushed to his side. What she told him, which I knew only because Jimin couldn’t stop replaying that night in his head, was meant to soothe him. Yet, she shoved her friendship with Bridd aside, put her trust with Taehyung on the chopping block, and risked straining her bond with Jimin himself—all to protect his fragile heart. It would have been admirable if she’d taken a moment to think, rather than barreling into his house like a bat out of hell, spewing melodramatic, and frankly, distorted versions of the truth.

The fallout was catastrophic. Jimin’s argument with Bridd was fueled by Sol’s words. The man was already on edge. His pack of fifteen had dwindled to seven, the newer recruits too green to be of much use. Stress and frustration boiled over the moment Sol’s dramatic tale hit his ears. She painted Bridd as a suicide-bound lunatic, claiming the witch was deceiving everyone about her intentions, determined to atone for her past sins. It was absurd, though not entirely untrue, but it came from a teenage girl who hadn’t truly listened. To Jimin, all he could hear was his mate marching to her death to atone for her silence.

The whole situation with Bridd was surreal. I was irritated by her reluctance to share her visions, but that frustration faded when I realized the depth of her fear and helplessness. We weren’t on good terms. Foxglove had distanced itself, and Ahn had been vocal about his plans to visit her cottage. I couldn’t blame her for hesitating to speak up when the threat was uncertain. Ahn might have had her killed.

“He would have been a fool,” Hyuna mumbled, breaking the silence.

“When wasn’t he?” I shot back, my tone dry.

Everyone shared my sentiment. Bridd was the last person to blame. Her actions, once she understood the gravity of the situation, revealed her true care. Cadoc’s account of waking up to find the little witch, broken and bloodied, but still determined to reach Foxglove, was enough to reduce even the toughest to tears. The second her eyes opened, all she could think about was getting back to Foxglove. Any lingering doubts about her intentions evaporated. Only a few, Ji-Hyun among them, remained wary, but they were making an effort for the pack’s sake.

At the village’s edge, I parted ways with Hyuna. She gave me a brief farewell before I shifted. I was more private than the others, especially Hoseok and Hyuna, and they were accustomed to giving me space during the shift. It was my most vulnerable moment, and I loathed feeling exposed.

Bangtan had various items of clothing stashed away, none of them tailored or particularly stylish, but they were functional. My mother was responsible for keeping the copiae clothed and cared for, a job she took very seriously. It was one of the few things my father felt proud of. He often demeaned her, telling her she needed to do better, be better, spouting the same old demeaning slogans the older men in town were fond of. I could never see the faults in any of the women, especially not my mother, but she never commented on it, and neither did I.

I found a pair of large, baggy pants and shifted. After putting on the cotton garments, I decided to forgo a shirt and made my way to the Temple. Taehyung was waiting for me, and I didn’t want to add to his burdens. I felt I had done enough of that already.

As I walked through the town, I saw Jimin’s mother, Mi-Jeong, helping Jungkook’s father chop wood for his roof. The Parks were an unusual family. Mi-Jeong was outspoken, fierce, and refused to bow to men’s expectations. Her stubbornness was rivaled only by her youngest child. My own family often criticized her ‘atrocious’ behavior, but I had always been fond of Mi-Jeong.

Ji-Hyun, on the other hand, was a quiet boy, favoring his mother with his sharp features and moss-brown eyes. He followed his brother around for years without complaint. That quietude lingered into his teenage years, but when he fell for a human girl, it sparked a fierce possessiveness. He fought for her, both verbally and physically, a devotion that changed him. His attitude was often defensive and quick to judge, but his love and loyalty for his family were unparalleled, even surpassing his older brother.

Jimin had always fascinated me. From the moment he was born, he had the village at his feet. His father had been a formidable figure, embodying the strength our people revered. His choice of bride was unusual, but everyone believed Ji-Won was up to the challenge of handling Mi-Jeong. Jimin, like his father, possessed all the traits of a Park: charm, wit, courage. What set him apart was the hidden sweetness he kept from the world. I saw it. I had always seen it.

The first glimpse I got of that sweetness was when he chased butterflies in his backyard. He was no older than four, but even at that age, boys were expected to show maturity. In public, Jimin was the epitome of a perfect child. Yet, watching him blow bubbles and giggle as he chased a monarch butterfly, I knew his public persona was an act.

Now, that same sweetness was on display once more, though in a far more public and painful manner. Jimin had shut himself off, avoiding conversations and shunning his closest friends, hiding away and waiting for the other piece of his heart to return. It was a strange sight: Park Jimin, usually so strong, now weak and in agony.

As Mi-Jeong’s eyes met mine, I saw the same sadness and worry reflected in her. I hoped her family would pull together, but I doubted it would happen until Bridd returned, if she ever did. The thought of the Park family’s fate if she didn’t come back sent a shiver down my spine.

I didn’t stop to talk to anyone, as I usually did. My mind was too scattered, and frankly, I was done with conversation. A constant stream of thoughts and voices in your head will do that. Fortunately, no one seemed put off by my silence. We were all grappling with uncertainty since losing one of our strongest fighters.

“Anything new, dog?”

The voice slithered through the air, smooth and grating, a rasp that scraped against my nerves. I clenched my teeth, trying to ignore the familiar sting. With a deep, slow breath, I turned to face the source of my irritation.

Seokjin was there, of course. He had become my personal Dante’s Inferno over the past few days. The man had a grudge that could outlast a vampire’s curse, and he still hadn’t forgiven me for taking a swing at his friend. His face was a storm cloud, eyes dark with disdain. Beside him, Yoongi was a ghost of his former self. He looked worse than ever—thin and ragged, like a paper doll battered by the wind. His hair was a disheveled mess, and his once vibrant blue eyes had dulled further, his pupil barely visible.

“Unfortunately not,” I said, keeping my voice even, though I wanted nothing more than to escape this confrontation. “A few are still out searching, but I was pulled away.”

“Hmft,” Seokjin crossed his arms, a gesture that seemed to tighten the knot of irritation on his face. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, irritation bubbling up.

I never did like much about him.

“You don’t give a damn if you find her or not,” Seokjin’s voice was thick with anger, each word dripping venom. “None of you do.”

My patience was fraying, “That’s not true—”

“It’s that bitch’s fault she’s gone,” Seokjin shouted over me, his voice cracking like a whip.

“Stop yelling,” I said, struggling to keep my composure. The scene we were causing was spiraling out of control. My father would lose his mind. “I know what Sol did. None of us are happy about it, but I’m not a god. I can’t rewind time or bring her back. What’s done is done.”

“Yet you still follow her orders like some lapdog.”

“I follow Taehyung,” I corrected, my voice tight with restrained frustration. “By extension, that means I follow his wife. We’re at war, Seokjin. I’m sorry about Bridd, truly, and I hope she’s safe, but my life doesn’t revolve around her. I have a village to protect, a village she isn’t in. I won’t abandon it to chase shadows.”

Seokjin’s face was a furnace of rage now, tears brimming in his eyes. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. Bridd was a close friend of his, and she had abandoned them—harsh words, but accurate in the rawest sense. The others had voiced their disgust when she vanished, their anger directed at our governing bodies. Sol had barred them from the Temple after one of Seokjin’s entourage had lashed out. Since that night, they’d remained cloaked in silence, not a whisper of their departure from the Park house.

“You’re going to let her die,” Seokjin’s accusation was a punch to the gut, raw and brutal.

Yes, if it meant saving my own. Bridd was a distant concern compared to the stakes at hand. I barely knew her; respect didn’t equate to prioritizing her over my sister. In this high-stakes game, I had to trust that she could handle herself and accept it.

“Jin,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the tension, soft yet firm. I had almost forgotten he was there. “Let it be. Namjoon has done what he can. Let’s return to Mi-Jeong’s.”

I was relieved that Yoongi seemed more composed than Seokjin. I sneaked a glance at him and was glad to see his hair growing back, a sign he was getting enough to eat. It was a small comfort, considering the grim reality of his condition. Yoongi’s blindness wasn’t just a loss; it was a nightmare. I remembered how his pain had been described—a brutal assault on his senses, panic attacks ripping through him like storm winds. Samanya had said the spell should have killed him, and his survival, with only his eyesight lost, was a cruel twist of fate.

“But—”

“Drop it,” Yoongi said, his voice a low rumble, stopping Seokjin before he could unleash another tirade. Without turning his head, he addressed me. “I apologize for his callousness. We’re all on edge. I hope you understand.”

This was the most I’d heard Yoongi speak, even during our time at Bridd’s cottage in the Spring. “It’s not an issue. I hope you’re feeling better.”

It was unnerving to talk to someone who couldn’t meet my gaze. Yoongi’s eyes, unseeing and vacant, stared blankly at the village’s edge. His voice was gruff and monotonous, a strange contrast to the depth of the situation.

“I am fine,” he replied. “We’re here because my mother wanted to know how far you believe she could have gone. I’ll tell her that she must have shifted and lost her scent.”

“Thank you,” I said, relieved by his ability to keep Seokjin quiet. “She was on a houseboat for a few hours before she left. Any ideas?”

“Thelma,” Seokjin grunted. “She must have rested and then taken off. Was anything missing?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Sorry.”

Seokjin shook his head angrily, a futile gesture.

“No need to apologize,” Yoongi said, raising a hand in a dismissive motion. It was unclear what he intended, but I chose not to dwell on it. “We’ll leave you alone now.”

Seokjin opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. I smirked, feeling a bit of triumph. Yoongi’s presence was a useful deterrent for the annoying one. Scowling, Seokjin wrapped an arm around Yoongi and turned towards the residential district, their figures fading into the distance.

Taehyung was pacing when I finally found him in the Temple library. Books were strewn across the tables like fallen soldiers, pages ripped from their bindings stacked haphazardly at the edge of a massive oak table that had seen better days. His blonde hair was a shaggy mess, the back grazing his neck while the front hung just past his ears. Thick, wavy bangs spilled over his eyebrows, so long they were kept at bay by a headband.

The sight of him worried me. Taehyung was unraveling, a fraying thread in a tapestry of stress. He managed to keep it together during the elder meetings, putting on a brave face to avoid giving Ahn any satisfaction. But anyone could see the cracks beginning to show. Jimin was doing his best to keep Taehyung from falling apart, but he had his own demons to battle.

I had taken it upon myself to pick up the slack where Taehyung faltered. I owed it to both him and Jimin after my role in their exile. Taehyung, ever the forgiving soul, was more generous with grace than Jimin. But I knew I was skating on thin ice. Others might have taken my head for the disrespect I’d shown. Jimin might have if he wasn’t so focused on keeping the peace with his mate.

I needed to focus on the task at hand. Taehyung had summoned me for a reason, and I had to be there for him. His pacing showed no signs of stopping as I entered, a bad omen for the kind of conversation I was about to have. He seemed to find a semblance of calm when we discussed strategy, a fleeting solace in the chaos.

“Sorry for the delay, Tae,” I said, my voice soft and steady, hoping to cut through his distress.

He paused, his eyes bloodshot and glossy, cheeks flushed like someone had poured a pot of boiling water on them. His lower lip quivered despite his best efforts to steady it. Taehyung’s emotional rawness was always a puzzle. He was kind, gentle, a giant child who laughed at his own clumsiness and played with his younger siblings as if he were still a child himself.

He never shied away from tears. When Jimin’s father died, neither he nor Ji-Hyun shed a tear in public, though I knew better than to believe they didn’t grieve privately. Their show of stoicism was celebrated, a mask of bravery they wore for the town. Taehyung struggled to wear that mask as seamlessly as Jimin had.

