#Onward to new horizons! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingofbodyrolls · 4 months ago

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Friendcation (m) | myg | honeymoon special

You and Yoongi travel to Scandinavia for your honeymoon, well more like babymoon. You camp, fish, hike and enjoy nature as you always do, and you even go surfing!

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi. → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings (explicit): semi-public sex (in a caravan on a campsite), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, nudity, oral (female and male receiving), breast play (sucking, slight biting), hickeys, squirting, deepthroating, creampie, impregnation kink, dirty talk, pleasing kink → Author’s note(1): another extra for friendcation is here! 🥳 I hope you enjoy this one too! 💜 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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When Yoongi revealed that he had already booked your honeymoon, you envisioned a sun-soaked paradise where you could bask in the golden warmth, bathe in crystal-clear waters, and revel in the essence of summer. But instead of tropical shores, you found yourself in the rugged mountains of Norway, on the cusp of autumn, where nature whispered secrets in the crisp, cool air. Yoongi had chosen this destination, a place forever etched in his heart from a trip with friends many years ago. He longed to share its raw, breathtaking beauty with you, and as you stood there, surrounded by towering peaks and pristine wilderness, you had to admit—the splendor was undeniable. Majestic mountains embraced the horizon, and the forest teemed with life—graceful deer gliding silently among the trees, playful squirrels darting about in a dance of their own.

For nearly a week, you nestled in a quaint cottage deep within the mountains, cocooned in the serene tranquility of nature. Each day, the world seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor every moment in this hidden paradise. But now, a new adventure beckons as your journey takes you onward to Denmark, with the enchanting landscapes of Sweden to explore first. The anticipation of Swedish forests, mirrored lakes, and ancient woodlands fills you with a quiet excitement, promising more adventures and moments of serene beauty.

The weather is a delicate dance between warm sunlight and the early September chill, hinting at the approach of autumn. Your journey from Norway to Sweden unfolds by bus, and upon arrival, a picturesque walk from the bus stop to your next secluded cottage awaits. The lightness of your luggage, carefully packed with warm clothes, turns the trek into an enjoyable prelude to the days ahead. You silently thank Yoongi for the foresight to pack hiking boots, as the rugged terrain tests your endurance. But the challenge is worth it, as each evening is rewarded with the simple pleasure of curling up in Yoongi’s arms, his hands soothing your tired feet as the day’s adventures fade into the warmth of the firelight.

In the Swedish cabin, time flows effortlessly, unburdened by the outside world. Yoongi, ever the thoughtful partner, prepares mouthwatering meals with ingredients fresh from the surrounding land, and with patient hands, he teaches you the art of fishing—a skill that had always eluded you on previous vacations. His steady guidance, coupled with whispered advice to remain silent, keeps the fish from fleeing, and you manage to catch a few, only to release them back into their watery home with a sense of reverence. Days are spent hiking the rolling hills and dense forests, each return to the cabin marked by the comforting embrace of each other’s arms, the crackle of the fire, and the soft murmur of the wilderness outside. Time slips away like water through your fingers, and before you know it, you’re packing for the next chapter of your journey.

The bus carries you southward, where a train awaits to whisk you to Denmark. There, just outside Copenhagen, you rent a car and a charming caravan trailer, your home on wheels for the next leg of your adventure. Denmark’s landscape, while familiar to Sweden’s, carries its own unique charm—its language more rough, its fields more open, a reminder that every place, like every person, has its own distinct personality.

Both you and Yoongi present your driver’s licenses, receive the keys, and locate your vehicles with the excitement of a new journey just beginning. Yoongi takes the wheel, his hands confidently guiding you northward to a place called Thy, a region he had spoken of with a quiet reverence. The local radio station fills the car with the lively tunes of Danish pop music, and as the road unfolds before you, a bridge rises to meet the horizon. You recline into your seat, lulled by the soothing rhythm of the road beneath you, when Yoongi mentions needing a break. He spots a rest stop, effortlessly maneuvering into a spacious parking area, and for a moment, the world outside pauses, allowing you both to take a breath and savor the journey that lies ahead.

Yoongi quickly exits, making a beeline for the restrooms, while you step out, stretching your limbs with a quiet sigh. The late hour casts a golden glow, the sun hanging low on the horizon, bathing the world in a warm, amber light that feels like a fleeting embrace. Around you, the scene is tranquil yet alive—lush green trees stand as silent sentinels, large trucks and trailers rest like sleeping giants, and an array of cars glimmer under the fading daylight. Your gaze drifts to a small store nearby, and you consider the idea of grabbing a meal, but something else catches your attention. A group of young men huddles around a car with its hood propped open, their faces etched with worry, a silent image of distress. Though the intricacies of engines elude you, Yoongi’s knack for mechanics brings a knowing smile to your lips. Almost as if sensing the moment, he appears beside you, his hand finding yours with effortless grace.

You gesture toward the troubled vehicle, your voice soft yet tinged with curiosity. “Do you think we should ask if they need help?”

Yoongi clears his throat, a quiet confidence in his nod, always eager to lend a hand when cars are involved. Together, you approach the trio and their ailing car, a shared purpose drawing you forward.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asks in English, his voice carrying a note of calm assurance. Two of the young men exchange giggles, their reason a mystery, but the one peering under the hood turns to Yoongi with relief plain in his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“I’m a mechanic. I don’t mind taking a look,” Yoongi replies, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his veined forearms, a sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “Babe, can you grab me a flashlight?” he asks, his voice gentle, and you’re quick to comply, retrieving it from the rental car. As the sun sinks lower, each sliver of light becomes precious, a fleeting gift for Yoongi’s hands to work by.

With the flashlight in hand, you stand close, watching Yoongi immerse himself in the task, his focus as sharp and radiant as the golden hour surrounding you both. His expertise becomes a quiet melody in the twilight, a dance of hands and metal that feels almost sacred in its simplicity.

“I’m Jonas, by the way. Thanks for looking at the car,” the young man says, stepping away to rejoin his laughing friends, a moment of lightness amidst their concern. You watch him playfully slap one of them on the arm, the sound of laughter briefly filling the air before your attention returns to Yoongi. You adjust the flashlight, its beam following the precise movements of his hands as he examines the engine. Yoongi lets out those soft, endearing noises he makes when deeply engrossed in a task, a habit he likely doesn’t even realize he has, but one that always stirs something deep within you. This moment is no different. Watching him work with such intensity sends warmth through you, a reminder of why you cherish these shared moments, even in the most unexpected places.

Grease begins to smudge his hands as he delves deeper under the hood, reattaching a loose valve and checking fluid levels with the practiced ease of someone who has spent years mastering his craft. Over time, you’ve absorbed a few of his car maintenance tips, knowledge passed on in quiet moments like these. Yoongi steps back from the car, a signal for you to turn off the flashlight, and you comply as Jonas, his brows knit with lingering concern, approaches to hear Yoongi’s verdict.

“I reattached a loose valve,” Yoongi explains, his tone measured and thoughtful, “and you’re low on radiator fluid. Be cautious when you drive; the car could overheat. You should refill it as soon as possible. Do you live nearby? It’s risky to drive far in this condition.”

The young man nods, gratitude and relief mingling in his expression. And as you stand there, bathed in the fading light, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction in the simple act of helping, of being there in that moment with Yoongi, where the beauty of the setting sun is matched only by the warmth of his presence beside you.

Jonas nods, a wave of relief washing over his face. “We live close—we’re almost home. I’ll drive carefully and contact my mechanic tomorrow,” he says, offering a grateful smile. Yet, as his friends snicker behind him, their eyes linger on you with a gaze that feels like a brush of unwelcome heat, as if you’re some forbidden temptation. “Thank you so much for your help,” Jonas adds, shaking Yoongi’s hand with a vigor that speaks to his gratitude, pulling him into a spontaneous hug.

Yoongi returns the gesture with warmth, clearly pleased to have made a difference. As he walks back to you, you notice him wiping his greasy hands together in a futile attempt to clean them, a small smile playing on your lips at the sight.

You greet him with a smoldering gaze, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips, a kiss that holds both affection and a touch of mischief. Are you putting on a show for the boys who ogled you earlier? Absolutely. As you pull away, you lean into his ear, your voice a whisper in English, “You always look so damn hot when you’re working. I can’t wait for you to fuck me later.” Your words are barely audible, yet you catch the sound of one of the guys choking in surprise, a wicked smile curling your lips as you take Yoongi’s hand. With a playful wave to the three gaping men, you turn and saunter back to your rental car, feeling Yoongi’s hand squeeze your ass with a low chuckle.

“You’re such a good and dirty girl,” he murmurs, his words a spark that sends warmth pooling in your core. His praise, his touch, his very presence—everything about him ignites the fire within you.

Slipping back into the car, Yoongi starts the engine, the soft rumble beneath you a prelude to the journey ahead. The night deepens as you drive, the world outside dissolving into shadows and starlight, the road a ribbon of dark velvet stretching toward the unknown. Hours later, you arrive at a quiet camping ground nestled in the northern wilderness. Yoongi picks a spot at random, the exhaustion of the day evident in the slump of your bodies. He parks and turns off the car, the silence of the night settling around you like a blanket.

Yoongi sets to work preparing the caravan, a compact haven of white and beige. Inside, it holds a tiny kitchen with a sink, fridge, and portable stove, a dining area that converts into a bed, bunks that will remain untouched, and a small bathroom. As he transforms the dining space into a bed, you slip out of your clothes and into one of his shirts, the familiar scent of him comforting against your skin. Yoongi follows suit, and after brushing your teeth together, you both crawl into bed, the weight of the day melting away in the warmth of each other’s presence.

He spoons you, his body pressing close, and you feel the unmistakable hardness against your ass, a thrill of desire sparking within you. Unable to resist, you grind back into him, eliciting quick, needy sounds that only fuel your own arousal. You turn to capture his lips in a kiss, your voice breathless as you whisper how much you need him.

Without a word, he turns you over, his hands deftly pulling down your panties and sliding his own underwear aside. The moment he enters you, a sigh escapes your lips, the smooth glide of him filling you completely, a perfect fit that sends waves of pleasure rippling through you. He moves with a rhythm that drives you wild, each thrust deeper, more urgent, as his hand finds your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. The pleasure builds, coiling tight within you until it snaps, your climax washing over you in a wave of pure ecstasy. He follows soon after, his warm release filling you as he grunts against your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder.

In the afterglow, he gently pulls your panties back up, his touch tender as you both settle into the bed, the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. Exhaustion pulls you under, and with the comforting weight of Yoongi beside you, you drift into a deep, contented sleep, the echoes of your shared passion lingering in the quiet night.

Morning breaks with the gentle chorus of birdsong and sunlight spilling into the caravan like liquid gold. You groan softly, stretching your limbs as Yoongi stirs beside you, his warmth anchoring you to the comfort of the moment. The new day whispers promises of fresh adventures, but for now, you linger in the serenity, savoring the feel of his body close to yours.

“Morning, babe,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep, his hair tousled in a way that only adds to his effortless charm.

“Morning, Yoon,” you reply, your voice soft as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, a gentle exchange of warmth before you rise to greet the day. The morning routine is simple and sweet—brushing teeth and hair, sharing a light breakfast—each small act grounding you in the shared rhythm of your lives.

Stepping outside, the landscape unfolds before you, vast and open, dotted with tufts of grass and stretches of sand. The air is brisk, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the constant, soothing lull of waves crashing against the distant shore. You inhale deeply, the cold, invigorating air filling your lungs as you take Yoongi’s hand, the two of you setting off to explore the campground, the natural beauty around you awakening with the first light of day. The world is still in its early stirrings, granting you a peaceful solitude, a shared quiet that feels almost sacred.

As you stroll, the calm is broken by the sight of an elderly couple walking past—naked. You exchange a startled glance with Yoongi, his expression mirroring your own surprise. The closer you draw to the beach, the more you realize that everyone around you is unabashedly bare, the air thick with a sense of freedom that feels, to you, both strange and out of place. Overdressed and bemused, you settle down on the sandy shore, leaning into Yoongi as you take in the unexpected scene.

“What is this place?” you murmur, half-amused, half-bewildered by the sight of naked bodies in every direction. Yoongi chuckles, pulling out his phone to solve the mystery. Moments later, his laughter bubbles up, contagious and bright.

“It’s a nudist campsite and beach,” he explains, his eyes sparkling with amusement as realization dawns on you. Laughter spills from your lips, a shared moment of levity in the midst of this peculiar discovery. There’s something admirable about the courage of those around you, their ease in embracing their natural state, even if it’s not a comfort you share. With a grin, you tell Yoongi that while you can appreciate their confidence, you’d much rather prefer a different campsite—one where the only naked body you see is his, perhaps later tonight.

The day unfolds in a series of light-hearted decisions and shared smiles. Later, you venture into the chilly embrace of the sea, donning your swimwear despite the nudist surroundings. The water is cold, biting against your skin, yet it awakens something within you—an invigorating contrast to the warmth of the morning, cleansing and bracing. Afterward, you drive into a nearby town for lunch, soaking in the lively atmosphere, the air filled with the hum of conversation and the sound of laughter. Hand in hand, you wander through quaint shops, not seeking anything in particular, but relishing the simple pleasure of being together.

The hours pass in a blend of humor and quiet adventure, each moment wrapped in the comfort of Yoongi’s presence. Together, you weave through the day, creating a tapestry of memories that feel destined to become cherished stories—reminders of the joy found in the unexpected, and the beauty of sharing life’s quirks with the one you love.

You return to the campsite, hitching the caravan back to the rental car, eager to find a new haven—a place where the landscape is as private as your desires. The drive is peaceful, the miles slipping away under a sky that deepens into twilight, leading you to a secluded campground far removed from the nudist site. As night falls, you settle into the quiet embrace of nature, the only witnesses to your evening the stars that begin to shimmer above.

Under a canopy of twinkling lights, you and Yoongi sit side by side on a pair of worn stools, warm cups of tea in hand. The night is cool, the air crisp, and the silence between you is companionable, filled with the unspoken understanding that comes from years of shared moments like this. The sky stretches out endlessly above, a vast canvas of dark velvet scattered with diamonds, and you both soak in its serene beauty, letting the tranquility of the moment wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Later, you retreat to the warmth of your caravan, its small space transformed into a world of your own. Curled up in bed, you lean in for a kiss, the softness of his lips familiar yet always thrilling. Your fingers find the waistband of his boxers, and with a deliberate slowness, you peel them away, revealing his hard cock that you always crave. Your desire for him is insatiable, a fire that never dims, only burns hotter with each passing touch.

Wearing nothing beneath your nightshirt, your slick arousal greets him as you straddle his hips, a low moan escaping your lips as you grind down, the friction intoxicating. The rough texture of his pubic hair against your sensitive skin, the solid heat of his cock against your aching pussy—every sensation drives you wild, fueling the need that pulses through you.

Dripping with want, you wrap your hands around his thick dick, guiding him to your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate motion, you sink down onto him. The stretch is exquisite, your body accommodating him inch by inch until your ass meets his pelvis, the fullness making you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re always so big,” you pant, the words tumbling out as pleasure ripples through you, your head falling back in ecstasy.

His groan is guttural, raw, as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place. “You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin, his need for you as urgent as yours for him. “Taking me so good, baby,” he rasps, already breathless, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You hum in response, setting a steady rhythm as you begin to move, your hands splayed against his chest for balance. Leaning forward, you press kisses to his collarbones, his neck, your breath hitching as you whisper into his ear, “Get me pregnant, Yoon.”

You feel him twitch inside you, a reaction as instant as it is powerful, the mere idea pushing him closer to the edge. His grip tightens, possessive, and he begins to thrust up into you, his movements seeking control as he chases that intoxicating thought. His hips snap against yours with a newfound urgency, his pace relentless as he drives deeper, harder.

He holds you still as he pounds into your warm, wet heat, each thrust tearing a scream from your throat. You try to muffle your cries, aware of the thin caravan walls and the nearby campers, but the pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, and it’s impossible to stay quiet under his relentless onslaught.

Together, you find a rhythm, a perfect synchrony that sends you both hurtling toward the edge. He hits your g-spot with precision, over and over, until the coil in your stomach tightens to the point of breaking. With a choked cry, you unravel around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves as your body releases a rush of liquid heat, soaking his cock as you convulse in his arms.

Panting, you cling to him, your body shuddering as he continues to move, his pace unyielding until you collapse against his chest, utterly spent. It’s more intimate like this, your bodies pressed close, and as you whisper filthy promises in his ear, nipping at his lobe, he comes inside you with a deep groan, filling you with his warmth as he grunts against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in lazy kisses.

You both gasp for breath, slick with sweat and the mingled scent of your lovemaking. He cleans you gently with a towel, his touch tender, before pulling you back into his arms. You drift off to sleep in his embrace, safe and sated, just as you love to.

The terrain here is gentler, the low elevations a welcome reprieve from the rugged mountains of Norway and Sweden. Your days have been spent in quiet contentment, the two of you fishing in the calm waters, the simplicity of the act bringing a sense of peace. Words aren’t needed in these moments, the silence speaking volumes as you sit side by side, casting lines and sharing smiles.

One day, you take a bus into Aarhus, the city buzzing with life on a cold Friday night. The decision to take public transport is an easy one—no need to worry about driving as you plan to indulge in the vibrant nightlife. The contrast between the quiet days spent in nature and the energy of the city is exhilarating, and you look forward to a night of laughter and exploration, knowing that whatever the evening holds, it will be another memory to cherish with Yoongi by your side.

