#I know it could just be my mind using an advanced trick to recalibrate itself to waking reality

[novafire-is-thinking]

Last week, this post made it to my dash, and it reminded me of the experience I had a little over a week ago:

I woke up early in the morning with sleep paralysis, and in the middle of my twilight sleep panic, SOUNDWAVE showed up.

I’m dead serious—I remember him looking at me, and he didn’t have his visor on, so I immediately recognized him as my Soundwave.

And he proceeded to TELL me what to say to break the paralysis.

​I don’t remember exactly what he told me, and I chalk that up to my disorientation because Hello??? Soundwave is here????? Talking to me???

But I remember being desperate, and I wasn’t about to say no to Soundwave. lol

So I said the words as loudly as I could in my head, and within seconds, I was free.

It was…an experience, to say the least.

I’m still lowkey freaked out that it happened…but you know what? I’m glad The Blorbo in my head is finally paying rent. It took him long enough. zhdhfkgk

Thanks for the help, Soundwave.

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 11)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 11:

Lights dimmed and temperature resting at no greater than twenty degrees Celsius, the entire bunker has settled into a heavy quietness, the type that sets me ill at ease.

“Goodnight, Eun,” Jungkook whispers around a yawn, nuzzling through my hair until the cold tip of his nose reaches the skin of my neck.

“Goodnight,” I shiver, but force myself to not pull away. It might upset him and besides, with his arms snaked around my middle and legs wound between mine, it’s not like I would be able to move much in the first place. What’s funny is this position should be VERY intimate, but it’s just not. He’s doing it to maintain his false sense of control, to protect me from nonexistent enemies or simply keep me from running off.

Either way, I’m strapped in until further notice and keep myself occupied by rubbing small, gentle circles into the skin on the back of his hand, listening acutely to the pattern of his breathing.

When Jungkook finally does drift off to sleep, I can’t seem to shake the feeling of… of what? I’m not entirely sure. But my eyes refuse to stay closed, even with the comfortable warmth of my best friend wrapped around me.

So, I slowly, carefully untangle his limbs from mine and wiggle off of the bed.

Encouraged that he doesn’t wake up, I stoop momentarily to search through my backpack until I find the item I didn’t know I was looking for. My fingers close around a lighter and I pull it out of the assortment of jars and packets. I don’t know why I instinctively grabbed it because, while at their dimmest setting, the lights are still on, but I wouldn’t dare refuse such an easy subconscious request.

I bump the leather bound book upon extraction. Unlike the bloodstone, it had somehow made its way back inside.

With no further hesitation except to slip on my shoes and take one last apologetic glance at Jungkook, I open the door to the hallway, which Taehyung had accidentally left unlocked. I decide not to close it all the way, hoping that a silent reentry will work in my favor.

My feet carry me forward with no particular destination in mind, only using the knot of apprehension festering in my stomach to lead the way- a queasy, thick, and curdled feeling that leaves my palms clammy despite the cool temperature.

I pause in the main living space to note the read out of the stove’s bright digital clock. 00:32.

My gaze slides to the mistletoe doors. I have no intention of going outside, but their looming presence…

The sound of footsteps causes me to shrink back, away from the source, away from the doors. I wouldn’t get in trouble for being out here, right? I haven’t actually gotten yelled at yet, but then again, I haven’t been caught snooping around before.

Just act natural.

I begin wildly opening cabinets, looking for an excuse to be where I am and not with Jungkook, but then the massive double doors open and in walks Jimin.

“I was just looking for a glass of water…” the halfhearted excuse falls on deaf ears as he makes a sharp right, walking down the hallway and disappears into the furtherest room without even looking in my direction.

Weird.

My feet carry me after him, the shy pull of curiosity tugging at my heartstrings, but as soon as I pass the perpendicular hallway, my pursuit comes to a cold halt. I can almost feel it, the lack of human presence as I glance down the length of the concrete tunnel.

It mirrors the other side exactly in build. Jimin occupies what should be Jungkook’s room and that door there would belong to Taehyung, but there’s something… empty about this side.

My feet recalibrate their intended path as the incessant tug of unease drags me further.

I am lead to another long passage, this one interrupted only by a strange set of double doors placed rather conspicuously in the middle. They appear to also be made of mistletoe, but are pocked by a grid of studs made of a shiny, metallic material and carved into each panel is a character of a foreign language. The dim light in front of the entryway flickers.

At the exact opposite end, I can see the corner I could turn to go back to Jungkook. It would be a straight shot down that hallway, right past Taehyung’s room, which is just a couple meters out of my sight line. Each of them promise a certain degree of safety.

Yet the doors beckon.

I approach with an air of caution, grip tightening on the lighter, and as soon as I find myself standing just before it, I understand the odd texture of the barrier. It’s mistletoe inlaid with SILVER. My gaze drops to the handles, which are made of the same precious metal.

It occurs to me then that I’ve seen these before on the inside of the main entry to the bunker. Is that why none of the pack want to touch it? Maybe it goes BEYOND the mistletoe itself. Not maybe, it DOES.