Taehyung’s father hadn’t died in a blaze of glory. No heroics, just illness. Ahn had called him weak for succumbing to an infected wound, a sentiment not widely shared but unchallenged. My own mother, a loyalist to Ahn, had called him cruel for further tormenting a grieving family.

“I didn’t realize it had been so long,” Taehyung mumbled, resuming his restless pacing.

In that moment, he looked more like his father than ever. Dong-Min had been respected and wise, but he wasn’t the sort to attract crowds. An artist from Viridi Gramine, his works were beautiful, but he remained in the shadows. He’d found his muse in Hana, who had come from an abusive home. They had fled Withertusk together, and their troubles had melted away in Foxglove.

“You’re upset,” I said bluntly. Taehyung preferred directness. “What’s wrong?”

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice cracked, the tremor betraying his tears. “I want your honesty, Namjoon. Have I done anything horrible to her?”

“To who?” I asked, stepping closer to comfort him. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs, an effort to hide his pain from the world. It never occurred to me that he was trying to conceal his suffering so well. I had always misread him. He could only shake his head, eyes squeezed shut as new tears poured forth.

I wrapped him in an embrace, feeling the weight of his grief pressing into me. The last time he had cried on my shoulder was at his father’s funeral, a day when Ahn’s cruel words had cut him to the bone. Taehyung had stumbled out of the building, bleeding and torn, begging me to hold him. My father, showing rare kindness, had taken him home to clean up.

“You could never wrong her,” I said, not great with comfort but hoping my words would help. “Whatever happened between you two is just a wrinkle in time. Sol is angry with herself. She loves you, and she knows how much you love her.”

Tae sniffled, his cries muffled against my shoulder.

“Not Sol,” he sobbed. “Y/N.”

That was a harder pill to swallow. I could spout meaningless platitudes about his mate all day. Their love was a given. Taehyung had been furious with her for talking to Jimin behind his back, but I knew they’d work through it. Their bond was strong. His relationship with Y/N, though, was a different matter. I had never witnessed it firsthand, but I knew it was meaningful. Taehyung saw her as the older sister he never had, but I felt ill-equipped to guide him through this grief.

“You didn’t do anything to her, Tae,” I reasoned. “She made a choice to leave. She didn’t harbor ill will towards you. She even left you a note with your necklace. Doesn’t that say something?”

The red gem from Bridd’s gift pressed against my skin, a bittersweet reminder of her kindness. Taehyung had worn the necklace since reading the note, a gesture he hadn’t truly earned but had been given nonetheless. I had my own connection to Bridd through that journal she gave me, which had turned into a poetry book. I respected her, and that respect guided me in my attempt to console Taehyung.

“I told Sol,” Taehyung whimpered. “I told her after she asked me to keep quiet. It’s all my fault—”

“I’m done with the blame game,” I sighed, gently pushing him back to arm’s length. I gripped his shoulders. “Everyone’s been wallowing in self-pity. Y/N left to find help. No one forced her to do that. You and I both know she’s capable. Stop acting like she’s dead. She’s out there trying to help us. We need to stay focused.”

“What if she…” His voice faltered, unable to utter the word “death.”

“Then we make sure her sacrifice isn’t in vain,” I said, releasing him. “We plan, strategize, and fight tooth and nail against those things. For Bridd.”

I didn’t relish invoking her name this way, but I knew Taehyung would cling to it. Her name was a beacon of hope in this dark time. His eyes ignited with a renewed fire, the heat returning to them.

“For Bridd,” he echoed, as if making a solemn vow.

Inside, I prayed for her safe return. I was unsure how long this newfound fire would last, or what would happen if it burned out of control. Taehyung was obsessive by nature. As a child, he painted like his father, sculpted like our grandmother, and later, dived into gardening. Now, I feared his focus would be consumed by this war. He wasn’t ready for what was coming, but I had to believe in his strength.

“You should go see your mom,” I said sincerely. “I’m sure Jong and Jin miss you.”

I left unsaid my concerns about him being cooped up in the Temple since his return.

He nodded, “I will. Let one of the maids know I’ve left. I don’t want Sol to worry.”

“You’re not telling her you’re leaving?”

He frowned. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment.”

Oh, Bridd, why did you have to leave? Why did Sol have to stir things up? Seeing Taehyung so defeated was a blow. The fire I had ignited in him didn’t soothe my worries. He was still adrift, and I feared my attempts at comfort had done more harm than good. Maybe it would have been simpler to let him cry it out. Navigating whether I’d said or done the right thing was a far more daunting task.

The day slipped through my fingers like a handful of sand, the minutes eroded by the grind of endless work. After my talk with Taehyung, he had gone off to find his siblings, while I remained buried in the heavy silence of the library. Despite our grim business of war, we still had our East Coast obligations to handle. Hours ticked by as I drafted warnings and travel advisories, scribbling frantically until my hand ached.

When the time came to face the maps spread across the tables, I hoped the change in scenery would spark a breakthrough. The library was a cavern of paper and ink, and I dived into its depths, searching for something—anything—that might tip the scales in our favor.

But the talk of war had become a cacophony of angry voices. My father and Jimin were at each other’s throats, each stubbornly clutching their own version of strategy. My father wanted to march straight into Northorn, to meet our enemy head-on. Jimin, with his uncanny knack for seeing beyond the obvious, thought it was nothing short of idiocy. He argued that the elves would have the upper hand on unfamiliar ground. Our pack knew the forest better than anyone; it was our home turf, and it should be our advantage.

Jungkook and I were on the same page, much to my relief. We didn’t want to die, but if the situation demanded it, we would. He leaned towards Jimin’s strategy, favoring a defensive stance in Bangtan. It made the most sense—until the elves found a way to stir up trouble.

The witches from Syrena arrived in the late afternoon, a storm of anger and despair. Their leader had fallen during the attack, leaving them in the care of the swamp witch. I felt a pang of sympathy for them, as they stumbled into our midst. Their rage was palpable, their grief a raw wound that bled into everything they did.

Yoongi was on my mind again. He was adjusting to his blindness, but the idea of him fighting was laughable. He was a fantastic fighter when he could see, but now he was little more than dead weight. It was a shame—he had been a force to be reckoned with, even if a spell had temporarily taken him out. I had no doubt he’d be back, even if it meant defying orders. His death, when it came, would be a dignified one.

Then there was Seokjin. He surprised me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Despite my dislike for the witch, I had to admit the man could fight. He had defended his girlfriend, taken down countless elves, and even saved his father’s life. I hoped we could set aside our differences and train together. It was crucial that we learned to fight as a unit. I planned to discuss this with Jimin later.

Before I could lose myself further in thought, I caught her scent. The sweet, cloying aroma of Sol was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the damp, cold air of the library. Her bare feet were a whisper against the marble floor, and I braced myself for the encounter. Sol’s attempt to mask her natural scent had always been a losing battle, but I couldn’t fault her for it. Ahn had stripped her of her self-confidence, leaving her to second-guess everything about herself.

She appeared before me, her small figure framed by the ornate grandeur of the library. Her hair, unbound and flowing, was a cascade of dark waves, a sharp contrast to the cold sterility of the surroundings. I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with her exposure. Modesty was an old relic, but Sol had been taught its importance, and Ahn had made sure she lived in its shadow.

“Luna,” I greeted, my voice tentative. “Your hair…”

She sighed, as if resigned to my reaction. Her tone was edged with annoyance, but I couldn’t decipher why. Ahn had instilled in her a warped sense of propriety, and the way she wore her hair now seemed to mock it.

“Does it matter?” she murmured, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “We all know I’m no longer virtuous.”

I frowned. “Your virtue isn’t tied to your virginity, Sol.”

I could feel the discomfort between us, the unspoken boundaries crossed. Sol’s presence was like a weight on my chest, and I had to force myself to remain composed. Taehyung would be devastated if he caught us in such an awkward position. I stood up, putting a respectful distance between us, and turned my attention to the doorframe, trying to look anywhere but at her.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Aside from the obvious.”

I leaned against the doorframe, peering into the hall, grateful for the distance it offered. I heard Sol take a seat in the chair I had vacated, the sound of her movements marking her presence more than her words.

“You must think I’m pathetic,” Sol’s voice was a fragile whisper.

“Why would I think that?” I countered, genuinely puzzled.

She laughed, a hollow sound that resonated with self-deprecation. “You’ve been a constant in my life longer than anyone. You were there before Taehyung. You and I were almost betrothed, according to my father.”

The mention of Ahn made my skin crawl. He was no father of hers. The real truth was darker—Ahn had taken her from her real parents, Cho Haneul and Bong Ha-Yun, who had vanished from the village under suspicious circumstances. Whispers hinted at banishment or worse, but I’d always taken my mother’s word that Ahn had been behind it all.

“I’ve never been fair to you,” Sol continued, her voice trembling. “I was mean, rude, and cold. I wanted Jimin so badly that I mistreated you. I’m sorry for that.”

I listened, indifferent. Sol’s words were a weak balm to old wounds. I knew her well enough to understand her manipulations, her selfishness veiled under layers of false remorse.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“You knew me before Taehyung did. I know you didn’t like me, but I trust your opinion. I know I don’t deserve your kindness, but I’m asking for it anyway.”

Her voice was weary, and I found myself disenchanted with her pleas. I reminded myself of her age and the naivety that came with it, but it didn’t soften the irritation I felt. She had made mistakes, breached boundaries, and caused chaos, all while thinking she could remain unscathed.

“Am I a bad person?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

“No,” I said firmly, though it was hard to mask my irritation. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll lie to make you feel better. You’ve caused enough damage, and it’s your responsibility to deal with the consequences.”

Her soft sniffles were a distant echo to my frustration. She had stirred trouble and failed to take responsibility for it. I wasn’t here to placate her. I was here to get through the day.

“I’m not the one to offer you comfort,” I said, turning away. “Seek solace from your maids. They’re trained to dry tears; I’m not.”

With that, I left the library, my mind already set on finding a place to rest. The Temple was no refuge from the turmoil of the day, but it was all I had. Maybe Sam would be around, and her company would be a welcome distraction. Her beauty and confidence had always been a bright spot, even if I wasn’t ready to entertain any advances. Tonight, though, I’d take any semblance of normalcy I could get.

I had no desire to return to my family home. Spending too long around my parents was like slowly going mad. The pretense I maintained with my father was exhausting, and my mother—well, she never had the backbone to stand up to him. My childhood was a grim carousel of beatings, with my mother watching, her own misery forgotten as long as she avoided the brunt of his rage. By the time Mini arrived, those days were behind us, and my father had stopped drinking. Our relationship had improved, but the bitterness lingered, festering like a wound that never fully healed. Sometimes, I wondered if I truly hated them both.

Lately, I had been crashing at Hoseok’s place. But he’d asked for some space, and I was buried in work, too tangled up to find another spot to crash. It was a far cry from the opulent room I had at the Temple, but the Temple had become a place I loathed. I’d have joined Jimin and the rest of the copiae, but the weight of my responsibilities kept me tied down. Stepping down as head council would mean my father or Bo would handle public relations, and the thought of that was enough to make me want to gnaw my own arm off. Taehyung would go berserk if those two were left in charge.

I racked my brain for other friends to stay with. The Parks would welcome me, but their home was overflowing with guests. Yoongi and the swamp witch’s families were still there, Jin’s group was with Taehyung’s family, and the Syrena witches were scattered among the wolf families and humans. They’d planned to stay at the Temple, but Sol had made a mess of that arrangement. Everything had spiraled out of control faster than I could keep up with.