You’re adorned in a flowing dress that sways with every step, its fabric catching the cool breeze of mid-September. Warm boots hug your feet, grounding you as you navigate the lively streets. Yoongi walks beside you, his own boots echoing softly against the cobblestones. He’s dressed in jeans, a fitted shirt, and a cozy jacket that accentuates his broad shoulders. You’re wrapped in a jacket too, its warmth a welcome shield against the evening chill that settles in like a whisper from autumn itself.

The streets pulse with life, alive with throngs of people—mostly the young and inebriated, their laughter loud and words slurred, their steps unsteady as they weave through the neon-lit night. You and Yoongi sip your drinks, savoring the night with a quiet restraint, the alcohol a gentle warmth rather than a dizzying rush. Neon signs bathe the street in a kaleidoscope of colors, each one calling out the names of bars and clubs, their music spilling into the air, a chaotic symphony of bass and beats.

You step into one of the clubs, but the moment you cross the threshold, the music hits you like a wave, overwhelming and disorienting. The crowd presses in, bodies moving in a fevered dance, leaving no room to breathe. You cringe as strangers brush against you, the invasion of your space unsettling. Yoongi’s discomfort mirrors your own, his eyes scanning the room with a protective edge.

Then, a rasping voice invades your ear, the breath hot and unwelcome. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” the man sneers in English, his tone dripping with an arrogance that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. A hand suddenly grabs your ass, and you know instantly—it’s not Yoongi’s.

Anger flares in you, sharp and hot. With a swift, decisive motion, you swat the offending hand away, spinning to face the drunken stranger. His eyes are wide and unfocused, lost in a haze of alcohol. He leans in, but before he can get any closer, Yoongi steps between you, his presence a solid barrier, gently pushing the man back. The stranger grunts, his voice slurred and angry in a language you don’t understand.

Yoongi turns to you, concern etched in the lines of his face, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. You nod, signaling that you’re okay, but just as you turn to leave, a rough hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back.

Yoongi’s reaction is immediate, but you step in front of him, a surge of determination coursing through you. The stranger’s grip tightens, but you seize his jaw with your free hand, your fingers digging in with a strength born of irritation. You stare into his startled eyes, your voice low and laced with venom. “I don’t appreciate that,” you hiss, each word deliberate. “I’m happily married, and I don’t want you touching me.”

The force in your grip makes him wince, and he releases your wrist, his bravado crumbling as regret flickers across his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the fight leaving him.

You push him back, asserting your anger one final time before turning away, not wasting another second on him. Grabbing Yoongi’s hand, you pull him toward the exit, the need to escape the stifling club overwhelming. Outside, the cold night air fills your lungs, sharp and cleansing, each breath forming small clouds in the chilly atmosphere. The tension begins to melt away, and you savor the fresh, crisp night, grateful for the comforting presence of Yoongi at your side, his warmth a constant reassurance.

“That was kinda hot,” he murmurs, his voice low as he presses his body against yours, the heat of him seeping into your skin. “The way you handled yourself in there, babe.” His lips brush the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice still carrying the edge of disgust from the stranger’s touch. “But it was disgusting. His hands on my ass.”

Yoongi hums in sympathy, his grip on your hand tightening as if to ground you both. “I don’t like other people touching you like that,” he says, his voice filled with a protective anger. “I’m sorry that happened,” he says in a much softer voice, making sure you’re okay.

You chuckle softly, the sound carrying a hint of relief. “Yeah. I know you’re possessive, Yoon.”

“If we’d stayed there a moment longer, I would’ve decked him,” he huffs, the street lamps casting a warm, golden glow on the sidewalk as you walk.

“Oh, I know. But I don’t want you getting arrested in another country—or back home, for that matter,” you laugh lightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. “I had it under control. But thank you for having my back.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, the gesture soft and intimate, and just then, you arrive at the bus station.

The cold air bites at your skin, making you shiver as you wait. Relief washes over you as the bus finally arrives, its doors opening to reveal a sanctuary of warmth. You step inside, the chill of the night giving way to the cozy embrace of heated air. Settling into a seat, you lean against Yoongi’s shoulder, the comfort of his presence grounding you.

“Maybe we’re too old to drink and party,” you muse, your voice a soft murmur that mingles with the hum of the bus.

Yoongi’s laugh is like a melody, soothing and familiar, a sound that feels like home. “Maybe,” he agrees, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You’re an old man now,” you quip, playfully squeezing his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath.

“Hey,” he retorts, mock indignation coloring his tone, “you’re not much younger than me.”

Laughter bubbles up between you, the shared humor easing the tensions of the night. It’s a moment of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind that lingers long after the sound fades.

Back at the caravan, the atmosphere shifts, the night thick with anticipation. A surge of power and desire courses through you, igniting a fire that demands to be quenched. Seizing Yoongi’s jaw with the same assertiveness you’d shown the stranger earlier, you back him against the wall. Your gaze locks onto his, a silent command that he’s all too eager to obey.

With a teasing smile, you lick his chin, tasting the salt of his skin. “I want you, Yoon,” you whisper, your voice a sultry purr that sends shivers down his spine.

His breath hitches, the sound rough and needy. His eyes, darkened with lust, never leave yours as you tighten your grip on his jaw. “I want your tongue on my clit,” you command, the words slipping from your lips like a sinful prayer.

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

“Now,” you add, your voice brooking no argument.

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops to his knees with a reverence that makes your heart race, his hands sliding up your thighs to hike up your dress. The fabric pools around your waist as he tugs down your panties, his breath warm against your bare skin. You giggle in anticipation, the sound light and breathless.

He teases you first, a slow lick that sends sparks of pleasure through your body, followed by a gentle suck that makes you gasp. But then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he spins you around, your legs hitting the bed. You fall onto it with a soft thud, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. Yoongi chuckles darkly, crawling over you like a predator about to claim his prey.

He spreads your legs, the cool air brushing against your slick heat. And then he’s on you, his mouth finding your clit with a precision that makes your toes curl. His plush tongue licks and sucks, each movement sending you higher, closer to the edge. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you grind against his mouth, chasing the orgasm that looms just out of reach.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea as pleasure builds within you, sharp and relentless.

He slurps, the sound obscene and utterly delicious. When you glance down, the sight of him between your legs—his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes alight with desire—undoes you completely. You come apart with a cry, your body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your grip tightens in his hair, holding him to you as he licks you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow and sensual.

When you finally signal it’s enough, he pulls back, his face shining with your essence, drops of it splattered across his cheeks and lips. He looks so fucking hot, and he’s yours—your husband, your love, your everything. The thought swells in your chest, your heart beating a wild rhythm of adoration.

“You’re so hot when you squirt on my face,” he says, his voice husky with satisfaction as he sticks out his tongue to lick at the drops he can reach. The sight makes your pussy flutter with renewed arousal.

“Fuck,” you moan, the need rising in you again. “I want to suck your dick so bad,” you groan, your voice laced with a desperate, aching need.

Yoongi chuckles, a low, rich sound as he stands and begins to undress completely. You watch him, your eyes drinking in every inch of his body, from the strength in his shoulders to the ridges of muscle that ripple under his skin. He’s a vision, raw and powerful, and the sight of him makes your mouth water.

With a look of pure desire, you drop to your knees before him. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing across your cheek with a tenderness that contrasts with the heat in his eyes. “You look so beautiful. Always,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence.

His praise sends a thrill through you, your body responding to the way he worships you with his words and his touch. Humming in appreciation, you reach out to grasp his cock, your hand soft as it glides along his length. Precum beads at the tip, slicking your palm as you stroke him.

You stick your tongue out, gathering saliva before you engulf him in the warmth of your mouth. You suck him like a piece of candy, savoring the taste of him, focusing on the sensitive frenulum and the head of his cock.

His hands land on your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he grunts in need. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your mouth as you work him over with slow, deliberate movements.

You begin to hum, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure down his length. You love watching him unravel before you, his control slipping as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, his grip tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, your mouth a hot, wet haven that he never wants to leave.

“Babe,” he warns, his voice taut with anticipation, a delicious strain that sends shivers down your spine. He’s closer than you anticipated, but you don’t relent. You want to push him over the edge, to taste his release. He tries to pull you off, his hands trembling, but you bat them away with a determined swat, drawing him closer, deeper. Without intending to, you deepthroat him, and his resistance melts into a soft moan, his legs buckling beneath the weight of his pleasure.

You steady your breath, fighting your gag reflex as you close your eyes and do it again, taking him in as deep as you can, your throat tightening around him. Your free hand moves to his balls, feeling the tension there, the tightness that signals just how close he is. A deep, primal groan escapes you as you pull off with a wet pop, only to engulf him again, your pace quickening with purpose.

You can hear it in his voice, the way he moans your name, each syllable a testament to how close he is to unraveling. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, but you don’t give him that luxury. You push him closer, until, with a broken cry of your name, he spills into your mouth, the warm, salty liquid hitting your tongue in waves.

You watch his face contort in pure ecstasy, every line and shadow a portrait of his pleasure. When he’s spent, you swallow with a satisfied hum, pressing a teasing kiss to the sensitive tip of his cock, making him shudder with the aftershocks of bliss.

Panting, he runs a hand through his tousled hair, still trying to catch his breath. “You know,” he says, his voice still thick with pleasure, “you’re never gonna get pregnant if I come in your mouth.”

You giggle, a light, airy sound that cuts through the lingering heat between you. “Maybe not,” you concede, “but I love this too, you know. And we should have fun while we try.” You glance down, watching as he slowly softens, your heart swelling with affection for him. Leaning up, you capture his lips in a hungry kiss, pulling him down onto the bed where you eventually drift off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

A few days later, a strange ache tugs at your stomach, a sensation that’s unfamiliar, different from the usual pangs of your period. You brush it aside, though, too excited about the day ahead. Today, you and Yoongi are going surfing in a place known as ‘Cold Hawaii’, a name that hints at both adventure and the chill that comes with it. Neither of you knows how to surf, but that’s part of the thrill. You’re determined to make the most of it.

You head to a surf shop called ‘West Wind’, the air bristling with the energy of the ocean and the people who live for it. The shop is alive with the scent of saltwater and waxed boards, the sound of wetsuits being zipped up, and the murmur of excited voices. You rent surfboards and wetsuits, changing in nearby stalls, and then you’re off to the sea, the brisk air nipping at your cheeks, but the excitement in your veins keeps you warm.

The beach is a hive of activity, surfers riding the waves with effortless grace, their movements fluid and synchronized with the rhythm of the sea. Your instructor, a local with a laid-back demeanor, walks you through the basics: how to balance, where to place your feet. He makes it seem so simple, so intuitive, but you know it’s anything but.

When the time comes, you lie chest-down on the board, the cold water lapping at your sides as you wait for the right wave. The instructor’s voice guides you, telling you when to paddle, when to pop up. But it’s harder than it looks. Your first few attempts are clumsy, your legs wobbling as you try to stand, only to topple back into the water with a splash. You can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and carefree, mingling with the roar of the waves.

Yoongi, with his natural grace, seems to get the hang of it quicker. You watch in admiration as he balances perfectly on the board, his posture steady, his movements controlled. But just as you think he’s got it, he loses his balance and tumbles into the water, disappearing beneath the surface for a moment before popping back up, his black hair plastered to his face, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

You burst out laughing at the sight, the sound of your mirth carrying over the waves. Even the instructor joins in, chuckling at Yoongi’s comical fall. “That was actually good,” he says encouragingly, his tone warm and supportive. “You should both try again.”

Yoongi moves with an effortless grace, a natural on the board, and you can’t help but scuff lightly, rolling your eyes as you watch him balance perfectly, riding the waves as if he were born to them. His ease draws the instructor’s attention more towards you, his voice a steady mantra in your ear, urging you to paddle, paddle, paddle as the wave swells behind you, to pop up and find your balance before the ocean has a chance to pull you under.

You give it your all, and for one brief, glorious moment, you actually manage to stand, your feet finding purchase on the slick surface of the board. But the victory is fleeting; your balance falters so quickly it feels like whiplash, and the next thing you know, you’re crashing into the water, its cold embrace hitting your face hard. Your palms scrape the sandy bottom, and you sputter, your mouth and nose filled with the sting of salty water. The instructor isn’t fazed in the least, his calm demeanor a testament to his experience, and you tell yourself it’s okay—this is so much harder than it looks.

But you’re determined, your resolve like the tide itself, unwavering and persistent. Again and again, you try, each fall more bruising than the last, the surfboard sometimes feeling like it has a vendetta against you. Yet every time you’re knocked down, you get back up, driven by the desire to conquer at least one wave. Yoongi’s big, beaming smile tells you he’s loving every minute of this, his joy infectious even as you struggle.

“Just try again,” the instructor encourages, his tone unwavering, and you do, despite the toll it’s taking on your body. Your muscles ache, sore from the relentless attempts, and a small part of you wonders how long you’ve been at this. Time feels fluid out here, with the waves as your only measure.

Thankfully, the leash tethering you to the board spares you the task of chasing it down after each tumble, a small mercy in the midst of the challenge. You huff out a breath, catching Yoongi’s comforting gaze, his look of support giving you the strength to try once more.

Lying chest down on the board, you let the water cradle you, feeling the swell of a wave approaching. You paddle with renewed determination, and as the wave lifts you, you pop up, finding your balance. This time, you manage to stand, your feet steady beneath you, and the sensation is nothing short of euphoric. A giddy laugh bubbles up from your chest as you ride the wave, a wide smile splitting your face. “Look! I’m doing it!”

And then, inevitably, you hit the water face-first. But when you surface, it’s with a laugh of pure, unbridled joy. You’ve done it. After countless attempts, after losing track of how many times you’ve tried, you finally rode the wave, if only for a moment. And when you see the pride shining in Yoongi’s eyes, your heart swells with a happiness that makes every fall worth it.

Later, after drying off, you treat yourselves to ice cream, savoring the sweet, cold treat as you sit on the beach, wrapped in your warm jackets. The air is crisp, but the warmth between you is enough to keep the chill at bay. You walk hand in hand back to the caravan, the soft crunch of sand beneath your boots, noticing how many other caravans dot the campground. It’s a bustling scene, alive with the laughter of children running and playing, their joy infectious.

As you watch them, your heart warms, and you can’t help but wonder what it will be like when you have kids of your own. The thought lingers, sweet and tender, like the promise of more beautiful moments to come.

“My feet are so sore, Yoon,” you lament, the weight of the day heavy in each step as you both drag your tired bodies back to the warmth of the caravan.

“Mine too,” he admits with a playful lilt in his voice. “How about we give each other a massage?” The suggestion, though innocent in words, carries a hint of something more, and you feel the familiar embers of desire flicker to life within you.

“Yes, please,” you breathe, your words a soft cloud in the crisp night air. The thought of your hands on him, of his hands on you, sends a thrill through your weary body. You can’t wait to get inside, to feel his touch, to see where this simple act of care will lead.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes with a sigh of relief, the warmth of the caravan wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You share a quick bite, the soft glow of Yoongi’s phone casting shadows across your faces as something plays in the background, though neither of you pays much attention. It’s just a quiet moment, a pause before the real focus begins.

Settling onto the bed, you both sit up, peeling off your socks with a mix of anticipation and fatigue. The first touch of his hands on your feet makes you release a needy sound, the soreness easing under his skilled fingers. Yoongi lets out a similar groan as you knead the tension from his feet, and the shared intimacy sends a wave of warmth straight to your core.

“This has been a wonderful honeymoon, Yoon,” you murmur, your breath a little unsteady as your fingers dig into the arch of his foot.

He hums in response, pleased and content, his eyes closing briefly before he looks at you, love shining in his gaze. “I’m so happy to hear that. You thought we were going someplace exotic, didn’t you?” He chuckles, pulling his foot back for a moment, ticklish under your touch, but then quickly offers it again, craving the comfort of your hands.

“Yeah, I really did,” you admit, smiling at him. “But this has been so lovely. Thank you.” There’s a softness in your voice, a gratitude that comes from the heart.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out easily, a simple truth between you.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice filled with warmth as he grabs your other foot. The touch of his calloused fingers on your tender skin draws a moan from your lips, your body responding instinctively to his care.

The atmosphere shifts, the once innocent massage now tinged with an undercurrent of desire. Your bodies are tired, but the need simmering between you is undeniable. His eyes darken with hunger as he watches you, and the heat in your core intensifies. Letting go of his foot, you crawl toward him, your lips seeking his in a deep, hungry kiss. Your tongues meet in a dance of passion, and your hands move with urgency, tugging at his clothes, helping him shed his shirt, his warmth pressing against you.

You make quick work of his pants, and he follows suit with yours, leaving you both in nothing but your underwear. The kiss deepens, your lips trailing down his body, tasting the salt of his skin. His hands move over you, and you tremble as he pulls your panties off, the cool air brushing against your wetness, sending shivers down your spine.

Yoongi discards his boxers, his arousal evident, and your body quivers with the need to feel him inside you. He pulls you close, removing your bra with practiced ease, your breasts spilling free. His gaze lingers, filled with lust and love, before he leans down, his lips closing around a nipple. The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your back arch off the bed.

“Yoongi,” you pant, your voice thick with desire as he tends to your other breast, his hand teasing and pulling at your nipple, sending sparks of heat to your pussy.

Your chest heaves with each breath, your body alive under his touch, every nerve ending ignited. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you tug at his hair, urging him closer, deeper.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you cry out, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as he alternates between your breasts, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to push you over the edge. You could come just from this, and it wouldn’t be the first time. There’s no embarrassment, just raw desire.

