#its mild. it was worse a few minutes ago

[wanderingpeonies]

why is my brain . like this

[wishesunderthestars]

Of Storms And Vampires // Ch. 1

Pairings: Vampire!Yoongi x Witch!Reader x Vampire!Jungkook

Summary: During the worst storm you have witnessed in your life, a bat crashes on your window. When you bring it inside your cottage to take care of it, you realize it isn't simply a bat but a baby vampire. Your past has come back to haunt you because Jungkook's sire is no one else but Min Yoongi, who you had left behind when you disappeared five years ago.

Genre: fluff, angst

Word Count: 9.1k+

The wind howled outside with the voice of a thousand lost souls. You had read somewhere that the breeze and the sounds of the night were the dead singing. If that were true, tonight they were screaming. 

The storm had hit in the afternoon in full force, getting only worse since then. In seconds, the first few droplets turned into arrows of water falling from the heavens. Dark clouds overtook the sky, wiping out the sun and bringing the night early. Lightning struck every few minutes followed by loud thunder that sounded too close for comfort. You had sensed the storm brewing a few days ago but only yesterday you had realized how strong it was going to be. It was like all the rage of the Gods had been released at once.

The rain splattered on the windowpane relentlessly, a constant murmuring in the background interrupted only by the thunder. You could cast a silencing spell but you needed to be aware of what was happening outside and the sounds were comforting in a way. It was the music of lonely nights and disasters. 

You were curled up in the overstuffed armchair next to the fireplace, a book on kitchen magic leaning on your thighs. The fire flickered and danced, flaming tendrils reaching for above. It was a calm night for you, almost peaceful. You had been casting protections against the storm on your house, your garden, and the small farmhouse of your animals for days. There was nothing to worry about, you were more than safe. But your mind kept going to the town. It was the worst storm this part of the world had seen in decades.

You flipped the page to the recipe for an antipyretic potion and breathed in the smoky scent of burning firewood. Your eyes scanned over the ingredients of the potion and you considered how it could be improved to better fit your magic, without losing its essence. It was hard changing existing recipes and spells but when done right, it could be very rewarding. 

You sensed the presence before you heard the thud. It was small and weak, pulsing in flashes. Something had hit your window but you had only seen a black blur before it disappeared. You closed the book and lowered your feet from the couch, listening for any more noises. None followed. The rain continued like before. 

The aura of something—someone—, that hadn't been there before persisted. You had to see what it was, maybe it was an injured animal that needed your help. The forest would lead them to you sometimes, both animals and humans in need. 

You wrapped your black cloak around yourself and raised the hood. It was woven with enchanted thread for protection and stitched with intentions of blending in with your surroundings. The protection applied to the weather as well, it wouldn't completely spare you from the heavy rain but it would be more like going out during a mild rainfall instead of getting drenched within seconds. 

Outside, the world was dark and ominous. Trees lurched and bent under the force of the wind, its strength was enough to uproot some smaller and more frail ones. The rain bounced off your cloak and thunder boomed overhead. You shielded your lantern underneath your cloak and, with your boots sinking into the wet earth, moved carefully toward where you had heard the sound. At first, you didn't see it in the darkness but when your eyes adjusted, you noticed the outline of the crumbled figure underneath the window. 

The creature was small and it was shivering, probably both by the cold and the fear of the storm. You approached slowly, trying to seem non-threatening. It was a small bat, one of its wings bent at a weird angle and the other hiding its face. 

"Hello, little guy," you said, sending some of your energy to the bat to soothe it. The wind swept your voice away but you still tried. "I'm going to have to pick you up and take you inside. You can't stay out here in the storm." 

With a short incantation, you enchanted the lantern to float in place and slid one hand underneath the bat's small form, covering it gently with your other hand. It struggled a little but settled soon. By touch, you understood two things. It wasn't a normal bat but, in your hands, you were holding a vampire. And it was a very young one. 

"I'm going to take care of you," you promised, cradling the vampire close to your chest. "You don't have to be afraid." 

You rushed back inside, careful not to jostle him. You unclasped your coat, took off your boots at the entrance, and carried the baby vampire into the living room, sitting down on the armchair near the fire. His small body was trembling and the fire would calm the cold leeching on his bones. You laid him on your thighs to take a quick look at his injuries. There were a couple you could see at first glance, one of his wings was broken and there was a shallow gash on his belly. 

You touched his forehead with two fingers and transferred some more of your energy to him. The vampire flinched but when he felt life seeping into his veins, his eyes—which were larger than any other bat you had seen—widened, looking at you in wonder.

“Stay here,” you advised, laying him on the armchair as you got up. “I’ll be back with a few things to treat your injuries. Don’t move too much.”

You kept most of your potions and salves in the kitchen, they were in jars and tins of various sizes stored in your cabinets. Various herbs tied together with thick strings were hanging from the ceiling and potted plants lined the windowsills. The counters were cluttered with multiple ingredients for potions and spells, from the most common ones like dried daisies, mint, and sea glass to some rare—or mostly avoided—ones like bleeding nightshade, dragon hair, and heart crystals.

You opened the cabinet that contained most of your medicinal potions and a few salves. You skimmed over the labels, reciting their properties in your head and contemplating which ones would be better suited for a vampire. In the end, you grabbed a vial of dark green liquid and a small bottle, the inside of which was reflective like a mirror. The first one was to fight off the effects of the cold, it wasn’t easy for vampires to get sick but the vampire was young and he had probably spent too much time in the storm. The second one was to ease the pain and speed up healing and its effects could last for as long as twelve hours. Before returning to the living room, you grabbed a platinum tin containing a salve that would accelerate the process of the skin stitching together.

The baby vampire had obediently stayed where you had left him, his eyes were half-closed and he was still shaking. There was a small pang in your heart for him. Baby vampires weren’t supposed to be alone for more than a few hours, they needed the presence of their sire like humans needed air. But here he was, alone in the forest with a witch and his sire nowhere in sight.

“I’m back,” you said softly. The vampire opened his eyes a little and turned his head in your direction. His eyes were so bright, much brighter than any vampire you had ever met. “I need to take care of your injuries now. You need to drink these, they are going to help you heal.” 

The vampire eyed the potions but, surprisingly, he didn’t put up a fight, opening his mouth. 

“Good boy,” you said and if the vampire was in his human form, you were sure he would be blushing. As much as vampires could blush. You poured the green potion in his mouth first and when he swallowed, he made a face of disgust. “I know it doesn’t taste great but it’s one of the best potions for this.” He tilted his head and to distract him, you started explaining to him what the properties of each potion were.

You applied the salve on his wound with careful fingers, he whimpered but didn’t snap at you like you had expected. He was pretty docile for a young vampire, who could get violent away from their sire’s protection. Then, you made a small cast out of some cloth for his wing.

“By tomorrow night, you will be able to shift back. We can see how much your arm has been affected then. But I believe you will make a quick recovery,” you said and the bat let out a chirp. “Please, in the future, avoid going out before or during storms. Your bat form isn’t strong enough to withstand this kind of weather. You’re very lucky you hit my window.” He made a squeaking sound and lowered his head at your admonishment. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Some of the most sensitive ingredients were kept in the refrigerator that was powered by magic. One of those ingredients, stored in a large jar, was human blood. It was one of the ingredients that was frowned upon but was necessary for your type of magic and a very powerful asset. You poured a good amount into a bowl and put the rest back in the fridge.

The scent of blood made the vampire’s head shoot up as soon as you walked into the living room. “Stay there, I’m bringing it to you.” The vampire made a few more chirping noises as you carried the bowl and set it in front of him. He looked at you and when you nodded, he dived head-first into the blood. “It isn’t fresh but it will have to do. I know that baby vampires need blood.”

He gulped down the blood hungrily and when the bowl was licked clean, he looked at you with his large eyes. 

“That’s enough for now. I’ll give you more later,” you said, picking up the bowl. “Now, rest.”

Vampires stayed in nests with their sires while they were still young, so you tried to make a mock nest for the small bat. On the floor by the fireplace, you bunched up a fluffy blanket, placed two pillows on top, and laid the vampire inside. You thought you heard him sigh as he settled, making himself comfortable. After the events of the day and the two potions, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. 

Near this side of the forest, there was only one small town from where he could have got lost. You tried to remember if there were any vampires that lived in the town but came up blank. You didn’t visit the town often and your interactions with its inhabitants were rare. Whatever you learned about them, you learned from Seokjin, who took it up to himself to fill you in on all the gossip he could remember. And he had a very strong memory. 

You stayed in the living room for a while longer, picking up the magic book where you left off and throwing glances at the bat every few pages. He was sleeping soundlessly, shifting only when thunder struck somewhere nearby. Soon, you closed the book again and after adjusting the blanket around the vampire’s small form, you retired to your room for the night.

The next morning, you woke up to the sounds of the storm raging outside. The wind whipped the roof and the walls and the rain falling was enough to fill up a river. Outside the window of your bedroom, the world was being suffocated in gray. The sun had disappeared, hidden behind the endless expanse of dark clouds. The storm would last through the day and hopefully calm during the night. However, the signs showed that it wouldn’t be gone soon.

You dressed for the day and braided your hair to keep it out of your face. There were things you had to do, despite the storm outside. Most importantly, there was a baby vampire that needed your attention in the living room.

Said vampire was awake and lazying around in his makeshift nest. He blinked slowly at you before letting out a couple of chirps, shaking his not-injured wing in what you guessed was the bat equivalent to waving at you. You had to admit that he was adorable as he greeted you enthusiastically.

“Good morning. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?” you asked and the bat nodded his head. He gestured to his belly with his wing and you were glad to see that the skin was already stitching itself together. “This looks good, you are healing quickly. By nightfall, it will only be a small scar and that will go away soon too. But you will still need to be careful, don’t go flying into a storm again.” He squeaked lowly and lowered his head, making you giggle. “Now, let me take a look at your wing.”

His wing was also healing nicely and, as you had predicted, he would be able to turn back into his human form, if he wanted to, by the end of the day. It would make communication much easier although you weren’t sure if you would prefer that over the cute bat. You had found over the years living alone in your cottage in the forest that you were better at interacting with animals than with people. 

You let go of his wing and the vampire squeaked and pointed to his belly and then his mouth.

“Are you hungry? Do you want some blood?” you asked and he responded by pleased chirping. “Okay, I’ll bring some to you since you have been a good patient.”

You poured some blood for him in the same bowl as yesterday. The jar of human blood was enough to get you through more than a year of potions and spells but it could barely last for two days as the main food source of a vampire, especially a young one that needed feeding regularly. You hoped the storm would ease by tomorrow and you would be able to look for his sire. You would have to be on guard because sires were overprotective of their fledglings and if they believed you had been keeping them apart for no reason, it could get ugly.

You placed the bowl in front of the vampire, who chirped in thanks and started drinking messily. Blood stained the fur around his mouth and he looked almost angry at how good the blood tasted. For now, your priority was to take care of him, you would have to worry about his sire later. 

While the vampire was drinking his blood, you bustled around the kitchen. You made a quick and simple breakfast for yourself, a cup of tea with ginseng for energy and bread with homemade strawberry jam. Like every morning, you lit up a fire in the hearth and filled your cauldron with water and a crystalline blue powder you had made for cleansing. Something was always brewing in a witch’s cauldron.

You were going to make a specialized potion for the little vampire to enhance his healing abilities. The effects of the one you had given him last night would have worn off and personalized potions were more effective. Opening and closing cupboards and drawers, you gathered a few of the ingredients you would use, consulting a recipe from a magic book focused on magical creatures. 

After a few minutes, the cauldron was clean and ready for work. You measured the first few ingredients and put them in. They needed to boil a couple of hours on their own before you added a pinch of dried rosemary and red oyster mushrooms. Brewing potions was like performing a ritual, it wasn’t only about the ingredients and the quantities, it was about the timing, the intentions, and each action itself. You had to sense what the potion needed and how it needed it done. Some potions could take days to make and the more difficult ones could be ruined by a single wrong move or even a bad thought. It was a delicate process but you enjoyed it. 

The rain persisted but you had to go outside to feed the animals and make sure that their protections were holding up. The storm must have scared them and your presence would calm them.

The vampire had closed his eyes again, the bowl in front of him empty. He opened one eye to look at you and as you picked up the bowl to return it to the kitchen, he bumped his head against your hand.

“Do you like petting?” you asked, stroking between his ears. He closed his eyes and wiggled happily at the attention. “You do, don’t you? You are really cute, such a cute bat.” He preened at the praise and you cooed. “I’ll go outside for a bit but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

The vampire chirped in answer although he didn’t seem happy to be deprived of petting. You threw on your cloak to protect yourself from the wild weather outside and made your way to the small farmhouse. 

It was only a few meters away from the house, through a cobblestone path that at least saved your boots from sinking in the mud. The farmhouse had been there when Seokjin had first led you to this place but it had been in a much worse condition than the house. The roof had crumpled in and the walls would have followed soon, leaving nothing but a heap of decayed wood. The renovations lasted a couple of months, accomplished mostly by you, Seokjin, Jimin, and a few people from the town that Seokjin had called when he realized there were a few things that, magic or not, you simply couldn’t do.

The ground of the farmhouse was dry, evidence that your protection spells were still holding strong. The familiar sounds of the animals greeted you, the bleating and the clucking, the hooves against the ground, and the flapping of wings. There were ten chickens, six goats, and Daisy, your horse, who had got her name from her fondness of eating daisies. They all had their own fenced areas with enough space to roam and stretch their limbs—the fence of the chicken coop almost reached the ceiling because your chickens could somehow fly much higher than normal chickens could.

You visited all of the animals, petting them and replenishing their food. None of them liked the thunder and the wind howling but, luckily, they understood they were safe inside. They surrounded you and you spoke softly to them. You weren’t an animal witch but you were good with them. You had learned quickly and you had been surprised to find that animals enjoyed your company.

Last, you went to Daisy. You stroked her neck, fed her apples, and promised to take her on a long walk to the fields at the end of the forest and let her gallop for as long as she liked. Forests weren’t the most suitable places for horses but Daisy seemed to like it well enough as long as you took her to the fields from time to time.

Returning to the house, you found the vampire squirming and agitated. Apparently, he didn’t like staying still for such a long time, so you carried him with you to the kitchen. His eyes followed you while you worked on the potion so you started explaining to him what you were doing. You weren’t sure how much he understood or how much he knew about witchcraft but he was an attentive audience. He made sounds whenever you said something interesting and he stopped hopping around the counter whenever you told him to.

For lunch, you heated up some leftover tomato soup from the previous day and you fed the bat a plum. Once upon a time, there was a vampire you had been close with, or you had been getting there, and he had told you that plums were his favorite food to eat when he was in bat form. The little one on your table must be the same because he devoured it. 

He kept you company for the rest of the day and at some point he somehow ended up clinging on your shoulder and refused to budge. He didn’t weigh much so you didn’t mind and you guessed he was missing his sire and needed some contact to stay grounded.

In the afternoon, the potion was ready. First, you poured the potion into the bat’s mouth like you had done the previous night and then filled his bowl with blood. Your work in the kitchen was done and you returned to the living room, settling in the armchair. The vampire curled up in your lap and you petted his head while you flipped through a random book from your stack on the floor. You had run out of space so your books were everywhere now. You should hire someone to make more shelves for you.

The vampire was getting drowsy so you left him in the armchair and you went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for yourself. It was part of your routine to have a cup of tea along with some baked goods in the afternoon. Living away from civilization, you had discovered the comfort of mundane moments and the importance of a nice routine. 

You boiled water and looked through your jars of tea. They were your own varieties, you had mixed their ingredients with light enchantments to boost their benefits. Black tea was one of your favorites to drink in the afternoon so you chose one with maple and vanilla pieces, hazelnuts, nutmeg and honeybush. It was fitting for the weather. The sweet honey fragrance mingled with vanilla tickled your nose when you opened the jar. You filled the teapot with the hot water and added two tablespoons of tea to the infuser. 

In the 4 minutes the tea required to brew, you cut a piece of the apple pie you had made yesterday and plated it. The aroma of the soft, spiced apples and the brown sugar drifted in the kitchen. A tiny bit of magic kept anything you baked as fresh as the day they were pulled out of the oven. Another thing you discovered while living in the forest was your love for baking. When you lived in the city, you had dabbled in baking, occasionally baking chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon rolls, but it wasn’t until you moved here that you truly fell in love with it. 

You arranged everything in a tray, along with a smaller cup in case the vampire wanted to try, but you stopped short at the door to the living room. The tray almost slipped from your hands at the sight of a young man sitting where the little bat used to be. He looked young, with large eyes and messy dark hair that reached past his ears. A silver ring glinted on his bottom lip and more silver earrings adorned both of his ears. He was wearing all black and you could see the beginnings of a tattoo underneath the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Hi,” he said, sheepishly waving at you. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to.”

You had to get yourself together, you had known since the beginning that it wasn’t a regular bat you were treating but a vampire that would need to turn back into his other form at some point. You had expected it, it was obvious that it would happen at some point. You shouldn’t be surprised. But you hadn’t expected him to look… like that.

“You didn’t scare me, I was just surprised,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you in this form.”

He fidgeted with his sleeves, making himself smaller. “Did you like my other form better? I can change back. It just makes me feel a little weird when I’m a bat for too long. But I can change back, I can.”

“No, no,” you rushed to say. “I don’t mind really. This form is nice as well.” 

Mentally, you slapped yourself, you couldn’t be more awkward if you tried. At least, the vampire looked pleased at that, a small smile making its way to his face. It was unfair that he was cute even in his human form. 

You approached and put the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s good that you are back in this form. Now, we can finally meet. What is your name?”

“Jungkook,” the vampire replied shyly and you offered your own name. “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t taken me in. I’m not sure if I would have made it.” His smile tightened and you shuddered just thinking about it. “I’m really thankful for everything. If there is any way for me to repay you, I will do anything.”

“There is no need for that. I wanted to help you and it was the right thing to do. Just promise me you will be careful in the future. Your bat form is small and you saw how dangerous storms can be for you.”

Jungkook nodded, abashed. “I won’t, I promise. I thought I had some time before it hit and I wanted to explore the forest. I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry to me, it’s you who was flung from tree to tree last night.” He chuckled a little at that. “Do you want some tea? It’s black with maple and vanilla.”

“Yes, please,” he said politely.

You picked up the black ceramic teapot and paused. “I brought a cup for you because I thought you would be in your bat form. Would you like a mug?”

“No, no, the cup is fine,” Jungkook insisted.

You poured some into the cup first and then into your mug. The cup was from the same set as the teapot, black and with the same engravings of flowers and vines. Your mug was a gift from Seokjin during his pottery phase, like many of his obsessions you weren’t sure how or why it started. It was weird cups at first that looked like melting pieces of clay but he got pretty good by the end. Before he moved on to his next obsession, he was able to make things like your mug, which was shaped like a cauldron and he and Jimin had painted it to look like the night sky.

Jungkook hugged his cup in his hands, bringing it close to his face. He breathed in the sweet aroma of tea and closed his eyes in delight. 

“Do you want some honey or sugar?” you asked, taking a seat on the couch. “I usually drink my own without and I didn’t think to bring any.”

“No, it’s okay.” He took the first sip and you could tell that it wasn’t okay. He frowned, but not in the way you had seen when he was drinking blood, and pursed his lips. He didn’t say anything but it was clear he was trying to pretend that it wasn’t too bitter for him.

You chuckled and set your mug down. “I’ll bring some honey for you.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook said, wincing subtly.

You got the jar of honey from the kitchen and added two teaspoons to his tea. That way, he liked it enough that he asked for a refill. While you drank your tea together, he explained to you that he was in town for a few days visiting some friends with his sire. He had spent all of his life in the city and the small town and the forest fascinated him. He knew that there was a storm coming but he hadn’t realized the extent of it. He had been planning to go for a quick flight to stretch his wings before it hit, he hadn’t got to explore the forest yet and he was curious. Unfortunately, the storm hit early and the wind had dragged him deeper into the darkness.

“I thought I wouldn’t make it out,” he admitted quietly, holding his cup close to his chest. “It was so strong and so loud and I couldn’t fight it. I’m not very strong in my bat form, I’m still young and I don’t have much practice. I couldn’t hold on to anything and I couldn’t find shelter. I was thinking about my sire and how sad he would be. He must be very worried.”

The bond between sires and their fledglings was very strong and for the first months after the turning, some sires wouldn’t even let their fledgling out of their sight. For years, the sires would take care of the younger vampires, help them adjust, and teach them everything about their new life. It wasn’t commonly understood but sires needed their fledglings as much as their fledglings needed them. You had read that there was a part of them, an echo of their own blood from the turning in their fledgling’s bloodstream, that called for them to be by their side.

“The storm is messing up with any means of magical communication but as soon as it calms a little, I can send a message to town,” you offered. “We can let him know you’re safe here until the worst passes and you can safely return to town. The townspeople know me, it will be alright.”

“Thank you.” You had lost count of how many times he had thanked you since he had changed forms. 

You finished your tea and roped him into a game of cards to distract him from the thoughts of his sire. He got engrossed into the game quickly and he won two out of the three rounds you played. He had a competitive streak and he learned quickly the rules of every game you taught him. 

It had been a few months since you had played cards with someone. Jimin had been the one to teach you and you had only ever played with him and Seokjin. It was fun to share this with someone else, even when he pouted when he lost. You didn’t care about winning very much so you didn’t mind and his excitement when he won was heart-warming to watch.