“Lost in thought?” Jimin’s voice cut through my musings.

I stopped in my tracks, realizing I had wandered into the copiae grounds. Jimin lounged on his porch, a large glass in hand, his face shadowed by a dark expression. The sharp scent of alcohol reached me even from the street. I approached him, trying to ignore the tumultuous thoughts of my father.

“You’re drunk,” I observed, taking the glass from his hand and sniffing it. Mead, probably from Jungkook’s stash. “This isn’t going to help.”

He shrugged, a gesture of defeat. “I know. Just needed a distraction.”

Here I was again, being dragged into someone else’s emotional wreckage. Even if Jimin hadn’t asked outright, I knew I’d end up hauling him inside and making him sleep. At least, I could crash here afterward. Tomorrow, I’d make sure he ate something and then convince him to help me go over documents at the Temple. He was the battle strategist, after all.

“I’m not in the mood for a heart-to-heart,” I said bluntly. “I’ve already dealt with two sob stories today, and my patience is shot. So you’re going to let me help you, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

Jimin leaned back, sweat glistening on his forehead and his hair a tangled mess. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled. I rubbed my face in frustration.

“Fine,” I sighed, “how about this: I need a place to sleep. I can’t stand Taehyung and Sol right now, and you—” I gestured at him, “—look like hell. Obviously, you’re a mess, but the pack needs you to pull yourself together so we can get through this.”

Jimin didn’t move. He remained like a statue, eyes fixed on something distant. “I’ll stay the night. Tomorrow, we’ll talk feelings or whatever. Then, we’ll come up with a plan to get you back in the game. Sound good?”

He rolled his eyes, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “What’s the point?” His face crumpled in despair. I felt lost at sea, unable to handle his sorrow. Thankfully, he composed himself, though the heaviness lingered. “What’s the point of anything? Without her... it just doesn’t matter.”

I sat down beside him, the cold, rough wood against my legs. I tried to focus on this as a conversation between friends. Jimin had never asked me for anything before. When Taehyung was chosen, Jimin had been the first to urge me to stand firm against Ahn. I had been foolish, ignoring his advice. Now he needed me to be the rock, and I couldn’t let him down.

We couldn’t keep going like this. Jimin wasn’t in the right frame of mind, and I knew the only way to get him back on track was to think of something drastic. My mind was already spinning a plan, one that had seemed hopeless earlier, but now felt like a desperate gamble. Maybe, just maybe, giving him a glimmer of hope might help him pull himself together. Feeling a pang of guilt, I decided to go for it and face the consequences later.

“I know you’re hurting,” I said, trying to soften my tone, unsure if it worked. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. When you and Taehyung were gone, the guilt nearly ate me alive. It must be worse for you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he started to protest, but I brushed it off.

“I think I do. No one else seems to be,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re in deep trouble right now, Park. We need you.”

Jimin shook his head. “I wouldn’t be much help right now, Joon.”

“I don’t believe that,” I replied. “Honestly, anything you do would be better than the mess you’ve got going on. And by the way, your girl’s on my side. She’d be furious if she knew how much you’ve been slacking.”

That made him chuckle softly.

“That’s fair,” he said, a wan smile spreading across his flushed face. “She’s such a little firecracker, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “She once tried to set me on fire.”

We shared a laugh, remembering that day. Truth was, she scared the hell out of me. If she had really wanted to hurt me, she could’ve. I’d barely escaped with just a few scratches and bruises. Jimin had beaten me senseless when she got hurt, but I had a lifetime of memories that made me untouchable. Bridd, however, was another story.

“What if I made you a deal?” I asked, catching his attention.

He perked up. “What kind of deal?”

“If we make it through the next wave on top, I’ll help you find her.”

His eyes sharpened, a flicker of hope lighting up. “Really?”

Guilt twisted in my gut. I didn’t truly believe we’d reach that point. The elves were everywhere, their grip tightening on Northorn with each passing day. We were far from ready, and with traitors in our midst, the situation was dire. The alliance with the quietus was fragile, and the witch problem was something only Jimin could fix. It could be weeks or even months before we could search for Bridd. Still, I had to use her as leverage. We needed strong leadership, and the witch was the best motivation I could offer.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, doubling down. “We can take a small group. I’ve got connections with a quietus who knows the lay of the land. Finding her could be straightforward.”

“You’d do that for me?” He looked genuinely surprised.

I nodded. “If we’re in a position to do it, why not?”

I watched as he mulled it over, the distant look in his eyes dissolving into something clear, almost serene. He was on board. Hope unfurled in my chest like a fragile flower reaching for the sun. With Jimin on my side, dealing with Taehyung would be a breeze. The older alpha’s desire for redemption would give us a leverage, and if Jimin and Taehyung could join forces, we’d have Hoseok back in the mix too.

Things were starting to tilt in our favor. Soon, the elementals and witches would be joining our discussions, the elder council would be edged out by a new generation of leaders, and the war would start to feel like something we could actually manage. I might even be able to recruit a fresh wave of warriors to the copiae once the village saw Jimin’s renewed determination.

“Stay here as long as you need,” Jimin finally said, and I was doing a mental victory dance. “You can crash on the couch.”

I sprang up, ready to hit the sack, and gave his head a playful shove. He chuckled, swatting my hand away. We used to mess around like this all the time as kids—Jimin always had a knack for winning our wrestling matches. He was slippery as an eel.

“Let’s go, kid,” I said, stretching my arms above my head. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow. Council meeting.”

He nodded, reaching out for my help to stand. He must have imbibed more than I realized; it took a lot for alcohol to hit us this hard.

“Hopefully, Taehyung will deal with the two ancient relics in the Temple,” he slurred, stumbling inside and mumbling about how his bed felt like it had swallowed him whole.

A/N: So Joon pov??? How do we like? He's not the only pov switch we're going to have, but we will be seeing a lot of our favorite (to hate) alpha joining our main squad. I thought he would be a good outside mind to get inside of since he's not as emotionally connected to Bridd as the others. Any guesses as to who our other switches might be?

p.s. These pov chapters will be a bit shorter than our normal, reader pov ones, but not by much.

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

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mysteryshoptls · 1 year

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R Rook Hunt Masquerade Voice Lines

Summon Line: The curtain rises on the masquerade. Once we place the mask on our face, we are set free. Now, let us dance to our heart's content!

Groooovy!!: Fufufu, the excitement from the masquerade still lingers. I wish I could bask in this euphoria for a little while longer.

Home: Dress-up completed!

Swap Looks: And now begins the masquerade.

Home Idle 1: For their Student Council President to be able to not only propose this cultural exchange between schools, but to actually put it into motion like this ...It's truly an amazing thing.

Home Idle 2: I truly do find the asymmetry of this outfit fantastic. This dignified cape, these elegant ruffles... Fufu, I have truly fallen in love.

Home Idle 3: The City of Flowers is a well-known place to fans of the theatre. Productions of stories set here boast a deep-rooted popularity.

Home Idle - Login: So, a cultural exchange at Noble Bell College... My heart skips for joy at all the various people I will encounter. I shall make sure to enjoy this as much as I can.

Home Tap 1: Oh, look at Azul-kun go! See his dignified and sure-footed demeanor as he steps out into such an austere stage!

Home Tap 2: I had such a difficult time selecting a souvenir for Roi du Léon. He has a very sensitive nose, so I had to find something that did not have a strong scent.

Home Tap 3: Noble Bell College reveres tradition and dignity... I feel we at Pomefiore are kindred spirits.

Home Tap 4: The people here in the City of Flowers must love the Bell of Salvation. Whenever they speak of the bell, their faces break out into a smile almost naturally.

Home Tap 5: The resplendent festival comes to an end as the bell tolls... That moment everything returns back to normal daily life is in itself a bitter-sweet beauty.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #twst rook #twst translation #twst glorious masquerade #mention: azul #mention: leona #mention: rollo

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suicidalgamergirl · 8 months

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Emotional Support Vampire

Finally I get our vamp boy to arrive. Credits of this chapter are from this Fan Wiki.

https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Rite_of_Profane_Ascension

*****

“Vaness,” a voice chilled, “the worst a man can get.”

Not this. She did not want this.

She turned around, seeing her parents. They were giving disapproving looks at her.

“We made you go to a great university,” her parents said, “then you wasted it all on your ridiculous doodles in your notebook! You are such a disappointment.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to reason with her parents. But nothing came out from her lips.

She then saw Ken looking at her.

“Dumb ugly bitch,” Ken stated, “too annoying for even a lay.”

She put her hands on her ears, trying to stop the voices.

But they wouldn’t stop. She found herself standing on a stage, confronting an audience that started heckling and hollering at her. Cowering, she still had her ears covered. Why were people like this?!

She was an adult! Their voices should mean nothing! She doesn’t have to listen to them!

“Die,” a voice rang to her as a command.

After hearing that word, the audience started chanting that simple three letter word.

Die. Die. Die.

Kneeling on the stage, she felt a noose was placed around her neck. Maybe this was going to be how it must end. Everyone was right about her.

She smelled a fragrance lingering around her as the noose was tightening around her neck.

Bergamot, a sweet lemony bitter orange.

Rosemary, a herb she used in her cooking class to stuff meats that were going to be cooked. Also used for protection against demons.

And Brandy?

The hell?!

*****

The scent of that strong liquor woke her up. She had tears running down her eyes. She hated having nightmares. They made her feel childish. Made her feel like a failure as an adult. Made her feel that she deserved a pathetic life.

“Gods darling,” a voice said, “you’re finally awake.”

Darling? The minute she heard that, she flung herself out of the bed and fell on the floor.

Trying to get herself together, she stared at her bed. There was a pointy eared, skin as snow, and white haired gentleman with red eyes, looking at her. He is wearing a fancy embroidery outfit that has a set of red dragons across his vest.

Wait a sec…

Pointy ears, red eyes, and pale skin complexion?

Holy shit! There was a certified vampire in her bed! She wasn’t going to be a juicebox today. She stumbled to get herself up. She didn’t have crosses and rosaries. Nor the occasional garlic.

But she had one thing that could easily make this intruder meet his match.

The sun.

Heading to the bedroom window, she was finally going to take control of her life. She pulled on the curtains to reveal the glorious beams of the sunlight to fall on her bed. This vampire had finally met his match. He is going to become literal toast.

Nothing happened.

“You know darling,” he mused as he lay on her bed, “you could have been a little more creative with your death threats. Is this honestly how you treat your guests?”

“Well e-excuse me!” she replied, “It’s not like I expect my guests to lunge at my neck at any minute! Or goes nuts after a simple papercut!”

“Touche. Though, this is all your fault by the way. You just have to accept the consequences of your actions.”

“My actions? I tried to help…”

She stopped as she was dumbfounded by her words. That albino bat she found. Poor little thing that was being attacked by mean dogs that didn’t know any better. The little bat that was annoyed with her while she was taking care of his wounds.

She fell on her knees, eyes still wet from her tears. What a dumbass.

“I’m such an idiot,” she said.

“Finally admitting your mistakes is on the path of self improvement,” he replied as he was starting to mock himself as a therapist, “you humans are very stupid at times. It might have been a miracle your species survived a millennium without them blowing the planet up.”

This was going to be a very long and interesting weekend.

#astarion x reader #rite of profane ascension #fan wikis

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keicordelle · 7 months

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The long awaited moment is finally upon us! Only 7 months and 18k words later, I finally get to add the First Kiss tag hehe. Chapter 10, The Remotest Chance in the Seven Hells, is out!