“I’m—,” you moan as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, arching your back into his face as you come undone. Your back arches, your body trembling as you come undone beneath him, his name a breathless whisper on your lips as the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in the aftermath of bliss.

A sudden knock on the door steals the breath from your lungs, and you freeze, eyes wide with shock. The intimacy of the moment shatters like fragile glass, and Yoongi, just as startled, pulls away. Instinctively, you reach for him, not wanting the spell to break, your heart pounding like a wild drum in your chest.

But Yoongi, ever the calm in your storm, quickly grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. The distance between you feels like a chasm as he opens the door, while you remain on the bed, flushed and breathless, your chest heaving, still glistening with the remnants of his kiss.

“Hi,” comes the low murmur of a man’s voice, intruding into your world as Yoongi runs a hand through his tousled hair, trying to steady his breath.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” the man continues, his tone polite yet firm, “but could you keep it down? My kids are trying to sleep, and it’s getting a bit loud.”

Each word lands like a stone, sinking into the pit of your stomach as mortification blooms within you. The realization that your passion had spilled beyond the walls of your private sanctuary makes you wish the earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit. We’re so sorry,” Yoongi replies, his voice steady and apologetic as he bows slightly, the English words rolling off his tongue with ease. “We’ll be quieter. Sorry again.” With that, he closes the door, and the world narrows back down to just the two of you. For a moment, you just stare at each other, and the air feels thick with unspoken tension and embarrassment. Your breathing is still quick and you feel like you want to disappear, but Yoongi’s eyes ground you, and his soft smile lets you know it’s okay. The silence is stretching on, until Yoongi bursts out laughing, showing his perfect gums, which in turn makes you laugh too. Suddenly, you don’t feel so embarrassed, the laughter making way for the absurdity of the situation to dissipate a bit, and you just giggle, the atmosphere contagious.

He crosses the short distance to the bed, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “I’d suggest stuffing your mouth with my cock to keep you quiet,” he says, voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. You barely catch your breath as he adds, “But if you want to get pregnant this cycle, it needs to be in your vagina.”

His words set your heart racing anew, desire pooling hot and urgent within you. You stare at him, feeling the wetness between your thighs grow, your body responding to his every word.

“You’re ovulating, right?” he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s a serious edge to his gaze.

You blink, the realization dawning like a slow sunrise. The ache in your stomach—it all makes sense. “I think I am, yeah,” you murmur, your voice trembling with anticipation.

A devilish smile spreads across his face. “Well,” he clicks his tongue, his eyes darkening with intent, “then I’m going to fuck you, but you’ll have to be silent. There are people sleeping.”

You nod, breath hitching as the room seems to shrink around the two of you.

With a practiced ease, Yoongi discards the towel and returns to the bed, his presence overwhelming as he hovers over you, still hard and ready. He takes himself in hand, giving a few slow pumps before his fingers find your wetness. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with approval. “Bet I’ll slide right in.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a moan, knowing he’s right.

He aligns himself with your entrance, and with a smooth, unhurried thrust, he’s inside you, filling you completely. The pleasure is instant and intense, but you remember the man’s words, biting into Yoongi’s discarded shirt to stifle your cries.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Yoongi rasps, his voice strained with the effort of keeping quiet as he begins to move, his pace steady and deep. The sound of your bodies meeting, slick and needy, fills the small caravan, mingling with the quiet grunts and whispered breaths.

With strong hands, he grips your thighs, spreading them wide and lifting them onto his shoulders. His thrusts quicken, each one bringing you closer to the edge, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fights to keep his own volume down.

“This pussy,” he whispers, his voice reverent as he pulls one leg down to reach between your bodies. His fingers find your clit, already swollen and sensitive, and he circles it with expert precision. “It’s mine, and it’s so gorgeous.”

Your vision blurs, your body trembling as a new wave of pleasure builds deep inside. You mumble incoherently into the shirt, but it doesn’t matter—Yoongi knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your walls clench around him.

He keeps his rhythm steady, his fingers teasing your clit while his cock hits that perfect spot inside you. The tension coils tighter and tighter until, with a final, whispered plea of his name, you unravel completely, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body spasms, and you push the shirt out of your mouth, gasping for air as you whisper his name, the sound broken and desperate.

“Fuck, babe,” Yoongi groans, his pace faltering as he chases his own release. The way your body grips him, the way you moan his name—it’s too much. With a low growl, he thrusts deep one last time, his cock throbbing as he spills into you, warmth flooding your walls as he pants your name.

The world narrows to the feeling of him, the heat of his body pressed against yours as he collapses on top of you, both of you breathless and sated. You don’t mind the weight of him, your arms wrapping around his back as you press a tender kiss to his temple.

“I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin, his voice soft and filled with love.

“I can’t wait either,” you reply, your voice equally tender as you kiss him again, pouring all the love and gratitude you feel into that simple, sweet gesture.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts@constancelayon@wobblewobble822@ktownshizzle@moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow @jeonsbabygirlsworld

*I don't know why the fuck the taglist doesn't want to work anymore T_T I hope you all find it anyway!

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I have two more extras planned for this series and they’re coming soon! Please let me know in a comment, reblog or ask what you liked 💜 And please, remember it’s just fiction.

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milkteabinniechan · 3 months ago

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♡The Trickster's Treasure - Felix

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: pixie! Felix x afab! reader

summary: In a mystical forest, you venture deeper than usual, drawn by enchanting sounds. Unbeknownst to you, a mischievous pixie observes you from the branches above. He delights in playing tricks, creating illusions and leading you astray with mirages of shimmering paths but soon you become lost...

warnings: hallucinations, mild panic attack, Felix is a little troublemaker

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows through the forest, your feet were starting to grow weary. You tilted your head up to the canopy of trees and tried to remember how you ended up here in the first place. Look high and look low, will you find me or find madness? You'll never know!

A small, taunting voice reverberated through the forest. Music. Music had been what drew you to these woods. Some kind of mystical, fantastical melody.

But now the melody has ceased and you were left with only the sounds of the forest. As nightfall consumed the flora and fauna, the once welcoming wood had suddenly taken on a very sinister appearance. Where once sunlight filtered through the leaves and illuminated the forest floor, now moonlight drenched the hardened oak trees and jagged rocks that lined your path.

Suddenly, a darkened underbrush opened up and cleared the way to a small path.

This way! Go this way!

That voice again. A playful, mischievous little voice that seemed to come from all directions. You looked around to find no other path available. Against your better judgment, you decided to listen to this mystery voice and walk down the small path.

As you walked, a new melody started up. A soft, inviting sound of harpsichord and piano keys. But where was it coming from? You quickened your pace down the small trail and the music seemed to grow louder. Slowly, your footsteps hastened to a run as the music intensified. Louder and louder it grew. Your ears pounded with the sound but your feet continued onward, determined to find the source of the sound. You covered your ears from the volume when, without warning, it stopped.

Silence. Nothing but silence all around you. Not even the sound of leaves crunching or birds chirping anymore. An ear-splitting silence that filled your eardrums worse than the music you had been following.

“Hello?! Can anyone hear me?!” You shouted. At least, you hoped you were shouting. You fell to your knees, your hands still covering your ears.

Tears started to coat your eyes as your mind raced with all the possibilities of what your life could be now. You couldn't even remember how you got here. What if a witch has cursed you? Your mother had always warned you about witch's curses. About the music they would play at night to lure small children into the forest to eat them. But you weren't a child anymore. What if you fell and hit your head? You could be dreaming now. But your body aches from running. And your arms were scraped up from tree branches. What if the whole world was silent now? What if you had fallen into a horrible, other-worldly dimension filled with unspeakable horribles that you could never escape from-

Yay! That was fun!

You shook yourself out of your spiral and turned your head to find a small, winged creature resting on your shoulder. He giggled playfully as he floated up in front of your eyesight. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the sight of his wings, their delicate iridescence shimmering in the forest moonlight. You reach out a hand slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.

“What are you…?”

You kept your hand out in front of him and he perched himself on your index finger. He smiled and tilted his head, seemingly surprised that you didn't know what he was.

“Tell you what, if you play another game with me then I'll tell you what I am.” His grin quickly turned prankish.

“Another game?” Your face twisted with disgust. “I'm just trying to find my way back home.”

The small creature sighed softly, swinging his legs back and forth on your index finger. “Well, that's no fun! You can't go home yet! We were just getting started!” He giggled louder now.

“Don't you remember when I changed the direction of those paths? And you went in circles for hours? So funny!”

Your face turned beet red, your patience now running thin at the sight of this tiny creature and his games.

“That was you?!” You shouted. “Why would you do that?!”

The pint-sized creature held his stomach and laughed heartily. He pointed one finger and continued to giggle and guffaw at your expense, nearly falling off of your finger. Your patience now fraying at the edges, you shook your hand and brushed the tiny man off your finger.

“I'm leaving!” You yelled, stomping your foot for emphasis.

The creature suddenly ceased his laughter and flew close to your face. “Wait!” He waved his tiny arms rapidly. “I'm sorry! Don't go! It's been so long since I had someone to play with!” His eyes were round and pleading. “Just one more game! And I'll show you the way home, oh please!” He pressed his tiny hands together and begged.

You let out a deep, defeated sigh. It was not as though you had much choice but to trust him. There was no way you could find the path towards home on your own. You gave the miniscule creature a firm nod, holding your index finger up.

“First, you tell me your name and what you are. Then we can play a game. Deal?”

“Deal!” He fluttered around your face excitedly. His little wings flapping and vibrating with anticipation. “I'm a pixie!” He said proudly, puffing out his chest as he spoke. “And my name is Felix!”

Your eyes grew large as the realization of your situation sunk in. Faeries and pixies were among the many stories that your mother had told you. You just never thought they would be this much… trouble.

“Alright, Felix. What game shall we play?”

Felix thought for a moment, stroking his chin in deep thought. Then his face split into a devious smile.

“Hide and Seek! You count and I'll hide! Ready?”

You hadn't played hide and seek since you were a child. With work and taking care of your family, there never really was time for games anymore. A smile surprisingly appeared on your lips as you agreed to count while Felix flew off to hide. You start counting, your voice steady despite the urge to rush through the numbers. One… two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... TEN! You open your eyes and scan the area, searching for any sign of the tiny pixie. You tilt your head back once more, squinting up at the canopy above, searching for any movement among the leaves. You then crouch down, examining the undergrowth and behind logs, your voice growing more playful with each failed attempt.

“Not under here... not behind this bush…” You were actually having fun. You couldn't believe it, you could hardly recognize the sound of your own laughter tumbling out from beneath your own chest.

Felix’s laughter once again echoed through the forest. The sound of his jovial giggling bouncing and ricocheting off every branch and fallen log.

You'll never catch me!

Suddenly you stop dead in your tracks. You feel the stillness of the woods again but this time you are not afraid. Instead you reach your hand back to your left shoulder. You slowly reach back, gently grasping Felix in your large hand. “Ah-ha!” You bring him down to eye level, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “Gotcha!”

Felix laughs playfully once more. His excited squeals make you laugh loudly as well. The sounds mingle together in a perfect childlike harmony that you had forgotten was possible.

“I'll show you the way home now, human. But promise you'll come back to visit me? You're fun to play with!”

You opened your hand and watched Felix flutter from your palm and hover in front of your nose. You smiled and agreed to come back soon. As long as he doesn't trick you again.

“I promise!” Felix answered quickly, his fingers crossed behind his back.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @stay3096 @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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Changing Seasons: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (1) A long journey with Thor, Steve and Loki ends in a ramshackle country cottage. But really, it's just begun. (w/c 3.8k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references. Humour/Mild angst. Recommended Folklore Track: The 1

This is fine.

It’s just five days. In this...cottage. With your ex. You’ll barely see him.

The tiny two story building sat before you, twisting wisteria claiming rough stoned walls. Burnt orange leaves sparked against the morning chill, rooted into windowsills and crumbling brickwork.

It was small. Really small.

You stretched your legs, observing Thor waddle from the car, laden with suitcases.

One fell.

“Watch that!” Steve snapped, on his last nerve after the drive from the Essex compound. A hand flew to his neck, massaging the twinge caused by six hours squashed in the back of a hastily acquired hatchback. “Your collection of personal toys, Rogers?” Loki drawled, letting his mirth-filled eyes slide between the two men. “Yes, brother do be careful. We wouldn’t want the captain to be without an outlet.” Steve’s face flushed, while Thor staggered valiantly onward to the cottage door. “I still don’t understand why we didn’t take the train,” Loki muttered with a theatrical sigh, a single brush down the front of his suit making every well-worn crease evaporate. “The two of you on a train,” Steve spat incredulously, “wouldn’t be great for subtlety.”

Every syllable was laden with frustration as he heaved another case from the trunk. The god nodded. “Even I must admit, this is much more entertaining Rogers” he replied, motioning towards the cottage at the exact moment Thor’s forehead smacked against the low awning.

The suitcases fell in predictable succession. “Jeepers criminey-” Steve gasped, lunging forwards.

You rolled your eyes, smiling just Loki glanced backwards. A wolfish grin ignited. Shit. With narrowed eyes, he began to glide around the Fiat like a day-walker. His hair was slicked back, falling over the shoulders of a black suit more appropriate to fashion week than training in the wilds of the Lake District. You’d tried not to look at him much on the way here. For obvious reasons. He swaggered with resolute precision, infuriatingly erotic as he always was. It was sick, how he looked so good. Like he hadn’t been in the same car as the rest of you, gorging on jelly babies and squished krispy kremes foraged along the motorway. You had practised for this moment, and to your credit; your face remained perfectly straight. Your posture, casual. Unbothered, as Steve and Thor argued further up the path.

‘My slacks were perfectly folded in New York. If there is any rumplage Odinson- then I’ll know who to blame.’

‘Carry your own damn suitcases, then-’ ‘-I would’ve, if you hadn’t been such a dandy-show-off’

You spun away from your incoming ex, steadying your racing heart as you focused on the horizon. Mist hung over the rusted treeline, green and sienna twisting together and dipping down to a sprawling lake about a mile away, you reckoned, spread against the sunrise. Loki’s playful scathing broke the calm. “You haven’t said two words to me in almost twelve hours, Agent,” he purred. “I’m impressed.” There was a time that kind of talk would have brought you to your knees. But not anymore, you lied to yourself, clenching. With your eyes still lowered, you tilted your chin towards him. Defiantly, slowly, you raised them; catching his inscrutable stare like a rifle’s scope. You raised your eyebrows expectantly, lips sealed. Loki scoffed, looking into the distance. His breath was fog. “I don’t know what else I expected,” he muttered quietly.

You stood in silence, backs turned to the domestic carnage unfolding at the cottage door. Letting your gaze roll over the mountains. Early morning autumnal air stung the back of your throat. Fresh pine and wisps of smoke from unseen chimneys, far away. Amber hues spindled along the surface of the lake a mile below, rippling methodically. You fought the urge to look at him.

His eyes would look beautiful in this kind of light. Always had. “It reminds me of home,” he murmured wistfully. It sank into the crisp air, the softness of the tone you still dreamt about curling around your body like smoke. Loki’s scent mingled with the breeze, reminding you of nights spent wrapped around him as you slept in snatches. His hand never far from your own. His love draped over you like a cloak.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You felt him lean in, the warmth of his breath against your skin drawing closer before it retreated. “Asgard,” he added condescendingly. “Although, Asgard isn’t quite as...rustic.” He lifted a foot, making a show of wiping a sole on the wet grass.

You grit your teeth. It never ended. He couldn’t help himself, even after everything that had happened between you. The snake tightened inside your belly, unfurling and poised to strike; regrettable words bubbling behind your teeth. “Let’s just get through this week, shall we?” Loki snapped, before turning away. The crunch of twigs beneath his retreating footsteps was all you heard as the chill stung your eyes. Just the chill.

"I carry the paraphernalia so I shall be first across the threshold thank you very much,” Thor grumped, jostling Steve from his path and shuffling sideways through the frame. Steve grimaced, nodding at Loki to follow his brother. “Thank you,” Loki said curtly; noting the captain’s gaze flicker to where you stood overlooking the lake in a valiant attempt to remain mysterious. “She’s quite well,” he added presumptively.

Steve frowned. “She was quiet on the drive. Even let Thor play his music. Not like her” he said, leaning against the cottage wall before recoiling. “Urgh, it’s damp.” Loki chuckled. “Of course it is. Welcome to the northern hemisphere, Rogers. What you need, is some leather” he winked.

He watched the captain pat his shirt fruitlessly as a stain blossomed through the pale cotton, clearing his throat softly. “She’s still a little...put out... by our parting of ways. Can’t blame her, really. I mean-” He gestured to himself with a consillatory sigh. “She’ll warm up-”

Loki cast a glance around, realising he wasn’t sure if the hallway was colder than the exterior. “-metaphorically, anyway.”

Steve nodded sagely. “To everything there is a season…” he mused. Loki frowned, turning away. He waved a dismissive hand. “You know I do not traffic in colloquialisms, Rogers” he scoffed with his back turned. Entering the kitchen, Loki immediately bumped his shin on a discarded suitcase. He wrinkled his nose.

A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, barely illuminating the cramped space. Ageing wallpaper clung valiantly to its charge, whimsical ducks and geese parading in an inexplicable march. Thor stood hunched over the sink, running spluttering water into the world’s smallest kettle. The ceiling was inches from his head. “Tea, brother?” he chirped. Loki nodded, wondering how the hell they’d ended up here. “Rogers?” he enquired innocently. Steve’s head popped round the doorframe.