He jumped when loud thunder cracked through the night and you told him that he didn’t have to worry. You had applied strong protections on the house and the garden. And the forest protected you too. The storm was interfering with its magic but nothing could change its core and nothing could turn it on you. Turning on you would be like turning on itself and the forest was too wise for that.

You played games until well into the night. Jungkook’s eyes were growing heavy and his mouth stretched in small yawns. It was time to go to sleep. Jungkook curled up on the couch and you carried two knitted blankets to the living room and wrapped them around him. His cheeks grew rosy and he giggled at being tucked into bed like a child. 

You left the fire burning in the hearth to keep him warm in the night.

“Goodnight, Jungkook. Have sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight,” he said, muffled by the blankets. “Sweet dreams.”

There was a change in the air like the turning of the tides. Your limbs were lighter and something different was lingering on your skin. You padded to the window and drew the curtains to the side. The sky was cloudy but it was no longer the suffocating darkness of the day before. The trees swayed and the rain persisted but it wasn’t attempting to drown the earth anymore. The storm was breaking.

You threw on one of your long black skirts and a brown sweatshirt and climbed down the stairs to the living room. Jungkook was sitting up on the couch and already looking in your direction when you walked inside. Supernatural hearing, you forgot about it sometimes. 

"Good morning,” you greeted him. “The storm is slowly calming down. I will probably be able to send a message to the town and by tomorrow, it will be safe for you to return.”

“Thank you so much,” Jungkook said. He was fidgeting with his sleeves again but his smile was unmistakable. “I hope my sire will forgive me for being so careless.”

“I’m sure he will. For now, breakfast blood?”

Jungkook’s smile widened as he eagerly agreed. You couldn’t offer him the amount of blood he was used to, you had to ration it to make sure that it would last. It would be very difficult to get human blood once your supply was gone. 

You hadn’t reached the kitchen yet when you sensed someone pass through your wards. The presence was familiar, the knowledge sitting in a hidden pocket in your brain and you couldn’t touch it. Jungkook hurried to the window, the path leading up to the door could be seen from there. He let out a small yelp before bolting to the door and throwing it open.

“Yoongi!” he shouted the name that had circled your mind for years. The presence was in your house and the name fit like a glove. Against your better judgment, you walked towards them to see for yourself. It could be someone else, couldn’t it? You just had to take a look.

He was clinging to Jungkook, hugging him so tightly it looked painful. Half of his face was hidden against the fledgling’s shoulder but it was unmistakably him. The memories were as clear as when you made them, they resurfaced stronger than any of your nightly musings bordering on regrets. His hair was longer than you remembered, reaching past his nape, his cat eyes were clenched shut and his skin was white porcelain. He was also drenched to the bone.

“I looked for you,” he said and his voice awoke more memories. “I looked for you everywhere I could– But the storm was too strong. We were locked inside for so long. They wouldn’t let me out. Don’t ever do that to me again, do you hear me? Don’t ever disappear on me like that. I was going out of my mind.”

“Never, I promise.” Jungkook was hugging him just as tight and although he was bigger in stature, he made himself smaller in the older vampire’s arms. “I’m alright. I was safe here. The wind carried me here and I was well taken care of. I should introduce you,” he said with excitement, pulling back a little.

Yoongi opened his eyes, their dark color made your heart beat faster. He looked at you behind Jungkook and when your eyes connected you could see the myriad of emotions passing through them. First, there was surprise, then disbelief and confusion and all the minor ones in-between. You had disappeared from one day to another, leaving no trace behind and no trail to follow. He must have believed he would never see you again.

Oblivious to the change in the atmosphere, Jungkook introduced you to each other, telling his sire how well you took care of him and that you kept him warm and well-fed and healed his injuries. You couldn’t read Yoongi, there must have been a point in your history that you had been able to but that was lost now. 

There was silence after the introductions were over. Jungkook’s eyes jumped between the two of you. “Did I say something?”

“No, no, we just– We knew each other. In another life,” you said. Before you had enough of the wary glances and offending questions and fled the city. Before the manifestation of everything you had been afraid of. 

Yoongi’s lips parted and he looked away. “We did. In another life,” he repeated bitterly. 

“Oh.” Jungkook stood awkwardly between the two of you, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Thunder boomed outside and you rushed to close the door that they had forgotten half-open during their reunion. That served to remind you about the very important fact that Yoongi was wet enough to have taken a long dive in the lake.

“I’ll bring some towels, you’re dripping,” you said and climbed upstairs. 

It was an escape but a necessary one. It gave you some time to think. Jungkook’s sire was Yoongi. Yoongi, who you had known for years when you lived in the city, who you had tried to forget for years while you lived in this cottage but gave in once you realized it was impossible. He starred in most of your favorite memories from the city. And that’s exactly what he was supposed to be. A memory.

What was he doing in your forest? You had run so far away from the city that no one from your past would be able to find you. Except one. You had one link left to your old life, Seokjin. Seokjin was the one who had shown you this cottage hidden in the forest that spilled into his hometown. When the incident had happened and you were desperate for an escape, he had been your savior and he had swore not to tell anyone about your whereabouts. Seokjin was also Yoongi’s friend.

The dots were connecting. Seokjin and Jimin were the friends Yoongi and Jungkook were visiting. 

You grabbed two forest green towels and paused in the hallway. Seokjin hadn’t told you. The few times you had seen him in the past weeks, he hadn't mentioned anything about Yoongi. A twinge of hurt scraped at your heart. He should have told you. If he knew Yoongi would be visiting, why wouldn’t he tell you? He knew who Yoongi used to be to you. Had he thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it? No one was supposed to know you were here but that was all over now.

You took a deep breath and returned downstairs. Yoongi was where you had left him, a small puddle of rainwater pooled at his feet. Jungkook’s clothes were also a little wet from their embrace but it was nothing compared to his sire.

“Here,” you said, handing him the towels.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for your floor.”

“The floor can be cleaned. You will catch your death like this.”

He rubbed his hair with the towel. “I’m already dead.”

You scoffed. “That doesn’t work on me. I know vampires are not as indestructible as you would like to think. I have a spell to get all the water out of your clothes but I haven’t tried it on clothes that are currently being worn.”

Yoongi looked down at his drenched clothes. “It’s not that bad.”

“You are making a small lake on the floor,” you pointed out. “You didn’t even take an umbrella with you?”

“It was no use against the wind.” 

The wind wasn’t so bad now but you guessed it must have been worse when he set out to find Jungkook. He could have been looking for hours before he stumbled upon your house. Usually, the forest helped along the ones who looked for you but the storm was messing with its energy.

Yoongi gave you permission to use the drying spell on his clothes, his face scrunching up when the water was removed. You didn’t use it often because it left the clothes stiff and weird to the touch for some time. They turned too dry but in the present situation, you didn’t have many options. 

Jungkook was still looking between the two of you in confusion as he held on to Yoongi’s arm, although witnessing the spell had put a smile on his face.

“Now that you’re dry, let’s move to the living room,” you said. “I’ll get the fire going and make some tea. None of you are going out in the rain.”

Yoongi studied you and you felt naked under his eyes. He was the only person from your past, other than Seokjin, that you had seen since you fled. He knew a version of you that no longer existed and you hadn’t been prepared for that. In the end, you should have known. The past always comes knocking regardless of how long and how far you run from it. 

Yoongi didn’t pretend to turn you down to be polite but silently followed you to the living room. Jungkook pointed to the armchair by the fire that he had claimed for himself and gushed about how comfortable and soft it was. However, he didn’t sit there in favor of staying close to Yoongi on the couch. It was clear he had missed his sire and he needed to be as close to him as possible.

You picked up a few logs of wood from the metal box near the fireplace and stacked them inside. You added two layers of kindling and reached for the matches.

“How do you know each other?” Jungkook asked, breaking the fragile silence. 

Yoongi looked at you, staying quiet. He was going to let you share as much as you wanted. You were surprised that he wasn’t asking more questions himself. Maybe he hadn’t cared as much as Seokjin had told you. Maybe it was the shock.

“I used to live in the city,” you started. “I went to the Academy of Magical Arts and Sorcery and we met on campus. Yoongi was visiting a friend of his.”

“Namjoon?” Jungkook asked and Yoongi nodded. 

Namjoon was another person who you hadn’t seen in years. He was a powerful witch but he had chosen the academic route and didn’t practice magic much. You hadn’t been very close but you could have got there. You enjoyed his company and you could talk for hours. You would see him in the library and around campus and you had coffee together a few times and talked about magic theory and how energy flowed through living things. Seokjin was your only link to him as well and you had learned from him that he was still teaching at the University and he had been promoted from assistant professor to professor. When the news reached them, Seokjin and Jimin had traveled to the city to celebrate with him.

“We haven’t spoken since she left the city,” Yoongi said it simply like you had decided to leave one day instead of fleeing in the night, taking the last train to a town in the middle of nowhere. That had been five years ago.

You lit up a match, the action familiar and comforting, and threw it between the logs. The fire spread slowly, enveloping the wood. You stroked the flames with the poker, pushing and pulling the logs until the fire was burning strong.

You got up and wiped your hands on the soot-stained towel that hung from the same hook as the poker. “I’ll make some tea to fend off the cold.”

In the kitchen, you put on your apron with the embroidered mushrooms and marigolds, taking a moment to pull yourself together. It felt like everything was spinning out of control. The ghosts of your past never disappeared but they hadn’t been more than ghosts until now. 

You focused on the task at hand, setting the water to boil and opening the cabinet that housed your tea jars. Echinacea and elderberry tea with dried angel lotus leaves was the most effective for preventing colds and boosting the immune system. Its taste was also nice and soothing. 

You were putting spoonfuls of the tea blend into the strainer when Yoongi walked inside. His footsteps were soundless and you felt his presence before you saw him. Vampires’ energies were different than most creatures. They weren’t alive, not exactly, and energies were tied to a creature’s life force. Therefore, for vampires, their energies were unique and as a witch who could feel life and death very acutely, you could detect them easily.

“Have you been here all this time?” he asked after a few moments of silence. 

The sounds of boiling water caught your attention, steam was coming out of the kettle’s spout. You removed the kettle from over the fire and poured the water into the teapot. 

“I have,” you replied. There was nothing else to say, any explanations you could offer were useless. 

“That’s it? That’s all after all these years?” Yoongi asked. 

You couldn’t look at him, fiddling with herbs there was nothing to do with and glancing at the large clock on the wall for the brewing time. “I don’t know what else to say. You know why I had to leave. I couldn’t stay after what happened.”

“And you chose to disappear without a word?” When you didn’t answer, he continued. “I was sure that Seokjin knew where you were but he swore he didn’t. He said you disappeared without telling him anything and that he hadn’t heard from you since. Regardless of how many times I asked, it was always the same answer.”

“I asked him to say that to anyone who asked,” you admitted. “I didn’t want anyone to know where I was.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Yoongi shake his head slowly in disbelief. “Why? Why didn’t you want me to know?” 

It hurt to keep quiet but there was no way to make this better. You couldn’t tell him that you had been afraid although a part of you knew Yoongi wouldn’t judge you, like Seokjin wouldn’t judge you. But your fear had been too big and all-consuming, fear of what he would think and also fear of what you could do. Your magic had proved to be much stronger than you had believed and you needed to regain control of it to ensure you wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

And Yoongi was too strong of a link to the city. Your feelings were too much and too complicated. If he had known where you had run to, there was a chance he would have followed and it wouldn’t be only Seokjin you had doomed to a life in a small town he hadn’t wanted to return to. 

Yoongi sighed. “That's all then. I came here to thank you for taking care of Jungkook,” he said, breaking the silence. “I will forever be in your debt. Jungkook told me of how you found him and how you cared for him. I was out of my mind when I couldn’t find him and I realised he was out in the storm alone. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything had happened to him, I would never forgive myself. Thank you for being there for him when I couldn’t.”

“I will tell you what I told him, there is no need for thanks or debts. I wanted to help him and I did. The fact that he is a very cute bat also helped, I couldn’t resist.”

Your attempt at a joke was rewarded with a weak chuckle. “It’s those big eyes. It’s impossible to tell him no.”

“I can imagine that.” You glanced at the clock again. The tea was ready. “I guess you are visiting Jin. Now that the weather won’t interfere as much with my magic, I should send him a fire message to let him know that you are both here and safe. Knowing him, he will be fretting over where you are and driving Jimin crazy.”

“That’s a good idea. I didn’t tell him I would be leaving in the morning,” Yoongi confessed. It made sense, Seokjin wouldn’t have let him leave while the rain was still this heavy and definitely not without an umbrella. “Should I take this to the living room?” He gestured to the tray you had set up with the teapot and the three mugs.

“Yes, go ahead. The tea is ready.”

Yoongi picked up the tray and left the kitchen without saying anything more. There was a painful tightness in your throat as your shoulders slumped. You had to send that message to Seokjin but your feet were rooted to the ground and your knees were weak. You had thought you would never see Yoongi again and although it hurt, after years you had made peace with it. All that was [changed] by the storm and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You opened one of the drawers and pulled out a crinkled loose leaf of paper from the stack you kept there. On the counter, there was a pen next to the old witchcraft recipe book you had been studying the day before. You gripped the pen and debated how you should start the letter. He had known Yoongi was coming to town and yet he had told you nothing when he knew why you had run away and why no one should know where you were. He was supposed to be your best friend and best friends looked out for each other. For the first time during your friendship, that wasn’t true.

Suppressing your stupid anger, you wrote a quick message letting him know that Jungkook and Yoongi were safe in your house and that you would send them back to town once the rain and the forest’s magic calmed down. Towards the end, you added that you would like to know about any future guests of his from the city. You considered crossing over the bitterness that bled into the page but you let it be. Using black chalk, you drew the sigil for the fire message at the top right corner.

You lit up a blood-red candle and burned some thyme over the flame first. You recited the incantation while you held the message over the fire and watched it consume the paper. The magic was a lazy tingle at your fingertips and a warmth curled in your chest.

Yoongi and Jungkook were talking in hushed voices that were swiftly silenced when you walked back to the living room. The tea had been poured into the mugs but they were untouched. You picked up one of them on your way to the armchair. Conversation was stilted. Jungkook tried to alleviate the awkwardness but was soon shrinking into his sire’s side, clutching onto his mug of tea with both hands. 

“The rain is growing weaker,” you observed. “The forest’s magic is settling, it can be unpredictable during storms and it’s dangerous to tread through it when it is like that. It will be best for you to return to the town before it picks up again.”

There would be another spike in a couple of hours before it broke in the night. That’s how storms like this one worked and what your senses were telling you.

You accompanied them to the door and they thanked you again. It felt like you didn’t deserve it with your past mistakes clinging to you like vices. Jungkook was quieter than last night when you were practically a stranger.

“Here,” you said, handing Yoongi the only umbrella you owned. It was a black one with little mushrooms Jimin had painted on it and enchanted them not to be washed away by rain. “I don’t use it much and I won’t be going into town for a few days. Seokjin can bring it back when he finds time.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi said.

You picked up your cloak from the coat stand and offered it to Jungkook. “And this is for you. It’s charmed to protect you from rain.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, making him look like a baby deer. “I can’t take your cloak,” he said, shaking his head. “You might need it.”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t have anywhere to go.” You would have to go to the farmhouse later in the day but it was only a short distance away and a little rain wouldn’t phase you. You took it up to yourself to wrap the cloak around him and pull the hood over his head. “I didn’t nurse you back to health for you to get sick now.”

Suddenly, there was a blur of movement and strong arms were wrapped around you. Jungkook was hugging you and, when the shock wore off, you hugged him back.

“Thank you for finding me,” he said, his voice sounding a little wet.

“If anything, you found me,” you joked. You pulled back, although you didn’t want to let go of him. “Go now. The forest will lead you to the town.”

“I will bring the cloak back to you,” Jungkook promised before he and Yoongi left. On the path, Yoongi glanced back at you over his shoulder but you averted your eyes and closed the door.

Five years and your heart still fluttered. But it was different. There was guilt tainting everything surrounding him. You had imagined meeting him again countless times, of course, you had, mostly during restless nights and too quiet mornings, but it hadn’t played out like this in any of your scenarios. It was too… simple, too mundane, even though your heart was still racing, but it also felt a little like the end of the world. 

Their mugs were sitting empty on the coffee table. You placed them on the tray to take everything back in the kitchen and you realized that you had forgotten to at least put some cookies in a plate for them. Vampires didn’t eat much human food but it was simple courtesy to offer.

There was a spark in the air, followed by another, before flames erupted and formed a letter. You caught it before it floated to the ground. The loopy handwriting belonged to Seokjin. The first line was an apology, the second line was an apology as well. He promised to visit as soon as he could to explain and that you had every right to be angry at him. He thanked you for letting him know that Yoongi and Jungkook were safe since Yoongi had taken off in the morning before Seokjin had woken up, otherwise, he wouldn’t have let him go off in the rain. Reading his letter, the jagged edges of your anger smoothed but Seokjin would have to explain himself in person.

You picked up the tray and set yourself to tidying up. It was strange, you had lived alone for five years but the house felt emptier than ever before.

Taglist: @nochuwastaken @blancflms @rinkud @seokteoksworld

Please comment and reblog, it motivates me to keep writing!

[eddiestommy]

i saw this post by @shaunashipman and next thing i know i was writing this

(brand new, full throttle) touch me while your boys play grand theft auto

Bucktommy || 878 words || mild sexual content

Read on AO3

Truth be told, it wasn't Buck's fault, honestly. Mostly.

Since the Grant-Nash's house fire and Gerrard became the new interim captain, his 118 family had started a weekly brunch with a rotating hosting system (yes, that had been Buck's idea, thanks for noticing) but after Buck's first turn having them over everyone had agreed that his loft was too claustrophobic with everyone in it so Tommy (sweet, kind, loving Tommy) had offered his house with its big backyard patio with its built-in firepit and grill instead.

So over the summer his family all came together at Tommy's Spanish-style bungalow once every five weeks and really, it wasn't Buck's fault that over those weeks he had started spending more and more time there than in his own loft, sometimes only stopping by his apartment to get more clothes that would eventually end up in the dresser Tommy had built for him on the little workshop he had in his garage tucked between his Muay Thai setup and the car lift, and it really wasn't his fault that he had started thinking about the house as their home even though it was definitely too soon to be thinking like that.

If anything, it was Tommy's fault because that Wednesday morning he had spent forty minutes opening him up so thoroughly with his tongue and fingers that by the time he had finally slipped his cock in him his hole had given no resistance. And it really was Tommy's fault that he'd fucked him fast and hard, Buck's face and chest pressed against the mattress and his ass held up by Tommy's hands marking bruises on his hips, and just as he'd been about to come he had pressed his lips to Buck's ears and growled: "You're such a good boy for Daddy, aren't you? You're gonna cum from Daddy using your loose hole as a fuck toy, huh? Such a perfect boy."

(And really, what else could Buck do but cum so hard he passed out for a minute?)

All this to say that it really wasn't Buck's fault that later that day when he and Athena were washing and drying dishes in Tommy's cozy kitchen he remodelled himself a few years ago and Tommy and Bobby came in with more wine glasses and asked if they were okay washing them or if they wanted them to do it he had felt so comfortable and at home that he didn't stop to think before speaking.

He took the glasses from Tommy and said, "Don't worry, Daddy, I got it," like he would any other day they were together.

(That it took him five seconds in between saying those words and realising what he had just said in front of his dad and his wife was definitely on him.)

The moment he realised his mistake he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. All his blood rushed to his head and heated his face redder than it had ever been.

He barely registered anything else going on. Tommy's panicked stare and tense posture, Bobby's red face, Athena's laugh.

"I think you two can handle the rest of the dishes," she said in between laughs, walking past where Buck and Tommy were still stuck in place.

Buck refused to look up, maybe if he stared at the ground with enough determination a hole would open up and swallow him and he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that his captain and Athena now knew what he called his boyfriend when they were alone.

(And look, if it wasn't because Bobby heard him too he would be laughing with her. He wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't gonna tell everyone about it but what two consenting adults got going in bed was their own business. Still, there was a difference between embracing your kinks and having your father figure find out about it, there couldn't be anything worse than that.)

"I think," Tommy started in a tentative tone, "we can all agree to forget about this."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. And God, why was Bobby still here? Had Buck not embarrassed himself enough already? 

"Of course," Buck could hear the amusement in Athena's voice. "But if I'm allowed to say, Buckaroo, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You should hear what Bobby calls me."

(Scratch that. Thinking about Bobby having kinky sex was so much worse. That was his dad.)

And really, it wasn't his fault if Tommy laughed so hard at Bobby's bewildered look that he made Buck forget all about his own embarrassment

"Okay, no more talking," Bobby said. His face was so red it was a wonder any blood was still pumping in his heart. "This never happened. No one ever heard anything."

So really, it wasn't Buck's fault that now his dad knew what kind of names he'd been calling his boyfriend in the intimacy of their own home. And it really, really wasn't his fault he now could imagine the things Bobby called his wife when they were doing it.

(The way Tommy came so hard he blacked out from Buck riding him to the chant of, "Fuck, Daddy, you fill me so well. Love your cock inside me, Daddy" later that evening was entirely his fault, though.) 