As Namjoon said, silver is the only thing that can pierce a werewolf’s skin. So it’s easy to guess they would want to avoid it at all costs.

I tentatively reach out, fingers ghosting the dusty, cold handles. There’s only one reason I’m hesitating. Clearly, this bunker is meant to keep the wolves IN. The locks are on the outsides of their rooms and the only exit I’ve seen makes them severely uncomfortable to pass through. But this? Mistletoe AND silver? What could be beyond these doors that is worth keeping even FURTHER under lockdown?

The answer seems obvious. Demons.

But they wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave those “nefarious spirits” alive, right? Especially when we would be sitting almost directly on top of them.

The hinges give a squeak that sounds more like a scream in the quietness of the night, but this is instantly dragged to the back of my attention as the stale air that comes rushing out from behind the doors surrounds me. My olfactory system wants to reject the bombardment of mildew, dust, and… rot? But something keeps me fixated, a cold, silent stillness.

The light above me flickers.

For some reason, this sensation seems… familiar, and I hang onto that thought as fuel for courage.

One step at a time.

The orange flame flickers to life between my fingers with a couple clicks of the lighter and the hallway I now stand in is bathed in a small bubble of dingy illumination. From what I can see, the passage is long, narrow, and big surprise, concrete.

What lies at the end? I don’t know, namely because I can’t see anything past two or three meters. The shadows that surround me are unusually thick.

At the edge of my consciousness, tickling the limits of my hearing…a whisper?

I advance two more meters, acutely aware of how hollow my footsteps sound, but also of the fact that they fail to echo. A heaviness presses upon my skin, a tangible stress on my mind that manifests as the sensation of weight. My pulse pounds in my ears. The further I go, the harder it is to breathe and the more the bubble of light around me seems to shrink. The whispering, at first faint and easily able to be dismissed as my tired mind playing tricks, grows in intensity.

It’s subtle, like the rustle of leaves, like the crunch of gravel. I can almost hear what it’s saying.

The hair on my neck and arms begins to prickle, the silence like a coffin. Footsteps. Heartbeat. I’m wading through mud, my mind desperately urging me to turn back while my body continues following the inexplicable pull.

The whisper, I can ALMOST decipher it. Almost… my name?

“Eun?”

I spin on my heels, dropping the lighter and plunging myself into darkness save the single, flickering fluorescent bulb just beyond the silver doors that now stretches the shadow of a towering silhouette toward me.

If I hadn’t known it was Taehyung by his voice, I probably would’ve screamed, though I still have to fight the natural urge. However, his cognitive presence seems to have severed me from my subconscious quest and I suddenly feel very out of place, more than fifteen meters into the stretch of dark hallway.

“What are you doing up?” he asks sleepily, rubbing one of his eyes.

I don't think Taehyung knows that I’m sprinting toward him until we collide, my arms wrapping around his neck as I bounce onto the tips of my toes.

He lets out a groggy laugh, almost collapsing under my added weight, “What’s this for?”

“You surprised me,” I admit, breaking the embrace to ruffle his bedraggled bronze hair and push him away. He smells like sleep and his loose tee shirt and boxers conceal none of the comforting warmth of his body heat.

This is when I realize how cold I’ve actually become.

His reply is underscored with an amused hum, “Yah, I’m not the one bumbling around at three o’clock in the morning.”

Three o’clock? But I couldn’t have left Jungkook more than five minutes ago and I could’ve sworn the stove clock had read half past midnight. Maybe Taehyung is over exaggerating.

“Speaking of which,” he comically crosses his arms, tapping his chin with his index finger, “Didn’t your parents ever tell you that snooping around in spooky places will only get you in trouble?”

I swallow a gasp, instead opting to flinch, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was off limits.”

Taehyung giggles, a sound that comes out raspy, “Well it’s not like anyone told you so I guess it’s not entirely your fault. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Erm, now would you mind… closing that door? It’s making me antsy. Thanks.”

As soon as I do as he asks, my companion’s smile becomes more relaxed and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me away from the strange entrance. After a few seconds, I allow myself to inquire, “So where does that hallway go?”

Taehyung, much to my surprise, leads me past Jungkook’s room, presumably heading toward the kitchen. I follow as he replies vaguely, “It’s just storage.”

It’s an answer that instantly rubs me the wrong way. “Storage” is for a closet next to a door or a cabinet in a restroom. “Storage” is NOT behind a physical ward like that.

“Okay,” I take his answer, knowing that fighting him at this point would do no good.

The bronze haired boy opens one of the few cupboards I hadn’t touched in my desperate but futile attempt to avoid Jimin’s scrutiny and hands me a cup after picking out one for himself, “I’ll give you some milk to help calm you down and then we’ll both go back to bed, hmm?”

I nod my agreement, but as he rummages through the refrigerator, I can’t help but steal a glance at the clock on the stove.

3:16 a.m.

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

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