“Howdy!” Loki closed his eyes and took a breath. “Rogers,” he repeated. “Remind me why this week is truly necessary?” Steve released a forced chuckle. “I’ll get to that. Hang tight.” He disappeared, shouting your name down the path. By the time the two of you returned, Loki had seidred the suitcases to their respective destinations. He had secured the largest room for himself, of course. Although that wasn’t saying much. Rogers and Thor would be sharing. Loki had the sneaking suspicion that was not the plan – but alas for them – it was their new reality.

Four mismatched mugs of steaming tea sat on the small square table in the corner. Loki sat in one chair, legs crossed. Thor in the other, looking decidedly squashed.

Steve closed the kitchen door while you leant against the counter-top, arms folded. “I made tea,” Thor smiled, pleased with himself as he held it forth like an offering. You accepted. Loki noted the shiver that shook your shoulders as the hot mug entered your cupped grasp. A fleeting smile of pleasure skating across your cheeks. He’d missed that, he found. “Please, take my s-” Loki started, beginning to rise. Habit. “I’ll stand,” you replied curtly. Loki nodded, sinking down. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as an oblivious Steve squinted suspiciously out the window while closing the blinds. “Alrighty then-” he said, turning. His enthusiastic glances bounced to each of them in turn. Thor adjusted himself, rewarded with the malevolent warning creak of a chair leg.

“As anyone who was listening during our meetings will know,” Steve paused, staring at Loki, “it’s come to my attention that our manual outdoor skills are somewhat lacking. Anything happens to our abilities or comms while we’re on a rugged mission and booyah,” he made a burst with his fingers, “pardon my french – but we’re up crud creek without a paddle.” Loki scoffed. “Hardly-” “This week we’ll be getting back to basics. You two-” Steve gestured between the gods seated at the withered dining set, “especially. It’s all magic and brawny shenanigans until you need to skin a rabbit.” He looked to you warily, “Metaphorically, of course. Our resident expert will give us instruction, and we’ll go from there-” Steve nodded to you, folding his arms. Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you understand how magic-” “No weak links.” he continued, un-phased. He had his very serious face on. “And I count myself in this too. We need to be confident that if something happens, and we’re out in the wilds...we can handle ourselves. Survive, until help arrives.” “But why here?” Loki whined, “we have the facilities to simulate the environment back in-” Steve held up a hand. “No one can know earth’s mightiest heroes are out here learning outdoorsing 101, Laufeyson. Imagine the press. No.” He shook his head. “This is absurd,” Loki muttered into his tea.

“Let’s try and have fun. At the very least, it’s a week in the fresh air.” Loki’s eyes rose, your words and tone clearly rehearsed. There was a weak smile on your face, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He’d become intimately acquainted with that look in the final months of your relationship.

Silence hung in the kitchen. “And the two of you will be alright, will you?” Thor boomed, stretching a leg which reached halfway across the floor. He took a sip of tea as Steve’s face went pink.

“I mean, with the breakup. Although I suppose its better than being kept awake by the ooo’ing and ahhh’ing through the walls, isn’t it Rogers?” He began to chortle, “remember...remember in- where was it? Oh, Columbia. Norns, what a-”

“-Brother,” Loki snarled. Hair bristled on the back of his neck. You cleared your throat. “Loki and I have an understanding. There’s no animosity between us-” “Isn’t there? News to me,” Loki mumbled petulantly, running a finger across the plastic table cloth. He could almost hear the grind of your teeth as you spoke pointedly to Thor. “Well I intend on remaining professional. I’m sure your brother is the same.” Loki shook his head, snorting. “Professional?” he spat incredulously. “What need have I to be professional? I am a god.” “And there it is,” you began, temperature rising before Steve patted down the air.

“How about we go check out the bedrooms?” he said. Everyone murmured agreement. And somewhere between Loki cursing his temper, and the babble of his brother’s half-hearted apology- you were gone.

Ten minutes later, Loki found himself staring at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last eight. It was meditative almost. On the other side of the wall at the end of his bed, was your room. Small, rectangular. Barely space for more than the single bed. But Loki had a feeling you didn’t mind.

You had settled on the mattress around seven minutes ago after unpacking, the comforting creak of springs alerting him. What were you doing, he wondered. Thinking. Feeling? He shook the thought from his mind, reminding himself that was no longer his business. But the thought crawled back with the vengeance of a dying wasp. If we were together still, I’d have made her climax twice on this bed by now.

His clothing hung in a drab single wardrobe. When in Nilfheim, he’d surmised. The garments were simple, and perfunctory. All manner of base layers and fleece lined items in vapid shades which lacked even a morsel of style. Not a sniff of leather. And zips in the most unflattering places.

Loki shuddered.

His ears pricked as he heard a wooden board in your room creak, tracking the slow amble of five steps it took to cross the floor from end to end. She’s looking out the window, he mused.

‘Get your hands off my undergarments,’ Thor’s voice was crisp and menacing through the wall to Loki’s left. ‘Well, put them in a drawer like a gentleman.’ Steve snipped in response, barely muffled by the stone. ‘There are no drawers! Why must we reside in such a place, Rogers!?’ He has a point, Loki thought. ‘Because no one would expect it.’ Steve replied smugly.

There was a pause, but Loki could hear the thump of Thor’s boots as he rounded the twin beds, positioning himself for attack. His voice was low, and purposeful. ‘Just like you won’t expect...this.’ The inhuman sound of one of his brother’s legendary farts ripped through the wall.

Loki braced in the silence that followed, relishing the craft of his devious room organisation while Steve, he presumed, got some traction to exit through the window. ‘Jeepers,’ came the choked, disbelieving response of the captain through the wall. Jeepers indeed, Rogers, Loki smirked.

A sudden tinkle of restrained laughter perked his ears. It came from behind the wall in front of him. He froze, savouring each lilting rise and fall as you gave in to full-blown cackle. Wait for it.

He held his breath. You snorted. Loki grinned, letting himself bathe in the warmth of that laughter which used to lace his brightest moments. The nights, when you met after long days apart. He remembered when he would tickle you beneath his sheets in the Tower. When he would slide his hands over your squealing, curled form in apology, crawl on his knees beneath the covers and gently part your legs.

‘I just can’t help myself,’ he’d purr, kissing the smooth skin of your inner thigh. ‘Forgive me?’

And you always did. Until you hadn’t. You would rake your hand through his hair, lovingly humming his name as he ran his tongue up your plump slit; settling in to his long, languid worship. Loki sighed. He looked down in his lap, realising a thumb was digging into the palm of his clasped hands. He pushed it in harder, frowning. Fool.

Suddenly the door flew open. A red-faced Steve gripped the door-frame, breathing heavily. “Swap...with...me,” he gasped. Loki shook his head, heavy with feigned sympathy. “Afraid not, Rogers. Look, I unpacked and everything.” He pointed to the wardrobe. “Like a gentleman.”

Steve’s face flushed deeper, hanging his head in resignation. “Gosh-darnit,” he sighed under his breath. “Be downstairs and ready in five.”

A chorus of Blackcap birdsong fluttered and rolled over the bushes. Final frostings of morning clung to crisped leaves, slowly warming in the blast of breath-fog from three Avengers huddled around a large map. You watched with an amused smirk on your face, laughing inwardly that Steve thought a wardrobe full of Trepass could disguise their presence. Like three bears at a piglet’s tea party.

Thor held the compass, squinting. The rectangular instrument looked much like a stick of gum in his palm as he leant closer to the dial, searching for some unseen clue. You decided to have mercy.

“So you can see here,” you said gently, tracing your finger over the map, “to get to the lake we need to follow a bearing of 79 degrees….and we need to adjust for true North. Remember?” You moved the compass slightly. “Blast,” Thor growled. He was taking this very seriously. A bobble hat was pulled low on his brow, but even then, you could tell he was frowning. Loki chuckled derisively, smoothing a strand of inky hair from his jawline. You watched as it curled behind his ear. His beautiful, perfectly formed ear. “Volunteering for the next marker, Loki?” you asked calmly, watching his smug smirk fall. You switched back to Thor, now measuring points on the map diligently. Steve stood by his shoulder, taking notes on a small pad. “A-ha!” Thor shouted triumphantly. A dozen birds took off from the nearest tree, fleeing skyward.

Steve frowned. Stealth, it chided. The blonde god whipped his face to you in childish glee. “This way!” he pointed theatrically. You nodded, bathing in the pride spreading across the god of thunder’s face. It was Loki’s turn to frown. “Give me that,” he snipped, snatching the compass as Thor began to fold the map and lead the charge towards the next marker. “You’re just jealous brother. Clearly my skills of navigation are unmatched. Isn’t that so, Agent?” he postured loudly, clearing a branch from your path. It wasn’t often Thor truly had the upper hand. So you decided to push it a little higher. “Out of the three of you so far? Absolutely.” You beamed at him, seeing storm-clouds gather in Loki’s eyes out the corner of your own. His brows knitted together, chin pushing down into the thick roll of his scarf.

Thor hummed as you passed beneath his arm. “I always liked you, you know” he chuckled in hushed tones. Clearly, he’d seen the abject annoyance blossom on his brother’s face too.

You nodded conspiratorially, casting a glance back at your dejected ex as he picked his way over a patch of brambles, hands deep in his coat pockets. Steve followed behind, flicking through the pages of his pocketbook.

“Meh, it’s good for him,” you said diplomatically while shooting Thor a toothy grin.

He returned it.

Loki took each step carefully. He would be damned if a tangle of barbed shrubbery bested him the same day as his oaf of a brother.

He wouldn’t have gotten it without her help, he fumed; stepping quickly over a freshly steaming pile of suspicious pellets. His nose wrinkled, glancing up to where the two of you were sharing a moment. Blatant favouritism.

Gritting his teeth, his jaw nuzzled further beneath the coiled wool around his throat. A smile lit up your face as you shared some sort of inside jest with his brother. Loki remembered, all too well, how you used to look at him that way. How it was to bathe in the warm of your affection, the comfort of your hallowed inner circle.

He tried not to let his mind wander to your inner circle too much. The immediate twitch of his cock beneath the ghastly slacks was a timely reminder why. Steve’s shrill caw of warning came too late. “Watch your-” Loki froze, snarling as his eyes fell to the foot now wedged in a pile of shit. “How appropriate,” he sighed as he reluctantly pulled it free. He began to wipe it on the ground. “Just wipe it on the ground,” Rogers said. Loki's stare was daggers as he continued to do just that, cursing the Norns as you began to walk towards them. “What’s the hold up?” you said. Loki raised a hand to stop Steve from speaking, but alas.

“Laufeyson stepped in poop.” “Thank you, Rogers. I’m sure our ‘resident expert’ can see that.” Steve crouched down to his haunches, inspecting the boot-imprinted pile. “Looks like deer poop to me,” he observed diligently. “What do you think, Agent?” “Could be,” you said, matching his serious tone. “Nice spot.” Loki felt his jaw slacken.

What portal has opened and swallowed me to this unending nightmare.

He wiped the defiled heel of his clumpy, tan boot a final time, before marching up the ridge. He should be first. He had the compass, the ultimate instrument of inter-planetary survival, apparently. “Broth-” he started, before rocking back on his heels. “What is your problem?” he heard you hiss as you yanked the back of his jacket. Loki whipped round, every snippy retort that hovered on his lips evaporating as he saw your flushed face; wild with undisguised irritation. Steve was bumbling slowly up the hill, oblivious. “I…” Loki breathed, resisting the unfamiliar urge to tell the truth. You were still gripping a toggle that dangled from the back of his jacket. Loki looked at it, pausing a moment before refocusing with renewed vigour.

“I shouldn’t have to do this. It’s ridiculous, and you know it.” “Well why are you even here? Why don’t you just bugger off at a moment’s notice like you always do? Go whine to Heimdall or something?” Loki heard white noise bubble deep in his mind, rising to a roar as his vision tunnelled to the sight of your pupils blown wide with anger; lip trembling ever so slightly as you valiantly stood your ground. There she is, he thought with bizarre satisfaction. “Because I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m not a team-player, would I?” he snarled through gritted teeth. You released your grip on his toggle with a scoff. “I’ll believe that when I see it. If you can last the whole trip, I’ll-”

“-You’ll what?” Loki heard himself say. The tone, he noted, was dangerously flirtatious.

You eyed him suspiciously.

“-I’ll be am-azed. The prim prince of Asgard, hacking it for a week out here. It might be good for you.” You see-sawed your palm. “But you know...low expectations.” Loki’s eyes narrowed as Steve emerged hovering over your shoulder. He suddenly reminded Loki very much of the geese parading on the kitchen walls. “I assure you, Agent, I shall pass your tests with flying colours.” He forced a smile. It hurt his cheeks in the cold. A little bow followed. A little flourish of his hand. He paused, baiting you. “I look forward to you proving me wrong, then,” you sniffed, re-adjusting the straps of your backpack.

Your eyes caught his a little longer than you’d intended.

Loki’s gaze fell to your lips, beginning to chap in the unforgiving English chill. How he wanted to capture them with his in that moment, moisten them with his breath and tongue and fiery adoration. To warm you, take care of you. As he should have when he had the chance, perhaps.

At the time, Loki wasn’t sure why - but nonetheless he held out the compass to Steve. “You take this one, Rogers.” “Alrighty then!” the captain quipped obliviously. His knees pumped up in a farcical jog down the ridge towards Thor, having an in-depth conversation with a passing sheep.

“Alrighty then,” you mimicked to yourself with quiet smile. Meeting Loki’s amused gaze, the smile fell. And without another word, you set off down the hill.

The god watched you pick your way gracefully over the autumnal landscape, breeze whipping your hair. He brushed his own from his eyes, pausing to reluctantly admire the rugged peaks and cliffs that curled in on their path. Burnt orange mingled with green, a rolling wave of seasons trickling through the vale. He could feel it all around him; through him – seeping beneath his skin, whether he willed it or no.

Change.

Chapter Two: Sticks and Stones A/N: Thank you so so much for reading this - if you did! I'm having so much fun with these bunch and I'm very excited to share this kind of ridiculous journey with you :) There won't be as many POV switches in subsequent chapters - we just needed it in this one. As always - love love to hear your thoughts. Gooooo Autumn!🍁

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#the lakes #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson #loki series #loki marvel #loki gif #loki x yn #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x you smut

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arc-misadventures · 3 months ago

Text

The Noblesse Oblige of Humanity

A young boy was laughing as he played in the field, his smile radiated pure innocence as he basked in the suns golden warmth. His golden locks of hair meshed with a the vibrant green hues of the grass he rolled around in. His laugh only heightened in its intensity, and euphoria as a large hand came down, and tussled his hair.

The boy reached up his hands as his father hoisted him in the air, throwing him at he reached the zenith. A flit of laughter escaped the child's lips as he sored the the air like a bird freed from gravity's hindering restraints.

His father caught him with a hearty laugh as he embraced his son who's emerald eyes shined with unrestrained glee as the boys father, and mother took the child away. As they left the playground his helmets optics zoomed out to see a similar occurrences happening throughout the playground.

Children basking in the warm embrace of a family who loved them unconditionally.

He zoomed out further with his helmet until the idealist visage of a happy family life was no more then blobs of movement upon his horizon, Jaune Ara, B Class, Spartan couldn't help, but wonder the idealistic thought that all Spartans had: If he wasn't born with, Aura would he have been just as happy as that child?

Aura, Spartans, and their Noblesse Oblige towards Humanity: A potent cocktail that started from one step onwards towards the next step. A cocktail that held the key to mans salivation, or if it failed, towards it's inevitable extinction.

It all started with, Aura; It possessed a near limitless potential to all humans, and faunas alike to fight the never ending tide of darkness that besieged all those in their way: The Grimm.

Aura the raw embodiment of the soul, a rare power that every human, and faunas had the potential to unlock, and wield against the forces of darkness. However, only one child born of amongst a thousand other souls had the potential to unlock such a power. Because of the rarity of, Aura, and potential lethality of the Grimm's threat to humanity each , and every child that was born was tested for having, Aura of any level. And, if they unlocked this rare gift of, Aura they were immediately taken away to be trained as, Spartans.

It was seen as a great honour by many to have birthed a child capable of wielding, Aura. But, many mothers saw it as a terrible burden to be placed upon their dear children that often brought many to tears. How else could any mother react to the news that their child would be taken away from them at birth to be raised as child soldiers to fight in an unending war? Children taken from their mothers with scarcely nothing, but a name.

That is what happened to the boy named, Jaune Arc; He was born seventeen years ago to a family of a loving mother, and father, and their seven daughters. But, when he was tested for, Aura he proved to be positive, and carried the burden of having an immense, Aura. So, shortly after his birth he was taken away to be trained, given nothing, but a tearful goodbye, and the first, and last loving embrace of a mother who did not want her child to leave so soon.

That is at least how, Jaune liked to imagine his departure from his parents went. He knew of his family, and their existence, but the plight of becoming a, Spartan made him warry to meet them in the flesh. It was common of those born with, Aura, and trained to be warriors from birth to have a hard time relating, and associating to the common people.

It was agreed long ago by the four kingdoms of, Remnant that the children born with aura should be raised within the tight confines of a specialized learning institution: A Spartan Academy.