[sotwk]

Transformed (Gelir Thranduilion x femReader )

Fanfic Request from the @fellowshipofthefics's AU-gust Mashup Event

Prompt: Gelir, son of Thranduil (SotWK OC) + Mythical creatures + “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Summary: A Mirkwood huntress is attacked by a mythical beast and begins a slow and gradual transformation into a monster herself. Prince Gelir helps her through the frightening ordeal by overseeing her care.

Requested by and Dedicated to: @laneynoir I am so thrilled (and relieved) that I was finally able to complete one of your requests! Thank you for being so patient with me, and for giving me a chance to finally write an insert starring one of my OC Thranduilions. (How self-indulgent and exciting!) Love you, darling!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: AU, werewolf lore, romance, angst, mild gore, hidden feelings, oblivious to love

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Mild sensuality, mention of blood and mild horror/violence

To Read on AO3: Link

Transformed

Third Age 1554

Mirkwood

Legends had people believing that werewolves could shift from human to lupine form within a matter of minutes at the strike of the full moon. But legends, merely stories passed down across generations by word of mouth, often got certain details wrong. 

As was the case with you. 

The long iron chains that connected the shackles around your wrists to the wall clinked softly as you raised your loosely bound hands to your face. You brushed your fingers over the coarse hair that covered your neck, its growth making the slow, tedious crawl upward to your jawline, where a soft fuzz had developed overnight. By tomorrow, you would likely wake with your cheeks entirely covered in fur…perhaps among other worse changes. 

Heightened senses had manifested first, long before the physical changes began to show, and so the distinctly heady scents of warm rain and spring grass identified your visitor before he ever stepped through the door. But there was also the fact that hardly anyone else had dared to step foot into the same room as you, ever since your condition was identified. Despite folklore attesting that the mysterious affliction could only be transmitted by a creature’s bite, all the other elves were behaving as though merely breathing in the same air would get them infected. 

You were grateful that Gelir had never behaved very much like all the others. Still, the carefree boldness you had always admired in him now worried you.

“You really must stop coming here,” you mumbled, just barely raising your gaze towards him. He was a Prince of Eryn Galen, yes, and the leader of your company besides. But you had known each other for far too long to put on pretenses with each other. "I could lose control of myself any moment now and hurt you."

"You could try to hurt me," he countered with a smirk. "You would not succeed." He folded his arms over his chest and ran his gaze all over you, his unfailingly keen eyes assessing the physical changes that had occurred since his last visit merely a few hours ago. 

You turned away in a futile attempt to escape his stare. Gelir meant well, and was the only one whose concern for you overrode any instinct for self-preservation, the latter of which he never possessed much of, anyway. But even in your weary sadness and pit of despair you were embarrassed about being seen like this, especially by him. Your childhood friend who had always sauntered around oblivious to how annoyingly, stupidly, breathtakingly handsome he was. 

"I am serious," you said sharply, vaguely conscious of the feral rush of anger in your gut, rising into what sounded like a rumbling snarl in your throat. "I will not be responsible for inflicting this curse on the King's son."

"If hurting me is your main concern when you are the one suffering through all this…" Gelir shook his head, his face suddenly and uncharacteristically somber. "Then you are still very much like yourself and I have nothing to worry about."

You sighed and slumped back down on the edge of the bed. King Thranduil had decided you would be kept comfortable in a palace room instead of the safer and more practical choice of a dungeon cell. The cells are for prisoners, he said sternly, and would abide no more of your protests. 

A month into the ordeal and they were still tending to you like a guest, changing your bed linens like clockwork, bringing you water and fresh towels to clean yourself with, dropping off three meals a day along with stacks of books and paper and quills to help you pass the time. 

“You have not eaten all day.” Gelir gestured at the untouched dinner tray on the low table. "Nor did you yesterday. Or the day before that."

“I feel no hunger.”

“You must eat,” he said firmly. “Whatever appeals to you, tell me and I will send for it."

"What point is there? Perhaps starving myself is the best and cleanest way to end this mess."

"The point is I will not have you losing hope while the rest of us hold fast. The healers have not ceased tearing into the creature's corpse for answers. Must I remind you that both Arvellas and my mother are leading the efforts to find a cure?"

Tears sprang to the corners of your eyes. Knowing the royal family was devoting their time to helping you really was what kept you going through the moments of despair and self-pity. But it was hard not to question what made you worthy of such attention, even though the King and Queen were well-known for regarding every subject in their kingdom as family. 

The subtle shift of the firm mattress under his weight drew your thoughts to the fact that he had sat down next to you. On impulse, you shrank away to take back the distance that safely separated you from the elf-prince.

Gelir frowned, and you immediately held up both your hands to remind him of how they had gruesomely mutated over the past week. When you first noticed your fingers begin to stiffen at the joints and curl inward to your palms, until it pained you to fully stretch them, that was the first time you broke down sobbing over your condition. The ugly hair that sprouted at unsightly places all over your body to suffocate your skin had bothered you much less. But your hands-- lithe and strong and skilled with bow and knife and craft--those were your treasures. Now they were malformed and good for nothing except perhaps wanton slaughter, the only possible use for the razor-sharp claws that still continued to grow out of each fingertip. 

"I dare not have you within reach of these, your Highness,” you whispered, steeling your face against the threat of another breakdown. “Please."

Unsurprisingly, Gelir defied your plea. He reached out, and before you could resist--yet did you even attempt to?--one of his strong hands closed around your wrist, and he guided the deformed monstrosity to rest against his open palm. You flinched as the points of the claws touched the prince’s skin. 

"I am no delicate flower," Gelir said loudly. He pushed one of the sharp tips into the flesh of his palm, where it found resistance as hard as stone: a warrior’s hand inherited from his great forebears and strengthened by centuries of  training and battle. "And I can protect myself, even from you, no matter what form you take."

The mere thought of attacking him sickened you, and brought your mind back to that dark cave where you had recklessly given chase to an already dying orc. You had been so focused on revenge, on seeking payment for what the filth had done to your comrade, that you did not detect the more dangerous beast lurking in the deep tunnel until it leapt out at you.

Your struggle with the creature lasted a mere few seconds before an arrowhead burst through its eye, forcing its jaws to release your bloodied forearm. Gelir’s enraged scream echoed dreadfully through the cave as he threw the monster off you and ended it with a single swing of his longknife, nearly cleaving its midsection in half. 

Those images sent a shiver down your entire body. You pulled your hands away to wrap your arms around yourself, and stood up to pace alongside the bed. After a moment of Gelir just sitting there quietly watching you wrestle your anxiety, you stopped to face him and blurt out: 

"And when I become too much of a threat, how will you deal with it then? Will you kill me too?"

“Do you feel an urge to attack me?” Gelir rose slowly, keen green eyes searching your face. “Right now, at this moment? Are you overcome by a desire to rip my throat out?”

You stared at him, so handsome and flawless and immaculate a figure, the dream of many an elf in the kingdom. Such beauty and light was so loathed by the Darkness, that any evil festering within you would surely rise to try and destroy him.

But as you stood within arm’s reach of your friend, close enough to inflict serious damage if violent impulses demand it, all you could feel was the same thing you had felt for him since the day he first made you laugh. When you thought you would never laugh again after the raiding orcs claimed your family’s lives. 

“No,” you finally mumbled. “Not at this moment.”  

“Until then, I forbid you from even imagining me harming a hair on your body.” He caught your gaze and smiled. “Even though you certainly have more of it now than you did before.”

Laughter rang clear from your mouth, and went on so heartily and for so long that it blurred your vision and emptied your lungs. By the time you regained your composure, you noticed that Gelir had remained oddly silent the whole time, and returned to staring at you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I need to.” He exhaled softly, as an archer might to reduce tension in their body before loosing an arrow. “To remind me of why I must speak up now, and delay no longer.” 

The softness with which Gelir spoke your name was so abruptly different from the more common noises of his boisterous shouting and laughter. As noticeably different as a midday summer blaze was from a dawn’s early rays. 

Suddenly you realized how badly your heart was racing, and how loud it must sound to his ears. 

"This ordeal has changed nothing in the way I view you. This… this accident…” The bitterness  of self-hate, a self-blame that you have repeatedly failed to talk him out of, cut through his words. “This threat to you, has only forced me to stare down a truth that I have ignored for too long. Before I do this, I wish to make that clear.”

Your speeding heart came to a sudden halt, as did the world around you. "Before you do what?"

The moment his hands cupped the sides of your face, his fingers threading into your hair, you were trapped. All hesitation, all fears and worries, extinguished like a wavering candle against a sudden gale as his mouth descended on yours. Valar, his lips were so soft. They moved tenderly against yours, confident in their conquest yet pleading for requital. 

And answer it you did. The wild joy and thrill and desire that had long been locked up in a cage of denial within you now broke free, and you kissed your Captain and Prince. You felt the slight tremble of his jaw and heard the faintest of moans from his throat as you deepened the kiss, tasting sweet mead from the sweep of his tongue. 

More. More. You craved more, and a fierce hunger for him exploded from your chest past your torn defenses. 

And suddenly you tasted blood.

With a wail of shock and despair, you withdrew and lurched away from Gelir, watching in horror as he touched the bleeding cut at the center of his lower lip, where you had bitten him.

“Eru what have I done?! I am so sorry, Gelir, I--”

“Stop. It’s all right…” He tried to say, but his calmness in the situation aggravated you. How could it be all right? How could you be so careless with the one you loved?! You tried to withdraw to a corner of the room, to get as far away from him as you could, but the limits of your iron shackles prevented it. 

“I swore I would not let this evil touch you and now I--” You could barely find your words, you were breathing so hard, so infuriated with yourself. 

“And I swore that I would never let anything happen to you,” Gelir cut in heatedly. “Even though it was a vow I made only to myself, I swore. Yet I failed, and this is how I choose to right that wrong.”

He called out to you repeatedly, your name like a hymn on his lips with the warm timbre of his singer’s voice, and it soothed you enough that you allowed him to come near, to take your hands in his again. "When I assured you that you would not face this alone, I meant it." 

"B-but the King… the Queen…" It broke you to think that you had failed them as well, after everything they had done for you your entire life. 

"...knew exactly what they were risking by permitting me to come here." He brushed the heel of his palm over your cheek, his thumb catching a stricken tear before it could fall. “They have known far longer than I have, longer than either of us, that my heart has been yours for years. Meleth nin…”

He placed your grotesque, beastly hand on his chest, and you marveled at the strong, steady beat of his heart underneath your misshapen fingers, which did not hurt nearly as much anymore.

“Whatever this disease or curse may be, it shall take neither of us, or both of us. But it will not take you from me.” 

On the other side of the chamber doors, out in the hall, Elvenqueen Maereth gave her lord husband’s arm a squeeze. “Let us allow them their privacy; they waited so long for this moment,” she whispered. “An hour perhaps, to sort through these revelations.”

Thranduil smiled wryly. “Nothing opens a fool’s blind heart like the terror of loss.” He reached out to wrap an arm around his own beloved. “You are overspent, Endanya. Take your rest. I will send Arvellas to deliver the news to them later.”

Knowing it was fruitless to argue, Maereth allowed her husband to lead her in the direction of their rooms. “Gelir will likely insist on us testing the cure on him first, but it will be more effectively done on her, with her symptoms being so much further along…”

“He will do as he is told,” said Thranduil flatly, giving an impatient shake of his head. “It should be enough to satisfy him that their fates are now surely tied.” He paused, revealing the smallest of cracks in his nonchalance. “Are there concerns of the process being dangerous or painful?”

“It will certainly not be easy. But she is strong,” Maereth said with a faint smile. “And they will be strong for each other.”

“But the cure will work.”

“It may take time, but I have faith it will.” The Queen laced her fingers through Thranduil’s, seeking the comfort she always found in his hands. “If we have learned nothing else these past centuries, aran nin, it is that the Darkness can never prevail against light such as this.”

SotWK Fancast: Sam Claflin (Daisy Jones and The Six) as Prince Gelir Thranduilion

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On Wings of Mist & Memories | Oath Breaker

↳  DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader ⤜ Enemies to Lovers, Exiled Royalty, High Fantasy ⤜ Rating: MA | angst ⤜ WC: 11,632 ⚠️ Crass language, talk of war, blood, mild violence, flashback minor character death, mild sexual tension, suggestive inner thoughts

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Glossary Mave - dragon rider who can wield magic, tethered to the soul of their dragon when they bond (death for both if one dies) Psion - infinite memory/recall Reaver - a dragon that can wield magic, tethered to the soul of the rider they bond (death for both if one dies) Noks - infantry soldiers, humanoids who can enter berserk/rage mode Rider - regular dragon rider, no magic, uses bows or scouts Brute - riderless dragon, usually wild and very dangerous Wielder - magic user, no dragon needed Signis - the designated/specific type of power someone wields Helnite - metal ore that can cut off magic from its user

It’s not cold in the Andos Forest like in the mountains. In fact, it’s the opposite with sweltering heat and thick humidity. It reminds you of growing up in the farming villages near the Southern Garrison. Stretches of open farmland, open to the blaze of the sun and humidity coming off the ocean to the south. You haven’t missed the constant stickiness coating your skin or how breathing became harder as the sun peaked in the sky.

The constant trickle of sweat down your body and the cottony feeling in your mouth makes it hard to sleep. Your clothes are fur-lined and thick, even your boots, which are making your feet ache from how warm they are. You’d give anything for a drink of water or for Shadowsword to come back and finish shredding your clothing—the heat is clearly making you delirious.

“Goris, you awake?” you ask, trying to blink the sweat from your eyes.

You haven’t heard anything from him ever since Shadowsword left, and that was hours ago, you’re sure. The tent fell into silence, you and Goris both closing in on yourselves. Whether lost in thought—you—or trying to compartmentalize the whole-body ache from getting tortured—Goris—there wasn’t much to be said then.

But, now, after trying and failing to get some sleep, you want to use what little time you have left before Shadowsword returns—there’s no telling how long that’ll be, could be hours more, could also be just a few minutes—to your advantage. It’s hard to gauge the passage of time or where the sun and moon are without being able to see the sky. The canvas of the tent is thick, and the overhead mage lights neither dimmed nor brightened with indication.

You watch as Goris’ chest rises and falls with a deep breath before a sigh whistles between his swollen, blood-crusted lips. “Hard to sleep with the pounding in my head. Quite certain that asshole concussed me.”

“Thank you…for what you did. For trying to keep him away from me.”

He grunts. “You stopped him from pounding my face further.” His jaw pops as he works it like he’s trying to ease the tension from the swelling. “It was the least I could do.”

Silence fills the space again, making you feel awkward as you form your next sentence. “How do you know him?” There is no need to specify who the ‘him’ is. With the way Goris shifts uncomfortably under his shadow bonds, you can tell he was expecting you to question him about it eventually.

You’re not sure he will answer you with the pregnant pause he allows to settle between you. The swelling in his face is getting worse, his left eye is completely swollen shut, and there is a weird bend in his nose that wasn’t there before. You watch as he continues to shift, flexing his fingers where they rest on his thighs and rotating his ankles, the heel of his boot drawing ruts in the dirt. 

Goris has always been kind to you, if a bit standoffish in a broody sort of way. You’re sure he fancied General Marvick on a deeper level than just as his commanding officer. He’s not an unattractive man. His auburn hair is braided tight to his skull and dangles down his back. His eyes have an amber hue, not quite brown but not orange either. You think, in another life, one without wars and violence, he and Marvick would have made a great couple.

Thoughts of Poli have you pressing your lips into a thin line. Now isn’t the time to linger on thoughts of the dead. You need answers, information, something you can store in your arsenal for later use. The more you know about Shadowsword—the exiled fucking Prince of the Golden Kingdom of Bolas—the more chance you have of getting out of here alive and with at least some of your dignity intact.

“I taught him how to wield a blade,” Goris finally says, his voice low but carrying to you in the quiet of the tent. “When he was just a boy, I was the weapons master at the palace. I was there the day his Signis manifested, and the day he bonded with his dragon. I’ve known him for a long, long time.”

That explains the familiarity Shadowsword showed Goris. It’s clear they had a bond. You don’t work so close with someone for an extended period and not grow close to them. Your heart threatens to squeeze tight as you think about your own time spent so close to someone—you shove that feeling away again before it can take hold.

“How do we get out of here?”

Goris grunts a laugh that turns into a pain-filled cough. His breaths wheeze as his coughing tapers off. “I don’t think there is any getting out. Not for me, at least.” The words are spoken solemnly. “Look at me,” he commands, embodying the commander that he is. “No matter what he does, you remember your training. You may not have learned swords and shields, girl, but you can fight just as well without them. Use your words, mind, and body if you have to…you’ve been trained for this. Don’t let him win.”

The one amber-hued eye you can see glints in the mage lights as he stares you down until you give one quick downward jerk of your chin. May the wings of death be swift if ever I let loose my tongue. You repeat the Psion mantra that was hammered into you from day one of your training. Goris is correct. You may not know how to swing a sword, but you know the mind is a far sharper weapon anyway.

You have little time to think about that or ask Goris for more information. A gruff voice draws your attention to the tent's flap momentarily before it’s drawn aside, and Shadowsword steps in. It’s a bit surprising to see him not wearing his armor. You were sure the gold and iron were what made him seem larger than life, but you now realize he’s just as intimidating without it.

Black hair, wet from sweat or a bath, covers his forehead and curls around his ears. It’s not slicked back like yesterday when he took his helmet off. Maybe it was the shock, but you don’t remember seeing the small metal jewelry adorning his mouth or the whole sleeve of ink covering his right arm. He looks like an entirely different—but no less dangerous—person.

He’s wearing a light linen top with the sleeves ripped off and the ties at the neck undone enough that you can clearly see the shadowy depth between the muscles of his pecs. As he moves into the small space, the shirt breezes open enough that you catch a glimpse of black curling from his left peck to over his shoulder. But, the fabric bunches and moves as he crosses his arms over his chest, obscuring it before you can decipher what it is.

“Good morning, friends.” The cheerfulness in his voice doesn’t fit the way he’s standing there, feet shoulder-width apart, arms banded over his chest, hips slightly tilted forward. His stance screams predator, while his tone offers up what you know is undoubtedly a false sense of security. You can already tell it will be tricky to navigate around this man. He’s cunning, dangerous, and completely removed from what you’re used to—that much is clear.

“You don’t get to call me friend, Jeon, not after everything you’ve done,” Goris harumphs.

Shadowsword swings around to face him. You can’t see his expression, but the confusion on Goris’ face makes you curious. “Have you ever thought to stop and ask any questions, Rit? Or are you just mindlessly following and believing anything and everything that comes out of my father’s mouth? You know, I always thought you were the smart one, someone that might at least be curious enough to do his due diligence regarding people he cares about. But, maybe you never did care as much as it seems.” Those thick, broad shoulders push up in a shrug before he reaches back and pulls two shiny, metal, circular collars from where they were tucked against the small of his back, hooked into a holster you hadn’t noticed before.

“I-is that…are those Helnite collars?” Goris chokes out the question, his confusion replaced with wild panic.

“Just a precaution, Rit. You understand, don’t you?”

Before Goris can respond, Shadowsword crouches before him and swiftly clamps one of the collars around his neck. The sound he makes can only be described as a wail of mourning. He thrashes so violently against the tent pole that the whole structure sways as he continues to bellow and curse.

“Did he say Helnite?” you whisper. Despite how loud Goris is, Shadowsword still seems to hear you. He pivots where he’s crouched before Goris. Those dark, calculating eyes appraise you. A new wave of sweat breaks out across your brow and down your neck, competing with the chills working their way down your body as that look alone confirms your fear.

Helnite is the only thing in all of Filasdurn that can cut off a magic user from their power. The glittery silver ore is mined in Lork, the land where dragons supposedly originate from. No one knows more than that, as travel to and from Lork is forbidden, thanks to a centuries-old peace treaty between them and The Golden Kingdom of Bolas.

When Helnite is smelted down, it can be forged into weapons or imprisonment implements. When formed into a completed circle, it acts as an instant castration of any and all power. The use of it on innocent humans has been outlawed for decades. It’s been limited to being only used on criminals or Brutes in the wild that need to be caught for gentling so they can bond.

You’ve never been subjected to Helnite, with it being outlawed and you not being a criminal and all that, but you’ve seen the effects of it. It’s different for each magic wielder. The magic between a Mave and their Reaver is soul-deep—which is why when one dies, the other does, too. Right now, with that collar around his neck, Goris has been completely cut off from Ripley. It’s been explained to you that it feels like a piece of your soul is literally missing, the pain immense and full of dark thoughts—death without dying. It can leave lasting, unseeable scars, even after it’s removed and the connection re-established.

As for other magic users, such as yourself, it’s said to feel like—the collar snaps into place, your mind instantly goes blank, and you cannot finish your internal thoughts. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession, the air wheezing from your lungs. The metal burns where it touches your skin, setting an instant ringing in your ears. A thick, cottony feeling pulses through your head, like the beginnings of a migraine.

“You’re going to kill her!” Goris yells.

“Is it too much?” Shadowsword asks. His voice is soft, almost sounding like he really cares.

You blink to clear your vision, and he slowly comes into focus. There is concern on his face as he kneels on one knee beside you. He’s close enough that you can smell the soft, clean scent of soap coming off of him. If your arms weren’t bound to your sides by his shadows, you wouldn’t have to reach far to touch his face. The sudden urge to smooth your fingers over his furrowed brow has your fingers twitching.