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

Sleep was slow to release Urianger from its hold, the pleasant comfort of peaceful dreams difficult to return from. So rarely did he get to experience their ilk, he couldn't help but want to linger in their glow as long as possible, chasing after the fading memory of quiet laughter and fingers in his hair. He nestled deeper into the blankets, grateful for their warmth.

The heavy weight banded across his waist shifted, tugging him in tighter until he was pressed flush with the simmering heat at his back. Reality settled back around him like the arms that held him, and that fact alone was almost enough to startle him out of the tranquil comfort that blanketed him. He stilled, breath held as he waited to feel Thancred push him away. Surely Urianger’s motion must have woken him, slight though it was. But Thancred remained exactly where he was, holding Urianger close, as though Thancred were as comfortable as he. His breath tickled the hair on the back of Urianger’s neck, the scent of sleep clinging to his tongue. It was, perhaps, not the most pleasant of scents, but Urianger cherished it anyway, as he cherished the comfort of his embrace. Who could have known that it might feel so good to be wrapped up in another's arms? Who knew he might sleep so soundly with Thancred at his back? Free from the nightmares and the insomnia that plagued him, as though he were a guardian of dreams and not just of hope. With Thancred's arms around him, he felt... safe. How odd.

Slowly, Urianger twisted in his embrace, his breath held the whole way for fear of waking him. But Thancred slept as soundly as he'd ever seen him, his breathing light and even. Perhaps it helped him to sleep, to have something to hold onto.

He looked so peaceful, just as he had the last time Urianger had watched him sleep. The white sweep of his lashes over his cheeks, the tangled mop of hair falling over his forehead, his lips parted ever so slightly around his breath... Urianger could kiss him now, as he hadn't gotten to then. If his shifting hadn't awoken Thancred, then surely a gentle brush against his lips would not. But... No. He didn't want that.

Not that he didn't still want to kiss him. No, that urge was still very much present and as perplexing as it had ever been. Too much of Urianger’s mind was swallowed by the thought of Thancred’s lips and how they would feel against his own. Of Thancred’s arms wrapped around him and - well, Urianger supposed that would feel very much like this. Even in his sleep, Thancred’s embrace was strong, holding Urianger to him like he wished to never let him go. Like he was something he cherished. What might it feel like to experience that while he was awake and fully aware of his actions? To bask in such open affection...

That was what he wanted. Not to steal a kiss while Thancred slept, but to claim one while he was awake. To truly know how he would respond. Romance was not Urianger’s purview when it came to literature, but for a moment he wished he had taken the time to read some of Moenbryda's novels when he'd had the chance. Maybe then he wouldn't feel this burning curiosity fluttering through his chest. ...Or maybe he'd simply have more fodder for his overactive imagination.

Thancred stirred, and Urianger tensed, waiting for him to pull away. Thancred was not the type to linger in the half-awake moment of sleep-induced confusion. Too many years of dangerous nights had stripped that luxury from him. But he didn't draw back, even as his eyes fluttered open to meet Urianger’s - as conscious as if it were midday. Thancred merely pulled him tighter against him, hugging Urianger’s body against his own. His fingers stroked down his back, a gentle touch.

Urianger’s breath caught. Even though the fabric of his nightshirt, he could feel the heat of Thancred’s fingers, caressing along his spine. So incredibly intimate, more so than anything he'd ever experienced before. Is this what it would be like, if he were to kiss him? Soft and earnest and sweet, fingers dragged down his spine and arms around his waist? If even this much was enough to make him shiver, what would it be like to meld his mouth to his?

"Good morning," Thancred said, sleep dragging at the words. A smile tilted his lips, as soft as the morning sun.

"I want to kiss you."

Thancred froze, as if not quite sure he'd heard correctly. He blinked at Urianger, mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Urianger flushed. He'd never seen Thancred so thoroughly taken aback. "I- forgive me. It seems I cannot banish the thought from my mind. I have never... experienced such a thing before, and I find myself most curious as to how it would feel. I merely... Wouldst thou indulge my curiosity?"

Emotion rose in the depths of Thancred's gaze as Urianger spoke, but he squashed it before Urianger could puzzle out what it was. Though Thancred’s arms were still stiff around him, he made no move to draw away, weighing Urianger’s words carefully. "You've never... Ever?"

Urianger shook his head, his ears heating further. Why was that embarrassing? It had never bothered him before. It had never interested him at all before.

Questions rose to Thancred's tongue, but he swallowed them down. Not even with... Urianger could read the words in his gaze even if he didn't speak them. Perhaps later he would ask. Perhaps later Urianger would answer.

Instead, Thancred flushed as well, a delicate pink that ghosted across his cheeks and over his nose. "Delicate" was rarely a word Urianger would use to describe Thancred, but with him pressed against him like this, his cheeks stained with color and his body so small against his, it was the one that rose to mind. Delicate - and beautiful. "If you really want to try it, I'm willing. But if it's to be your first kiss, we have to do it right. You deserve to have a first kiss to remember. At least let me go brush my teeth first."

So long as ‘tis thee, I’ve no doubt it will be memorable. Urianger kept the thought to himself, not quite sure where it had come from. Surely Thancred's experience made him an idea choice for such an experiment, he supposed. "If I don't do it now, I fear I’ll never work up the courage again," he said instead. His fingers curled in Thancred’s top, fidgeting with the fabric.

Thancred blew out a breath, his gaze unreadable. "Alright," he said after a moment. Urianger’s pulse fluttered at the word, nerves and excitement twisting through his stomach. The eager thrum of a curiosity to be sated.

Thancred moved, drawing Urianger up to sit next to him in the bed instead. Urianger shifted awkwardly, not quite sure where he ought to be. Should he sit next to him? Across from him? Should he sit cross legged, or should he tuck his knees beneath himself? Should they sit off the end of the bed and let their feet lay on the floor?

The brush of Thancred's hand against his face distracted him from his racing thoughts. Thancred’s palm was calloused, roughened from a lifetime of fighting, but he cupped Urianger’s cheek so tenderly. There was warmth in his eyes as he looked at him. Affection. Urianger’s breath shuddered out from his lungs, nerves rising as he stared back at him. Thancred didn't give them the chance to overcome him. He leaned in, those hazel eyes drifting closed, and Urianger found himself leaning into him in return. And then...

Softness against his lips. A gentle brush, hardly different than a finger stroked against them. Then again, firmer this time, Thancred’s mouth squishing against his. The course scruff of his unshaven cheeks scratched at Urianger’s skin, prickling awkwardly at his face. Did his own beard feel just as uncomfortable against Thancred’s? Thancred’s nose brushed against his cheek, his own scrunched up against Thancred’s face.

What exactly was he supposed to do? There had to be more to it. When others spoke of their first kiss, it sounded of magic and mystery, fluster and fireworks. Was he... doing it wrong? It felt nice, he supposed, but mostly he just felt... awkward.

Thancred's eyes drifted open, catching on his, and Urianger almost lamented the loss of that sweet expression on his face. He'd looked so beautiful with his eyes closed, lost in the sensation of his mouth on his and- Ohhhh.

Urianger let his eyes fall shut, focusing instead on just the feeling of Thancred’s lips on his. Thancred’s thumb stroked over his cheek, his head tipping further to adjust the angle of their kiss, and- Ah. This was what it was supposed to feel like. His mouth melded to Urianger’s, the soft press of his lips caressing against his own. His hand was gentle on Urianger’s cheek, like he held something precious, and the other came to rest on Urianger’s waist. Chaste, but more intimate than Thancred would usually allow himself. Urianger’s own hands stroked along Thancred’s shoulders and down his back, feeling the strong muscles beneath his skin, the fabric of his shirt scarcely a barrier at all to his touch.

The wet brush of his tongue probed at the seam of Urianger’s lips - hesitant, uncertain. An offer of more, and a silent request. Urianger parted for him, letting him take the lead as Thancred’s tongue dipped between his lips. It grazed against his own, slow and exploratory, and Urianger followed his example, sliding against it with his own. Thancred hummed his approval, shifting further into him, his mouth moving against Urianger’s. Whatever Thancred’s worries over morning breath, he didn't taste bad - he just tasted of Thancred, pure and unadulterated, of saliva and expectation.

A sound caught in the back of Urianger’s throat, his fingers curling against the nape of Thancred’s neck as he pressed into him, tongue coiling against his and lips working against his mouth. Thancred’s lips parted for him, letting him in to explore his mouth as he'd explored Urianger’s. His tongue curled over Thancred’s lips, his teeth, the roof of his mouth, drinking in every angle and curve of his mouth. Surely his kiss was fumbling and inexpert in the face of Thancred’s years of experience, but Thancred responded beneath him as if it were the most glorious thing he'd ever felt, indulging him and guiding him in turn. Thancred’s teeth brushed against Urianger’s lower lip, dragging along it - not a bite but an enticement. His every motion was gentle and passionate, treating Urianger with a care and affection he'd never known before. Gods, how easy it would be to get swept away in that kiss, and to lose himself in Thancred’s mouth on his...

His lungs had other ideas. He'd never fathomed how difficult it would be to breath while kissing someone; even panting gasps stolen from Thancred’s lips or drawn through his nose were not enough to keep him from growing breathless. Eventually Urianger had no choice but to pull back, drawing in deep lungfuls of air. His eyes fluttered open to watch Thancred, equally breathless. Thancred’s eyes were bright, his heavy-lidded gaze warm as it caressed over Urianger’s cheek. Their shared saliva slicked his lips, half-parted and reddened from their kiss. Was that what Urianger looked like right now too? Blissful and impassioned, redness staining his cheeks and his lips? He could feel the heat through his face, burning along the length of his ears. That was... nice. Very nice.

...He wanted more.

Urianger jerked away, eyes widening as he scrambled to his feet. More? No, no. This was just supposed to be an experiment, nothing more. Just to know what it would feel like. To cure his curiosity about Thancred's lips and how they would feel pressed against his own. But now that he knew, instead of being satisfied with the knowledge, all he felt was the need for more. Desire burned through his breast, greedy and selfish. He wanted to try again, to see what more there might be to learn - about kissing. About Thancred. About... all sorts of things he'd never so much as wondered at before. He wanted to know what this feeling was that snaked through his chest and throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He...

He needed to get away. Thancred's eyes grew wide as he turned, worry and hurt supplanting that blissful warmth. Urianger’s heart ached at the sight, but he ignored it, swallowing down the tangle of emotion that choked him as he stumbled away from him, over to the door that lead to the rest of the house and out, away.

"Uri-" Thancred started, hand outstretched towards him, but he ignored that too. Ignored him and the distraught expression that twisted his face. Ignored the pounding of his heart and the too-quick flutter of something beneath his breast that he didn’t want to think about. Ignored everything but the urge to turn tail and flee, to put a thousand malms between himself and his troubles.

Like the coward that he was, he fled.

[Chapter 11]

[Kofi/Commissions]

#ffxiv #thanuri #urithan #urianger #thancred #urianger augurelt #thancred waters #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #first for everything #~k

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captainbogwitch · 1 year

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Hands of a Healer - excerpt

This must be a fucking test. The rain, moblins and bokoblins, and fucking octoroks (oh my!) He can’t even climb the walls surrounding the river with the rain. It’s been hours of dredging on the path. “The path is straight, there’s just a few monsters, oh you’re so handsome and strong!” he mouthed moving his arms up and down in an imitation of Sidon (Link might’ve added that “handsome.”) Of course the path would be straight and easy if you were a giant red predator with the mouth full of shark teeth and a four-foot stride. Even the stupidest lizalfos would take a single look at him and run. He’s a Zora! They swim! He wouldn’t need to walk on the trail, he can just swim! Link walks onto the rock crossing bow at the ready and hears a splash below him immediately letting the arrow fly before he could be hit by anything else.