Each academy had its own name, and customs that it ingrained in its students. But, there training was all the same: The first few years they were trained on academics, and improving their physical abilities. Then they were taught hand-to-hand combat, the use of a verity of firearms. Each lesson only growing more, and more in its complexity as they grew up up. Their training was once compared to that of an ancient civilization, long lost to the sands of time. A city of warriors that took their young men to be trained as warriors to fight in their wars, these ancient warriors were once called, Spartans. A name that stuck to the, Aura empowered warriors of Remnant.

At the age of twelve most members of a, Spartan Academy started their own personal specialization training. Learning how to master the use of various weapons that best suited to their individuals fighting style, and taste. But sometimes, in a rare few occasions these fighting styles were impacted by something wholly unexpected.

A birthday present.

Jaune Arc remembered his twelfth birthday with crystal clear clarity. He had expected it to be just like any of his other birthdays, one of those rare days off from their rigorous training where he, and his classmates would get to enjoy in a cake. But, this time was different, this time, Jaune had a birthday present.

It was a large white boxed tied with golden ribbons, with a note attached to it. He remembered nervously reaching for the note, and reading it, scared at the possibilities of what laid within it. As he read the letter contents, tears of joy dropped from his eyes. Within it he read a letter from his mother, a woman named, Juniper Arc, telling how she was sad that her lovely baby boy was taken away from her at birth, but she was proud that he would become a warrior of legend that would carry on his great, great grandfathers legacy as a, Spartan. She wrote how she prayed that this gift would serve, and protect him, and others in the future. At the bottom was a list of names; one from his father, another from sisters each written in their own unique way, before reading the last name on the list, a name that was bore deep into his heart as he read the name: 'Love, your mother, Juniper Arc.'

Spartans were trained to suppress their emotions as a means to combat the, Grimm who fed upon their raw negative emotions. Often leading to many, Spartans to become so far detached from normal human emotions that they couldn't understand, nor comprehend them. But, for the first time in, Jaune Arc's life he felt that emotionless mask break, and fall into pieces, and the human boy that long for his mother finally appear. A memory he often fled to when the darkest of times came before him.

Within the box rested a sword of golden hues, bound with blue leather, encased within a sheath of white metal. Jaune slowly pulled out the silver blade, and marveled in it's simplistic elegance. It was a greater shock when he picked up the sheath, and it deployed into a heater shield. Upon it, lay in a field of snow were a pair of golden arch's. When, Jaune asked his instructors what these symbols meant he was told it was his families emblem, that these colours represented his family, and their legacy.

Years had past since then, and despite the fact these old weapons had been improved upon, and made better, Jaune Arc wore it, and his families colours, and emblem proudly upon his armour.

For he was, Jaune Arc, B Class, Spartan, and he would live up to his family legacy, and become a warrior of renown as he fought to save humanity of the scourge that was the, Grimm.

For he was a , Spartan; They were the bastion of humanity against the growing darkness of the, Grimm. It was his, and every, Spartan that ever lived noblesse oblige to fight, and die for the betterment of all of humanity.

A life of a happy little child embraced by their loving parents.

Wasn't that something worth dying for?

///

Okay, this based on an story, based on an idea made by @evenmorefatallyobsessed. Here's a LINK to the post.

This was how I thought to play out this idea. I'll add more to it later on. I've got a few more ideas I want to write out.

Till later then.

#rwby #jaune arc #juniper arc #Noblesse Oblige au

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red-doll-face · 1 month ago

Text

Snow Angel

Chapter 1: elation >chapter two >>chapter three

low to medium honor Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he's alive. He's been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, smut, naive reader

WC: 2481

Hi, I’m unwell about him and I needed to post this bc I need people to talk to about it and I probably also need help lmao also may be a bit ooc. New to posting here 😳😖😵‍💫

Tags: innocence kink, size kink, vaginal and oral sex, no TB thank god. Arthur is sweet still but has mean tendencies obviously

Arthur’s new visitor has him hot under the collar.

The snow up here is about to overtake Lucky, the loyal Clydesdale you had known since you were a girl. His legs amble forward, winds whipping his mane and tail about. Hunkering over him; gripping his reins for dear life, you try to urge him further. Your throat is tight with nerves and of course the impending reality that Lucky has been slowing down. That the weather has only been getting worse since you started riding out. The last thing isn’t worth mentioning.

As if he could hear you over the blizzard winds, you clutch tight to his reins.

“Please Lucky, you can do it, boy. You can’t leave me here,”

His hooves trudge through the snow, his big legs managing to stay above the snow fall. He falters a bit here and there, more often as you go on. Grunting and shaking at his tack. You pat along his strong neck. The cold turns the moisture in the air to ice, the heat in his breath disappearing.

“I’m sorry, Lucky…” Shuffling onward, leading him on. Frost gathers over your coat and you would think the landscape beautiful if not for the lethality of it all. You’re not sure if people are meant to survive in places like this. With nose numb and fingers creaky in your thick gloves, you know you have to stop. Scanning the horizon for anything resembling a shelter, imagining yourself curled up in Lucky’s side, you can see the soft glow from a cabin a ways down the road. The only vestige of humanity you had seen for miles on what feels like the edge of the world. Windows glow with the tell tale orange of a warm fireplace. Your foot nudges into Lucky’s side for your last push, your last chance.

“Go!” you slap the reins on his neck, working him up to a trot. You approach and see what looks to be some sort of barn. It’s a small stable, a nice place to put a horse or two, maybe a dairy cow. Another horse lazily sleeps, fresh hay for his bedding. At your entrance, he perks up but stares oddly, easing back. Lucky knickers and snorts, just happy to be inside, you think.

“I’ll be back, hopefully not too soon…” You leave him there while he starts mooching the hay laid out for his new roommate. You pat his flank and watch the ice melt from his lashes.

Braced for the cold, arms crossed over your chest, you pull your legs forward through the snow outside. It’s a fight to get through the piles of snow, clouding around your lower thighs. Finally, you're on the wooden steps of the porch, which creak a bit underneath your feet. Panting, you meekly pat on the door.

“Please, I need help,” you shout, trying to speak over the blizzard. “Is anyone there?” You can hear the crackling fire, feeling like it’s warming you already. Heavy steps come to the door.

“Who’s out there?” A gruff masculine voice answers your call. It grates over your nerves, though if you weren’t alone you might have found it to be soothing. With any luck, he’s the father of a nice family whose heart would be softened by a lone young woman near frozen to death on his front door.

“Please, sir. I promise it’s just me,” your pleading seems to have done the trick and the man opens the door. Finally hitting you with a heat you had almost forgotten. He moves to the side after sizing you up. Hesitating even for a second causes him to dip his head to direct you inside. Forcing your stiff legs to lift. He takes a moment to analyze the gap you left behind. Carefully, he shuts the door and pulls the curtain closed. Maybe he had been robbed before? Lonely homesteads were easy and preferable targets for bandits. Typically neighbors were miles away, if you had any neighbors to speak of or to.

You get a better look at him, tall and strong, chest the size of a barrel. The sleeves of his plain white shirt are rolled up and the top two buttons are undone. Leather suspenders keep his deep brown trousers up. He stands as if unsure what to do with his body besides intimidate you with it, showing not an ounce of uncertainty on his face.

There is no one else here and if there is, they’re in the other rooms of his quiet and moderate home. The house smells of coffee, a disarming smell. Salt pork and boiled potatoes too. Certainly provisions that could last through this harsh winter.

“What the hell were you doin’ out there?” His tone is accusatory and judgemental. He must think you an idiot to be traveling in this weather and maybe he wasn’t all wrong. Instead of talking, your jaw clicks your teeth together. The hard look he gives you melts away and he helps you out of your coat. He's almost surprised to see you, eyes stuck on every piece of you revealed to him. Snowflakes and icy debris are shed from you and you sigh. You try your best to get your natural reactions to stop but they insist on ceasing on their own. The man huffs, stepping towards the percolator on the stove. You watch on, feeling strange that he hasn’t really invited you to sit or do much of anything else.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” he takes a seat by the fire in a big chair seemingly made just for him. He sets down the coffee before taking a match and striking it, lighting the end of a cigarette he retrieved from the table. The coffee steams gently and you take it; seeing as you're very sure he had made it for you. Jerkily, you move to sit as he sets his eyes on you. The couch is soft and warm, homely with a pretty blanket, thick and colorful patterns. While his gaze seems easy and relaxed, he watches you like a hawk.

“No, I… was getting something for my granny. She’s not feeling too good. Ma sent me to get something for her. The doctor, I suppose. Didn’t make it too far,”

He exhales. The smallest noise of amusement.

“I can imagine,” You take a sip of the coffee. Warm and sweet smelling. “What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” You stare, feeling a bit like a child being scolded by this man.

“Oh well, I-”

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed. If it weren’t for me, well…” scratching at the darker scruff that grows on his face. His hair is that same light brown, almost blond. He sucks the smoke out of the slim roll of paper. It's bitter and acrid, a contrast to the warm smoky fireplace. Your brows furrow. Deciding to change the subject before you say something out of turn, you take another sip out of the enameled cup he had given you. The smoke he inhaled releases in a cloud around his features, obscuring the knowing smile he wears.

“I’m sorry mister, but I don't think you gave me your name…” He ashes his cigarette, tossing his legs up on the table in the center of the room. The weight of him and his leather boots don’t rattle the table, he’s careful with himself.

“Arthur. You married?” His gaze is as hot and red as the cherry burning on the end of his cigarette. You almost start to feel uncomfortable. If there weren't a blizzard outside, you might consider walking out. He hadn’t even given you a chance to say your name. Your nervous look only seems to enthrall him more. You only now notice he’s looking at your hands but thick gloves still encase your fingers.

“No, I'm afraid not,” You contemplate telling him a lie but think about when you might have to remove your gloves. You’d rather not get caught in a fib. Though perhaps his rather brusque flirting might have come to an end should you have warned him of a man who would be looking after you. Being out here by yourself seems to have him convinced that no one truly was looking after you anyway.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself? Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” The butt of his cigarette meets its end in the ashtray on the table. Your face tweaks into a small nervy smile, nodding. “You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Your fingers start to twiddle, feeling your face warm, maybe because of the flames licking at the logs on the hearth. He’s certainly not the ugliest man you’ve ever seen nor the oldest, you frown at such an oddly self deprecating comment. You’re surprised he doesn’t already have a wife and several children running around, reading stories by the fireplace that you sit in front of. You revert back to old tactics.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind too much,”

“Ain’t no trouble,” His hands seem to itch to be doing something, he also seems to twiddle his fingers. One hand propped over the arm of his chair.

“Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He stands, hands on his knees and then he’s going into the next room. It gives you a chance to evaluate the room you're in. The mantle has all sorts of strange little knick knacks, the walls, plenty of… distinctive hunting trophies and supplies. Several gleaming guns in different finishes are displayed proudly. Although pretty, they don’t seem unused. If anything, well loved and worn. You’re starting to feel every bit the lamb in the wolf’s den this man is already treating you as.

He comes out of the room, holding a pair of cotton long johns in a cream color. You’re not sure why he thinks you need them but he has been nothing but hospitable if not a bit too strong on his pleasantries and very blunt. It can be lonely out here in the country, so you offer a small smile. He stares at you, even as you awkwardly side step him and go to his bedroom. You close the door and sigh, nice to just have a moment to yourself. Away from the strange man and the cold. The warm smell of fabric and the natural musk of the wood calm you, along with the faint smell of something distinctive to him. You claw and peel at the layers of your clothing, riding gear and boots. You notice how wet your clothes are from the melting ice. Perhaps he knew better than you did.

You slip into the warm cotton of what must be his long johns. They’re nice and feel almost new. Far too big for you. That man, Arthur, did seem to be quite big. Here in the quiet room, you can remember the wind, the cut of the cold air against your cheeks, hear the wind rattle the glass. You're glad to be out of all of that.

It’s a rather modest room, a bed, an armoire, a nightstand, a cabinet. Cigarettes and a few cigars, several empty bottles of bourbon. Some old faded photographs but you're not so brave as to pick them up. The room is severely lacking in the touch of a woman department, bed pushed up against the wall. The smallest mirror adorns the wall, dusty and plain. You turn to the door and see him, standing there.

You startle and put your hand to your chest.

“You scared me Mister…” no last name to utter has you confused, he had never given you one. Your smile isn’t forced but it fades a little when you see him looking at you.

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” he’s really giving several once overs that feel like thrice overs, drinking you in like those bottles of bourbon. Your face feels hot again. He stares at the junction between your legs, up to your chest and then finally your face. You don’t think you've ever seen a man look at you like that; not that you spend very much time around men. The type of men at the saloons in town were no good for you, or at least that’s what Ma would say.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” he puffs up in pride a bit, you tilt your head. Hopefully he hadn’t been watching you snoop around, or even worse, changing. You nod, a small gesture.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” he makes space for you to exit down the small hallway. You try not to brush against him but he’s so big, fills up the sparse room between you and the wall. He drops his arm on the door frame, making you pass underneath him. Looking up at him, you can make out the color of his eyes, a pretty summer blue. His shirt and suspenders smell clean and wintry. He makes you feel minuscule, a mouse and cougar. His features; squared and rugged from weathering the elements, are set in a stony expression but there’s excitement in his eyes.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” he says. His hands twitch again, the one in the door is a tight fist. You know that you can’t leave. And you wouldn’t beat him should he chase, you doubt you’d even make it to Lucky. Especially now that he insisted you put on his underclothes. The temptation to be in dryer clothes has trapped you here. You flinch as his hand descends to rest on your neck and collar, rubbing. His body moves forward, taking your silence as acceptance.

“Please, I-“

“I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman,” his hand squeezing at your shoulder, you don’t dare to move. Broad chested, he seems to block out all of the light from the meager lamps and the fireplace.

“Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He eases off you and guides you down the hall, your heart thumping out of your chest. Certainly not because of the romance but the claustrophobic feeling of being alone with a man such as him, big and very strong in his advances. Thankfully, not too strong. Yet, a voice in your head warns.

If you made it, thanks for reading and pls send feedback 💝😭 I have split the chapter into 2 parts because it was way too long. I will be posting a "chapter 2" but chapter 3 will be chapter 2 for people who read the long version. I was just too excited to post it and didn't think about this LMAO

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #low honor arthur morgan #tw dubcon #I’m insane I know #low honor arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #red writes #:v #read dead redemption 2 community #rdr2 community #tw dark fic #tw dark content #❄️ snow angel

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bestworstcase · 4 months ago

Text

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN it's a draw let's talk about the principles.

In the rulebook for The Lady Afterwards, these are defined as "the most fundamental elements of reality; or, the various natures of the Hours; or, a post-facto invention of scholars of the invisible arts." Mark that third note in particular, because the aspects we discuss herein are—expressly—only an attempt to taxonomize the occult forces at work in the world and thus necessarily an imperfect and imprecise model thereof.

Keep this in mind. There are no clean dividing lines between the principles, and what we label (for example) 'Lantern' and 'Forge' are not, in reality, discrete individual forces but rather a cluster of interacting forces, patterns, rules et cetera which may be expressed or called upon in different ways at different times. Many seeming contradictions or inconsistencies are thus resolved.

With that out of the way:

The interaction most visible to the player is of course the Cultist Simulator 'subversion' mechanic, but I think it is also elucidating to consider 1. differing categorization of certain books shared between Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours, and 2. the principle aspects associated with each of the nine parts of the soul in the latter.

Before we dive into that, a note on 'Secret Histories' and 'Rose':

History is the scar on the world's skin. [Secret Histories describe the unknown complexities of the world, and its many pasts.] vs 'The rose which encompasseth all'. Nine directions to new horizons. [Exploration? Enlightenment? Hope?]

It is evident that Secret Histories and Rose have some relation and may even be synonymous to an extent—for instance, Dr. al-Adim is interested in the former in Cultist Simulator and the latter in Book of Hours—but Secret Histories notably isn't treated like a fully-realized principle in its own right, whereas Rose is mechanically indistinguishable from any other power. What's going on here?

Well, if Rose is the aspect 'which encompasseth all', then we might describe Rose as the skin; and therefore what we call Secret Histories are the scars or the flaws which inform the principle called Rose, in effect making Secret Histories not a principle in its own right, but rather an aspect of Rose.

So for the purpose of this discussion, I will refer only to 'Rose', even with regard to entities and things with Secret Histories aspect in Cultist Simulator. I believe the relation here is comparable to the relation between, for example, Heart and Dances.

Onward!

I have made a series of diagrams. First:

We begin with a wheel representing the order in which the Cultist may subvert lore and influences from one principle to the next, beginning with Lantern at the top and proceeding clockwise; into Forge, into Edge, into Winter, into Heart, into Grail, into Moth, into Lantern. Knock, placed at the wheel's center, cannot be subverted and subverts every other lore except Rose into itself.

Note the larger gap between Moth and Lantern. My reason for arranging the principles this way will become apparent shortly.

For ease of reference, here is a spreadsheet comparing the principles associated with every text that appears in both Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours. In cases where the text's mystery aspect does not match the lore fragment(s) it yields in the first game, I've noted the skill and memory as well.

This is a simple way to demonstrate the 'fuzziness' of the principles, noted at the beginning of this post.

In cases where the principle lore yielded by texts in Cultist Simulator differs from the text's mystery aspect in Book of Hours and the mystery aspect is not one of the newly-introduced aspects, generally speaking, the lessons the Librarian learns will match both; for example, 'The Six Letters on Memory' yields Forge lore in CS, but has Moth as its mystery in BoH, and the Librarian learns a lesson in Transformations & Liberations, a skill whose primary/secondary aspects are Forge and Moth.