“If I say ‘yes’,” you have to pause to think, “will you take it off?” Your voice warbles, and your tongue feels too thick. It’s weird to have to think of how to form words. The effects of the Helnite impact everything. For someone like you, that means all your cognitive functions as well. It’s a weird sensation, feeling like your thoughts must slide through thick mud before they can form.

“Helnite isn’t typically used on Psions,” he says as if you don’t already know that. Though, you’re not sure if you do? Everything feels so uncertain, like you know nothing about anything but also still know everything all at once. It’s disorienting. “I was told it should be okay. And it’ll only be until you agree to cooperate.”

Your lips twitch, and you open them to respond, just for them to slide closed again. You shake your head instead, trying to tell him that won’t ever happen. He’ll get no help from you.

“You’re going to kill her!” Goris says again, his voice cracking, hoarse from screaming.

“Ripley is fine! I’m not going to kill your Reaver. I wouldn’t do that.” Shadowsword glares over his shoulder at the still-struggling man.

“Not Ripley, you idiot. Her!” He jerks his head in your direction. “That’ll destroy her! Helnite shouldn’t be used on a Psion of her caliber! She’s as good as dead if you keep it on!” Goris yells, sucking in air between his raging words. He’s still thrashing, rattling the canvas all around. “She’ll become a shell of a human, suck the life right out of her! She needs her magic more than any of us!”

Shadowsword’s glare softens out to a slight frown. “There’s no real proof of that. The archives are just full of speculation.” The roar of a dragon rings through the air somewhere outside the tent, and Goris screams along with it. “Fucking hells,” Shadowsword curses, pushing to his feet and throwing back the tent's flap. “Get her back under the shield, now!”

“W-what?” you try to ask them what’s going on, but the question only comes out as a single word instead of a complete sentence.

Just as abruptly as it began, Goris’ and the dragon’s cries stop. Thick pants fill the air, Goris trying to heave in air. His face is a deep scarlet, nearly purple from how long he was screaming without breathing. “Fuck. You.” Tears cascade down his ruddy cheeks, and his mustache quivers as he chokes back sobs. “You’ll pay for this, Jeon.”

This is the second time Goris has used Shadowsword’s real name—his real surname, at least. It’s not lost on you. Or maybe it is. You’re still unsure if the information and realizations are filing away correctly in the thick fog filling your mental spaces. What was once an infinite space resembling a placid lake that you could quickly dip into for recall is now more of a boggy marsh that threatens to overwhelm and drag you down each time.

“You,” Shadowsword stabs a finger toward Goris, “shut up before I gag you. Someone will be in shortly with some food. Try not to be an asshole to them, or you’ll go without. We’re not done, you and I. There’s still a whole lot we need to talk about, Rit. But, it’ll have to wait.” He moves toward you. “Fuck!”

The shadows holding your arms and chest fade away, leaving you to list to the side heavily. You manage to catch yourself before you hit the dirt. “My…head,” you whisper, bringing your other hand up to clutch at your temple.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck!” He continues with a litany of curses as he stoops down and grips you around the waist before hauling you up and over his shoulder.

“Agh!” Your world spins, and your stomach threatens to heave up its nonexistent contents. “Please,” you slur, tongue feeling thicker than ever.

As Shadowsword pushes through the loose tent flap, you get your first lungful of fresh air since being brought here. The inside of the tent was far more stifling than you imagined. Though the air outside is still warm, the sweat covering your face and neck begins to wick away by the gentle breeze making the leaves on the surrounding branches of the trees whisper and dance.

“Park!” Shadowsword yells as he carts you off toward a line of what looks like work tents. All their sides are open, revealing various workstations. You spot a loom and a weaver cart before he spins on his heel, and your view blurs. “Park! Where the fuck is Park?”

“What is it?” snaps a delicate voice from back toward the work tents. “Stop screaming. I can hear you just fine. Gods know it’s not like I’m busy trying to fulfill the orders you already dropped on me this morning.” Whoever is speaking continues to grumble as they draw closer.

Shadowsword spins again, making you convulse on his shoulder with a dry gag. “Those Helnite collars I had you make. You said they can’t be taken off unless you do it. I need you to do it.”

“Well, that was quick. How did you manage to fuck that up?” they quip, but the tone is teasing more than anything.

“Shut up and go. Hurry!”

You try to steady your breathing, pulling in air through your nose and pushing it out between your dry lips. If he doesn’t put you down soon, you feel like you really will be sick.

The smells of hot metal and ash roll over you as Shadowsword steps into the shade of one of the tents. There isn’t much you can discern from your perch over his shoulder, and lifting your head to look around feels impossible.

“Lay her over here.”

As Shadowsword slides you off his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the man standing on the other side of the cleared work table you’re being lowered onto. He’s wearing a leather apron, similar to the ones you’ve seen smiths wear. The soot and ash smears on his hands and face lend to that even more. With his soft features, kind eyes, and brown hair kissed with golden highlights, you think he’s more beautiful than handsome. A startling contrast to the harshness of the forge glowing red behind him.

“You said the Helnite would work on the Psion,” Shadowsword growls at the other man, posturing aggressively with his hands braced on the table by your hip.

Those soft eyes take on a fierceness that fits more with a metal worker. “I said, in theory, it would work. And well, it clearly has worked.”

Shadowsword jerks up a finger, jabbing it at the man across the table. “It’s practically turned her into an invalid. You said it would only limit her ability to read magical signatures and retain new memories.”

“I also told you it would depend on her strength in ability. You refused to let me in the tent to see her runes, so it was all guesswork, you arrogant prick. You wouldn’t even tell me how big it was,” Park gestures animatedly at your chest, where your tunic has fallen open slightly to reveal the top half of your rune and your breasts, “it’s massive! Just because you feel possessive over—”

“Just shut up and take it off! Fucking hells, Jimin, you can berate me more once I know I haven’t ruined my chance at getting what I need.”

“You mean once you know that you haven’t ruined your new toy,” Park—Jimin—grumbles as he leans over the table, and his eyes, once again soft, meet yours. You blink lazily at him, trying and failing to filter through and latch onto their conversation. You know there are significant bits you should be retaining, but they’re like grains of sand slipping between your fingers.

Jimin slides a finger between your skin and the collar, working it around until he’s nodding and hurrying away from the table. The short moment his finger was between your neck and the band felt like a drink of cool water, the heat from the metal subsiding substantially.

“How long is it going to take?” Shadowsword questions.

The reply comes from a distance, accompanied by the sound of metal clinking together. “Not long. The Helnite can only be removed using a special cutter and must be imbued first. You’re lucky I have the right tools for this.” Coming closer, he says, “You should really get her some better clothes suited for the warmth here. The heat is making her even more muddled.”

“I’m such an idiot. I got one of the most valuable people in existence just to nearly kill her,” Shadowsword grunts under his breath, you barely catching the words. “Just get it done so I can,” he says louder for the other man to hear.

Jimin fingers the metal collar again, pulling it as far from your skin as he can to slip the curved edge of a pair of clippers under it. “The shock might make her pass out,” he mumbles, bracing himself against the table as he grips the long handles of the tool. 

The collar tugs on your skin as he applies force, the Helnite groaning under the pressure of the clipper. There is a distinct sound of metal screeching as it tears, and relief floods your system. Your senses buzz, the sensation growing until you feel like you’re on the verge of drowning.

The air in your lungs isn’t enough. Your back arches off the table. You try to cling to the tiny tendrils of reality surrounding you, but your consciousness is swept away in the rush, sucking you into a numb, static-filled state as your mind fights the sudden maelstrom of information.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

“Gods, I really am an idiot,” Jungkook grumbles to himself for what feels like the thousandth time since he laid your unconscious form on the pile of blankets and furs he uses as a bed in his tent. He sits across from the bed in a low-slung camp chair, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

In all his years, he’s never nearly botched something so thoroughly. He knew the instant the Helnite clicked into place around your neck that he royally fucked up. The vibrant fire in your eyes that he had come to seek out anytime he was in your space instantly dimmed.

He could barely think over the panic that held his chest in an iron grip. It didn’t help that Rit wouldn’t shut up, confirming what he already knew—that the Helnite would ruin you if he didn’t do something about it quickly.

The fact he had disregarded Jimin’s insistence on seeing your runes to be sure the Helnite wouldn’t hurt you is something Jungkook hasn’t stopped kicking himself over. He might have avoided this whole fiasco if he had not been so obsessed with you and consumed with this ridiculous possessiveness.

None of this is going to plan at all. Trusting Ulgrin was his first mistake. He should have known there were things that Ulgrin was keeping from him. Most important among those is that Marvick was holding one of the, if not the most powerful, Psion in her employ. He would wager to guess that even his father is unaware of your potential; otherwise, you’d have been under his thumb instead.

Thinking of Marvick makes his stomach twist and knot. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He never wanted her to die, not by his sword, at least. Though, he’s not even sure she did die by his sword. The timing was too close between the moment Lowren crashed into the side of the mountain and his sword cleaving into her neck. Either blow could be attributed to her falling.

Neither was supposed to happen. According to Taehyung, Lowren caught a bad downward draft because of the storm kicking up outside, and after he broke away from engaging with Hoseok’s dragon, Rubel, his wing was clipped, and he went down hard. It’s never easy hearing or watching another Mave or Reaver take a fatal blow, knowing the bond will kill them both. It makes Jungkook realize just how precious that bond is and how easy it would be for someone to take him out simply by targeting his own dragon.

You’ve been out for hours now, and the fact that Jungkook doesn’t want to leave you in here unattended and doesn’t want anyone else to take over watching you means he’s shoved off most of his responsibilities onto Yoongi and Namjoon. They’re both in his inner circle. They know easily as much as he does about what must be done. If it weren’t for his friends, all six of them, he knows this camp wouldn’t function as smoothly as it does. For a rebel encampment, it resembles a well-oiled military station pretty well.

Jungkook’s attention jerks to you when you moan softly. He watches as your brow pinches and your lips turn down in a barely-there frown. It’s curiosity that has him pushing up from his camp chair and approaching the bed. Your eyes flicker behind your closed lids, frantic. It looks like you might be having a nightmare.

Sweat glistens on your brow, and he can see how it shines along your neck and the small part of your chest exposed from where he just had to cut the ties on your top. Jimin said you needed cooler clothes, the heat not helping what the Helnite did to you. He wonders if you might recover and wake up quicker if you cooled off.

Slowly, Jungkook settles onto the bed beside you. His knees press into the thick layers, shifting your hips slightly as his weight sinks in. With timid motions, he pinches the loose flap of your tunic and begins to pull it open slowly. Just as the more significant swath of your rune that spreads over the tops of your breasts comes into view, you jerk a hand up and slap his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” you croak, scrambling away from him until you flip off the edge of the bed, your legs flying into the air. “AH!”

“Oh, shit! Are you okay?” Jungkook launches across the bed and tries to help you sit up, but you just scream and frantically start swatting and kicking at him. “Okay, okay! Stop! I’m just trying to help you!” One of your boots connects with his jaw, and he jerks back, his ears ringing and his vision blurring. “Fucking hells,” he groans.

“I’ll gut you!” you snarl, brandishing a very familiar knife. The small, leather-hilted dagger he usually keeps under his pillow waves in the air before him, clutched in your trembling hand.

It’s kind of cute the way you’re threatening him. He knows he could quickly disarm you with his shadows and a simple thought. But, erring on the side of caution, he doesn’t want to scare you any more than you already are. Holding his hands up and out to either side, he rocks back onto his heels and slowly sits on the ground a few feet from you.

“Sorry. That probably looked terrible, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to…well, I was, but not like that. I was worried you were too warm, and it was affecting your ability to recover from the Helnite.”

Your other hand goes up and circles around the front of your throat. Relief sags your shoulders when you feel the collar is gone. The only thing that remains is a slightly raised line where your skin was mildly blistered from the short time the Helnite was on.

“Why did you take it off?” The suspicion is evident in your tone, accompanied by the narrowing of your eyes and the steadying of the blade in your hand.

His lips twitch. “Believe it or not, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you. I should have done more research, but I was blinded with desperation and—er, I’m just sorry, okay? I had it removed as quickly as I could because I realized I’d made a mistake.”

Disbelief clouds your eyes. He doesn’t blame you. He wouldn’t believe himself either. It sounds like a trick, a farce to get you to trust him when you have every reason not to.

“You killed General Marvick and Captain Krut. You’re a rebellious, murderous monster. It’d be reckless of me to believe anything you say.”

“Ulgrin Krut was a traitor, both to me and to the Crown.” Not like pointing that out is going to make it any better. “And Poli…it wasn’t supposed to be like that,” he sighs, repeating his earlier thoughts. “Something happened with Lowren and…” he trails off, his shoulders pushing up in a sad shrug. “I wish I could take it back.”

That seems to deflate you a bit. Your chest sinks as you blow out a breath. Jungkook watches as your tongue swipes over your cracked lips. “What do you plan to do with me? What about Colonel Goris?”

“Well,” he slowly lowers his hands to rest on his bent knees, “Rit will remain bound in Helnite for now. He’s too volatile for me to let him roam free without it, but I plan to move him to a place that’s closer to Ripley so they can at least see one another, and it’ll be less likely that she tries to escape again.”

“So, you really are as cruel as they say you are,” you state plainly. “Might as well kill him. It would be the greater mercy.” He knows it probably seems that way. But, with how this conversation is currently going, he’s hopeful you’ll hear out everything else he has to say…perhaps change your mind on how you see him. “And for me?”

“You’ll be free to roam the encampment, no Helnite. Though, you will be watched and warded closely. If you try to make it beyond the outlying sentries, they have been instructed to prevent you from leaving…at all costs.” That has your hackles rising again, so he quickly presses on. “I don’t want to treat you like a prisoner, but I have a pretty good idea of what’s churning inside that head of yours. You think you know who I am, what I’ve done, and how I’m just a power-hungry son blinded by his need to dominate. All I ask is you listen, hear what I have to say about the last ten years. Hells, use your ability on anything you need…even me—“ you gasp, and he assumes due to the fact you know that using your Psion ability on another living being is strictly forbidden and goes against all the oaths that you’ve ever taken “—if you have to so you know the truth.”

“I’m not an oath breaker like you,” you sneer before dropping your hand, the dagger still gripped tight but with the tip now resting on the ground. “If you think I’ll tell you all the military secrets and information I am privy to, you can think again. I’ll read whatever objects you want me to. I’ll even listen to whatever bullshit story you want to tell me. But I won’t betray Poli by giving you everything I know, no matter what you say or do to me.” The promise comes easy, but for some reason, it tastes bitter on your tongue.

🖤🖤🖤

The only reason you’re agreeing to even listen to him is because you can’t shake what Goris said to you earlier. Use your skills, whatever you must, to get free, even if that means offering him your ear while still plotting his demise. Who knows, maybe you can learn something valuable.

“Can I have my dagger back, now?” Shadowsword asks, one of his brows quirking.

“I think I’ll keep it,” you state, fitting it into the holster in the top of your boot. It’s a bit bigger than the dagger you usually keep there, but the hidden sheath holds it well enough.

Shadowsword nods toward a changing screen on the other side of the tent. “Would you like something lighter to wear? Perhaps something to eat and drink as well?”

 It’s on the tip of your tongue to refuse his hospitality, but with the subtle burning around your eyes from sweat and how your chest hollows each time you drag in a too-warm breath, you decide to bite back the tart reply instead. “That would be great, thank you.”

He moves slowly as if he’s scared of spooking you. You watch as he gains his feet, his linen shirt falling open even more than it did earlier in the tent with Goris. Instead of looking away, you focus intently on making out the splash of black on his chest. It’s definitely the silhouette of a dragon, its head almost centered on his chest, its body covering his entire pec and disappearing over his shoulder.

You’ve seen plenty of Mave’s Signis marks, but never one so big or dark. Most marks are a good indicator of someone’s ability, a reflection of their inner self and their bond to their Reaver. There are other peoples, like yourself, who have different kinds of markings that denote their specialties. The runes on your chest mark you as a Psion. Though every Psion has their own unique marking, it’s always in the same place and the same color. The bigger the mark, the more innate ability one is said to have.

Noks, the bulk of the military foot soldiers, also have their own indicators in the form of red lines slashed diagonally across their cheeks. It’s said the red signifies the blood of battle and helps them channel their rage. You’ve seen them in action, so focused that even grievous wounds won’t stop them. The only way to keep a Nok from gutting you is to gut them first, and even then, you probably need to take their head off as a secondary precaution.

You clasp the front of your tunic closed the best you can as you stand up, only wavering slightly as lightheadedness washes over you. It’s been far too long since you had something to drink, and the heat is nearly unbearable. You push yourself to focus on crossing the tent to the changing screen, one step closer to hopefully getting that drink he’s offered.

“There’s a change of clothes behind the screen, a blouse, and some breeches. It’s the best I could find in something size appropriate. We don’t have many females around here, and the ones we do have more often than not wear fighting leathers, so it was slim picking for non-battle gear.”

Stepping around behind the changing screen, you realize with the way the lights are positioned overhead if he stays there, then he’ll be able to see your shadow in full as you change. You chew your bottom lip, contemplating asking him to afford you some privacy, but as Goris reminded you earlier, the body is just as much a weapon as a blade.

A short table sits off to the side, a shallow basin of water and a cloth sit beside a pile of folded clothes. “Thank you again,” you offer, anxiously cutting your eyes toward the screen. You can’t see him through the panels, not even a flash of his shadow, but you can feel his eyes locked on your form as you slowly shrug out of your ruined tunic.

It feels good to have the thick wool top off. The air in the tent is mildly warm but nonetheless refreshing now that your skin has a chance to breathe. Glancing at the screen, you slip the dagger from your boot and tug them off. You can still feel those eyes on you. So, as much as you want to shuck your fur-lined pants quickly, you take your time sliding them over your hips and down your legs, arching your back, and creating the perfect silhouette.

Keeping your eyes trained on the central panel of the changing screen, you pick up the cloth and dig it into the cool water in the basin. Your eyes flutter shut, and you try to suppress a groan of relief as you press it to your neck and swipe away the accumulation of sweat and grime, but something between a moan and a sigh slips out. A smile pulls at your lips as you hear a throat clear on the other side of the screen—so, he’s listening just as much as he’s watching. It’s tempting to continue with the show to eke out as much advantage as you can, but the rumble of your stomach has you tossing aside the cloth in favor of grabbing the clothes.

The breeches on the table are thin dark blue cotton, molding to your legs and ass once they’re on. They’re infinitely cooler and tuck nicely into the tops of your boots. You replace the dagger and then pick up the blouse. It’s a mossy green color with a cinched, banded waist that gathers with corset-like ties down the front. You purse your lips, giving the blouse a once over before pulling it on and securing the ties. It’s far more flattering than you anticipated, accentuating all the right areas.

There is a small commotion on the other side of the changing screen; hushed words are exchanged, and the distinct clinking of dishes. You step close and peer around the edge of the paneling, catching a glimpse of a smiling man in a rose-colored apron tucking a hand towel over the top of the apron and pointing to something on the large platter sitting on the table opposite the bed. 

“I smoked the cheese just this morning, and those are fresh apples right off the trade cart. You let her eat before you touch anything,” the finger that was pointed at the table swings to wag in Shadowsword’s direction. “Just because she thinks you’re a beast doesn’t mean you have to try and prove her right. This could be our last chance at—oh, hi!”

You hadn’t realized you were leaning so far out beyond the edge of the screen. Embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you school your features before stepping out fully and giving the man a tight smile. “Hello.” 

“Out,” Shadowsword shoos the man toward the tent opening. “Go.”

“Remember what I said, don’t make me sic Hoseok on you for being disrespectful!” the man spouts even as Shadowsword is pushing him out, both laughing lightly.

It’s interesting, maybe even a little surprising, to see such genuine lightheartedness in a place that’s been notoriously dubbed a blight of darkness on the kingdom for the last decade. You never imagined being in the rebel encampment, much less that the encampment would be so…normal—drab even.

“Please, sit, have as much as you want.” He gestures to the wooden table lined on both sides with benches. The tent is large, similar to standard war command tents you’ve been inside. The bed you woke up on is farthest from the entryway, the changing screen to the side of that, and the table closest to the entrance with various smaller tables, chairs, and a few trunks scattered in the remaining space. Stacks and stacks of books and papers are strewn across most surfaces, and an entire barrel of maps is stashed in the corner by the larger table.

You take your time approaching the table, allowing yourself to take in the tent's interior, tucking away all vital and essential pieces of information you can. The fact you can so effortlessly function now and file things away appropriately is like a drink of water all its own, but the metal pitcher on the table glistening with condensation beckons you still.

Sliding onto the bench on the opposite side of the table so your back is to a canvas wall. It’s the most advantageous seat, letting you continue to keep an eye on Shadowsword. You snag an empty goblet, give it a tentative sniff, and then pour a generous amount of water from the pitcher before gulping it down. It’s so cold it hurts, but the instant relief as it hits your stomach is like a soothing balm to the ache.

“It’s cold,” you murmur, taking a smaller swallow before refilling the cup. “Enchanted?”

“We collect it from small rivulets that come down off the mountain. Natural filtration through the bedrock and bubbles up here before emptying into the outlet to the southeast that goes to the sea.” It’s an easy explanation and makes sense to you.