“You stay quite vigilant, my friend!” speak of the devil and the giant red shark man will appear. Link was too bogged down by the rain and the lingering scent of lizalfos blood on him, but he leaned over the edge of the bridge to see the Zora. His smile wasn’t blinding this time, but it brings a little warmth to Link’s toes.

“All the fucking octoroks in this river,” he signs, “Sorry? Didn’t expect you to meet me so soon.”

“I do apologize! I haven’t walked along the path in some time, and the octoroks in the river do not usually bother the Zora.” Theory confirmed. ”If I had known it would prove difficult, I would’ve asked for an additional escort for you!” Sidon smiles and Link decides that the breathy sound coming from his mouth and his gills was a laugh.

“Don’t mind.” Link shrugs and grins devilishly. “I like a challenge.” The next sound the Zora made was something between a choke and a cough and did not sound like a laugh at all.

“Then I suppose you won’t be interested in this electroshock elixir to help with the upcoming lizalfos ahead? I’m afraid they carry a number of shock arrows on them—they are the main reason we Zora have remained so isolated.” He holds up a small yellow bottle as Link’s eyes widened. “I’d forgotten about it earlier, but recently remembered their presence here. It doesn’t work for us, but it has great effect for Hylians.” Sidon locks eyes with the hero, waiting for him to say something, his golden eyes almost teasing Link’s. He was trying to tempt Link, daring him to say no, or say yes, either way this solider would get what he wanted.

And he didn’t really need an elixir, did he? He has the rubber helmet from the young woman at Riverside Stable, that would provide some protection at least. But then again, getting shocked always made him more vulnerable, and the helmet was such a pain to take off.

“I suppose, it would make the journey more challenging to go without it,” Sidon sighed, keeping eye contact as he lowers the bottle back underwater.

“Wait!” Link leaned so far off the edge of the bridge he nearly fell in the river. “How much?”

“In volume? I am unsure, perhaps assuming four or five milliliters, not much at all, but rest assured it is quite potent!”

“No, the cost? How much to buy? From you.”

“Oh, dear! You coming to the Domain is payment enough! Please do not worry about costs while you are our guest!” he tosses the elixir up to Link. “Not to mention you taking care of those electric beasts, and the ‘fucking octoroks.’” Oh. Well. Maybe he was more than “a little fluent” in HCS, repeating Link’s signs for the creatures. Link flushed at his own vulgar language.

“Thank you.” His fingers met his chin before arcing down into his palm. Now the Zora smiled, his very sharp teeth on display.

“Of course! You’re nearly there! If you must regain your strength, look for small caves in the rocks. Back when our people were more aligned traveling Hylians created these small pockets to get out of the rain themselves. I look forward to seeing you soon, victorious! Do not forget, I believe in you, my friend!” Sidon pumped his fist with a wink and Link was confident that yes, the smile really did sparkle a bit. Link watches him swim away the rushing current not slowing him down at all, the small smile on his mouth stayed even after he turns away from the river to continue the trek.

This solider was so nice. Not acting nice because Link is the Princess’s Champion, or the Hero of Hyrule. It didn’t hurt that Link was already coming to defeat Vah Ruta, but he never expected additional help on the journey, not given so gleefully. Sidon’s belief in his abilities were based solely on what he’d seen Link accomplish, not in who he was before. This kindness reminded him of…

A face, a smile. Her touch. Who—

The memory fades as quickly as it came and his face steels. There was no time to be lingering on nice, no time to be daydreaming about kind soldiers. There was a plan to follow. This hospitality must simply be an aspect of Zora culture. A useful note to make for Zelda when she returns, and everything is back to how its supposed to be. Who knows the customs of the Zora people 100 years ago. Link placs the elixir in his hip pouch and draws his bow again.

#it's a long one #but not bad #still pre-edit #this is a different fic from yesterday #it's my main fic #long summary but it's fun and i'm enjoying it #they're pre-relationship #au!#sidlink #link/sidon #my fic #my writing #botw #botw link #botw sidon #loz fic #legend of zelda

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breadedsinner · 1 year

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Find the Words

Tgged by @seraandthebees

Ok for once I am actually going to tag others this time: @clericofshadows, @persephoneggsy, @ziskandra, @gardensystemtv, @mxanigel

Here are your words, if you so choose:

Dark, fluffy, embrace, slow

Word 1 - Breathe

Sebastian winced; he had mentioned ‘almosts’ to her, but it was months ago, before she became Champion, and that conversation had ended poorly. “What brought this on?”

“I’m only curious. This is within in terms of our arrangement, is it not? I will share one such experience of my own, in fair turn.”

He smiled and folded his hands under his chin. “We did indeed have a deal… a few months before I was sent to the Chantry, I was already certain it would happen. My parents were waiting for me to breathe improperly, so I thought I would have one last bit of fun.

“There was this miserable older chevalier, Rodolphe. He had a squire, whom he made equally miserable. I had my eye on him for a while, but when I saw him practicing archery in the field, and knowing my time was at hand, I finally decided to pursue him.”

Word 2 - Night

It was a mercy, perhaps. Sebastian remembered that night very well.

He remembered the cold and the hurt in her face when he tried to stop her from going in that warehouse.

He remembered the limbs scattered about the floor.

He remembered the reveal that Gaspard had no sister, there was never a sister. Only a student, trying to reunite with his lost mentor. Only a string of false sympathy, to lure Hawke and her kind heart in.

He remembered the stretching smile that Quinton had, ever-plastered on his narrow face. The way he smiled and spoke of love, as if he knew what it was.

And he remembered how Hawke did not simply kill them, but slaughtered them. He, Fenris, and Anders were there, they may have disposed of a few of his practice creations, but Hawke did not need them there.

She had stepped on Gaspard’s skull like a rotted melon. She shook and punched Quinton long after he had died, until he was no longer a body, but a pulpy lump of meat. Had she not given way to tears; she surely would have turned him to dust.

It was a mercy, a grace, that he should remember that evening instead of her. He would hold it in his mind, so she would not have to.

Word 3 - Close

“I’m sorry, darling” said the spirit. “The Inquisitor sealed up her own exit. But her presence still lingers… I can reach out to her, as far as I can, and get you close to where she is. You’ll be alone, but just for a while.”

Word 4 - Doubt

She wandered into a field. She turned, and stalks of wheat surrounded her, unable to find whatever road she must have crossed to get to this spot. The bristles wafted gently in a mild, summer breeze. She breathed deeply, and inhaled the musty scent of wood. Bits of forest peaked out from the distance, just beyond the horizon, following the King's Highway. That must be it, that's how she got here. That's the only way anyone gets here. To Lothering. Not that anyone would want to leave.

She kept walking through the field, the bristles lightly brushing against her arms, as if welcoming here back.

Pink clouds floated along a purple sky. The chapel bell clanged. A few pillars of smoke emerged from some of the houses. No doubt people were returning home after another fruitful day, going to be with their families.

“I thought I was strong enough to get through this…. But I’m not.”

#Writing Tag #Writing Meme #Tether Fic

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sallow-graves · 2 years

Text

The Prettiest Star

Chapter 1- one day

cw: slight gore

To sing a song of when I loved the prettiest star.

There is a scream somewhere, within the shack, separate from Remus’ own. He is not completely conscious in this form, but he can feel it, deep in the pit of his stomach. The beast heightens his senses, sight, sound, taste, his typical attributes morphing into that of a monster’s, an amalgamation of pain and instincts. This slurry of senses is hard to maintain and keep up with, and sometimes, even amidst the moon, it is difficult for Remus to tell which sensation is real, and which is a maddened hallucination, a trick played by the wolf.

So, he does not think much of the scream, or the scent of human. Surely, it must just be lingering off one of the boys, even in their animagus forms. Typically, their respective animals mask the salty husk of human flesh, enough for the beast to keep it’s claws from their windpipes, but there is something human about the air. The aura of the shack. It feels different, but Remus has grown comfortable enough not to worry.

The boys will keep him safe. Every full moon for almost two years, they have accompanied him, taming the beast only as an animal could. Remus is beyond grateful for their presence, and definitely smells Prongs’ muddy hooves, so he relaxes, letting the beast capture his mind and soul.

With the help of his friends, Remus has been waking with no injury. He’s been well rested, albeit a bit achy from the transformation, but the beast is not so pent up and harmful. With the others, it doesn’t claw at the walls or it’s own skin, it runs freely with friends, a makeshift pack of unlikely creatures, feeling the cool night air in its fur and the light of the full moon through its veins.

This morning, Remus wakes in a sweat, aching and trembling as his heart races. He tries to breathe, failing miserably, chest heaving again and again. His head pounds with the threat of a migraine, blurring his vision as he rouses.

A glance around ensures he’s on the floor. Starkly naked and alone.

He lets himself breathe, trying to calm down. It’s been a long time since the moon has hit him so hard. He had such a handle on it before, what changed? What caused this resurgence of pain?

Minutes pass, though they feel like hours, and Remus sits up.

His hands are bloodied.

Panicking, Remus checks himself for cuts. Of course, the beast has torn his chest and face to ribbons. He can feel the blood dripping hot and wet down his features, splattering over his bare lap. He reaches a trembling hand, applying pressure to the gash through his lips, wincing at the stinging pain.

He is truly at a loss. He hasn’t hurt himself this badly since the beginning of fifth year. Now, nearing the end of his sixth, there’s no reason for him to be this hurt.

What happened?

Suddenly, Remus sniffs the air, his senses still strong even after the transformation.

Human.

He has grown so used to waking to find his friends, scrambling back into their shared invisibility cloak before Madam Pomfrey’s arrival. At the very least, Padfoot is always here, holding his hand delicately through the pain of morphing back to his own human form, waiting patiently for Remus to become himself again.

Now, he is alone. And the human scent is not his own, nor his friends.

Madam Pomfrey’s scent overwhelms it the second she is the shack. Remus loses its trail, and ultimately forgets about it while he holds his palm to the throbbing, open wound on his jaw.

When she enters, her face is beet red. She drops to her knees to heal him as best she can.

It’s been a long time since she has had to help him this way, aside from a salve for his migraines or a spell for his pain. Remus told her he had been getting used to the transformation in his adolescence, to spare his friends from the trouble they’d be in if someone found out. Whether she believes him or not, he has no idea, but she treats his wounds delicately with her wand, murmuring under her breath at a volume Remus could normally hear.

But, his brain is too clouded by pain, and confusion.

Where is everyone?

Madam Pomfrey waits for him to get dressed after handing him a stack of fresh clothes, turned towards the door with his back to him. Remus’ mind races. Did his friends abandon him? He must have gotten too comfortable, too reliant on their friendship. He should have never let his guard down, never trusted they would stay friends despite his curse.

Or, worse, did he hurt one of them? Remus can’t bear the thought, vigorously dabbing at his eyes to keep from crying.

He washes his hands in the sink downstairs, and splashes some water over his face to get rid of the blood. Though his limbs ache, he climbs down through the hatch, following behind Madam Pomfrey back into the school.

“Remus.” She says, halfway through the muddy passage. He looks down at her, inquisitive. “Professor Dumbledore has asked for you. ‘The moment he’s right,’ he said.”

There is a glimmer of fear in her eye that Remus has not seen in a long time. He must be in trouble for something. Great.

“Okay.” He says, racking his brain to find what he might have done wrong. It’s been about a month since his last detention. Surely, he can’t have done anything too bad.