The one notable exception is Sunset Passages. In Cultist Simulator, this text yields Winter lore; in Book of Hours, its mystery aspect is Forge, and it provides a lesson in Sacra Solis Invicti (Lantern/Sky). In order to understand the re-categorization of this text, we must consider its subject matter: it is a "miscellany of the funerary prayers, ceremonies, and hymns of the Church of the Unconquered Sun," which "schismed during the Intercalate, when the Sun was divided." It is thus concerned primarily with pre-Intercalate worship of the Madrugad, whose aspects are Winter and Forge, and the skill the Librarian learns from it pertains to those rituals.

Sunset Passages thus serves as a useful illustration of how and why certain texts may be categorized differently between the two games. It is not arbitrary. It's a mechanical representation of the taxonomic 'fuzziness' in that the Cultist can read a certain book and conclude that it's a volume of Winter lore whereas the Librarian can read the same book and categorize it as a book of mainly Forge lore with some relevance to Lantern and Sky, and both are correct, although the Librarian, being a scholar rather than an adept, takes a more nuanced view.

The point being that we can look at those texts which have been reassigned to one of the four/five aspects introduced in Book of Hours as a rough approximation of common relations between those aspects and the ones in the earlier game.

We'll use Moon as an example.

Kanishk at the Spider's Door — Edge lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Sharps (Edge/Moon) — Memory is A Stolen Secret (Moon/Knock)

Larquebine Codex — Heart lore -> Moon Mystery — Lesson is Sea Stories (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Gossip (Rose/Grail)

Morphy Codex — SH lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Tridesma Hiera (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Beguiling Melody (Grail/Sky)

Viennese Conundra — Moth lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Wolf Stories (Moon/Scale) — Memory is Fear (Scale/Edge)

Voyages of Ferninshun of Oreol — SH lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Sea Stories (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Salt (Knock/Moon/Winter)

Tally up the aspects associated with these texts: Grail: 5, Edge: 3, Rose: 3, Knock: 2, Scale: 2, 1 each Sky, Moth, Winter, Heart.

& secondary aspects for skills with primary Moon aspect: Grail: 2, Scale: 2, Edge: 1, Heart: 1

& primary aspects for skills with secondary Moon aspect: Winter: 5, Rose: 2, Edge: 2, 1 each Grail, Heart, Nectar, Sky, Scale.

& other aspects on Moon-aspected memories: 4 each Rose, Edge, Winter, Knock, 1 each Sky, Moth.

Keep in mind that this is only an approximation, because we're not taking into account any context for when, why, or how these conjunctions may occur. But we can identify certain patterns just by looking at the frequency; the two most common conjunctions are with Edge and Winter (10x), followed by Rose (9x), Grail (7x), Knock (6x), Scale (5x), Heart and Sky (3x), Moth (2x), and Nectar (1x).

Rose and Knock are both unusual in how they interact with other principles, with Rose being all-encompassing and Knock all-opening. So we're somewhat less interested in them for now. If we consider only the frequency of Moon's associations with the seven 'regular' principles present in Cultist Simulator, where might we position Moon in relation to the subversion wheel diagrammed above?

Well, the most intuitive way to decide its placement is to first put it in between Edge and Winter, then move it a bit clockwise to reflect its significant overlap with Grail and minor associations with Heart and Moth. Right?

In the interest of brevity I won't go through the tallies for the other three 'regular' aspects introduced in Book of Hours, but after going through this same process (and making some aesthetic adjustments, because this is only an approximate representation)...

What we have here is the Cultist Simulator order-of-subversion wheel with the four new aspects plotted onto it as the corners of a containing square; Sky in the juncture between Moth and Lantern, Scale between Lantern and Edge, Moon between Edge and Heart, and Nectar between Heart and Moth. I propose that:

These four principles subvert each other clockwise around the outer wheel, Sky into Scale into Moon into Nectar into Sky, and

The principles in Cultist Simulator, including Knock and Rose, all emerged through division of these older four during the striving and conflicts of the Lithomachy.

Any serious discussion of the Lithomachy is well out of the scope of this post (BUT WE'LL GET TO IT SOONER OR LATER BECAUSE HOO BOY) so my argumentation on this second point will necessarily be rather thin. Sorry. The remainder of this post will concern how well the above diagram holds up to more substantive investigation, and to that end here are the definitions of each principle aspect as per Book of Hours, in order of subversion:

Rose. 'The rose which encompasseth all'. Nine directions to new horizons.[Exploration? Enlightenment? Hope?]

Sky. Wind, storm, echo, song; the intricacies of mathematics and the principles of flight. Law's touch is lighter than we sometimes think.[Matters of balance, harmony and necessity.]

Scale. Hard without, hard within, hard to rouse, harder to subdue. [What is left of the crude powers of the deep earth.]

Moon. Secrets are soft; night is softer still; the sea speaks. It is not always wise to listen. [The nocturnal, the forgotten.]

Nectar. The green wealth in the world's veins; the pulse of the seasons. [Long ago, some called this principle Blood.]

Lantern. 'Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible Sun within us.' - Thomas Browne [Lantern is the principle of the secret place sometimes called the House of the Sun, and of the light above it.]

Forge. 'Fire', I once read, 'is the winter that warms and the spring that consumes.' [The principle of the Forge transforms and destroys.]

Edge. All conquest occurs at the Edge. One who dwells there is blind, and cannot be wounded. Another is strong, and grows stronger. [Edge is the principle of battle and of struggle.]

Winter. ... [Winter is the principle of silence, of endings, and of those things that are not quite dead.]

Heart. The Heart Relentless beats to protect the skin of the world we understand. [The Heart is the principle that continues and preserves.]

Grail. Hunger, lust, the drowning waters. [The principle of the Grail honours both the birth and the feast.]

Moth. I knew a man who captured moths in a bell-jar. On nights like this, he would release them one by one to die in the candle. [Moth is the wild and perilous principle of chaos and yearning.]

& Knock. The Knock permits no seal and no isolation. It thrusts us gleefully out of the safety of ignorance. [The Knock is the principle that opens doors and unseams barriers.]

And while, as I said, we are not going to delve deeply into the subject of the Lithomachy in this post, I do want to make a brief note of the gods-from-stone and their probable aspects. The Horned-Axe, we know to be both Knock- [Liminal Evocation] and Winter-aspected [Winter veneration]. Her attestation in 'On the Winding Stair' is also quite interesting:

Gregory evidently succeeds in opening a way to something he calls the 'Moon-Hall', but here his account becomes erratic. He insists that in the Moon-Hall the Horned-Axe is still an Edge-power; he hopes for an 'eternal rival', but cannot find the one he needs. The narrative is increasingly interspersed with chess notations, and ends abruptly.

Here we have an implication that the Horned-Axe was and is no longer an Edge-power, but within the House of the Moon she still is Edge-aspected (or possibly a cross-gender mirror-twin of hers retains an Edge-aspect that she has lost or discarded). The similarity here to the recurring idea that the Wheel still turns in the House of the Moon is striking. Her altar beneath Hush House accepts Edge, Scale, Winter, and Knock aspect.

The Horned-Axe is one of the three Hours of the Chancel alongside the Meniscate and the Sister-and-Witch, of whom the former has obvious associations with the Moon and the latter with the Sea. I submit, then, that before the Lithomachy, the Horned-Axe's aspects were instead Moon and Scale, and that she was—in some way—divided or bifurcated in the course of the Lithomachy into two halves, both with Knock aspect, one Winter-aspected and the other an Edge-aspected reflection.

(<- I will note, as an observation, that there is a vague and rather tangential precedent for such an occurrence; the Wolf-Divided is the product of the division of an Hour, and likewise has Edge and Winter aspect. The common factor would seem to be the coincidence of an ending, hence Winter, with the emergence of an entity driven by an unfulfilled need, hence Edge.)

That is our only living god-from-stone. The others are the Wheel, the Flint, the Tide, the Seven-Coil, and the Egg Unhatching. We know that the Wheel was usurped by the Moth (and that its blood, shed on the roots of the Wood, birthed the Velvet); that the Flint was shattered by the Forge; that the Colonel and the Mother of Ants conspired to slay the Coil; and that the Egg Unhatching fled to the Glory by unknown means and with uncertain outcome.*

[*The Unwise Mortal brought it through the Tricuspid Gate and then it hatched into the Sun-in-Splendour. This is how he ascended to Hourhood as the Watchman. I can't get into it right now or we'll be here all day but: TRUST.]

So, the Wheel was replaced by the Moth and the Velvet (aspects: Moth, Heart—& I submit, also Moon). When the Medium paints the endless memory: "With each turn its cilia pulse and wriggle and its body flushes translucent to crimson. It might be ugly but it is beautiful like the withdrawing of blood from the labyrinths of glass. It does not cease and all its involutions are infinite." All of this locates us firmly in the neighborhood of Moth/Heart, emphasis on Heart given the imagery, and given that the aspect now called Nectar was once known as Blood, this one is easy.

The Wheel's first aspect was Blood. I believe it may also have been Scale-aspected, due to its association with serpents. (On this see Serpents & Venoms. Note that the Secret Histories wiki identifies the 'low red sun' as the Egg Unhatching mostly on the basis of the Medium's glorious memory, but this plainly incorrect. The 'low red sun' was the Wheel, and the Egg Unhatching was a moon, before it hatched. We'll talk about this in more detail in my next post.)

The Flint was 'eclipsed and then shattered' by the Forge. In nearly all of its attestations it's associated with the earth in some way. When painting the golden memory, the Flint is described thus: "This is only a stone, though it is smoothed and sharpened to a midnight point, but look closer. Each of its facets shows a single point of light. It might be the glint of firelight. It might be each a different Star."

As with the Wheel being a Blood-Hour, it seems quite straightforward that the Flint's aspect was Scale; and given its connection to the Wheel through the line of Antaios, an argument could be made that it had a minor Blood aspect as well, making the Wheel and the Flint reflections of each other (Blood/Scale | Scale/Blood).

Next, the Tide, which the Red Grail drowned and consumed. Its usurpation by the Grail and association with the Sea would suggest Blood (the primordial precursor to Grail) and, obviously, Moon. Painting the luxurious memory offers the description: "In a night-blue Mansus-haze swims a coral palace-crown. At its fore-edge it absorbs the lesser Names, coating them with its minerals and juices, and at its rear edge it expels some of them, polished like jewels. The others go to feed its thorny Tide-heart," which reinforces the 'Grail-precursor' angle pretty strongly.

Further, the Tide being Moon- and Blood-aspected offers an elegant explanation for the unusual frequency of Moon-Grail conjunctions in comparison to the other 'precursor' aspects (Heart-Sky is also a common conjunction but otherwise conjunctions with aspects outside the precursor 'quadrant' are quite rare); consider the Sea as the world's blood, an ever-churning life-giving liquid, and the Moon must figure as the world's heart, as the engine of the tidal forces which keep the waters circulating. Heart is the connection between the two, but Grail having supplanted Blood (now Nectar) as the principle most strongly associated with the Sea, it remains closely entangled with the Moon.

Like the Flint, it seems fairly straightforward that the Seven-Coil was Scale-aspected: its monstrous serpentine form and present associations with earthquakes both unambiguously point in this direction. Contra the Secret Histories wiki, I actually do not believe that the Seven-Coil had Rose aspect itself. The events leading up to its slaying are (notably) recounted in much greater detail than the death of any other god-from-stone, and unlike the others, its defeat came not at the hands of a god-from-blood but what seem to have been the first two human* gods-from-flesh; it follows that the death of the Seven-Coil occurred much later than the usurpation of the Wheel, the Flint, and the Tide...

[*I believe the Elegiast and the Beachcomber may be much older, but neither of them were mortal humans as the Colonel and the Mother of Ants seem to have been prior to their ascensions. Jury is out on when the Vagabond ascended to Hourhood exactly, but she's of the Cross. Probably.]

...and indeed, 'The Deeds of the Scarred Captain' places the slaying of the Seven-Coil immediately prior to the founding of Mycenae, which occurred around 1350-1200 BC—well into the Bronze Age and not remotely prehistorical.

The Coil itself wasn't Rose-aspected; I believe its slaying is the inciting incident for one of the Histories—most likely the Third. The massive proliferation of Worms in that History, the loose association between Worms and the Coil, the origin of the Seven-Coils' Temple in the Third History, Sparrow's paranoid conviction that this History is "overrun by Coils," and even the aspects of the Third History's encaustum Nillycant (Winter & Edge for the Colonel; Scale for the Coil) all seem to point in this direction.

That leaves only the Egg Unhatching, vexing little enigma that it is. In the Medium's painting it appears like this: "A faded pale white-gold seen in certain patches of the sky, when the mist is clearing but the sun might be mistaken for the moon. We hold our breath and watch it brighten, until each colour divides from the next like a new-minted alphabet." Despite its having been a moon, I'm not wholly convinced that it had Moon aspect; that it hatched into the Sun-in-Splendour (you'll have to trust me on this for now) might suggest it was Sky-aspected, although this doesn't feel quite right to me either.

The other Lantern-precursor it could have had is Scale, and I am fairly confident that the Egg Unhatching was Scale-aspected. The Seven-Coil is described as 'the nest' in a certain ending and there are some hints toward a connection between the Sun-in-Splendour and the Scīmafectra-kind of the Carapace Cross; it would not be unreasonable for the Egg Unhatching to have been laid or incubated in the Nest—that is, the Seven-Coil—during the era of the Carapace Cross, and thus to have Scale aspect. The Scale determination may loosely support this as well. Furthermore, the Unwise Mortal "learnt the shaping arts of the Flint" and later "ascended to the shadow of the Egg Unhatching," which is suggestive of some degree of similarity between the Flint and the Egg. So we'll put this one down as Scale and a 'maybe' on Moon/Sky.

...and that's my 'brief' note on the probable aspects of the gods-from-stone. TO RECAP:

Horned-Axe: Moon/Scale -> Knock/Winter + Knock/Edge

Wheel: Blood/Scale

Flint: Scale/Blood

Tide: Blood/Moon

Seven-Coil: Scale

Egg Unhatching: Scale + Moon/Sky (?)

Lastly—and this is more a footnote for a future post, really—notice the absence here of any gods-from-stone with clear, unambiguous signs of having been Sky-aspected. An argument can be made for the Wheel and the Flint to have had Sky aspect, the Wheel having been the old sun and the Flint being associated with starlight, but there is little in the way of supporting evidence (and neither Sky-Nectar nor Sky-Scale are common conjunctions, although Heart and Sky are frequently conjunct in matters of weather, so the argument for the Wheel to have been Blood / Scale / Sky is a bit stronger than the one for the Flint).

Right. So.

Let's talk about the nine elements of the soul.

Here, I've marked how different aspects are connected through, or by, each part of the soul. Where two aspects are not adjacent, the connection is represented passing through the simplest juncture, such that the aspects of Ereb, Wist, and Trist connect to each other through Knock; the Moth and Rose of Fet pass through Sky; and Moon is the joint between Health's Nectar/Heart and Scale.

Depicting the elements this way reveals some interesting patterns:

Other than Health, which is unusual in other ways, every non-adjacent pair here is joined through its juncture at a 135° angle (and if we were to route the connection from Heart to Scale through Knock rather than Moon, this would be true of Health too; however, I believe that Moon is the more appropriate juncture in this case for reasons I will outline in a bit.)

The two paired aspects that are adjacent around the inner wheel, Forge/Edge Mettle and Heart/Grail Chor, are stronger in the principle subverted when these aspects interact. In theory, this suggests that Sky may subvert Lantern—and this in turn would be a small point in favor of interpreting Sky / Scale / Moon / Nectar as precursor aspects whose division created the modern principles, on the grounds that Sky subverting Lantern then obeys the Sanguine Exception.

(which holds that every door must open both ways.)

Chor, "exuberance, rhythm, and instinct," has Heart aspect with a lesser power of Grail; when subverting Heart lore or influence into Grail, the project description is "what does not cease will succumb, at last, to temptation," and the action "all that moves must succumb to hunger." This conjunction is also reversed in Memory: Satisfaction, which has Grail aspect with a lesser power of Heart, so it doesn't seem like a stretch to conclude that Chor arises from hunger in moderation; that is, the need for sustenance and meaning in life, absent the wilder hedonism of Grail.

Chor's malady, Duendracy, is a lapse in concentration brought on by what is described as a quite pleasant but very distracting (or perhaps inspiring) "possessing presence from the Mansus." It has Heart aspect only; but notice how afflicted Chor seems to be stilled as the Grail aspect is lost to the pleasant distraction—even though Heart is defined as the principle of relentless motion! Similarly, that Duentratic Chor must be roused by a sufficient power of Moth, the "wild and perilous principle of yearning," suggests the best cure for Duendracy is a nameless dissatisfaction which reawakens the Heart to its hunger, and thus restores its balance with Grail.

Ereb is "pride, compassion, hatred, fear" and "the shadow in the soul's cellar." It has Grail aspect with a lesser amount of Edge; so, we might call it an expression of passionate desire bringing about, or brought about by, strife. And while Ereb itself lacks Knock aspect, the way its Grail-Edge conjunction is expressed does resonate with the principle of Knock for much the same reason that one facet of Knock is wounding.

What commonality unites the qualities of pride, compassion, hatred, fear?—here I will note that Book of Hours (and Cultist Simulator, in less unsubtle ways) incorporates a number of Jungian concepts into its storytelling; the Archaeologist in particular is more or less explicitly tormented by their projected Shadow, in Jungian terms. The Shadow is an unconscious aspect of the personality composed of traits that are unwanted, that do not align with the aspirational ideal image of oneself, and which are therefore both repressed and projected outward, driving conflict both within and without. Confrontation with the Shadow is inevitable and may lead to either possession by it (which produces confusion, distress, emotional paralysis) or assimilation of it (which acknowledges and integrates the Shadow into the conscious self, a spiritual awakening).