It comes naturally to focus on the goblet in your hand and the water sliding over your tongue. The crisp liquid takes on the slightest hint of mint as you draw on the warmth in your chest, testing the validity of his words. The mountain's chill and the earth's integrity bubble like added flavors as you take another sip.

Calm clarity swirls within the mix of sensations, dripping from the goblet and supporting the water. Whoever formed and worked the metal to make this vessel enjoyed their craft and created it with extra care in mind.

So, he’s at least telling you the truth about the water and didn’t offer you a poison-laced goblet to drink from. That’s no guarantee he will speak honestly or have no ill intentions when it comes to anything else. “What is it you wish me to listen to, Shadowsword?”

His brow pinches as he draws closer, grabbing a chair and spinning it around to straddle the back and rest his elbows along the top. There is intention in the fact he chose to sit several feet away, close enough to talk but far enough away that he’d have time to react if you tried to take a jab at him…or for him to catch you before you could bolt for the loose tent flap over the entrance.

“Jungkook, you can call me Jungkook. I don’t really care for that name…Shadowsword, it sounds more like a curse.”

“You are a curse to many,” you say, dropping your eyes to the stretch of food before you. The large platter on the table has a plethora of different morsels, everything from cheese and meat to jams, slices of bread, and fresh fruit. “Are these really apples?” you ask, the word feeling foreign on your tongue.

There is a moment of hesitation that has you glancing up at Shado—Jungkook. You might not be able to hear his thoughts, but you can read the micro-expressions on his face well enough. He’s uncomfortable with what you said about him being a curse. But, he sighs and answers your question instead of pressing the other, “They are. Quite delicious, too. Very sweet, juicy, but still crisp. We’re so close to the border that it’s been easy to establish a trade route with Norkham.”

“I didn’t realize they would be so willing to trade with an enemy of the Crown,” you mutter, grabbing one of the fleshy red and yellow dappled fruits.

Jungkook lets out a derisive snort. “Norkham doesn’t care for the ‘Golden War’,” he scoffs, twisting the name the conflict between him and his father has been dubbed. “My gold is just as good as my father’s. But, unlike my father, I’m not scared of red fruits. Contrary to what is believed, they’re not poisonous. Well, most aren’t, at least.”

You rub your thumb along the shiny peel before bringing it to your nose and inhaling the slightly sweet fragrance. Letting the warmth settle in your chest, you open yourself to tasting not the fruit itself but its journey and memory. It’s passed through a few hands, always handled with the utmost care.

There is the subtle taste of fresh, clean water soaked into the soil and drank through the tree's roots that nurtured the fruit. Nothing about the apple tells you it’s dangerous. If anything, you pick up on the fact that it’s been paired and prepared with other foods that mean you no harm; the whole platter is safe.

With that in mind, you put the apple against your mouth and take a bite. Or you try to, at least, the skin is resistant and then snaps as your teeth sink in, surprising you. “Oh,” you muffle against the fruit, unable to hold back a laugh as you break off a chunk.

Sweetness bursts on your tongue, mixing with the mildly floral taste. It’s something you’ve only ever dreamed of experiencing. Your chuckle turns into a cough as you see the look on Jungkook’s face as he stares at you. His lips are curved into an easy smile, and his eyes are soft, like he’s enjoying watching you.

“It’s good, right? Apples are one of my favorites.” Your eyes track his as they flick from the fruit to your mouth as you take another bite.

He’s right. It is crisp yet still juicy. Your mouth floods with flavor. A drip collects at the corner of your mouth and slips down your chin. A flutter of confidence lights in your chest as Jungkook licks his lips before tearing his eyes from the juice on your chin and how you swipe your tongue out to try and collect it.

As with washing behind the screen, you’d spend more time playing your game if you weren’t so hungry. You gather some of the more familiar foods onto a small plate and begin to eat in earnest between more bites of the apple.

Right now, it’s hard to say how far you’re willing to take this game. Your training has instilled pretty much no boundaries regarding mission objectives. Though, due to your level of power, after you finished your fourth year of standard scribe training, you were sent to a specialist at The Serpent, the Mave-specific garrison on an island west of the capital.

The intention wasn’t necessarily to keep your potency a secret. Everyone knew you were pretty powerful. But, no one knew you were more powerful than even the Crown’s own Psion, who just so happens to be your cousin, Larzon. You haven’t seen Larz in years, and even then, it was only in passing at your graduation ceremony before you were promptly assigned to General—then Colonel—Marvick’s care.

What’s essential for you to remember is that you have an end goal; get out alive and, if possible, take Goris with you. He doesn’t deserve to be chained with Helnite, regardless of what he’s done as a war colonel. You know all about the casualties of war and that when it all boils down to it, each side thinks they’re in the right while the other thinks they’re wrong. War leaves very little room for a grey area, making it all simply black, white, and copious amounts of red.

“I have one question before I listen to whatever it is you want to tell me…” you pause before adding his real name instead of the one he’s been given by the Crown for his rebellion, “Jungkook.”

His shoulders roll back, and he tilts his head from side to side. “Sure, if that will earn me your undivided and apt attention.”

“Goris told me of your relationship to him. How is it you could so easily, so callously beat him to a broken, bleeding mess?”

A harsh breath hollows his chest as he shifts in his seat. “Easily? There was nothing easy about it. Callously? I’m sure you know all about doing what you have to in order to get what you need. I didn’t want to hurt Rit. I’ve considered him a friend for longer than I’ve thought of him as my enemy. Perhaps what I have to tell you will help you see that I didn’t enjoy it. It’s just a necessary part of the bigger picture.”

You can hear the genuine nature of his words. They sound like the truth, but you’ve not been around him long enough to honestly know how good he is at deception. All you have to go off of is everything you’ve read. The rebellion started when you were still in training, just before you began the additional time at The Serpent. It’s hard to believe that was a decade ago now. Though, it feels like a much shorter time. War moved at its own pace, chugging along whether you can keep up or not.

“Go ahead, let’s hear your reasoning behind the last ten years.” Your gesture toward him with a chunk of bread. “I’ll listen.”

“I’ll start from the beginning,” he says. “But first, I’d like you to have this.” Jungkook stands and moves over to one of the smaller trunks near his bed. He kneels, the soft scent of clove permeates the air as shadows slither out from seemingly nowhere. They undulate and cover the chest before an audible pop sounds, and they drift away, revealing the chest now open.

“What’s that?” you ask. He holds up a pin that’s a golden dragon surrounded by a crown.

“It was my father’s,” he murmurs. “It’ll show you the validity of my words when you’re ready to bear that burden.”

The pin is heavy in your hands. He settles back in the chair as you observe the dragon’s form. There are distinct, crusty splotches caught in the fine details. Even without opening yourself to the warmth in your chest, from the barely-there scent of hellfire and metal, you can tell it’s blood…old blood—dragon’s blood, shed in violence. You shiver, your eyes meeting his as he begins to explain.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

It takes far longer to tell you everything than he thought it might. He hadn’t realized just how much there was. You didn’t ask many questions, just making noncommittal sounds when he revealed more sensitive bits of information. But it’s all out there now. You’ve heard it all…every gritty, unbelievable detail. Jungkook knows how hard it is to believe. If he was the one listening, he’d probably have laughed and walked out halfway through. The fact you’re still sitting there, idly swirling a slippery piece of rockmelon on your plate, gives him at least a tiny bit of hope.

“Let’s say I do believe you. What is it you want from me? How can I possibly help you?” You shove the plate away, leaning your elbows on the table as you stare at him with a pinched expression on your face. You pocketed the pin shortly after he started his explanation, and you haven’t touched it since. He wonders if it’s burning a proverbial hole in your pocket. “If you haven’t been able to make a difference in ten years, what makes you think you can now?”

He’s been thinking about this, too. Since things went wrong with Krut at the turret in Fort Orit, he’s been scrambling to devise an alternative plan and the best way to utilize you and Rit to his advantage. In an idyllic world, he would have taken Poli as captive as intended. He had it on good authority that she would have listened to him without much persuasion.

What he knows that you seem not to is that Poli was more of a sympathizer than she appeared to be. It was the key Jungkook clung to, the fact that Poli Marvick cared more about the people—all people—than she did the Crown. The first mention of innocent lives being on the line and she would have been like a bee drawn to a flower, unable to resist the powdery grains of justice.

Though, he knows bringing that up right now will just shut you down. You might be willing to listen to his bizarre story, but you wouldn’t entertain the thought of your precious friend being capable of being a rebel sympathizer…not yet, at least. Ulgrin Krut is another story. You relented on that pretty quickly. He’s curious about who else you could easily see being a weak link in the Golden Chain of command. But that’s a thought for another time.

“You’re the most powerful Psion I’ve ever encountered.” That’s the crux of what sparked his near-instant obsession with you and what’s been fueling his possessiveness. You represent the hope and opportunity he’s been desperately searching for—the answer to finally putting a stop to a decade of struggling. “You have the ability to discern fact from falsity. That in and of itself could help sway the tide of my cause. If you believe me and stand by me and say it’s true, they’ll believe you.”

Your laugh surprises him. “You can’t think it’s that simple, can you? You realize they’ll think I’m just as daft as you are. They’ll think I’ve been corrupted. Just because I’d say something is true wouldn’t make it so. Having the power I do doesn’t mean I can’t still lie, too.”

“Perhaps, but if I could just get into the palace, I know where there is evidence that can back up my claims, and no one would be able to argue it. Just as that pin in your pocket can help you understand, what’s in the palace can make everyone understand. That’s really what I needed from Krut and what I now need from you. Help me get into the palace, and I’ll prove it all to be true to the rest of the kingdom.”

“Are you just going to beat me into submission? How are you going to make me agree to help you?”

This is something he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He’s not sure what else he can offer you other than the freedom to use your power as you want to find all the answers you need. So, he starts with that. “As I said before, you’re welcome to use your power on anything or anyone you wish. But please start with the pin.” You flinch when he says anyone, but not as hard as before.

There isn’t a lot of public knowledge about Psions for apparent reasons. But, one thing he does know about all of them, including you, is that finding the answers and retaining factual information will always be your first goal. It’s something he’s kept in mind every time he’s brought it up, offering that small nugget of temptation. It’s forbidden, taboo…but maybe, just maybe, he’s piqued your curiosity enough that you’ll be too curious to resist.

“What is this supposed to show me?” you ask, finally pulling the pin back out. It catches in the overhead lights, glinting like a guiding star that will lead you to all the answers you need.

Jungkook licks his lips. This could be the moment of truth. “My father was wearing it the day I confronted him.” He hopes he’ll get to see your gift in action. Watch the realization steal across your features as you see his words for the truth they are.

“What an innocuous little thing. Who would guess it could potentially lead to the end of a decade-long war?” The words are spoken softly, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him.

He feels like he’s viewing a private moment, but no matter how intrusive it feels, he can’t seem to look away. Jungkook is realizing that it’s not just your power that’s alluring. There is an exotic quality to you that is calling to his inner desires. He’s never noticed it before, but the color of your eyes seems to shift, never staying the same shade of brown, green, or blue. In fact, if someone were to ask him what color your eyes are, he’s not sure he could answer them.

If there ever was something he wishes he would have paid more attention to, it’s the history of your kind. Being the crown prince, he had access to any and all information available, even to the more obscure texts and subjects, like Psions.

You caress the ring of gold surrounding the dragon, like you’re stalling or perhaps putting off reading the pin with your ability. It’s obvious the dark rusty-looking splotches are blood. Anyone would be able to discern that. But, he’s reasonably sure you can tell it’s not just any blood but the blood from a dragon. Dragon’s blood has a distinct smell to it, even after being dried onto a chunk of metal for a decade. It’ll still smell subtly like brimstone and hot metal.

The pin has sat in that enchanted chest for almost the entire time he’s been in exile. It was on a whim that he put it in there, thinking that one day when he finally meted out justice to his father, he’d perhaps melt the pin down and turn it into something else. He came by it by accident, anyway. Now, it’s a talisman of the truth and maybe an indicator that he was meant to tuck it away for all these years; for this very moment. 

🖤🖤🖤

You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on you as you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. There’s an urge to meet his eyes to gauge his reaction, but you push away that distracting thought and let your eyes go unfocused as your fingers tighten around the pin. The first thing you feel is bone-deep indifference, then a brief flit of hope, followed by anger so malevolent it makes your teeth ache…the emotions and feelings ingrained in the pin sweep in, painting such a clear picture for you.

————

“Father, call for the healer!” Jungkook shouts, cradling the large adult blue dragon’s head. Blood leaks from its open mouth, soaking quickly through his green flight garb. “Onyx, get back!” He shoos his juvenile dragon away when it becomes too curious. “Father! Father, please!”

“Jungkook, come away from the beast. Leave it be. It’s too late.” The fact the dragons are beginning to die after barely ten years of service has been an unforeseen nuisance.

The wild-eyed teenager lumbers to his feet, blood-covered hands trembling by his sides. “Leave it be? It’s the sixth dragon to die in less than a week! You said the new bonding was safe! If it’s safe, why are they dying?”

“Just terrible coincidences, nothing more,” King Jeon mutters, internally rolling his eyes as his son quivers beside him. “That’ll be all for today. You’re dismissed.”

Jungkook swings around and grips the front of his father’s robe, fingers pinching around the golden pin denoting his status as king. “But, Fathe—“

“You. Are. Dismissed.” King Jeon holds up a hand to silence any more protests. “Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Jungkook jerks his hands back, turns on his heel, and stalks away. It’s evident that Jungkook is becoming far too curious about the recent deaths. He can’t find out the truth, no matter the cost.

Moving to the parapet, King Jeon glares out over the wall surrounding the dragon corral, the large stable-like building that serves as a coop where the Reavers reside when their Maves are attending to other duties. Tearing his eyes from the expanse of the sprawling capital city, he casts an indifferent look at the large blue-black body still bleeding on the ground of the training pit.

The scuffing of boots draws the King’s attention to the dark doorway of the dragon corral a moment before Fenrin appears.

“Your Grace.” Fenrin bows deeply, sweeping his arms out to either side. “I come bearing fortunate news.”

“Speak plainly, Fenrin, the hour is late, and I’d like to retire to my wife’s side before dinner.”

Fenrin straightens to his full height, towering over the king by a few inches. “We’ve found a strong Brute close to the Western Garrison, fresh from The Steppes and powerful if his build is any indication. He’ll do well for you.”

“Would be better news had you told me we finally found a way to keep them from dying,” the King mutters. “Very well, Fenrin. When will you have the beast ready?”

“Just a few days' time. Sooner if we leave now, Your Grace.”

“Make it so.” The King flicks a dismissive hand, turning before Fenrin can bow in departure, and briskly closes the distance to the postern door leading into the main living quarters for the royal family. He stops just before disappearing inside, glancing over his shoulder. Fenrin is staring at the dead dragon, his face blank and devoid of emotion. “Oh, and Fenrin?”

The man cuts his eyes up, an oily smile sliding onto his face. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“See to it that’s taken care of,” he says, jerking his chin toward the scaly body. “Same as the others.”

The palace is divided into different sections, the living quarters one of the most guarded interior spaces. He passes several guards, all dressed in their golden armor. The few Maves that are attached to the capital are currently doing rounds across the city, patrolling the skies before the sun goes down. Luckily, the blue dragon’s Rider is presently undergoing additional tutelage at The Shield. He won’t know the dragon’s dead for another fortnight. By then, a new dragon will be ready for him to bond, he’ll forget all about the other. 

“Your Grace,” one of the liveried servants bows as King Jeon enters the parlor that leads to his sleeping chambers.

“My wife?” he asks, glancing around the open space. When the Queen isn’t leading tutoring sessions with the younger ladies of court, she spends her time tucked in the window seat of the parlor reading or working on needlepoint. It’s too late for the classes, yet she’s not relaxing in the window seat either.

“In the garden, Your Grace. She wished for a bit of fresh air.”

He nods, moving toward the door leading to the sleeping chamber. The windows are open, letting in the sweet musky scent of the plum flowers that like to climb and snake along the walls of the palace.

Unclipping the stays holding his golden cloak in place, King Jeon lets it flutter to the floor where he stands in front of the cold fireplace. It’s been a long day, one warranting at least a chalice of the fire brandy that gets imported from Norkham. It’s rumored they use apples when making it, and that’s what makes it have that unique flavor and burn. People say the burn is the poison of the fruit, slowly leeching into the drinkers' bloodstream—fairytale nonsense.

As he turns to head toward the small console table where a collection of liquor bottles is waiting, something in the corner of the room catches his attention.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” His son sits in one of the armchairs opposite the liquor table. Shadows coalesce in the corner, pulsing softly as Jungkook leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees: his eyes, a near mirror of the King’s own, glint from the darkness.

“You’re a murderer.”

The heat of anger fills King Jeon’s chest, making it expand. He grips the thick strand that attaches him to his Reaver, Vikmag. Lightning crackles along his veins, fizzing and sparking at his fingertips before he can reign it in.

“Watch your tongue, boy.”

“I overheard you and Fenrin. You thought I left like a good little soldier. Father, you shouldn’t be so loose with your tongue lest you reveal your madness to the world. I guess I’ll do it for you,” he snarls, launching to his feet. A wicked blade catches the light coming in from the open windows, poised perfectly for an offensive attack in Jungkook’s hand. “You said the new bonding was safe…you lied! You knew they were going to die. You knew they’d grow sick and weak. You’re a monster! They’re sentient beings, for gods’ sake. They have souls, and yet you still force them to bond!”

“You insolent fool, you think you know so much, but yet you know nothing!” King Jeon sneers.

“I know you’re willfully killing beautiful beings. And for what? So you can stay alive while your dragon dies? So you can reap the benefits of their power even in death? Are you so greedy, Father?”

“I knew you’d never understand. Nothing I say will change how you feel. So what if the new bonding kills the dragons, it’s better them than us.” The King sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Jungkook lashes out, blade and shadows striking. The room fills with the rumble of thunder and a flash of brilliant light. Heat sears across skin, blistering flesh beneath green cloth. A second strike of lightning rends through the open space between the two men, the pressure of the electric power directing the wave of shadows and the small blade.

In a large, concussive blast, the two combating powers slam into the center of the room. Wood and feathers spray into the air as an entire half of the bed takes the brunt of the strike.

As shadows swirl and fill the room, swallowing the erratic snaps of lightning and rolling cracks of thunder, the cold edge of a blade parts warm flesh. The King jerks back, hand flying to his cheek and sliding through the blood dribbling down his face. 

Jungkook lunges again, swinging the blade for another swipe, but King Jeon jerks again, the dagger missing his face but biting into the muscle of his chest. Fabric rips free, a slight weight tangling it around the blade.

“Your Grace!” the words echo from the parlor before a flood of guards pours into the room.

“Seize him!” King Jeon screams, stumbling backward.

Jungkook and his father exchange one last look before Jungkook snags a small whistle from inside his bloody top and then sprints across the room, golden soldiers close on his heels and flings himself out the window.

————

The golden pin falls from your limp fingers, landing with a soft thud on the ground between your feet. It’s hard to tell whether it’s sweat or tears coating your face. You swipe the back of a trembling hand over your eyes.

“W-why haven’t you...why haven’t you sought out a Psion before th-this?” Your voice warbles, and you have to swallow hard a few times to keep from losing the food you just ate.

It all feels too raw, far too real. You’ve never experienced something so visceral when reading an object. Your body aches. Your cheek burns, even though there is no cut there. There’s a fiery line that feels branded across your stomach. It’s like everything from that day is imprinting itself upon your body with phantom pains.

“Psions are rare. It’s not like I could have requested one from the capital. You’re part of a coveted kind, precious and protected. Had it not been for—“ he pauses, not needing to remind you how you came to be in this encampment. “The important part is you’re here now, and you’ve seen the truth.” Your bleary eyes slide up from where they were gazing at the pin on the ground to land on him. He tugs the bottom of his shirt out from where it’s tucked into the tops of his breeches and then pushes it up to expose his stomach. A long, puckered scar slashes his otherwise pristine skin. “His lightning strike nearly killed me. All because I found out the truth.”

You wet your dry lips, staring at the bubbled skin until he drops his shirt back down to cover it. “So, when he discovered the new way to bond that doesn’t tether a dragon soul to their rider…it’s not—they really die?”

Jungkook blows out a breath. “I’ve been gathering as much intel as possible about it since that day. He was right. No one truly cares. Not the right people, at least. Everyone here,” he sweeps a hand out, indicating the encampment, “they held no true power out in the world. We’re all just a bunch of outcasts, the misfits, and the unwanted. But all the Maves and Reavers here are here because they believe me. We all have soul-bonds, we all know what that means and how sacred it is. After I found out how my father has desecrated and forsaken that...not even him having his own soul-bond can change that ultimate betrayal. All of the beings here know just as well as I do that my father is a cruel man with no regard for the beautiful lives of the dragon kind.”

“The Stepping Isles are sacred ground. It’s protected,” you insist, reciting words that have been ingrained in you through the teaching of the capital. “If you take your forces there, you can stop him from gathering more dragons.”

“We’ve tried sending parties to The Steppes, but the islands are controlled by the Crown and he has them on such a tight lockdown now that it’s nearly impossible even to get close to the Western Garrison. The few Brutes we’ve come across over the years have been ones that escaped into Norkham. The last glimpse I got of The Stepping Isles was one of a breeding farm. They’re mating the dragons and then forcing them to bond to Riders. It’s barbaric…yet no one is raising a hand to try and stop my father because everyone who has any sort of influence and power are the ones who are reaping the benefits.”