He waves goodbye to her after thanking her for fetching him, and healing his wounds. Her smile is tight, but she squeezes his bicep like she always does, reassuring. She’s been here for every full moon, and she’ll be there for the next one, too.

The trek through the school towards the Headmaster’s office is a long one, especially given the state of Remus’ body. Outwardly, his wounds have been healed, but his limbs still ache with the stretch and crack of the transformation, his bones still frail. He pushes onward, though he hopes Dumbledore will let him collapse into bed for the rest of the day the second they see each other.

He typically would, or so Remus assumes. Dumbledore is one of the only people to know how harshly the moon affects him. Surely, the old wizard will be easy on him.

To Remus’ complete astonishment, he smells Peter. He pauses on the stairs, eyebrows furrowing, but climbs the last few steps, eyes widening as he spots the little boy on the floor.

Peter is the same age as Remus, just under seventeen, but physically could not be any more different. While Remus is tall, scrawny, and deathly pale, Peter is short, fat, and rosy cheeked, his blonde hair curling round his ears. He struggles to

get up off the floor when he spots Remus, using both hands to brace himself on the marble and push himself up, ass first.

Remus fights a smile.

“Alright, Wormy?” He says, ignoring the rasp in his voice. It’ll be hours, possibly a day or two, before he is completely back to his normal, human self. For now, his voice is gritty, biting with the edge of the beast’s hunger.

Frowning, and twisting his pajama shirt into a knot amidst his fists, Peter closes the distance, more sheepish than Remus has seen him in a long time.

“Merlin, what’s gotten into you?” Remus smiles, trying to ignore the creeping, desperate feeling of worry clawing up his spine. “You’re rattier than normal, mate.”

“I wanted…” Peter starts, cheeks trembling with each word. “I wanted to see you before.”

Remus sighs. “You heard, huh? I must be in real trouble. Madam Pomfrey was acting like I ate someone.”

When he laughs, Peter does not.

Clearing his throat, awkwardly, Remus stares at him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer still, ringing his hands together again and again.

Finally, Remus sighs, pushing past him. “Well, I’m knackered, so I’m just going to get this out of the way. I’ll catch you after.”

Peter squeaks, but doesn’t move, watching him go.

Ascending Dumbledore’s tower is quite difficult. Remus braces a hand on his knee, the other grasping desperately at the railing. The staircase spirals, like most of the stairs in the school, winding steeply up into an abyss of twinkling stars.

By the time he’s at the door, he’s practically ruined, doubled over to catch his breath. After the full moon, he’s especially weak, limbs trembling from exertion.

When he’s ready to stand again, Remus inhales, startled by the familiar scent.

Human.

He’s used to smelling other people throughout the school, especially post-transformation, but the familiarity of this particular stink startles him to stillness, frozen where he stands.

It’s familiar, but not in a comforting way. Remus has grown used to the smell of his human friends, and some of his teachers. This scent is too quiet, too new. Familiar only to the beast, and not to Remus, something that frightens him a little.

What happened last night replays in his head- even as he pushes open the doors to Dumbledore’s study.

The smell is overwhelming, now, burning his nostrils. Somewhere inside him, deep in his chest, the beast rumbles, threatening to escape.

Leave. The feeling whispers, sending a shiver up Remus’ aching spine. Run.

Slowly, he makes his way towards the main room, feeling smaller and smaller as the bookcases grow larger, spiraling round the desk in the center.

Dumbledore is seated at the desk, Professor McGonagall standing on his left. There are some students seated before them: a row of four seats, accompanied by three heads of black hair. The fourth seat is empty, in the center. Two students on one-side, one on the other.

At first, Remus feels bad for interrupting, knowing he should have knocked before he entered.

But, underneath the overwhelming new scent, Remus can smell a familiar star. Smoldering embers and dusty vinyl, then an underlying waft of fresh rose petals.

Sirius.

He pauses, suddenly terrified. Dumbledore stands.

“Mr. Lupin,” He says, gesturing to the empty chair. “Join us, please.”

Remus’ heart sinks. The scene reeks of something akin to an intervention. What did he do wrong? What do they want from him?

As he inches towards the desk, he picks up James’ scent, too. Mahogany wood, slick hair paste, cigarette ash.

His friends don’t turn to face him, so Remus focuses on the third head of hair, brow furrowing in confusion.

He inhales again. Grease, sweat, mung beetles. Snape.

Oh. Remus almost sighs, relieved instantly. That’s all this is.

Surely, Snape has bitched about another prank. Remus and his mates are in for another detention.

He relaxes a bit, outwardly, but the beast within draws another connection. Snape smells particularly human today. More than he normally does.

Finally, Remus rounds the chairs beside Sirius, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of the boys.

Sirius is fine, so it seems, but sitting by himself. He doesn’t look up at Remus, which is a bit odd, but Remus drops it for now, too focused on the state of the other two.

James’ glasses are crooked, accented by a few smudges and a hearty crack down the center of the left lense. Snape’s features are twisted into something like a sneer, though it feels more sinister.

Both of their shirts are stained with blood. Snape’s own is torn down the center.

“Remus.” McGonagall says, rounding the table to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Have a seat, please.”

Delirious, Remus slumps into the empty chair, sandwiched between Sirius and James. His ears ring when Snape inches his own chair away at the end, wooden legs scraping over the marble.

Run. The beast claws at Remus from the inside, aching to be let out again. Run.

McGonagall returns to her place beside the Headmaster, though Dumbledore does not return to his seat. He holds his arms behind his back, gray beard seeming whiter beneath the lights of the chamber’s chandeliers.

He doesn’t speak immediately, so Remus glances at Sirius.

Sirius avoids his gaze. That hurts more than the moon did.

“Well,” Dumbledore says, finally. “Mr. Black.” On Remus’ left, Sirius tenses. “Let’s fill him in, hmm?”

Sirius doesn’t move. McGonagall clears her throat, tipping her head from Sirius to Remus. “Sirius.”

When he doesn’t answer, her gaze shifts to James. Remus follows, surprised by the deep, disapproving frown on James’ usually chipper features. The anger rolls off of him in waves. Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so upset.

Another minute passes in silence. James sits up starkly. “Tell him.” He snips, hissing. Remus hates sitting between them. Sirius shakes his head, and James slumps. “Coward.”

Remus has heard them fight before, sure, but not like this. His heart aches, every ounce of his being wanting to flee.

Run. The beast begs.

The smart part of his brain ignores it, desperate to know what he’s done. Something is gravely wrong.

He turns to Sirius again, who says nothing, blue eyes trained on his hands.

“What?” Remus says, turning back towards Dumbledore and McGonagall. “What did I do?”

Professor McGonagall sighs, her expression grim. “You don’t remember any of last night, do you?”

Remus blinks, then glances at Snape. There’s no way she would talk so openly about his lycanthropy in front of other students. Not unless something awful happened.

He shakes his head.

Dumbledore speaks again, his voice trembling with anger. “Mr. Black.” Is all he says, and it is finally enough for Sirius to turn away, his own cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, or shame, or possibly both.

“I, um,” He says, raising a hand to his mouth.

When he pauses, James huffs. “Get on with it, Black.”

Sirius breathes through his nose, a cluster of short puffs. “I told Snivelley, as a joke, to press the knot in the Whomping Willow.”

Remus blinks at him.

“Well, it was a joke.” He says again, still hiding his face. “I didn’t tell him to keep going.”

“Bollocks,” James says, leaning forward to see past Remus. “You told him to-”

“I didn’t!” Sirius shakes his head, matching James’ fire. “So shove off.”

“You are so lucky Dumbledore’s here, or I’d bash your head in.” James says. “You-”

“Oh, leave it, Potter, I don’t need you playing my mum.”

“What happened?” Remus repeats, looking to Dumbledore directly.

The old wizard sinks into his chair while the other boys quiet back down. “Minerva.” He says, and McGonagall softens, reaching up to remove her hat.

“Mr. Black told Mr. Snape to go beneath the Whomping Willow. Regardless of the reason, he put Snape’s life in grave danger. If it weren’t for Potter, he certainly wouldn’t be with us anymore.”

Slowly, Remus pieces things together, bit by bit.

The screams, the smell of human.

Snape must have gotten into the shack.

“It’s no big deal.” James says, leaning into him. “Really, Moony, everything turned out okay. He shouldn’t have done that- and Severus shouldn’t have gone in, but-”

“But, I attacked him.”

Remus’ gaze moves to Snape, who stays frozen in his chair, sneer unwavering.

Slowly, James nods.

In an instant, Remus’ heart shatters, splintering through his veins like shards of glass. The ache bleeds through him, dread settling deep in his core. Remus never wants to hurt anyone, even someone as horrid as Snape, never dreamed of harming anyone, especially after so long with his friends’ protection.

Of course, they’ll expel him. If not, he’ll have to leave anyway. Snape’s parents are pureblood, his family rich. They’ll ruin the school if they know the danger he’s been put into, they’ll call for Dumbledore’s head.

Remus will return home, a place he despises, to a cold cage in the basement and a splay of newspapers on the floor.

McGonagall hands him a tissue. He didn’t realize he was crying.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. He hopes Snape hears it, though he knows it means nothing, in the end. “I’m so sorry.”

“We know, of course,” Dumbledore says, “there is no controlling the beast. There’s no way you could have prevented such danger, when Sirius led him right for you. This was unfortunate, and a horrendous incident for us all, but-”

“It is not your fault.” McGonagall cuts him off.

Remus can barely hear her. He knows she has a soft spot for him, and he for her, but the horrific guilt rips his insides to shreds, even as she holds a hand over her mouth to fight her own tears.

“Remus,” She says, her tone desperate. “It is not your fault.”

The beast snarls. Remus settles his head in his hands.

“We have to figure out how to resolve this. As well as punishment for you, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore says, standing. “Please, try not to hurt each other in our absence.” He steps away, and McGonagall quickly follows.

It is silent. Remus speaks into his hands. “I’m sorry.”

The silence stretches. The beast grows angrier.

“Moony,” Sirius says, finally, out of earshot of the adults. “I’m-”

“How could you?” Remus hisses into his skin.

He can hear Sirius straighten in his chair.

When Remus sits up, James is still glaring daggers at Sirius, who remains stiff and rigid.

“Remus, I-”

“I trusted you.” Remus whispers.

“I know, but-”

“You’ve any idea what they’ll do now?” James practically yells, not bothering to keep himself in check. “Do you even care about Moony at all? You know the way werewolves are treated, you know that Snape will ruin his life for this. He could be expelled, or sent to Azkaban like most bloody werewolves do. Did you even use your brain? At all?”

Run. The beast begs.

Please.

“Shove off, Potter.” Sirius spits. “Of course I-”

“Like, really think on it.” James says. “You said you know him better than anyone, so you should know this is the last thing he’d want, even for Snape. Now he’s got all this guilt, and you don’t even care.”

“I care!” Sirius insists, still stiff as a board. “I didn’t think that-”

“Yeah, you didn’t fucking think at all.” James turns to Remus again. “Moony, I’m sorry. I promise, I was already on my way into the shack, so I was able to get him out of there before something happened.”

Please. The beast rumbles. Ask.

The question burns beneath his skin. Remus swallows.

Snape doesn’t move, still watching everything unfold. Remus holds his gaze.

“Did it bite you?”

He doesn’t move, but Snape says the first thing he has all morning.

“No.”

The relief is not enough. Remus’ hands are trembling.

“It scratched him a good bit,” James says, recalling. “But I got it off him. Madam Pomfrey healed him up, right as rain, so it’s really all fine now.”