The word Ereb derives from ἔρεβος (érebos), the ancient Greek for the darkness of Hades; and it's "the shadow in the soul's cellar," the intersection of Grail's "drowning waters" with the conflict and conquests of Edge—it is the Shadow, and so it is hidden or buried but must, sooner or later, be encountered. And so we might say that the Shadow will eventually, inevitably, perhaps violently, Knock. Note, also, the descriptions when strengthening Ereb with either Bosk ("the Wood is filled with shadows") or Skolekosophy ("...will unchain my Ereb"), and more generally Ereb's association with the unwritten, instinctual lore of the primaeval wood and the study of things that should not be studied. The Shadow comes Knocking, etc.

(I find Ereb especially interesting in relation to both Calyptra and the Corrivality, and will get into a deeper dive about this at some point in the future. For now: Westengryre is the affliction incurred by provoking the Mare-in-the-Tree. Sleep softly!).

Fet is "that part of us which walks in dreams," and its first aspect is Rose, its second Moth; and, as noted, I propose that the juncture in this conjunction is Sky. Why?

Sky concerns "matters of balance, harmony, and necessity." Moth is an unpredictable, wandering principle of chaotic yearning; Rose is "exploration, enlightenment, hope." Now think about Fascination: 2 Moth, THE HIGHER I RISE THE MORE I SEE; and if the Cultist succumbs to visions with three Fascination, this is their ending: "First it was the dreams. Then it was the visions. Now it's everything. I no longer have any idea what is real, and what is not."

Fet, the part which walks in dreams, which traverses the Mansus, has Moth aspect commingled with the aspect of enlightenment and exploration. Its malady is Gisting, the Rose aspect absent the Moth, and described thus: "As my concentration fails, a part of my soul flutters away, drawn by a distant half-imaginary light. [...] My fet is gisting - too loosely tethered to me - so that I glimpse the Mansus even in daylight hours. [...] In dreams I have visited the House behind the world... and some part of me is trapped there now, even when I wake." Whence does the Cultist's Moth-aspected Fascination derive? From the unmooring of Moth from their Fet.

To maintain one's Fet in good health—to walk the Mansus in dreams with the dangerous impulse to wander tethered safely to the skin of the world and the ways beneath it—what is required most of all is balance; harmony between the peril of Moth and the Rose which anchors the dreamer to the Wake. This is a matter of Sky.

(& of course, Rose and Moth together represent the nine divisions of the wind itself: the eight winds of the compass rose and the directionless, chaotic ninth.)

Health—Health is unusual in several ways, the most obvious being that it has three aspects rather than two. It is not a part of the soul per se but rather the dwelling-place thereof; its aspects are Nectar, Heart, and Scale. I believe that the reason for this is relatively simple. The aspect now called Nectar was once instead named Blood, and so we might consider that the first aspect of Health, the body, is the Heart-Blood, or the Blood-in-the-Heart. Or we might conceptualize this combination of Nectar-Heart as within-without, the lifeblood moved by the heart beating to protect the skin.

Then why Scale?

Well... Scale is the aspect of what is left, of what remains, of the old forgotten songs asleep in the depths of the earth which might yet be roused; and the Cross died not but passed within. Health has Scale-aspect because that is the last trace of the Carapace Cross, long-buried and forgotten but never quite gone. Hence my choice to route Nectar-Heart's union to Scale through Moon, the secret and forgotten things, rather than through Knock and Forge. Either is cogent, but I think Moon is the better fit.

Next! Mettle. Mettle is easy. Mettle is the "will; self-discipline; that part of us which makes the right choice" and "the capacity for meaningful choice," and it has Forge aspect with a lesser power of Edge. When subverting Forge lore or influence into Edge, the Cultist invokes the Lionsmith's rebellion at Issus: "The Hour called Lionsmith shattered his own sword to escape his master's dominion. All things can be overcome, with sufficient force. [...] I've shattered what I believed before. Thus have I subverted my Forge lore to Edge."

A small—but important!—detail I want to underscore here. In shattering his sword at Issus, the Lionsmith enacted a teaching of the Forge of days, that "the artisan may achieve their highest goal only by destroying their most precious tool." That is to say, the method used here to subvert Forge into Edge is not to conquer the Forge with the Edge but instead to reforge the Edge using Forge-techniques. One principle subverting another doesn't necessarily imply an adversarial relationship to each other; they are instead complements, or united opposites, or both. Forge-into-Edge is the clearest demonstration of this.

Thus, Mettle encompasses not just fortitude and conviction but specifically the will to change oneself—to break and be reforged—in pursuit of the highest goal. I would also submit that it is the part of the soul most in conflict with Ereb (the ego-ideal of the superego, if you want it in Jungian terms; that aspirational sense of self and identity which suppresses the Shadow). The drowning waters of Grail versus the consuming fire of Forge, the birth-and-death, end-and-beginning of Grail vs the metamorphosis and shaping arts of Forge; opposite and the same, passion striving against self-discipline, willpower striving to give form to unconscious desire, and so conflict arises from the Edge between them.

Phost is "the light within: sight, perception, inspiration" and "all the Glory's gifts." Its first aspect is Lantern, its second Sky. When afflicted, its malady is Fascinated: "My inner light gutters, then flares - I am snared in a dangerous fascination. [...] Phost is the brightest part of the soul - sometimes it can grow too bright for safety." Unlike the Cultist's Moth-y Fascination, Fascinated Phost has a small degree of Lantern aspect. It does, however, appear to be the same condition, hence "the HIGHER I RISE the MORE I SEE."

The discrepant aspect here may come down to a simple difference in temperament between the Cultist and the Librarian; one imagines that an adept must have a greater inclination toward Moth than a scholar—otherwise why seek what lies above and beyond the Stag Door? Thus Glory entices the adept but blinds the scholar. Or else, for the scholar, the danger of Fascination lies in what perilous yearnings might be enticed toward you, as Daymare insinuates, although whether the advice she offers Gwen is applicable generally or not is, given Gwen's particular circumstances, unclear.

In any case, Phost is the part of the soul afflicted by Fascination, and it seems reasonable to conceive of it as a counterpart or perhaps the fulcrum of Fet. Consider the Watchman's Paradoxes, a Lantern-Sky skill which can be committed either to Illumination or Nyctodromy:

From Light (Phost) Our dreams are shadows cast by the Watchman's light. So we perceive him even in our shadow. This is Illumination. From Change (Fet) We recognise the dream-places that the Watchman shows us, though we have never seen them before. Perhaps we were something else when we saw them. This paradox is fundamental to Nyctodromy.

If a dream is the shadow cast by the Watchman's light, or a place thereby illuminated, and Phost is "all the Glory's gifts," and the Fet is the part of the soul which walks in dreams, then it is—perhaps—Phost which illuminates the way, as an inner semblance of the Watchman's light, and keeps the balance between Rose and Moth.

Shapt is "eloquence and understanding; the door opens both ways." It has Knock aspect and a lesser power of Forge. It is words. It is speech: the first wound, the first sword, the first key. When afflicted, it develops the malady Acusis, "in which the door, Shapt, cannot be closed. [...] Every sound rings like a bell - every word scratches at my eyes or skin." Knock, absent Forge, soothed only by the silence of Winter. I get very excitable about Shapt and this is already a quite long post, so I will leave it at: Ebrehel is the Shapt of an Hour.

Trist is "the change and the longing," and its first aspect is Moth, its second Moon. Its affliction, Despairing, has Edge aspect instead: "Trist is already half a hand trailed in a river of deeper sadness. [...] Melancholy is the mist on the soul's waters. Despair is the wolf that prowls the water's edge." Trist is also implicated in the existence of what seems to be the most dangerous of the 'great shadows' that can be found in tombs—as described in 'The Barrowchild's Elegies':

The Barrowchild warns particularly of the 'avidity of trist', where a remnant-shadow's longing for change survives its sense of self and even devours its wist. That longing may draw the curious into the tomb, where the remnant-shadow changes so that it cannot be distinguished from its visitor - or that the reverse becomes true - and that it is never again possible to say whether it is the shadow or the visitor that exits the tomb.

ahem. Conceptually what this 'avidity of trist' describes is, in Jungian terms, possession by the Shadow. In Secret Histories terms, I believe that Ereb (fear) overtakes Trist, which turns to despair; the Mettle (will, choice, the determinants of self) is eroded or forsaken or otherwise lost, whereafter the despairing Trist provokes a complete obliteration of everything else that remains in a violent, agonized desperation to destroy the Ereb. & that's what a Wolf-Splinter is.

So the Moth aspect needs no explanation. Moon, however, is interesting, as is the juncture through Knock and Winter. Trist, the change and the longing, is melancholy... and Moon is the aspect of secrets, of nocturnal and forgotten things. Trist, I believe, is specifically the longing for what has been lost, after the changing, after something ends. Hence the danger of its avidity.

Last and not least, we have Wist; "the soul's memory, the true name scratched on its cornerstone, what remains after the rest has passed." It's the memory and the remnants. Its aspects are Winter and Lantern, and its malady, Shell-Crossed, has the aspect Scale, expressly because it's a surfacing remnant: "Memory crossed, hatched, lined, snapped. My thoughts are tangled and unfamiliar to me. Something of those who came before - the Carapace Cross - has always lingered in humankind. It's risen now in me."

The Winter-aspect is of course straightforward, given the Wist's role as memory-keeper for the soul. The Elegiast comes to mind, as does the nowhere-Hour called Snow (for death alters; Snow endures).

But why Lantern? Lantern is not an aspect frequently associated with preservation or endurance—quite the opposite, it purifies and it blinds. It begins to make sense if we consider this Lantern-aspect in relation to the Scale-aspect that emerges when Wist becomes Shell-Crossed, and that is, I think, the closest we have to a smoking gun in terms of Scale being a precursor to Lantern. What remains of the Carapace Cross now? Only light. This is why Shell-Crossed Wist is cured with Lantern; its Scale aspect is purified and therefore forgotten, all but the very last, inextinguishable trace.

(We'll discuss that more in another post.)

So!

All of these conjunctions of principles within the soul track quite well with the positioning of Sky / Scale / Moon / Nectar at the corners around the 'inner wheel.' I think the elements of the soul provide a more comprehensive look at the way the principles interact with each other than do Cultist Simulator's subversion projects, which we turn to now. Briefly. (she says, lying.)

Lantern into Forge: "The magus Julian Coseley claims the Forge of Days split the Sun. Perhaps he was right. [...] Light yields to Heat."

Something interesting to note is that there is a recurring if rather subtle motif of the Sun's light—the light of the Glory, Lantern—being cold. Or at least, not very warm. Besides the Meniscate, whose light is that of a reflection because her domain is the Moon, all of the extant Solar Hours have Winter aspect, which is not particularly unusual in and of itself given the influence of the Intercalate. But the Medium's splendid memory implies that the Sun-in-Splendour, although brighter than the Madrugad or the Sun-in-Rags, was likewise chilly: "The Sun was brighter once - no warmer, but its light held colours we no longer see."

This contrasts the Wheel, as described in, for example, the Inks of Revelation commitment to Hushery: "...since the dawn times when the sun hung red and low and we felt its warmth like autumn." But even that suggests only a little warmth.

Lantern and Forge are similar in myriad ways—light purifies, light blinds; fire gives light and consumes knowledge; one is unmerciful, the other inspires unmerciful change—but one key enduring difference does seem to be that Lantern-light is cold, unyielding, whereas Forge-light burns, desires, consumes, destroys. In this specific way Forge holds more similarity to Moth and Grail than it does to Lantern... and indeed we do see Forge-Moth or Forge-Grail conjunctions here and there. Notably, Transformations & Liberations (Forge-Moth) and Numen: A Merciless Alteration (Edge-Forge-Grail).

Forge into Edge, we've touched on already.

Edge into Winter: "I am acknowledging the victory of patience over strength. [...] Patience defeats strength."

Just as the method for subverting Forge into Edge recalls the Lionsmith, Edge into Winter may—arguably—call upon the Colonel's understanding of victory through the cunning borne of experience. Or we might interpret the operation from the perspective that even the fiercest conflict must end in time, whether in victory or defeat; that even the strongest warrior must fall. The White waits west of the world, but she will not wait forever. In all likelihood both are true, or at least can be true. I would imagine there are different techniques drawn from either viewpoint. (& this, too, is Edge.)

Winter into Heart: "Winter's coming must yield at last to spring."

This operation, I find most interesting in conjunction with the description of Forge as "the winter that warms and the spring that consumes." On its face, it is reasonable to interpret Winter and Heart as opposite forces—silence and stillness, striving against the drums and motion of life—but... but. Winter is the principle of endings, of silence, and of those things that are not quite dead.

Consider the Winter-Heart skill Quenchings & Quellings:

Arts which quench fires and bring solace to the troubled mind. 'A true adept is never troubled by fire, nor by fever, nor by restless spirit'. – Ambrose Westcott Safety in Silence (Trist) Unwise words are dangerous. Mourn them, remember them, speak them not. This is Hushery. Safety in Oblivion (Health) Let the flesh forget disease, let the smoke forget the flame, let the troubled mind forget its pain: Preservation.

Ambrose Westcott was a metallurgist, an alchemist, a pyrographer—his area of specialization pertained to Forge, not to Heart or Winter. But Quenchings & Quellings is first and foremost a skill interested in regret and forgetting, and therein lies the connection: Regret is a Winter-Forge memory. "Every choice has its shadow."

I do not think Winter and Heart are opposing forces at all, but rather two sides of a three-sided coin. (If you'll pardon the tortured metaphor.) Winter ends and Heart renews. Winter remembers and Heart preserves. What's missing from these pictures? Forge, which destroys; Forge, which transforms. Not for nothing are these the principles of Calyptra; the Black Flower's Heart-aspect, the White's Winter-aspect, the Red's Forge.

Heart into Grail, we've already discussed.

Grail into Moth: "Even the Red Grail falls prey to the buzzing in the brain."

Obviously, little daylight exists between hunger and yearning; both are a form of desire. Moth and Grail are similar in their hedonism, their wildness, their violence; the Moth flayed the Wheel and the Thunderskin was flayed at the Grail's behest. (Much is made of the confounding question of whether the Moth or the Grail came first, feasted first, arose first. There are no end of contradictory answers, but the truth is really very simple. They are twins—triplets actually but we don't have time for that—born together.)

But do note the specific phrasing used here—that the Red Grail falls prey to the Moth. The Hour called Moth is a hunter. This is described, for example, when committing Horns & Ivories to the Bosk. So the Red Grail is an Hour which hungers and consumes, presiding at births and deaths in equal measure, and sometimes she falls prey to the hunter-Moth; there is some notion here of reversals, of the hunter-becoming-hunted, of hunger being what is preyed upon.

Here I will draw your attention to the Moth-Grail skill Resurgences & Emergences: "Birth and death are only directions. Between the two we find a crossroads." When Grail is subverted into Moth, this is the crossroads they approach.

& into Knock: "Place pressure upon a weakness, and rend the skin of the world." Any aspect studied with Knock becomes Knock.

Knock is a power of opening, of wounding, of breaching; but I think it is also—perhaps even more importantly—a principle of intersection. It is the joining-together which dissolves all boundaries. The reason it subverts everything is less that it's a cosmic skeleton key and more a question of Knock being the principle that understands everything to be connected to everything else, because it is the principle which connects all things. Nothing is truly separate, and nothing can be divided unless it was first joined.

It's the aspect of the Mother of Ants, who encircles, who arises from wounds, who spares those who are already harmed. Knock is the principle that both wounds and heals by wounding, the venom that is also the antivenin. If you've ever wondered why Sacrament Ascite is brewed from Glassfinger Toxin, this is why.

Now—finally—let's discuss my proposed operations of Sky into Scale, into Moon, into Nectar, back into Sky.

Sky into Scale: This one is actually quite open-and-shut. We'll start with the Ithastry commitment for the language Kernewek Henevek:

The Stars (Wist) A smiths' proverb in Brancrug: 'What starts in the sky, ends in the earth.' A story goes with it, that the village smith's anvil in the time of the Dewulfs was hatched from a meteor stone, and so every plough in the village knows something of the stars. Not many remember the story, but everyone remembers the proverb. It would probably count as Ithastry.

From the sky to the earth; as above, so below. Sky is "wind, storm, echo, song... matters of balance, harmony, and necessity." Scale is "hard without, hard within, hard to rouse, harder to subdue; what remains of the old powers of the earth." What's an earthquake if not a storm within the stone? Or is it a song that still echoes beneath the earth?

Both are precursors to the modern principle of Lantern; Scale, the principle of the Flint, is very closely associated with Forge—and in Lightning we find the conjunction of Sky-Forge.

There is also a whole tangent we could go into here about the birds and the serpents and the birds-of-a-scale, worms-of-a-feather. But I won't belabor the point. Next!

Scale into Moon: One could make an argument, too, for Scale into Nectar, on the grounds of stone-and-soil, fossil-and-seed, antecedent for the Winter-Heart relationship. However, that becomes more difficult when the relationships between the precursors and the modern principles is taken into account, and I think the similarities between Scale-Nectar and Winter-Heart are more accurately represented in terms of Scale-Moon-Nectar preceding the triad of Forge-Winter-Heart.