Even as someone who doesn’t know what it feels like to have a bond like that between a Mave and their Reaver, you’re still aware of how utterly atrocious this is. It can’t continue. The revelation settles deep in your chest. You’re about to forsake everything you’ve ever known to be true. You’ll be an oath breaker…something that churns your stomach sourly but not as bad as how the bitter tang of betrayal coats your tongue. You believed in the Crown, you’ve defended the Crown…now you’re going to destroy it.

“I’ll help you,” you whisper.

“What did you say?” There’s no denying the lilt of hope in Jungkook’s voice.

You clear your throat, sitting up straighter and meeting Jungkook’s dark, liquid eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.” Something deep in your chest cracks and bleeds with your words. Whether it’ll turn into a festering wound or a beautiful opportunity for growth, only time will tell.

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[ejunkiet]

first love, last love

this came from a conversation with the incredible @glassbearclock about vindie and fl in the imperium. mild spoilers for ‘what you deserve’!

redacted asmr: vindemiator/freelancer, imp!verse, rated mature 18+

--

“They’re starving you.”

He releases a dismissive snort. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Their jaw hardens, and he can feel it then, that stubborn edge of determination, that fire that he’s grown to love from them. "They’ve taken so much from us. They don't get this, too."

READ FULL VERSION ON AO3

--

first love, last love

It's late. They're tired - they're always tired lately, the toll of the last six months leaving them with an exhaustion that’s bone-deep; a strain he can feel all the way down to his core.

It's the classes. Not just the brutal curriculum the academy keeps, but the additional lessons they've been getting from the Haven's freelancer coordinator, under the guise of a faculty internship.

Healing is a delicate art, and not one that the academy values, despite its necessity. From what he's been told, the 'lessons' are barely more than skin deep, useful for superficial wounds and little else.

It's another shackle, another tool for controlling an empowered population that should be better than this; that had the strength to overthrow their oppressors, but chose not to.

…but not all of them. Not his freelancer. And not their tutor, a brilliant, gentle mind fostered under Avior’s wing.

But still, it takes a toll. One he knows all too well. He's tired, too.

And hungry.

It has been almost two weeks since he last fed. Since his arrival at the Haven, he's been assigned a visitor, someone he's grown to know over the last few months. But two weeks ago, their sessions had been cancelled at the last minute. Permanently.

It's not Avior's fault. He was doing his best to source an alternative, but he'd already had more than enough on his plate before this. And besides, Vindemiator has some ideas about who may be behind the last minute changes. He hasn't been here long, but he already has a list of adversaries, empowered humans who would like nothing more than to see him harmed.

There are one or two names at the top of that list.

The hunger leaves him weak, although he tries not to show it. They only get such small windows of time together, and he wouldn't waste it - wouldn't ruin it with the sour taste of their worry, further staining the already muted glow of their emotions.

(Sometimes, in brief moments, he gets glimpses of their true colours - rosy pinks and brilliant gold, small sunbursts amidst the rain. Sometimes, he feels it too.)

"Vin?"

Their voice is soft and careful, and when he blinks back into the moment, he finds that they're closer than he remembers them being. Close enough that he forgets himself for a moment and lets the facade slip, lets some of his weariness slip through as he leans into their touch.

"Are you okay?"

He forges a smile. "As well as any of us can be. You're tired too, freelancer. Healing classes have been going well?"

They don't take the bait, and they don't look away.

"Vin." It's something about the way they say his name like that, something that's so simply and uniquely them that undermines his defences, sinking into the heart of him.

He can't bring himself to lie to them.

"I'm weaker than usual. But I’ll be fine. It will pass."

Their brow pinches, a dark thread of worry seeping through their aura like a stain. "Weaker? But I thought… Avior said that the d(a)emons here had an arrangement."

"My… arrangement, as you put it, fell through."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago."

Their eyes widen, impossibly dark in the shadows of his quarters. He's grown used to the darkness, preferring it to the harsh brightness of the fluorescents, but he wishes now that he had the light to see them now. Watch the full spectrum of emotion that crosses their features, before they close it off behind a mask of neutrality.

"...you should have told me."

But even with as good as they've gotten at hiding their emotions, there's no changing the fact that he’s a demon.

There's a thread of guilt in their emotions now, almost superseded by the anger. But not at him, he realises - but themself.

And just, no.

"Freelancer-"

They're moving again, drawing back as his heart clenches, and he wants to reach out for them, except he won't. Not if they’re pulling back from him like this - not if his touch is unwanted. He bites down on his tongue, his teeth longer and sharper than usual - another side effect of his increasing weakness, the failure of the glamour - and he can do nothing except watch as they pull away completely.

Except - they don't leave.

They’re gripping the hem of their shirt, pulling the worn fabric up and off until their chest is bare, and it’s then that the realisation hits him, dousing like a flood of ice cold water.

He closes the distance between them before their shirt drops to the floor, collecting their wrists, his touch carefully neutral.

“Freelancer, no.”

“I can help. Let me help.”

“No.” Their eyes are wide again, glittering like obsidian in the darkness. “Not like this. Not because of some - need.”

Their eyes flicker, the anger within them dimming, replaced by something with the sharp edge of hurt, before it’s gone.

“They’re starving you.”

He releases a dismissive snort. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Their jaw hardens, and he can feel it then, that stubborn edge of determination, that fire that he’s grown to love from them. "They’ve taken so much from us. They don't get this, too."

He lets them twist their wrists out of his grip, their hands moving to hover over his neck, his shoulders. They still won’t make contact, not without him initiating, and it’s a gesture he appreciates, more than they know.

It’s a cruel joke, his means of existence on this plane. The lack of agency, of choice.

He won’t take that from them.

As if they’re reading his thoughts, they drop their hands, leaning in close. "If this is about my own comfort-"

"It's because you shouldn't have to."

"But what if I want to?"

His throat closes up. He can’t speak. Can’t find the air to speak it. They close their eyes, a little furrow in their brow forming, before-

 Please. Let me help you.

read the rest on ao3 (see the full tags there)

[niobe-loreley]

To Be Where You Are [the quarry]

✧Max+Laura REUNITE✧

the subheading says it all~ ENJOY!

disclaimer: The Quarry, its plot, and its characters are NOT mine.

gif by brinivybank

warnings: volatile character thoughts. mentions of murder. mild profanities, just in case. major anxiety. yearning. slight angst. super duper extra mega ultra fluff. fic spells romance. there's also something here that needs a warning but i don't wanna spoil, rhymes with mwah mwah mwah.

word count: 3.2k

The drive back to Hackett's Quarry is slow, but Laura's insanity has already broken past the speed limit.

If one will compare the velocity of their partly torn truck to her hurtling madness, it's like the turtle and the hare. Sure, the hare would relax and fall asleep, then the turtle would arrive at the finish line first, but that's the story. In real-life, the hare finishes the race first and kept on running and running and running and—

"Are we there yet?" Laura loudly asks, slamming her hands on her knees, clutching them to steady her sanity.

Ryan, who's been dozing off in the backseat, jolts awake and takes a wild gander. "Silas isn't dead?" he slurs, trying to force the melatonin out of his system.

"No, he's dead." Travis replies firmly, glancing at Laura, he breathes out a laugh. "The one who made sure of that, our heroine, is just eager to reunite with the love of her life."

Ignoring the flare in her cheeks, Laura turns to scowl at the sheriff. "I'm no heroine. I—" 

Killed them.

Murderer.

Laura sharply whirls away, glaring at her vague reflection on the window, she tries to remind herself that her actions were justifiable— they were for the greater good, her reflection is even reassuring her. She did it for Max, as well as herself, and for others that may have been hurt by the curse. So that no one has to go through it again.

"You did what you had to do," Travis and Ryan chorus.

The pair exchange looks as Laura glances between the two of them. "Did you two practiced that?" she snickers, relaxing in her seat.

"We'll get to Hackett's Quarry by sunrise." Travis announces and adjusts the rearview mirror. He glances up at the clawed holes on the roof of the truck.

Laura snorts. "We better."

"Nah~ ten minutes after sunrise, give or take." Ryan chimes in, yawning.

Laura sighs, leans on the window, and decides to nap for the ride. But Max's dead body begins flashing in her head. What if someone else got to him? Or what if he swam to the mainland and got hurt— or worse?

Those questions keep her eyes wide and her consciousness awake.

She regards her left forearm, the bite that Max's werewolf inflicted a few hours ago has long ceased to exist. It still astounds her that there's not even a hint of scarring to prove that he wounded her. But knowing Max, he would ask questions, and Laura knows he'd see through her lies. She'd tell him once everything has calmed down.

Upon the White Wolf's death, their lycanthropy derivation is over, and so has everyone else's. Everyone who survived, that is.

Laura looks over to Ryan, who has his head back as he gazes out the window. Even though she doesn't know him or anyone else that long, she hopes the other counselors managed to survive. It is their gratification, at least, for ending Silas' lineage. But certainly, karma isn't as kind, and Laura begins expecting the worst.

Ryan senses her attention and moves his eyes to look back at her. She wants to reassure him that his friends are alive, but even she isn't certain. Clenching her fists, Laura gives a compassionate smile that quivers with anxiety. She knows that Ryan easily sees the apprehension beneath her consolation. Yet he responds with a small smile and a nod that tells her— your boyfriend is okay, too. No worries.

Comfort and dread pump through the atriums and ventricles of her heart. Laura nods at Ryan before turning ahead, quietly taking a shaky breath in and out. She wants to believe him; Max may not look as tough as he could be, but he has grit and brains. Plus, he isn't as defiant as her. She told him to wait for her on the island and never cross the lake until she returns or when the sun has risen. 

Laura knows a few of Max's mishaps from his first and second year of high school, yet despite those, he has been a good student as he is a good guy. She recalls his rejection paper, but doesn't want to dwell on that yet. Her mind begins to replay her high school days; especially how she and Max met, how they became friends, how she began to like him more than that..

05:50

Golden beams shining through the blackness and the car resting to a halt wake Laura up. She doesn't even realize she fell asleep. The last thing she remembered is the memory of her and Max driving to Hackett's Quarry; it wasn't a dream, much to her dismay.

Blinking the blurriness away, she shifts in her seat to reduce the sluggishness in her limbs. But it isn't her fidgeting that makes her unbuckle the seatbelt and fly out of the car in a flash.

They're at the boathouse.

The sun has just risen out of the horizon.

Max isn't anywhere here or the dock of the island.

"Hey, wait!" Travis calls, climbing out of the car.

"Laura!" Ryan shouts.

The wood groans under her urgent footfalls as she races through the dock. Hopping onto the boat, Laura paddles with lightning speed as though she found Treasure Island. "You better be okay, you idiot." she mutters through gritted teeth.

"Help me get one of the boats!" Ryan says to Travis.

She reaches the island just as the pair behind her has rowed away from the boathouse. Terror electrifies her from toe to crown as soon as she sets foot on the dock. Laura kneels down to tie the boat, temporarily pausing the inevitable circumstance of her facing Max either alive, but still uncured, or dead just like Silas is. What if killing Silas meant that everyone who was still infected would die too?

Before she can slap her insanity across the face, nonchalant footfalls signal that someone from the island has stepped on the dock. But Laura isn't aware until—

"You lost, ma'am?"

She immediately stands up and turns around, the corners of her mouth reach her ears as she smiles toothily at— "Max!" she exclaims, sputtering a laugh as she inspects him up and down. "You— what are you wearing?"

Max is dressed in one of her outfits, the cropped hoodie and short leggings practically cling to his taut body like second skin. Even so, he looked comfortable— and good, if she may add. 

"Oh, this old thing? Just something I put together," he remarks, feigning to be a boastful fashion designer.

Laura giggles, and with every hasty step she takes towards Max, all the burden lifts off her shoulders and evaporates in the blue and orange sky. He hurriedly meets her halfway and they collide in a gentle yet fervent embrace. As though they're two colors mixing into one, and indeed, basking under the morning glow, Max and Laura are their own whole being yet the sum of each other.

He pulls away to get a good look at her. "Your eye looks a whole lot better," he mentions with a regretful smile.

"Yeah," she sighs, nearly glancing down at the arm that his werewolf had bitten, but he then reels her in for another hug.

Laura tightly wraps her arms around him, balling her hands to fists, she lays her forehead on his shoulder. She recalls their slow dance, senior prom was just three months ago, and the song they danced to was True Colors. They were embraced just like this, almost like this, but they certainly didn't smell like damped fur back then.

Max breathes in and out; despite the stinging odor of blood, sweat, and unwashed dog, he somehow can smell her fragrance— that powdery, sweet yet spicy scent of cinnamon. Maybe he's just going crazy, or it's Laura's apparition that he's hugging. What if they're both ghosts?

He stifles a chuckle, softly gripping the back of her dress in his fists, he stares at the sunbeams glinting off the waters. "Can we go home now?" he asks wistfully.

Laura stiffens for a second, the lives that she took and almost took over the course of one night resurfaces in her eyes. She slowly retracts herself from Max, her actions were justifiable— the words echo in her head like a mantra, and she repeats them like a prayer. Remorse vehemently grips her shoulders, as though trying to push her down through the dock and to the bottom of the lake, where she must atone for her crimes.

"Of course, we can go home now." she manages to reply, forcing a smile. "But—"

"Not entirely," Ryan pipes in, climbing onto the dock. "We've got a lot of explaining to do.. about what happened tonight."

"R-Right," Max stammers, glancing from the teen to Travis Hackett, he offers a smile to the former, "And you are?"

"Oops, sorry, no context." he clears his throat and waves. "I'm Ryan, one of the camp counselors."

"Hi, I'm—"

"Max. Yeah, I know.. it's nice to finally meet the one who that badass werewolf huntress had been trying to save." Ryan nods at Laura, smirking.

She reddens yet blanches at the same time. "We should go see if everyone else is okay," she blurts and tugs on Max's wrist, urging him towards the boat.

"The police and paramedics will be here in an hour or less, I suggest you get all your stories and evidence straightened out." Travis declares, gruff in demeanor yet compassionate in tone.

Max scoffs. "You're not gonna help us through the end?"

"I still have to help my remaining family," Travis replies hotly, shooting daggers at the teens, specifically Laura. But he is quick to dissipate his anger, he fully understands their transgression, as they have fully understood his.

Yet the underlying resentment between their truce is hard to keep down.

"You'll still help us, won't you?" Laura inquires, hopeful.

Travis deeply breathes in and out, brows knotting as a scowl etches on his face. He shuts his eyes, lifts his face up to the sky, and clenches his fists. "I can help you, but I won't make any promises." he states, regarding the teenagers with immense remorse.

"If that's coming from you, I'll take it." Max says solemnly, sighing.

"All I can say last is that my family can hide and destroy evidence well," Travis pauses, "But that doesn't mean they're able to do that for everything."

"We managed to get photos, hopefully they'll be solid enough for our case to be investigated further." Ryan comments.

"Best case scenario, whatever happened tonight, it'll be seen as self-defense." Max offers, nodding at his fellow teens.

"Is anyone else on the island?" Travis asks.

Max shakes his head. "No, just me and our bags." he gestures to the luggage at the top of the steps.

Ryan breathes out in relief. "Then, that means Emma is safe."

"Wait, someone else was here?" Max questions worriedly, turning to his girlfriend. "Laura, you weren't the one who let me out?"

"Yeah, no.. it wasn't me." she says, voice lowering.

"But did you come back here though?" he presses, face tightening.

Laura gulps. ".. I did."

"And I hurt you?"

"Yes.."

"I bit you."

"You did— but I'm all healed, see?"

She takes a half-step back, gesturing at her ragged yet non-wounded self, and Max clenches his fists, slowly scrutinizing her from crown to toe. He wants to embrace Laura, but after knowing he hurt her and jeopardized her life, he feels unworthy to touch her. Heck, he shouldn't be allowed to look at her. The way guilt is coursing through his veins feels the same way whenever he turned— flesh scorching, blood boiling, lungs drumming, and head fogging.

Laura wouldn't want to be with me anymore..

Before the darkened thoughts can drown him further into the depths, a different kind of heat touches his curled hands and hauls him up to the surface.

"It wasn't your fault. None of this is." Laura says softly.

He bristles. "But I hurt you.”

"Because you were a werewolf.” she gives a mirthless laugh, “Which happened because I didn't want to stay at the hotel. I was fucking stubborn and stupid."

"No.. no, you're not. I wasn't being assertive. I should've been more of a boyfriend and told you enough is enough."

"And that's why you're a brilliant boyfriend, Max."

"Bunch of idiots.." Travis scoffs.

“Sweet idiots,” Ryan points out.

“Still idiots.”

“True, but—”

“We can hear you,” says Laura exasperatedly.

Their group soon begins rowing back to the mainland. Max and Laura in one boat with their bags, while Travis and Ryan in another. With the sun fully out of the horizon and nearing the height of the treeline, sunbeams are split into a myriad of pale gold rays, varying from slender to bulky, across the shimmering forest. Its evidence of rain is slowly dissipating, but petrichor still lingers in the air if you deeply inhale.

Max rows behind Laura, watching the oar slip easily in and out of the water. He blinks when the water reflects sunbeams into his eyes. Facing forward, Max feels his heart leaping into his throat; even with her back towards him, he can’t help but think how beautiful Laura is. Sun rays from the warm morning sun reach her, practically glistening every fiber of her being.

Something streaks across his eyes, an image— a memory. But nothing he can remember, because it seems it hasn’t happened yet. It’s just like this, him rowing at the rear while Laura is rowing at the front, except they’re both older— like, grandparents old.

That’s why despite the old dress, dried blood, and smell of wet fur, Max wants to kiss her. He wants to be with her, ‘til death do us part and the whole shebang. Though death was rather nearby last night, this inspires him to get a grip, be a man, and just do it. He stops rowing, placing the oar beside him, and wants to punch his stomach for quivering giddily when Laura looks at him over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, halting from rowing, she turns around until she’s completely facing him..

Here goes nothing.

“Can I kiss you?” he replies, embarrassed yet solemn.

Laura blinks dumbfoundedly, until her face stretches with a grin and she laughs. Max feels his ears burning, and before he can take it back, Laura moves to grab him by the collar. “You don’t have to ask, dummy.” she smiles and reels him to her, shutting her eyes, kissing him on the mouth.

Max is shocked, but it doesn’t take long for him to recover. Kissing Laura back, he closes his eyes as the corner of his lips tweak up. This reminds him of their first kiss, quiet and wrapped in sun rays, but back then, it was him who made the first move. He pecked her, just to see her reaction, and then she pulled him back for a long kiss.

His fingers find the tips of her hair, sliding them further up, he gently clenches a fistful of her damped locks. While Laura carefully pushes him back until he's sitting. She perches on his leg, wrapping an arm around his neck, she lays her free hand on his chest, right above his drumming heart.

Max grips her leg with his other hand, the urge to slink it inside her dress twitches in his nerves, but he doesn’t give in. It would ruin their moment. But there are other things that bound to ruin their suspension of reality—

Oxygen.

With parched lungs, the couple reluctantly extracts their lips from their partner, inhaling a bountiful amount of oxygen, their lungs prepare for another round. But Laura and Max stay still, stayed close, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Ryan and Travis stop rowing when they notice that the couple’s boat has ceased. And when the couple start kissing and cuddling, they exchange looks. “I ain’t kissing you,” says the police officer.

The teenager scoffs. “Relax. You’re not the guy I wanna kiss,” and he regards the forest. “I sure hope he’s still alive.”

Travis wants to pat Ryan on the back, but he isn’t as gentle as his brother. He also doesn’t want to say anything, even if it's with good intentions, that could potentially ruin the teen’s hopes. And so, they go back to watching the couple.

Max grabs her hand that's on his chest, planting a kiss on her palm. “Want to hear something crazy?”

“Something crazier than what happened last night?” she replies, sarcastically heaving a brow.

“Maybe not that crazy.”

“Hit me.”

He slowly breathes in and out. “I want to marry you.”

Laura’s eyes widen and she slightly pulls back to get a good look on Max’s earnest face. “Want to hear something even crazier?” she asks, grinning.

“Hit me.”

“I won’t marry you until after 2 years of graduating from college.”

“Then, once you graduate, I’ll propose.”

“Once we graduate, you mean.”

Max lifts a shoulder. “I’ll probably graduate earlier than you.” he declares, failing to be deadpan when his mouth quivers with hilarity.

Laura can’t hold back her laugh. “Let’s find a college where we could go together first.” she says and ran a hand through his hair.

“No, Laura.. we don’t have to do that.” Max shakes his head, “I’ll just find another university that’s close to yours.”

She makes a face. “Hey, just like you wanna marry me, I want to be where you are. After what happened tonight and these past two months, I don’t.. I don’t think I can be separated from you again.” Laura eyes their hands as she weaves her fingers between his.

Max props her chin up with his free hand, giving her a short yet sweet kiss. “Well now, you’re just stealing my proposal speech.” he says after he pulled away.

Laura feels frivolous when she giggles, only Max can do that to her. She embraces him by the neck and kisses him fervently. Max reciprocates her feelings eagerly, circling his arms around her waist, he draws her closer until there isn’t a space between them. They feel fireworks in their stomachs as their racing hearts match pulses in unison.