“It’s not.” Remus says. “When word gets out, I’m a goner.”

“We’ll figure it out, Moony.”

“No.” Remus sinks in his chair again, tears flowing freely now. “There’s nothing to figure out. There’s nothing.”

“Remus-”

“The school’s better off, anyway.” Remus mumbles. “Safer without a monster like me here.” James tries to protest, but Remus waves him off. “Doesn’t matter what Sirius meant. If I wasn’t here, no one would have gotten hurt.”

James huffs. “We’re fine, now.”

“Now.” Remus repeats. “What about before?”

This, he doesn’t have an answer to. All Remus can do is apologize again, and lean as far away from Sirius as possible.

When the adults return, Remus braces himself, heart stopping in anticipation.

“Ultimately,” Dumbledore says, seating himself again. “Though it is… unfortunate, we have to think about the state of the school, and the safety of its students. When families hear of this-”

“I’ll resign.” Remus says. “I’ll go. Before it gets out.”

McGonagall places a hand over her chest. “Remus…”

Dumbledore doesn’t say anything else, so Remus knows he agrees. It is safer for everyone if he goes. Maybe they’ll let him keep a few things, like his wand. Remus really likes his wand.

Minutes pass, and Remus wishes they’d just agree and get it over with. When no one speaks, he stands, rounding past Sirius to go pack. The quicker, the better.

The beast cowers at the thought of the cage, but he ignores it, best he can.

He’s halfway to the door when Snape speaks up, his slimy little voice surprisingly sonorous in the large room.

“I won’t say anything.”

Remus pauses. He turns around. Dumbledore and McGonagall peer at him, astonished.

“To anyone here. Nor to my parents.” Snape says.

The others stare at him, bewildered. Snape stands, crossing the floor to stand between the other boys and Remus. Remus’ heart pounds again, adrenaline pumping.

Snape points a crooked finger at him. “But you,” He says, eyes narrowing. “keep your dirty claws away from me. And you,” He whips to James. “don’t get to brag about saving me. I was fine on my own.”

“Right.” Says James. “We’ll keep off.”

Snape turns back to Remus, who nods fervently.

Satisfied, he turns back to Dumbledore and McGonagall. “So, that’s sorted.”

The adults glance at each other, before Dumbledore clears his throat. “Fifty points from Gryffindor for leading another student into such a dangerous situation. Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for sneaking out after curfew. Ten points to Gryffindor for saving the life of a fellow student,” He adds, winking to James. “Detention for all of you, except Mr. Lupin.”

The other boys nod.

“Be gone, the lot of you.”

Remus is so dumbfounded by the scraping of chairs and the shuffle of feet, he barely hears when the headmaster calls for him to hang back.

When the others are gone, Remus slowly returns to his seat, surprised when McGonagall moves to sit in Sirius’ seat beside him.

“Are you alright?” She asks, concern lacing her tone.

Slowly, Remus sighs. “I don’t understand.” He looks up at her. “I should be-”

“Now, I told you it is not your fault.” She says. “How could we rightfully punish you when you did nothing wrong?”

“I attacked him.” Remus whispers. “I tried to kill him.”

“You did nothing of the sort. The beast is uncontrollable. We take every precaution to ensure the students are safe- you take every precaution. What happens during your transformation is out of your control.”

Run.

“I’m still going to resign.”

“Remus,”

“No, I am.” Remus is sure of it. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

McGonagall sighs, looking to Dumbledore for help. He matches her tone, concerned. “Why don’t we wait and see how you feel after the moon is over.” He says, standing and gesturing to the door. “I know the beast must be begging you, so let’s revisit this when your head is clear.”

Remus is shocked at how right he is, but nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll send off to your professors so they know not to expect you in class.” McGonagall embraces him, a bit too tightly. “Straight to bed.”

He nods, dizzy, numb from the whole squabble, but stands when she releases his shoulders. His body runs on autopilot, following her orders and retreating down the stairs.

In the hallway, the others are filling Peter in. Even Snape lingers, hands fisted in the pockets of his robes.

Peter and James try to talk to him, but Remus goes right for Snape, stepping directly in front of him, between his nose and Remus’ roommates. Snape straightens, but doesn’t back down, looking up at Remus closely and holding his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Remus says again. Clearer than before, and directly to him. “I don’t control it. There’s no way to.”

“I know.” Snape says. “Dangerous beast as you may be, your craven apology tells me all I need to know.”

“I bet it does.” Remus doesn’t back away from him. “I appreciate you keeping this.”

Though he nods, Snape’s sneer holds strong. “If someone else figures it out, fine. But I won’t be the one to do it. I’d much rather take you out with something more satisfying than some gaudy wolf you can’t even contain.”

Remus nods, appreciative, despite his harsh words. He doesn’t address his roommates at all, unable to look at Sirius directly. Instead, he heads back to their shared dorm, limbs burning, ignoring the beast’s protests and planning to collapse into his mattress and sleep the rest of his aches away.

#harry potter #wolfstar #fanfiction #wolfstar fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders era #the prank #prisoner of azkaban #severus snape #james potter #peter pettigrew #albus dumbledore #minerva mcgonagall #miscommunication

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why-am-i-here-someone-save-me · 2 years

Note

May I ask for a SAGAU Venti x reader/player fic where the reader takes Venti to the GAA and mains him always please? And one day he sees the reader/player is crying so he’s determined to get out of the device to help her. Thank you! Also if you can please use she/her pronouns ❤️

Gladly! Since you didn’t specify wether you wanted cult sagau or just basic sagau, I went with basic since that seemed to fit your request a bit more. Also, while I do understand the request for a gendered reader; I do try to keep my works gender neutral, since it’s never fun to be left out. So while I can’t fulfill the fem!reader part, I can certainly do the rest!

Well Done

If someone had asked Venti where his favorite place was a few years ago, he wouldn’t have missed a beat before replying with the answer of ‘why, all of Mondstandt of course!’

But had someone asked him that now, well, his answer would be quite different.

While his nation would always be dear to him, he had found something he loved even more.

Your company.

He adored every moment with you, enjoyed going wherever you took him, every second with your presence was a joy. The bard’s heart would leap when he heard your voice, and the sound of your laugh was a sure fire way to make him smile.

But today… Today something was different.

You had been silent today. Uncharacteristically so.

He grew more and more nervous, but he really began to panic when he heard you sniffle quietly and hold back sobs. He wished with everything in him to reach out and comfort you, but he couldn’t reach your world.

You log out of the game, too emotionally exhausted to try to continue playing. Instead you opt to lie down and cry, letting the tears that had been begging to be shed all day finally go free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A bard clad in green barged into an alchemist’s mountainside camp, out of breath from the journey.

“Ah, Venti, what brings you here? Has something happened?”

“Albedo is the portal ready yet?”

“Oh that’s what this is about. I see. Well, in a literal sense, yes, it’s operational. However it is… Unstable. Extremely so. While I’m certain you must be eager to meet them, for now it’s best to be patient. I will need time to resolve some of the issues that have arisen before it is safe.”

“There’s no time for that! J-Just let me use it, I’ll be fine! I’ll test it out for you!”

“Are you alright Venti? You’re not this… frantic usually. Has something happened?”

Venti sighs softly and looks the researcher in the eye, a few stray tears in his own.

“…they were crying Albedo… They’re crying and I can’t do anything to help them from here…”

“… I… I see.”

Albedo hesitates for a moment before sighing himself.

“Very well, if you are certain you wish to take this risk, then I’ve no chance of swaying you. However, keep in mind, this is not permanent. The way the portal is now it can only form a temporary connection between worlds. Once that time is up, you will be transported back to Teyvat.”

“That’s fine. That’s enough, more than enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hugged the pillow tightly as you lie on your bed, having exhausted yourself from the emotional battle so thoroughly that you’d cried yourself to sleep.

Because of this, you didn’t see the familiar set of doors that you passed through every time you logged into Genshin materialize in your room. Nor did you see them open, or the figure that stepped through. You were too deep in sleep to know the fact that they muttered quiet words of affection and validation to you.

“You’ve been so strong… Please, let yourself rest [Name]. You’ve done more than enough…”

Later you’d awaken to a lingering scent of flowers and apple cider, and perhaps if you looked a moment more, you’d find a small pendant of a blooming cecilia left on your pillow.

#luci answers #luci writes #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin sagau #sagau venti #venti #venti x reader #genshin venti #venti the bard #gi venti #gi barbatos #genshin barbatos #sagau #comfort #fluff #request

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samstree · 3 years

Text

(fix-it attempt no.1)

“So.” Geralt retrieves the pot in the fireplace and inhales the fragrance of the mulled wine before pouring it into two cups. The spices assault his senses immediately, the alcohol strong in the air. Jaskier is also huddled before the hearth, although a bit to the back and rubbing his hands with anticipation. Geralt has to turn around to hand over his fill. “Yen told me about the trouble you run into,” he pauses, taking a sip, “because of me.”

The bard ignores him for a second to smell the wine, lets out a content noise, and then slurps the warm liquid quite indignantly. It’s hard to see Jaskier’s expression when he hides behind the tankard and the long fringe, his eyes somehow far away from the warm hall they currently occupy.

It’s hard to read Jaskier these days. Strange, he used to be so easy to read.

“Friends with Yen again, are we?” Jaskier says, after swallowing another gulp. His eyes are so wide and clear and nonchalant, but there’s a tightness in the corners of his lips at the mention of the Oxenfurt incident.

“Don’t distract me, Jask.” The nickname slips out and Jaskier blinks in surprise. Fuck, why is everything wrong now? “Just…you were alright?”

The question comes out tentative, too quiet. Perhaps it’s a bit late to check up on Jaskier for his prison ordeal, Geralt knows, and from the looks of it, the bard does too.

“All things considered,” Jaskier says, nursing his wine and tapping nervously on the cup, his forefinger scratching at the metal. “Why the sudden interest?”

The fine wine Yen conjured up from the other end of the continent suddenly taste bitter on Geralt’s tongue. Sudden interest.

“I—” He chokes a bit so he puts his cup down. “It’s not that I—Jaskier.”

It’s a minute thing, but Jaskier is shaking a little, just at his fingertips where he’s gripping the wine too tightly. He’s looking away too, away from Geralt’s searching gaze and retreating into himself.

Geralt chases instinctively, reaching for the cup and guiding Jaskier to put it down next to the fur rug. Their hands linger, their knuckles brushing. A few years ago, he might have commented on how insufferable Jaskier would be if he got wine stains on his shirt, but now… Now, whatever’s between them seems too fragile for even a joke.

“Hey,” he gentles his tone instead, because clearly Jaskier was not alright. Is not alright. “I’m sorry.”

“You said already,” the bard chuckles dryly.

“And I meant it.”

Something inexplicable passes Jaskier’s face, one that betrays the hurt lodged deep inside him. It hurts Geralt too.

“You’ve apologized twice in the past few days. That’s twice more than the twenty years I’ve known you.”

The sadness that weighs down on Jaskier’s voice is a stab through his heart, and Geralt chases again. He seems to do that a lot now.

“It won’t be like that anymore. I promise” He rubs at Jaskier’s hand to soothe his trembling and finds the bard’s skin cold and sweaty. The hall must be freezing for humans that even wine can’t help. “It’ll be different this time.”

“Big promises, witcher,” Jaskier answers softly.

Doubt recedes in blue eyes that are hiding behind long hair, only a hint remaining. His hands are still cold so Geralt keeps them between his palms, but heat comes back too slowly in dead of winter.