“I love you,” she declares in the midst of their dancing lips.

“And I love you.” he replies, kissing her with every word.

If Laura were mercury, Max would be poisoned.

If Max were a guillotine, Laura would lose her head.

If Laura were fire, Max would be the rainfall.

If Max were stars, Laura would be the city lights.

They contradict yet compliment each other. At the start of their relationship, no one thought they’d last, even Max and Laura, given their history of being friends. Soon, they have proved everyone and themselves wrong. In the back of their minds, they often think they're doing this just for show. But after a year and two, they’re still together, going strong, without a need to prove their love to anyone or themselves.

Because to be where the other is, and to know that they’re beside them, is enough.

A/N: was supposed to upload this on Halloween buuut~ yeah HAHAHAHA how was it? Hope y'all enjoyed it! Cuz I might make a few more the quarry ending fics, like the camp counsellors reuniting after the night, emphasis on the might hehe [Title/Fic Inspiration] To Be Where You Are by The Rigs - one of the songs in The Quarry soundtrack

[ashleysjourney2healthy]

I had a good phone appointment today with the lung specialist I was referred to. I had lung function testing about a month ago and I had a lung CT scan as well. Today was my first time talking to the actual doctor. If you’re new around here, I had covid in January and I was pretty sick. Even after I had mostly recovered, I was still having issues with my breathing. I eventually talked to my family doctor about it.  I was honestly expecting him to just say that I’m fat and need to lose weight and that’s why I couldn’t breathe as well. I was grateful he referred to me the lung specialist.

My call with the lung specialist was about 40 minutes on the phone (he’s about an hour away so I asked for a phone appointment). We went over all my relevant medical history and my issues with covid. I have never felt more heard by a doctor before. I felt so validated with what I was feeling and experiencing. He wants me to do a few more tests but basically he said if I had any mild asthma before, he said covid made it worse and its more full blown now. So the current game plan:

- doing a few more tests

- taking my symbicort inhaler 2x in the morning and 2x at night

- he’s prescribing me a nose spray to help the post nasal drip. He said that can drip into the lungs and cause inflammation and therefor making the asthma worse

- he’s also prescribing  an antihistamine but he said only get it if my benefits cover it

Sorry that was a long update but we talked about a lot of things. I’m so happy he took me seriously and is finding a way to help me.

[badmusejail]

Gaevano Marianelle

"It's funny how the people brought back from the dead are never asked for permission."

Trigger warning for vague descriptions of grief, death, divorce, illness.

For all intents and purposes, Gaevano was an ordinary, hardworking man born long ago in Kalos to Walter and Mirabella Marianelle.

They lived a simple but pleasant life, in a village that coexisted with Pokemon but did not go out of their way to tame or train them.

Unfortunately, as humans were wont to do, Gaevano's village was attacked. An obedient young man, he quickly joined the effort to fight off the attackers.

But not all men return from battle and Gaevano was struck down, killed by a larger and more skilled opponent.

As such tragedy commonly does, it split a rift between Walter and Mirabella--but nay, not because of the death of their son, but because Mirabella refused to move past it. Walter begged his wife to mourn with him, to make peace, but Mirabella instead turned to whispers of forbidden arts, secrets her family had passed on for generations, dark magic that could possibly bring her son back.

By all law, Walter should have killed her.

He could not.

And so started a several year long hunt--Mirabella travelled the world, sought every corner, found every obscure piece of information. After all, if it was easy, everyone would do it. Along the way, she found the company of a Froslass and a Marowak; she learned all the secrets she could, and finally, she found her answer.

A vein of magic, pulsing with life, a ritual that could bring her son back.

In another continent, in an unassuming forest in a region called Viridian, she scorched her will into the ground, she called upon the strength of the damned, and demanded that reality bend to her.

The forest screamed, the ground trembled, the sky bled as nature was defiled, as life was stolen from its proper place and forced into a lost soul.

And Gaevano screamed too.

Aye, but thievery goes not unpunished--the guardian of the forest awoken by such grievance roared with unmatched rage. A guardian of life, nay it could not kill the newly revived man, but it could do much worse.

For when Maribella cast her spell, she had entwined her son's soul with the Life of the Forest and the guardian did not allow that bond to close.

What was taken would be given back.

Minute by minute, year by year.

As the effects of the spell disappeared, Maribella collapsed beside her son, and they cried. They were not both crying of happiness.

Gaevano was confused; years had passed, his father was gone, he was in a completely different place, magic was tearing through his veins, and the last thing he remembered was dying alone on the ground.

He was conflicted about the events that had transpired. Of course, he was glad to be alive, but everything felt wrong; every breath was undeserved; his body trembled with life that wasn't his, life that was slowly being taken back where it belonged.

Some days were worse than others. Some days he felt fine, almost as well as he did before, with only phantom aches of old wounds, while other days he writhed in agony, unable to stand or even sit upright, heart racing, every breath a struggle, mind trapped within a failing body.

But, they made it work.

Mirabella doted upon the child she worked so hard to bring back (to his mild annoyance) and Kanto was new and unique.

Such as the Chansey that Mirabella hunted down, presenting to Gaevano to help with his episodes of illness. Gaevano never had a Pokemon before, but the Chansey stayed loyally by his side.

It was a few years later when Gaevano met Izumi, a woman living in the mountainous area to the west. Gaevano wasn't sure how he felt about the growing tensions around the border given his past experience with war, but he he understood the passion of wanting to protect your home and was enamored with Izumi's gentle, loving personality.

They married, living within Viridian to help support the growing population and first had a daughter, followed by a sickly son a few years later. Such was a relatively peaceful life, only interrupted by Gaevano's own intermittent illness, until ...

When his son was about seven years old, Gaevano realized that his illness wasn't standard childhood sickness, but rather an extension of his very own curse.

His anger got the better of him. He blamed it on his mother--everything--and told her to get out of his family's life, proceeding to move his family back to Izumi's home village.

He couldn't handle the grief. He could accept his own illness, tainted by stolen life he never deserved, but to know his son would suffer for something entirely beyond his control broke his heart more than anything else ever had.

So did leaving them.

It was a hard choice to make.

But when his son was ten and old enough to help with some basic tasks, he knew he had to do so; that he had to find a cure.

So with a carefully packed bag, a set of warm clothes, and his Chansey by his side, he set off; on a mission to save his child, just as his mother did years ago.

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 9 of the 16th Annual Kim Possible Fannies Awards

Chapter 9 – How IT Began, Part II

(October 14, 2020, two weeks since the first outbreak)

The TEVID virus began its rapid spread in Bavaria, and then it moved throughout the southern part of Germany. Images of people becoming very sick in the streets were appearing within that part of the country on the news, as a new flu strain was suspected. The virus then began to spread from the smaller cities to the major ones, infecting Munich and Stuttgart until reaching throughout all of Germany, including the country's capital of Berlin. All eighteen states declared a Level 1 Health Crisis when they realized that the number of cases were going up and people were going to the hospital for something most definitely worse than the flu. Flights were cancelled in and out of Germany and borders between its neighbors were being closed in the hopes of trying to prevent the spread of the virus.

TEVID infections ranged from mild to severe with common symptoms being headache, loss of smell and taste, nasal congestion and runny nose, cough, muscle pain, sore throat, fever, diarrhea, and breathing difficulties. In the most severe cases, it caused organ failure and ultimately death.

Global Justice was one of the organizations called upon to investigate the potential origin of the virus, with Dr. Betty Director, Kim, Ron, and the rest of Team Alpha (Ken Trepid, Slam the Lorwardian, and Wade) traveling to Germany.  At that time the country had 7,818 cases of TEVID and there had been 418 deaths. The investigation began with interviewing the general of the Federal Police at the BPOL-Präsidium in Potsdam, who was eager to greet them. The general was dressed in his normal uniform with the addition of a face mask that covered his nose and mouth.

"We came as soon as we could!" Betty insisted.

"I thank you and your team, Dr. Director, for coming here on such short notice," the general replied.

“Since it seems to be VILE’s doing, it makes sense for Global Justice to get involved,” Kim said, to which Betty responded with a slight frown.

"We have managed to apprehend several suspects, including a VILE henchman who says that he saw the whole thing," the general informed them. "But I must forewarn you. He came in contact with the virus about two weeks ago so I would strongly suggest that you wear face masks, gloves, and protective suits. We are ready to provide them."

"Where are they located?" Kim asked.

"Outside the interrogation room," the general added. "But I must suggest to you to also social distance as well."

"Social distance?" Ron asked.

"In other words, keep yourselves away from the individual, at least ten feet," the General clarified. “In fact, there are too many of you. Only three may join me in the interrogation room.”

It was decided that Betty, Kim, and Ron would join the general, and a few minutes later they entered the interrogation room, all wearing the required protective gear and face masks.

“KPS, do I look like one of those guys with the counters that click?” Ron asked.

“You mean the Geiger counters, Ron?  Yeah!”

The VILE inmate, also masked, chuckled.  “Your sidekick is well known for making jokes in the serious, how do you call them, ‘sitches.’”

Kim remained cool as she looked at the sneering man’s eyes, the only feature visible. Judging from his accent, he was from one of the Eastern European countries — one of the former Soviet republics.

“More than four hundred people are dead due to your virus!” Kim said tersely, pounding her gloved fist into the palm of her other. “You find this sitch laughable?”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Possible-Stoppable...” the inmate…laughed, “...this accident of ours has actually been beneficial for VILE, even though we villains are not immune to it. Look at how much chaos it has caused so far in Germany! You've seen the images of grocery stores in the news, haven't you?”

“You're sadistic...you know that!” Dr. Director growled at him but maintained her distance due to the man’s contact with the virus.

“It is in my job description!” The captive henchman said, giving her a shit-eating grin through the face mask.

“Which VILE base did the virus originate from?” Kim asked, crossing her arms and taking a step back. It was tempting to be violent toward a person so cavalier about cruelty, but, to do so would be to stoop to his level.

The prisoner looked as if he wasn’t going to give, but then a series of violent coughs racked his frame.  An uneasy feeling fell over the group in the interrogation room as they all remembered the man had been exposed to a deadly virus.  When his coughing subsided, a look of anger and resignation made a home in his eyes.

“The one from Bavaria!” the henchman finally replied. “The one Professor Dementor used to own before the deed was transferred to the Game Controller.”

“AKA, Glame Dover,” Betty supplied

The VILE inmate narrowed his eyes.  “How did you know that, Director?”

All eyes were then on Dr. Director, Kim’s the most curious of all.  The general took a step forward and cleared his throat.

“We have not been able to discover the villain’s identity and we are aware of the lair’s location atop the mountain, and the professor’s retirement,” he said. All eyes on Dr. Director, she finally smirked.

“My eyepatch is cybertronic.  It functions like a computer screen.  And through a mole, I have instant access to a number of VILE’s personnel files, including who operates out of which lair,” Betty said with a grin. “Got to love advanced technology!”

Kim re-crossed her arms as she studied her boss.  The inmate simply muttered.

“Whatever. Anyways, Comrade Bellum and the professor gave Comrade Dover a tour of the facility, which included the virus room.”

“And every precaution was taken?” Betty asked, her mind racing with too many revelations. She had long wondered the location of VILE’s virus lab, but it seemed the discovery had come too late.

“Most definitely,” the henchman added. “We thought it was the most secure of VILE’s secret labs.”

“Well...something must have happened!” Betty growled, pounding her fist against the wall. “The virus didn’t just escape on its own!  Did the Game Controller release it?”

“No. It was an accident.  The unit that held the virus fell to the floor and was breached.  All containment protocols were immediately taken, but somehow still the virus escaped.  It is a mystery.”

“So we need to investigate the lair itself?” Ron mused.

“Never! You will never penetrate VILE’s lab!” the henchman replied indignantly.

“What’s more important right now is stopping this virus here in Germany!” Kim exclaimed. “We will contain it and defeat it!”

The guard snickered. “Ah, yes, I have heard of your motto before.”

“That’s right! I can do anything!” Kim said.

“But can you stop millions, maybe billions, of microscopic germs from getting on your body?” the prisoner asked with a chuckle that turned into a brief cough. “I am telling you, Kim Possible.  What you are seeing right now...is going to be your world.  A world I’m sure VILE can take advantage of, even if things didn’t go quite as planned.”

Kim scoffed. “So not going to happen!”

“Mark my words...” the henchman muttered before turning his head to the prison guard. “This is the second time I’ve answered the same questions. Must I be subjected to these Global Justice scum?”

“I think we have all we need, for now,” Betty said.

The general nodded to the police guard, who escorted the inmate back to his cell while the group of visitors were escorted to another room for decontamination and removal of their protective gear.

“Hey, KPS…do you think that guy is right?” Ron asked quietly as they left the police station, having said their goodbyes.

“Right about what, Ron?” Kim questioned.

“About the whole changing of the world thing because of this virus?” Ron said, the worry clear on his face.

“Ron, it's no big!” Kim scoffed. “All we have to do is to contain the virus here, and the country has already made a good start by closing its borders.  And Germany has one of the best health-care systems in the world! Everything will be fine, end of story.”

Unfortunately, Kim’s confidence would soon be shown to be in vain.

---------

As the Possible-Stoppables as well as millions of other families in the US celebrated Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the new year, cases of TEVID-20 were spreading beyond Germany and Austria into the neighboring countries of Denmark, the Netherlands, Belgium, Poland, and Slovenia. With the new virus still unknown to most of the world and life going on as usual, it then spread to the rest of the European Union, the UK, Russia, and some of the former Soviet states as well. By January of 2021, the virus had made its way to Asia, and cases started to pop up in China, Japan, South Korea, Vietnam, and the Philippines, among others. It then made its way through the Middle East and the African continent, and then through Australia and New Zealand and the island nations. Travel restrictions and quarantines were issued for the EU and some of the Asian countries as well.

It was on January 20, 2021 that the first case of TEVID was diagnosed in the US in Washington State. A second case was reported in Illinois and a third case was reported in California. By the time the first case of TEVID came to Colorado on March 5, 2021, there were 228 cases of TEVID confirmed and twelve deaths in the US.

Then came March 11, 2021.

--------

A/N: Ken Trepid and Slam are the OCs of Hotrod2001.

[galaxygrv]

not even our friends like our therapist and man. we have to agree she very much Sucks. below the cut is complaining about her :P

she doesnt listen to us and just goes on and on about her experiences in the field and her life and that she is correct abt all these things and that we are just being stubborn and yada yada she doesnt believe we have social anxiety or ptsd or anything other than mild anxiety and depression yada yada. shit sucks !!

we scored very high on our ptsd screening TWICE (once in middle school and once a few months ago) and she says we've never had it!!! what the fuck!!! she thinks we just have anxiety and depression and thats what causes the flashbacks and nightmares and every single fucking ptsd symptom we have. what is she TALKING ABOUT. its so confusing i actually dont understand what she means by "your GENERALIZED anxiety and mild-moderate depression is causing your flashbacks" and she was making US sound unreasonable when we tried saying that we dont think thats how that works.

thats not even mentioning the fact that we have always had SOCIAL anxiety and NOT generalized anxiety. its a fight every session for her to drop the idea that we will be fearful of Everything Except Social Situations instead of our ACTUAL fears of JUST SOCIAL SITUATIONS!!! we have occasional specific fears that do interrupt a few moments of the day when they happen, but its not a part of any of our fucking disorders!! yes our brain scrambles a little when we see a bug, and yes we are a little afraid of a bomb being dropped on our house, but it doesnt interrupt our daily life!! we think about it for a minute tops and then the moment passes and its done. SOCIAL SITUATIONS ARE NOT LIKE THAT. SOCIAL SITUATIONS ARE A CONSTANT LOOMING DREADFUL FEAR THAT WE AVOID LIKE THE PLAGUE. she doesnt seem to understand how scared we are of this, she always says we do so well in those situations so therefore we cannot be afraid. no fucking shit we dont freak out, it gets even worse if we do, so we have to keep it on the inside! this is how nerevar learned how to mop up the bodys emotions we dont start crying in public when a cashier looks at us!

whatever , im tempted to just call it quits and drop her for a different therapist. so fucking annoying to have someone thats "helping" you not believe a word you say. i think it would go even worse than the ptsd screener day if we tried to tell her about our dissociation and plurality. fucks sake.

[the-eternal-quest-for-balance]

This WON'T be a popular message to those who are used to binary or reactionary thinking but I've got to say this. Covid-19 was not the real pandemic. It was a dress rehearsal for what may be the real pandemic. Everyone is already giving their "I will not comply" declarations and making sure to disregard any future pandemics but I have to advise caution here. Not many people remember things prior to the latter end of the Pandemic but I remember vividly the horror that the SARS-CoV-2 virus was before it began to mutate and become mild. There's a lesson here. We were blessed. Yes there were idiots in power who abused their positions and turned it into a free-for-all wealth redistribution and power consolidation operation, but the real threat of the virus loomed early on and while things weren't as bad as they could have been for most of us, this WAS a bioweapon in the sense that it caused mass casualties compared to the overall global population. Considering that this thing accidentally breached that BSL-3 lab in Wuhan, I'd imagine that China has several worse pathogens they've been testing. They already said that they'd be constructing more in the coming months and years. With this in mind, we must consider that China still has the WHO under their thumb. They're now, (Thanks to the Biden Administration) arguably MORE powerful with their new allies in Russia and strengthened BRICS alliance complete with currency plans and oil trading medium. The one thing that stands in their way is the US and its allies. But much like what has happened in only 3 years of Biden's reign, the strength of the US can be diminished from within, and what better way to do it than to remix an old hit from a few years ago. Assuming that the other Biolabs they have where they've been conducting GoF research (Some with the blessing of US entities) its reasonable to assume that they have some even deadlier pathogens of the chimeric variety tucked away, possibly with a similar if not longer incubation period than COVID, but also with added virulence. Given that Conservatives are primed to disobey any and all health based directives from the government and Conservatives oppose the puppeted and compromised Democrats, who arguably would make China's time becoming the premier global super power easier, the vested interest for China would be to delegitimize and destroy Conservative and Libertarian thought and credibility at any cost so as to soften the US up and let it collapse under its own authoritarianism & central planning. That's why I believe the nextpandemic will be the REAL pandemic brought to you by Xi and the CCP. They don't think short term like many of us Americans. If you're familiar with China, you know they think in centuries rather than decades.

Using the data that they have stolen from all our communications and from the platforms we call "The public square" they know that if they were to release some actually deadly viruses and lean on the WHO to keep it quiet or provide false metrics and stats like they did in the FIRST pandemic, that they'd easily be able to get it to the US and from there, let it tear through the liberty-minded who would completely disobey ANY calls for lockdown or cautious movement. This is a tendency that we've build up and can easily be used against us by any savvy evil dictator with enough balls to attempt it. The minute the bodies would start dropping, you'd see a counter-reaction and possibly collapse of conservative sentiment and credibility altogether because the situation was not approached with caution to begin with. This is the absolute worst case scenario as it would not only thin our numbers and cause untold amounts of strain on the economy, but would also usher in a NEW AGE of despotism by the ruling establishment who would more than likely thank China for defeating their pesky adversaries. This is why I'm eternally vigilant when it comes to the possibility of any sort of pandemic. I don't rest on my laurels for having survived the past pandemic because the rules never stay the same and reliance on old behavioral patterns, while it can be time-saving and a good guide, make you predictable when you have enemies plotting your destruction. This doesn't mean we take any and every vaccine, lick boot, and obey all orders from the gov't. Far from it, I don't trust them either. But at the same time, you have to be wary and not stupid enough to try and virtue signal to the grifters on the right by saying "It's just the flu" when there's a chance it may not be. Just a simple warning... Don't let your guard down.

[paricreations]

NATURE IS A TEACHER...

I recently had a vacation to a stunning region in Portugal. Located in the centre of a national park, we stayed in a renovated farmhouse. In a valley was the farmhouse. The birds were just beginning to roost when we got there in the evening. The weather was still warm, and pollen-scented air was in the air. The sound of crickets was audible. That valley has a small river running through it. We walked across a narrow wooden bridge after opening a flimsy gate. I could clearly picture my morning routine for the following 14 days as we made our way up the winding route to our home. I had put in a lot of effort over the previous few months,. I was worn out because I had been working hard for a while. I wanted this vacation to be a quick getaway. Every morning when I awoke, it was still rather cool, and I would meditate for a bit. I visualised myself in a serene setting, my body at ease and my mind at ease. As the early morning sun rose over the top of the hill, I felt its first rays hit my face as well as the river flowing and the birds and other wildlife beginning to stir. Present. It sounds like paradise to me even as I write this.

The following morning, I got up early, and everything was exactly as I had anticipated. Nothing compares to the quiet of the early morning. I experienced a soft, serene sense surrounding me. Although it didn't originate with me, it appeared to come from the ground, the river, and the mountains. More so than usual, everything seemed obvious. The mind wasn't constantly running like it usually does. Despite the fact that I had never been there before, it seemed warm and comfortable. I located a place to recline peacefully.The inconspicuous murmur of insects was audible. There was barely any movement in the extremely quiet atmosphere. My face was stung by a fly. After a short while, I softly lifted my hand and ushered him out of the room. A second fly then landed on my face. then another then another I no longer felt what I had only a moment ago. The first morning was about thirty minutes of mild torture before I gave up and went back to the farmhouse.