“Come here, you are too cold.” He tugs Jaskier forward to the fire, frowning at how little the human is wearing. “Sit here with me so you can put your hands—”

Before they reach the warmth surrounding the flames, Jaskier jerks his hands back with a yelp and lands on his back. “Shit, don’t—”

The acrid scent of fear relaces the heady alcohol very quickly, and Geralt puts his hand up a bit while keeping a hand’s breadth of space between them. “Jaskier?”

And suddenly, Geralt is scared too.

“Ha! It’s—” Jaskier clears his throat, trying desperately to right his shirt and adjust his posture, but there’s no hiding the way his eyes dart to the fire from time to time like a spooked animal. “I’m fine,” he lies, “don’t like fire, that’s all.”

It clicks.

How could he miss it?

“Oh,” Geralt breathes, “fire-fucker.”

“Catchy name,” Jaskier lets out a nervous laugh that sounds more like a sniff. “I see you’ve met the guy.”

“Hmm.”

He should have done worse to that mage back at the temple.

But now, Jaskier doesn’t need his anger. He’s taken on enough of it for a lifetime and more, and Geralt has no interest in repeating the same mistake.

So he settles on his new trick, the one that Ciri tells him to use more and has proven very effective.

Moving slowly as to not startle Jaskier again, Geralt kneels next to the bard and gathers him up into a careful embrace. Fear is a distant thing now, and all he can sense is the soap in Jaskier’s scent. They melt into the hug, and Jaskier places his hands at the small of Geralt’s back before burying his face in his shoulder.

“And now you’ve also hugged me twice more.” Jaskier’s voice is muffled by the fabric of Geralt’s shirt but the slight crack at the end of the sentence is unmistakable. Geralt tightens the hug, swaying ever so slightly. They must make a ridiculous sight, curled up on the ground and clinging like there’s no tomorrow.

“Don’t leave,” Geralt asks, dread still lumped in his throat. “Don’t get down the mountain alone. I know there’s no reason for you to stay. It’s…a crumbling keep at best, and you could still get hurt because of me, but—”

“But you need my help.”

There’s a finality in the way Jaskier says it, like he’s resigned to his fate already. In that prison cell, that’s all it took. All Geralt needed to do was ask, but right now, he wants to offer more even though he’ll never match up to what Jaskier deserves. He wants to offer all he has.

“I need you, Jask.” Geralt turns to press a ghost of a kiss at the shell of Jaskier’s ear before pulling away to meet eyes he’s missed so much in the past few months. Blue, like the sky of Kaer Morhen. “Just you.”

A smile hints at those beautiful eyes, and Jaskier cocks an eyebrow, mirth finally returning to his features.

“I’m here.”

“You are here.”

And maybe they will be okay. Not at the moment, but somewhere down the road. Geralt will make sure they see it together.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #coda #alright i have no idea what it is #just...eh #s2 spoilers #the witcher season 2 spoilers #twn spoilers

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luimagines · 3 years

Note

Id love to see how the chain would react to having to share a bed with the reader? And reader is super chill about it because cmon, it's just a bed, were just sleeping, but maybe some members of the chain arent super comfortable with the idea? (It can be fully platonic or romantic, your choice :D)

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

Thank you.

Galaxy brain

Masterlist

Part one will include Legend, Wild and Warrior

Content under the cut!

Legend

Legend drew the short stick of the draw.

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

He... can sleep on the floor. He says this out loud and you look back at him as if he’s grown a second head. Ok- new plan??? Does he even have one??

“Link.” You deadpan and oh no, why of all things, did you use his name?

“It’s a bed. We are just sleeping.” You say and kick your shoes off, tossing them to a random corner of the room and jumping on the single, very thin bed, without much thought. “I know you’re exhausted. Sacrifices must be made.”

“Yeah, so I can sleep on the floor. No big deal.” He shrugs, fighting the pounding the his heart, he’s sure if it was anything else you would be able to hear it. the steady drum beat is blasting in his ears, he finds it hard to hear anything you’re saying and yet your voice is amplified by the bare bones room, sending pleasant vibrations down his cerebellum and Legend need out- out now.

“I meant your pride, you big baby.” You roll your eyes.

That’s... not what this is about. Legend almost says that little tidbit out loud as well but it wouldn’t make this any easier on him. If anything, he knows it will lead to questions, and he knows that if you ask questions, he will be honest with you, because he can’t lie. Not to you. Not to your face. He can’t.

“Come on Link.” You pout and stretch your arms out and oh has he’s longed to see this. BUT UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCE.

He tries his hardest to not blush and bites his lip from the inside, praying it’s subtle enough for you not to notice. You’re cute, this whole thing is cute, man he wants to kiss those pouty lips- dear god you’re talking again.

“I promise I don’t smell.” You tilt your head and make little grabby hands toward him.

He gulps and nods, having lost the battle. He can’t deny you. He can’t think of a single moment where he was strong enough to tell you no. And you look so sweet and innocent and Legend would have fought Ganon a hundred times over if you so much as bat those pretty little eyes in his direction.

He shuts off the light.

“Legend, you coward.” You snort and laugh a bit into the darkness.

Legend feels himself emboldened by the darkness and the playful jab. “I’m no coward. Move over.”

“Yay!” You cry and he can hear you shift.

He moves toward the bed, shedding his outer layers and kicking off his own shoes, getting onto the bed while trying with every fiber in his body to ignore that he can already feel your body heat from where he is and smell the lingering scent of the soap you used earlier.

He’s going to die.

He lies down and chokes on the very air he breaths when you shift over again and wrap your arms around his, resting against his shoulder and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

“Is this ok?” You ask and Legend has to control his voice, either from screaming out in nervousness or cracking or laughing out loud from the very thought that it wouldn’t be ok.

He nods and finds that he can’t bring himself to speak so he nods his approval.

“Ok, goodnight Link.”

Legend gulps and shifts his hand around to hold you ever so slightly in return. “Goodnight.”

Wild

Wild was exhausted. He didn’t want to take another step or even keep his eyes open anymore.

But Twilight and Warrior kept him awake while everybody already went to bed for stupid stunt or another that quote unquote “could have cost him his life.” He’s already forgotten what he did- so frankly he has a hard time finding the will to care.

Time was no help. The Old Man left him to deal with those two as quickly as they checked into the inn.

He doesn’t even know who he got partnered up with only that they’re most likely already asleep. Unless its Legend. He hopes it’s not Legend. Wild cant go through another round of lectures. And on that note he hopes it’s not Time either.

Vaguely, he finds his room and opens the door.

Only one bed and well- he doesn’t see anyone else. Maybe he got lucky?

He doubts it but doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Wordlessly, he closes the door and sheds his layers, tossing them recklessly into his sheikah slate as he readies himself to get ready for bed.

He plops on, with little fanfare and jumps off just as quickly.

He could have squished you, and he defiantly woke you up.

“Mhh...” You groan, peaking your head from under the covers. “Link? Are you finally here? Oh, wait... Wild? Is that you?”

Oh be still, his traitorous heart. He did not just hear you say his name, in a groggy, sleepy and dare he say hopeful manner.

“I’m so sorry!” He hisses, no longer as tired as he felt before. “I can go somewhere else.”

“Don’t bother.” You sit up and yawn, wiping at your eyes in a way that nearly sends Wild halfway across the room just to kiss you. “There’s no other rooms in the inn, we checked. It’s ok. Come on.”

You hold your hand out to him.

“It’s bed time.”

“I can sleep on the floor.” Wild tries again, accepting your first answer as it is. “Just go back to sleep I’ll be ok.”

“What?” You raise an eyebrow. “In this filthy place? You would rather get cockroaches all over your face than like... a few dust mites?”

“That’s not it at all.”

“Is it me then?” You say point blank.

Wild freezes.

You notice.

“Aight, I’m gross. Good to know. Goodnight then.” And then you flop back into the bed and pull the blankets over your head.

“NO!” Wild shouts, pausing only when he realizes that he was louder than he should have been at this time at night.

“Come to bed then.” You say from your spot.

Wild frowns and shuffles over. He stands awkwardly by the bedside, trying to figure out how to go about it.

Your arm suddenly reaches out and snags onto his tunic, dragging him onto the bed and under the blanket.

“It’s bed time.” You say and you meant it.

Wild knows he loses this round and he doesn’t try to fight you on it.

Warrior

Warrior took a in a deep breath and steadied his nerves.

He can do this. He’s a general, a captain, a leader, he’s slept by your side before, he doesn’t fully understand why the thought of the change of scenery suddenly makes his heart go crazy.

It’s just for one night and you both need to sleep. It’s fine. No big deal.

“I. Am. Exhausted.” You groan and shut the door behind you with your back. “I’m tempted to give Time a piece of my mind for dragging us along for so long.”

Warrior laughs and he takes off his outer armor, getting ready to sleep without ever once looking in your direction. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Yeah? Mr. I- Get- All- The- Beauty- Sleep- I- Can doesn’t know the struggles of just waking up and not falling asleep again.” You grumble, trying to sounds snarkish but it’s trails off in the end, where your exhaustion takes over and you just sound done with the day.

Warrior knows how you feel but your comment catches his attention and he finally look over to you. “You don’t sleep well?”

“Who here does?” You raise an eyebrow and Warrior has to stick his will power to the sticking place or else you’d hear him gulp.

“I actually sleep pretty good compared to some of the others.” You continue and get off of the wall, beginning to take off your layers as well. “Just last night... I don’t what happened. I can’t even blame a nightmare I just straight up didn’t sleep.”

Warrior hums and looks away from you as calmly as he can. He goes back to busying himself with his own layers and soon he’s down to just his shirt, pants and socks. “Well, maybe you’ll sleep better tonight, who knows?”

“Man, I hope so. I don’t think I’d survive another traveling day otherwise. Not at the pace we’ve been going at anyway.” You groan and face plant into the bed.

Warrior smiles at the sight and take the pillow next to you. He was planning on just sleeping on the floor but your wrist jets out and grabs him.

“Nu-uh. Sleep.” You grumble, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Warrior calms his heart from the mild scare and finds himself laughing quietly. “That’s the plan. You can have the bed, it’s fine.”

You tug on his wrist. “I don’t bite, I swear. I know you need this just as much as I do. Arguably even more.”

“Why more?” Warrior lets himself be pulled by you and he sits on the edge of the bed as a silent compromise.

You flop your head up and look at him. Your hair goes flying in multiple directions now that you’ve let it down and Warrior finds it very hard to not stare at the adorableness. “Because you work a lot. Maybe the most out of all of us. I don’t mind sharing.... I swear I don’t kick in my sleep.”

Warrior snorts and leans down, getting closer to your face. “I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

You frown and grab him by the back of his collar, startling him. Then, with strength he didn’t know you had, you pull him close and trap him in a hug, making yourself comfortable against him.

His heart starts pounding and he can finally feel the blush he’s been fighting off burst onto his face. You’re warm and soft and truthfully either of you might fall off the bed if he doesn’t do something to change your positions. This more or else forces Warrior to finally lay down on the bed but you don’t let go of him.

“You’re one stubborn individual, you know that right?” Warrior raises and eyebrow, smirking ever so slightly as he shifts to keep himself on the bed.

You grin and go back to laying down on the pillow, closing your eyes and finally resting. “Hello Pot, I’m Kettle.”

Warrior laughs and follows suit.

“Is this ok?” You ask quietly and you move your hands so he can get the context of your question.

Warrior hums and wraps his arms around you too, smiling at the feeling and unapologetically feeling whole in that moment,

“I don’t mind at all, I assure you.”

Part 2

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

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