I tried out several strategies throughout the next few days. To try to get away from the flies, I moved to a different location. I visited at various occasions throughout the day. I had been practising meditation for a long time and had previously overcome a variety of distractions and challenges. I was positive that this would be the same. I had heard many tales and parables about similar events, with the "lesson" being that "the underlying cause of your sorrow is your resistance to things not turning out the way you want them to. Let go of the resistance. Give up the need for things to be a specific way. Words. I frequently said the same thing to other people. I could understand the words.I tried to change my perspective. I tried to simply experience the movements of each fly as pure sensation on my skin. I reminded myself that flies are an important part of the ecosystem and tried to appreciate each fly. I was lying to myself. Things weren’t going the way I wanted them to. I really hated those flies. I just felt irritated and tense. I was in a constant state of vigilance…waiting for the next fly to land on my skin, knowing that I would have to “mindfully” endure its presence for as long as possible until finally, when I could take no more, I would choose to “mindfully” flick it away… knowing also that in a few moments it would inevitably return. I thought about abandoning my plan to practice outside in nature and moving inside to the farmhouse. I’m stubborn though and I endured several more mornings of mental torture.

The fact that I couldn’t drop my resistance to things being a certain way was making things worse. I was also annoyed with myself now. The more I “tried” to be patient and accepting about the flies, the worse I felt. All this effort was adding unnecessary layers of suffering to my experience. More words. I already knew this. I had heard this advice many times in the past: “Stop making effort. When you practice just allow everything to be exactly as it is.”

On this morning, I was sitting in a sheltered spot near the river under an old Holm Oak. If you observed me from a distance you might think that I was in heaven. I didn’t feel like I was in heaven as a solitary fly methodically explored the back of my hand and several more buzzed dangerously close to my face. A question came to mind: in this moment what would actually happen if I did nothing and allowed EVERYTHING to be exactly as it is? I began conducting my experiment.

First things first – what was my actual experience in this moment?

I was tired. Fine, allow that to be as it is. Don’t resist it or ignore it or try to change it. You’re tired. Don’t even intentionally explore the experience of being tired.

I noticed some tension in my shoulders and face. Fine, allow there to be tension in your shoulders. That’s the way it is right now.

I noticed an urge to relax my shoulders. Fine, allow that urge to just be there. Don’t follow the urge, don’t resist the urge, just acknowledge it.

I noticed a recurring thought – “when will the next bloody fly land on my face!” Fine, allow that thought to be there. Don’t cling to the thought, don’t push it away, don’t try to change it.

I noticed the tension in my shoulders softened a little bit as if by itself. Fine, I just noticed that feeling of relaxation.

I noticed more thoughts – “ok Barry, you might feel more relaxed now but just wait until the next fly lands on your face, you’ll be back to square one!” Same approach. Allow the thoughts to just be there. Let them come and let them go. Don’t interfere. Don’t analyse.

I noticed the fly which had been meandering on my hand suddenly take flight and a moment later land on my cheek. This was it! What would happen if I just allowed that fly to be there on my face?

I noticed all kinds of things. I noticed a feeling excitement, as if I was a scientist reaching the pivotal moment of his experiment. Fine, allow that feeling of excitement to be there. The initial tiredness I felt at the start was gone.

I noticed very intense, unpleasant sensations on my face as the fly moved around. Fine, allow those sensations to be there.

I noticed thoughts telling me how I “should” react to the fly with imperturbable equanimity. Fine, more thoughts. Don’t try to stop them. Let them be there.

I noticed other thoughts telling me to abandon this stupid experiment and try to whack the fly… even if that meant slapping myself in the face! Fine, allow those thoughts to be there.

As I followed this unfolding series of experiences an interesting thing happened. The fly was still on my face but because the focus of my practice was simply exploring what would happen if I allowed it and everything else to be there exactly as it was, there was a natural softening. Whatever happened was fine. If I felt irritation about the fly…fine. If I felt acceptance about the fly…fine. There was no longer any effort, just awareness.

I started to notice other things which I had not been aware of before. I could hear the steady sound of the river flowing. I could feel the subtle change in temperature on my skin as the wind increased in intensity and then stopped. I was aware of the weight of my body and the contact between my body and the earth. The fly was no longer the focus of my attention. Whatever I was aware of, the approach was the same. Let it be exactly as it is. There was a naturally occurring state of peace and deep stillness. If I had tried I could never have experienced this. It didn’t last. It never does. As always some random thought about the past or the future came along and carried me away from the present moment. I was lost in a daydream for a while. No longer aware of my experience.

What brought me back to the present moment?

The familiar feeling of a fly landing on my face. Except this time my natural response was to smile: “thank you for reminding me to bring my attention back to the present Mr Fly”! I noticed the feeling of gratitude and appreciation. The sensations were no longer unpleasant. With each movement the fly was reminding me to stay here with my present moment experience. That fly was my teacher. Nature was my teacher.

So you’ve read this short story. More words. More intellectual ideas. Maybe you agree and you have decided to accept the idea or maybe you disagree and have decided to reject the idea. It doesn’t matter. An intellectual understanding of something is not the same as a lived experience.  Trust me… you need to find out for yourself. Carry out your own experiment. Sit quietly under a tree and see what happens when you allow EVERYTHING to be exactly as it is.

Note: I feel that it’s important to clarify that I’m not advocating apathy and passive acceptance as a life philosophy here! We are all agents of change in our environment and the choices we make and the actions we take (to a large extent) shape our experience and the world in which we live. Living a conscious life is about taking wise action where necessary and sometimes making difficult choices. If we just allowed everything in life to be exactly as it is without ever trying to consciously influence things, it would be an abdication of responsibility as a human being. However, there are still certain things which are completely beyond our control (especially in the short term). When something is completely beyond your control see for yourself which causes you more suffering… resistance or allowing it to be as it is?.

[softboi97]

Gods I really am pathetic. I stopped working, stopped being responsible for myself almost 3 years ago, and moved back with my parents in an attempt to give myself time to work on my mental health. Things have not improved at all. In fact, I think my mental state is worse than it has ever been before. I'm essentially at a point where I am completely unable to work, go to school, provide for myself in any way, or make meaningful connections. I live my life in black and white. A couple months ago, I was reminded what color felt like, just for it to be snatched away faster than it appeared. I'm left with nothing.

My family says they care, but in my attempts to please them and keep their worries at rest, I've grown to resent them more than I love them. Any true close friends I had have long since drifted away from me, and now I'm stuck with the only people willing to put up with me for longer than 5 minutes at a time. They're nice and all, but nobody gets me. Nobody actually wants me. Nobody appreciates me.

I have no aspirations. I've dreamt of love, but I honestly doubt I'll ever find it. I'm not stable enough to maintain a healthy relationship. To prepare myself for a real connection like that, I'd need to improve myself, but I have no idea how to get better. How am I supposed to deny my nature? How am I supposed to be happy in a world that tries its best to snuff out any spark of joy that arises?

I don't WANT anything. I try to keep myself hopeful and keep my sights on the future. I try to look forward to things. I just don't feel excitement anymore. The closest I get to excited is a mild desire to play a new video game. But with no way to make an income, I'm unable to get my hands on them. So I just sit in my room alone with more broken dreams piling up every day.

So what keeps me from ending it all? I have a cat. Yes, a cat. He is my baby. He is all I truly cherish anymore. The thought of him being confused and sad upon finding my corpse, or when I never come back home, breaks my heart more than the rest of this painful world does. So I stay. I endure it all for him. A small orange thread connecting my soul to this realm. The last thing for me to hold on to.

And here I am, some random, needy Tumblr blog. I made it to explore my interest in gfd. I think maybe since I have absolutely no direction in life, I wanted a mommy domme to take care of me and help steer me in the right direction. But who would want to take care of a hopeless basket case like me? Nobody is going to love me. Nobody is going to care.

Even you, reading this far into a random post that intrigued you for whatever reason. You don't actually care. You might pity me for feeling down on myself. You might wish that you could show me a spark of happiness to give me some hope. But you don't really care. You don't know me. You can scroll right past this, and your life won't change one bit.

How do I know? Because I've posted plenty, I've reblogged plenty, I've interacted with plenty of people. My pinned post practically begs people to reach out to me, and yet here I am with empty DMs. I guess you could call this a cry for help. One more desperate attempt to see if anyone could possibly care.

What's going to happen to this post? Maybe a few of my followers and mutuals will see it. I doubt more than one of them will read the entire thing. Maybe some will relate to the sad beginning because they struggle with depression too. I might get a like or two, but this post will inevitably get swept under the rug, ignored and forgotten. Just another instance of nobody caring enough to even try to help.

I've been so starved of companionship for years now. I haven't had any form of romantic connection in literal years. My best friends all dispersed and have their own lives, and don't have time to stoop back down to my level to try and lift me up with them.

Everyone says it gets better. Everyone says so. So why has it only gotten worse for me? Why has nothing improved in the slightest? Why have I held on to hope for this long? Why won't somebody, anybody, reach out to me and love me?

I believe I was made for a different world. A fantasy world, a sci-fi world, a post apocalyptic world, someplace where my heart's wings could spread out and find freedom. My soul dreams of soaring in the skies, discovering untold secrets, being a hero, being adored. In this reality, things like that are considered nothing but a child's immature dream. A falsehood of wonder that they will lose when they realize what an awful place this world really is.

Somebody prove to me that it isn't all for naught. Show me something that makes me believe that this world might actually have some worth to it. I'm begging you. I'm pleading with any gods listening. Whatever cosmic beings of the universe might grant a poor lost soul his one wish. Give me a sign at least. Show me I haven't been holding on and suffering for nothing. And if it's not going to get better, then please, for the love of everything pure, just end me already. I'm so tired. Tired of trying. Tired of being. Tired of existing. Please.

[vbecker10]

Shadows of the Past

Part 11 (Part 10)

_________________________________________

Loki steps out of his room and closes the door, he doesn’t greet you or make eye contact.  You assume it is because of your conversation a few hours ago so you don’t press it.  As you turn to walk down the hall your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket and you answer it without looking, assuming its Nat.

“Hey, we’re on our way-” you are cut off.

“Y/N!” Sarah practically yells into the phone.

“What do you want?” you ask her, taking a step away from Loki.

“I need to talk to Loki, please.  Can you put him on?” she begs.

You look at Loki, holding the phone out towards him, “It’s Sarah.”

He shrugs and makes no attempt to take the phone. “Sorry, he’s not-” you start to give her an excuse.

“Y/N please,” Sarah asks again.

You sigh loudly and try to offer the phone to Loki.  He still doesn’t take it, ignoring your attempt completely. “He doesn’t want to talk to you,” you tell her plainly.

“I need to explain-” she beings but is interrupted, “Just forget about him and come back to bed, it’s cold sweetheart,” you hear a familiar voice in the background.  She shushes him loudly but you hang up quickly before she says anything else.

You stop walking, standing in stunned silence.  “You heard him too then?” Loki asks when he notices your expression has changed from mild annoyance to confusion.  

“What?” you ask.

“The man she is sleeping with, you heard him when she was talking,” he said, this time as a fact.

You nod, not really sure what to say other than you are sorry.  Loki doesn’t respond, he simply keeps walking and you have to walk quickly to catch up. 

You feel your phone going off again and when you see Sarah’s name you decline the call.  She calls three more times before the two of you reach the elevator.  Nat was supposed to be getting the jet ready so you were on your way down to meet her at the hanger.

Again, your phone starts to buzz and this time you pick it up, “Sarah, seriously what do you want?  We don’t have time for your shit right now, ok? Loki and I need to get to the jet so we can leave.”

The elevator comes and you both step inside, the phone still to your ear. “I just need to talk to Loki, just for a minute,” she tries one more time.

“Why don’t you talk it over with Marc?” you snap at her and hang up.  You aren’t sure why you are feeling so defensive of Loki.  Honestly, if this was two weeks ago you wouldn’t have given a fly fuck if he was being cheated on.  You would have wished worse things on him.  Now here you were, furious with Sarah for hurting him like that.

“Marc?” Loki says in a low voice, pulling you from your thoughts.  “You know him?” he asks you.

“Uh... yea, not super well but... I’ve met him a few times,” you answer.  

He doesn’t respond, nodding just a little.  The elevator opens and Nat greets you both.  

(A few hours later)

Sitting up at the front of the jet with Nat, you stare at the file in your lap and go over the plan in your head one more time.  Loki was sitting in the rear of the plane, he hadn’t said a word since the three of you took off.  

Normally the flight to Bulgaria would be close to 11 hours, but you could make it in under 6 with the jet.  Since it is 7 hours ahead of New York, you would be landing around 9PM.  That was good, Nat & Loki wanted to start the first phase of the mission as soon as they landed and it would be easier at night.

You finally close the file and ask Nat how much longer until you land.  “Another hour if the weather stays like this,” she answers.  The two of you spend the rest of the flight talking about nothing in particular.  

When you get close enough, Nat activates the cloaking device on the jet and lands it where it wouldn’t be found.  Loki and Nat gather everything they will need for the first part of the mission while you set up your computer and make sure the coms work.  You give an ear piece to each of them and tell them good luck as they leave the jet.  You watch their location update through a tracker Nat has and you wait.  They steal a car and head to the next town over where the target lives and works.  Through your study of him, you discover he goes to the same bar every weekend for dinner.  It was easy enough to figure out once you got access to his credit card statements, at least he tipped well you had thought to yourself when you saw the same charges over and over.  

Loki and Nat parked two blocks from the bar and waited for him to leave.  It was easy enough for a God and the Black Widow to kidnap one low level Hydra agent who was halfway drunk.  He practically got in the car himself when he realized what was going on, he wasn’t going to put up a fight.  Loki lets you know they have him and they are on their way back to the jet.  

When they get back it’s time for the second part, Nat spends the next few hours getting as much information out of him as she can.  You take notes and record everything, comparing what you are learning to what you had already discovered.  He confirms the identity of three other Hydra agents you had suspicions about and he even tells you there is a meeting at the hospital tomorrow afternoon.  The meeting is to discuss the continued failure of their new version of the super soldier serum.  When Nat is finished and he is secured in a holding area, you contact Hill and let her know the mission status.  

There isn’t much that can be done until morning now so the three of you agree to take turns sleeping while one of you watches the subject.  Loki volunteered to take first watch and you would take second, Nat would be last.  You and Nat sit in the pilot and copilot chairs, reclining them all the way back, you fall asleep much quicker than you expected.

Loki wakes you gently when it is your turn and you switch places with him.  You sit outside the door of the holding area and play with your phone.  Occasionally you look up and check the monitor but the subject inside looks like he is asleep on the floor.  After about half an hour, you get bored of only game you and you put it away.  You cross your arms and lean back in the chair.  Staring up at the ceiling, you blink slowly.

An alarm blares and jolts you from your sleep.  You sit up quickly, looking around, trying to remember where you are and what is going on.  Red lights flash overhead and the alarm is so loud you cover your ears.  You get up from your seat and suddenly realize the door to the holding cell is open! Your heart races and your breath becomes quick and shallow.  Omg! I fell asleep and he escaped! You think to yourself in a panic.

Loki and Nat run towards you from the front of the jet, “What the hell happened!?” they both ask.  Nat rushes past you and into the holding cell but it is empty.  You haven’t moved, not sure what you are supposed to do.  

“Y/N! Where is he?” Loki asks as he grabs your arm and turns you towards him.

“I-I don’t know, I must have fallen asleep.  He couldn’t have gotten far could he?” you ask.  How could this have happened?  If he makes it back to town, or even to a phone, he could alert all the Hydra agents at the hospital that you are here.  They could destroy all the evidence and kill anyone in their experiments by the time you are able to get there.

“You had one job, how could you have been this stupid?” Loki asks angrily. 

You just shake your head, his grip on your arm is getting tighter.  You try to pull yourself free but its no use.  “Loki, let her go.  We don’t have time to fight about this, we need to find him now,” Nat yells as she opens the rear door.  You look down at your feet and rub your arm where you can feel a bruise forming.  “You’re coming too, Y/N.  You made this mess, now you have to help us fix it.”

@michelleleewise @evansabove1981 @ace-of-gay @butt-ugly-popsicle-stick @poetic-fiasco @lokisprettygirl22 @soubi001 @kats72 @misswimberly @meibruges @juulle987 @asgardianprincess1050 @el-zef @xorpsbane @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @apine7

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

drea!! merry chrisum!! how are anthrorry and yn spending the holidays??

They’re spending it with their families, but perhaps they sneak away to have a quick FaceTime call to wish each other happy holidays.

“Are you having a nice time?”

“The best. Mum’s on her fourth glass of eggnog, and my sister’s already shitfaced doing karaoke with my nan. Makes for good blackmail content.”

“Blackmail?” Y/N raises an eyebrow playfully at the irony behind his actions. “Doesn’t that go against Socrates’ teachings?”

“I’m putting the Father of Ethics on the backburner for this one. It’s just too good to pass up.”

“Wowwww. You see the chance to humiliate your sister and you take it without hesitation? You have the moral backbone of a soggy piece of paper.”

“All’s fair in love and tinsel.”

“Hysterical.”

“I know, I’m a dream. S’why you wanna fuck me.”

“No comment.”

Harry pouts at her mockingly. “Obviously. Facts aren’t open for discussion.”

“Right, that’s enough. I can only tolerate you for so long.”

“If you want to hang up, go ahead.”

Y/N grunts in artificial disdain, shaking her head begrudgingly. “Well, now I can’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re not sobbing and begging me to stay.”

Harry belts out a boisterous laugh at her snarky remark, the edges of his eyes crinkling with glee. “I know everyone says STEM majors are the most arrogant people in existence, but you’re proving that lit majors can be just as bad, if not worse.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, Orwell. You are. You’re lucky I like you, or I would have thrown you in the fire a long time ago.”

“Fahrenheit 451 style?”

“Absolutely.”

“Harsh.”

There’s a comfortable pause in the conversation, and Y/N finds herself fending off a enamored smile at how well their banter always flows. Even when he’s thousands of miles away, he still manages to make every single nerve in her body burst with heat. Especially because he looks so cute in that ugly snowman sweater he’s wearing, clad in glitter, red and green yarn, and 3D puff paint, as well as a pair of decorative reindeer antlers pierced with golden bells, which sits atop his shiny curls and chimes faintly whenever he moves. He grins down at her with that signature crooked smirk, and he looks so boyishly attractive that she has to resist the urge to coo at him through the speaker.

Y/N picks at the silver nail polish coated over her nails, her voice weighing in soft and almost timid, which is a drastic contrast from her tone a few second prior. “Can I ask you something, Rudolph?”

“Make it quick. Santa said we’re pressed for time, so I’m due back in the air in a minute or two.”

The adoring simper she’d been fighting off earlier gradually begins to creep its way across her face. “Understood. Don’t wanna get between you and your civic duties.”

“The children of the world greatly appreciate it.”

Y/N gazes at him fondly, murmuring her question with the slightest edge to her voice. “Are you planning on kissing anyone for New Year’s?”

Harry blinks at her slowly, as if he’s interpreting the question from every angle she could possibly pose it, reading between every line and crevice to decipher any hidden messages she’s instilled within its syllables. The tiny pits in his cheeks twitch for a flicker of a second, and if she hadn’t been staring at him so intently, she probably would have missed it. He simply shrugs his brows casually, his accent weighing in joking and dismissive. “Probably Petunia.”

Y/N’s brows scrunch in mild confusion. “Your mom’s shih tzu?”

“Mm. She seems like the only viable choice, considering I’m related to everyone else here. Now that would be highly unethical. And just plain fucked.”

She can feel giggles bubbling up from the pit of her twisting belly. “Yeah, I guess your options are pretty limited, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” The jade of Harry’s eyes glint beautifully under the cascading stream of colorful lights strung across his Christmas tree, his face washed in a sheen of rainbow hues as he appraises her with a hint of endeared amusement. “What about you? Swapping tonsils with anyone interesting at midnight?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly at his immature jest. “I wish. The only thing getting shoved down my throat is gonna be a slice of my aunt’s famous raspberry cheesecake.”

“That’s one lucky slice of cheesecake.”

“Thanks. What a gentleman.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s a pity though, innit? That we’re both gonna be disappointed this year?”

Y/N finds herself absently thumbing over the image of Harry’s handsome face across her screen, the pad of her finger tracing the curve of his delicate upper lip. “A travesty, yeah.”

Little does she know that across the globe, he’s indulging in the same exact gesture, admiring the burgundy lipstick painted over her dainty satin mouth. His words come out tender and wistful, sounding every bit as far gone as his distance entails. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Do me a favor, will you?”

“Depends on what it is. Blind promises are dangerous, Plato.”

“Lethal, yeah. But you won’t regret this one.”

“Bold assumption.”

“Just trust me.”

“Bold request.”

Harry sighs dramatically at her antics, his eyes going half-lidded in a deadpan expression. “I swear it on my Tripartite Soul.”

“Not on your Tripartite Soul.” She exclaims theatrically, her jaw falling open with exaggerated shock, an obnoxious gasp crackling through her end of the call. “This must be serious.”

“Deadly.”

Y/N cocks her head to the side curiously, narrowing her sight in a calculating manner as she tries to unravel whatever he’s plotting inside his scholarly brain. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s this big favor, then?”

“Save me that kiss.”