The Scale-Moon subversion also has Hill & Hollow going for it, in particular the Preservation commitment:

The ways of the hill-children and the gods-from-stone. Old paths, old secrets, the songs that still echo beneath the earth. How They Endured (Health) In the beginning, the Carapace Cross served the first Hours, the gods born from stone. When the gods-from-stone were defeated, where could the Cross go? Into the hills; into the Bounds; and into us. This is how humankind came to be, and in our most secret hollows, the Cross endures. This is a matter of Preservation.

(Note that 'the Bounds' seems to also encompass the House of the Moon, as per the Nyctodromy commitment for Hyksos.)

Scale is what sleeps, remains, what might be roused, while Moon is what is secret, what is hidden, what is nocturnal, and what has been forgotten. Scale endures and fades from memory; Moon remembers what was forgotten. The old songs that echo under the earth become the secrets whispered by the waves beneath the moon.

Like Forge and Winter, Scale and Moon pair the violent destruction of Scale (as a shattering earthquake) with the softer, gentle endings presided over by Moon (as the sea erodes stone). Next!

Moon to Nectar: Here, of course, the dual nature of Grail—the drowning waters but also blood—is worth noting. Both Nectar and Moon are far more strongly tied to Grail than to Heart. And of course, the Wheel, the low red sun, once had the aspect Blood; and it still turns inside the House of the Moon.

Speaking of the Wheel, while Serpents & Venoms is a Scale-Moon skill, it undeniably concerns the Wheel (which may, as we discussed earlier, have also been Scale-aspected), and its Hushery commitment has some interesting implications regarding the relationship between the Wheel and dreams:

The Last Sun (Trist) In the dawn times the sun was lower, so we gave it our blood. From our blood it knew us, and so it was kinder. Its serpents brought us its poisons to drink, and so we died. But we only died a little, and so we dreamed, and returned the next day to give it our blood again. Those times of peace persist in the lessons of Hushery.

In the Mansus as it exists now, dreams are shadows cast by the Watchman's light, or else illuminated by his light, but of course this could not have been true in the dawn time when the Watchman didn't yet exist. The Moon-Knock memory A Stolen Secret, "Something I overheard in dreams?", together with Moon's associations with secrets and nocturnal things, at least circumstantially supports the conclusion that dawn-dreams were illuminated instead by the Moon.

Thus, this interplay between the blood-drinking Wheel whose serpents opened the way each night into dreams beneath the light of the Moon, speaks to the interaction of Moon with the old principle Blood, and what traces of that remain between Moon and Nectar.

Blood drinks of life and gives death and the Moon heals in dreams; Blood brings the dawn and Night yields to day. Nectar is the principle of germination and of poisoned thorns and of renewal, and the Moon still remembers what it was.

Also, the Velvet. Just... the Velvet. Next!

Nectar to Sky: We return to Kernawek Henavek, but this time it is the Bosk commitment that interests us...

The Roots (Health) A farmers' proverb in Brancrug: 'What starts in the roots, ends in the sky.' A superstition goes with it, that before a child's first birthday you should leave her for a summer night sleeping in the roots of an apple-tree, to make sure she grows tall and straight-backed. Not many pay heed to the superstition now, but everyone remembers the proverb. It would probably count as Bosk.

...along with the Birdsong commitment for Leaves & Thorns:

Looking Up (Chor) The gardener's first lesson is this: look up. What starts as weather ends in the world, what starts as sky ends in the soil. This is what the birds know, and the birds know most things first.

As beneath, so above. What is a tree but a throne to birds, and what is Sky but a crown for birds? What begins in sky ends in soil, and so the first lesson of the gardener is to look up.

Nectar is the pulse of the seasons, the ripening, the wild vigor of new life. Sky is the principle of balance and harmony, mathematics and law—moderation, but also music. The wind in the branches, the bird in the nest, the lightning-strike that fells the tree and lets in the sunlight so that new flowers can grow. I rest my case.

& Fin. (ominously) for now.

I would apologize for the sheer amount of things I've glossed over things to the tune of "but we don't have time for that now" but in my defense, 1. I'M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE (this post is 8.2k words long) and 2. I have half of a far more comprehensive disquisition regarding the various shadows-under-the-boat we carefully ignored in this post sitting in my drafts; perhaps a quarter of it is complete; it is pushing forty thousand words in length, so 3. It Will Happen Again.

Tune in next time for: VAMPIRE SUN, EGG MOON, & ...THAT GUY.

#cultist simulator #book of hours

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sungbeam · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐒 — part two (viii – xv)

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

your sister's dead, but apparently that's not the most shocking news. maybe she wasn't killed on accident, maybe ji changmin isn't really human, and maybe the monsters were never under the bed but all around you...

▷ genre, warnings. strangers 2 reluctant allies/friends 2 lovers, slow burn, demon/supernatural creatures au, angst, action, murder mystery-ish au, forced proximity trope, suspense, gore, depictions of violence and blood, themes of death and grief, use/description of weaponry, swearing, a slightly unreliable narrator bc she has no idea what's happening, reader's sister is dead, humor bc coping mechanisms, almost drowning, drugged drinks, kidnapping, reader has hair long enough to braid sorry, beheading, mentions of skinning someone, blood drinking, the barest of proofreading and editing, ending might feel super rushed (_ _;)

▷ part word count. 25.1k words / 47.4k - read part one here

a/n: hi again 🧍🏻‍♀️ don't try to read this without the part prior. thanks bye!! don't forget to reblog. also big thanks to @justalildumpling for reading all this thru for me :') one of the biggest reasons why this exists finished.

#8—HELL'S FAVORITE ANGEL.

SOMETHING YOU NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT, funnily enough, was what the Hell did Ji Changmin keep in the trunk of his car?

At one point, you'd mused about a body. And then the musing became too real, and you swept it under the proverbial rug. Now, you had to lift the corner of the rug to let the demon crawl back out. You weren't sure if you were going to grimace or scream.

"I fear this won't just be dirty gym socks in the trunk," you muttered while trailing behind the angel and demon with a frown.

Jacob let out a laugh. "Oh, you'll see. It's a lot cooler than dirty gym socks."

That sparked your interest. "Cooler? Can Changmin even be that?"

Changmin whipped an unappreciative scowl over his shoulder at you to the melody of Jacob's second laugh within thirty seconds. "For your information," he drawled with a huff, "Hell is cooler than Heaven."

"Okay, which part of Hell are we talking about?" Jacob snorted. "Do you still have my blade?"

"Oh, yeah. The human has it."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, so I'm 'the Human' now? And what do you mean I have—" You stopped short and unsheathed Clyde from your pocket. "You mean Clyde?" You gawked at the switchblade in your hand, then at the angel who peered curiously between you, the blade, and Changmin. The lines between dots were materializing in your horizon. "Wait, so when Changmin said he won this in a poker game?—"

"Yes, that's Jacob's blade," Changmin finished with a rather smug gleam in his eyes.

Jacob tilted his head. "You named it Clyde?"

You pursed your lips slightly, your fingers curling around the weapon. "Yes."

"That's cute."

You smiled. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Changmin made a noise of indignation and marched onward across the town square to his car.

You and Jacob fell into step beside one another as you followed after the tempestuous hellspawn.

Clyde, in your hands, seemed to warm at the presence of his original owner. You chewed on the inside of your cheek before extending the switchblade out to him. "I think this belongs to you."

Jacob shook his head. "No, no. He won it fair and square, and I see he's given it to you. It's no longer his to bargain."

"What do you mean by that?" You asked.

He chuckled, "Ah, well you see—back when he won the poker game, I was salty enough to challenge him to a sparring match to win the angel blade back from him, but we had to put it on hold for reasons."

"So what's gonna be put up for grabs from the sparring match now?"

He pointed to the trunk of Changmin's car. "You're gonna love this."

Practically jogging over to where Changmin was already stationed behind the trunk of his car, Jacob hurried you along. The lid of the trunk rose unceremoniously as you rounded the back end and you found only a long, black case spanning the width of it.

You made a face. "What is it?" You asked, silently thanking whoever was looking after you for not putting a dead body in the back.

Changmin stood between you and Jacob, seemingly reluctant to lean down and unlock the case.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of what laid inside.

There was a long, slim blade made of a metal similar in looks to obsidian, but you highly doubted Changmin would covet a mortal mineral like this. It seemed to hum, in fact, something you knew no human material could do on its own. There was something about its surface that made it wink in purples and blues.

Changmin gently pried the sword out from its molding and held it by the handle. When it was brought to the light, shadows seemed to swirl and curl around the length like creeping vines up a trellis. "The Bonnie to your Clyde," he said lowly, fondly, even as he brushed the pads of his fingers over the flat side over the foreign characters carved into the material.

"You know what an angel blade is, Yn. Now you've seen a demon blade," Jacob said with a wide grin splitting his face in awe.

You couldn't help but share that sentiment. Thus was cool as fuck. "You're telling me you had a demon blade back here this whole time?" Where was this when you'd almost gotten murdered on a motel bedroom floor?

Changmin was just as careful returning the blade back to its case as he had been taking it out. "Yes, and it's gonna stay back here."

Jacob gave a sprite-like giggle. "Wah, your audacity is appalling. It's just gonna make kicking your butt even more fun."

Well, this should be interesting.

The rules of the match were simple.

"No claws or teeth," said Jacob.

"No wings," Changmin shot back.

It looked like Jacob was about to stick his tongue out at his opponent just then. "No tail!"

From your perch at a safe distance away from the two of them on the inn porch, you called out, "You have a tail?"

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Changmin almost seemed bashful. "In my demon form," he stammered. "Okay, so no supernatural appendages."

"And no out of realm abilities," Jacob added. "Just plain and simple fisticuffs."

With a large majority of the pack members having cleared out go down to Moonstone Creak, it left the entirety of town center for a showdown between an angel and a demon. The atmosphere reminded you of an old Midwest duel with a pistol per man, and ten-paces-fire mentality. Part of you was sorry you weren't going to see their non-mortal forms, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized that was probably a good thing to keep your dreams clear at night.

You weren't sure what to expect from this.

"Best out of three?" Changmin drawled, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

Jacob brushed his own mane back. "Sure. It won't make much of a difference anyways. Count us off, would you please, Yn-ah?"

You straightened at the sound of your name. "Uhm—yeah, okay. How will each round end?"

"With Jacob's back on the ground."

Jacob's eyebrows flew up, and his smile grew teeth. "Oh, hoo! I see we like talking smack with an audience around. Okay, fine." To you, he said while pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, "Each round ends when the other yields."

You nodded warily. "Okay… ready then?"

The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stood erect as both of them sunk into position, their facial expressions morphing into twin slates of stone. While they were different creatures, they seemed to share the same predatorial sharpness in their eyes.

You swallowed. "Set—begin."

You were certain that they both agreed to prohibit the use of "out of realm abilities," but the ground rumbled when they pounced at each other. It was fascinating, really, how well they both performed hand to hand combat. Each hit seemed to be just as calculated as the next—one predicting the other's moves.

A complicated dance played out before your eyes and you sat on the porch steps too enraptured—or too nervous—to move. Changmin twisted Jacob's arm behind his back, but the angel was swift to counter and slip out.

You had never seen so much power behind an uppercut; never seen any human force their opponent back so hard that dust kicked up when his heels dug into the ground.

You weren't sure how or when it would end—

Changmin swore as Jacob grappled onto his forearm from behind and swung the demon over his shoulder.

You thought it was over.

Changmin's feet hit the ground though, and on they went.

It was during this drawn-out match that you realized there was probably only one way to really beat an equally matched opponent. They were trying to tire the other one out.

Lost in thought, you all but missed it—the maneuver that Changmin used to suddenly have Jacob pinned to the ground, knees digging into the latter's neck.

"Yield," the demon grunted.

There was a flash of movement, and Changmin swiftly released Jacob from his hold.

He locked eyes with you. "He yielded."

"I didn't think you would let him go if he hadn't," you replied, your thumb running over the butt of the angel blade.

Jacob laid on his back with his face to the sky. "Dude, I think we're finally getting the hang of these mortal bodies."

Changmin smiled, shaking his head, "Yeah, and after how long?" He offered his friend a hand and hauled him to his feet. "I remember when you almost jumped out of a tree and forgot you couldn't just sprout wings."

"Listen," Jacob lamented with a wince, "that was one time. And you said we were racing, and my instinct was to fly."

"Born cheater."

"Born hater."

You raised your hand from the sidelines. "So, one to nil. Shall we continue, boys?"

It seemed once you'd reminded them of their purpose for roughing it in the town square, they were back to focus. This time, both were a little out of breath. You guessed that they were pretty damn close to evenly matched then—there was a balance to the pair with Jacob having grander, stronger movements, and Changmin doling out smaller, agiler maneuvers. They were two sides of the same coin, angel and demon.

The second round always generated a heightened bout of tension compared to the first. For the winner of the prior round, this could be his game point of the match; to the loser, it was his opportunity to get even.

You watched their stances steel over, the backs of their heels firmly on the earth. "Ready—begin."

It started off similar to the first time, Intl a little more calculated. With the stakes rising, it was crucial to make the right hits.

Changmin struck first—he had less to lose. An attempted double kick to the stomach ended with his foot caught in Jacob's grasp. The angel twisted; the demon tumbled, taking his foe to the dirt with him.

On they went, and at times, you couldn't even decide who had the upper hand.

From somewhere to your left, you heard the wood on the porch creak. You turned to find Kevin hopping over the railing and making his way over to you, a blue-colored bandana hanging from his fingers. He offered you a smile. "Hey."

"Hey," you said, scooting over to make room for him on the step. "I thought you were heading the search party?"

"Yeah, I still am," he replied. He wasn't even paying much attention to the duo brawling out in the square, just you. "We were about to leave when I realized that my entire party doesn't know what the pendant smelled like, so I was wondering if I could just clean your pendant off with this to carry the scent?" He gestured with the piece of fabric in his hand. "That way, you won't have to be uncomfortable with a bunch of people coming to smell your necklace," he reasoned while cupping the back of his neck.

"Oh, that's a novel idea."

From out in the dirt and sun, Changmin's eyes caught the two of you on the steps of the inn and got half his face rightly smashed into the ground. It was only a split second, but even a split second was mistake enough.

Jacob pressed him down with his entire body weight, and leaned in close with a grin, "Yield, little Hellspawn."

Changmin groaned, but yielded.

As he had done for Jacob, the angel yanked him up off the ground, spitting dirt out from his mouth and wiping it from his eyes.

"Sorry," Jacob said, not very apologetically.

Changmin grimaced as he stumbled over to the fountain at town center and dunked his face in. He furiously scrubbed the dirt off his face and rinsed his mouth. Yuck.

He pulled himself out of the water, refreshed. Brushing his dampened hair back, he blinked the water out of his eyes to see if Kevin had left yet. He hadn't, actually, and still sat next to you. Something he said made you laugh, but then he was leaving, your gaze following—Changmin noticed the slowness in Kevin's gait, how reluctant he was to leave.

"Hmm, didn't think you'd ever eat dirt again after all these years, but I guess there will always be exceptions," Jacob mused. He stretched out his calves and arms, keeping his muscles alive and perked up for the final round. It was one to one after all.

"I was distracted," Changmin said simply. "He wasn't supposed to be here."

Jacob hadn't been blind to Kevin's presence at the inn steps either. His smile turned sly. "Now why would Kevin being here distract you? Curious, curious."

Changmin raised the collar of his shirt up to dry his face as the two of them strolled back to their sparring ground.

You were currently sending him a look with your head tilted to the side in question. Did he dump you in the fountain? You seemed to ask.

He shook his head, making a motion with his hands about how Jacob won the match. To his opponent, he murmured, "She's getting attached."

"And that's a bad thing?"

His automatic thought was no, you getting attached to these people, this place, was not a bad thing. He remembered your state of being back at the college town and how alone you'd been there. Here, it seemed you had people who would care about you, at least. With so much time spent in the mortal realm, he'd learned just how much humans needed each other.

But then again, you and he had a job to finish. "We have to leave soon."

Jacob adjusted the sleeves of his shirt once again since they fell at some point during the match. "Doesn't mean you can't come back."

He wasn't wrong. You seemed, upon reflection, content here. He passed you a glance, but you took that as a signal to start the match.

Changmin and Jacob dropped into their respective stances and charged when given the word.

As soon as Jacob's back hit the ground, you knew it was over. The last round drew out much longer than the preceding ones, and though they both fought fiercely, it was done with exhaustion sewn between each huffing breath, each reeled punch. A fight like this wasn't worth wasting all that energy on, anyway.

"Bonnie stays with you for now, I suppose," Jacob chuckled as the two of them clasped each other's hands in a show of good sportsmanship. Sweat dripped from their bangs and down the slopes of their noses and sculpted jawlines.

Changmin shook his head, "The sword is permanently going to be called Bonnie, isn't it?"

"You did this to yourself, you know." You walked over to them, hands propped on either side of your hips.

"I did," he agreed with his lips pressed together. The dimple in his cheek still threw you off your rocker. "Well, since I have so much dirt in my hair now—"

"Hey! I have to go switch shirts because of you!" Jacob chortled, motioning to his own white T-shirt stained a dusty brown on his back and front, and more on his pants.

"Ah, you need to shower anyways," Changmin quipped back.

Jacob made a waving gesture over his shoulder as he headed back toward the pack house to take that shower. "Yeah, yeah. I can say the same thing about you, Ji."

While Jacob went in his own direction, you and Changmin trudged back over to the inn so he could clean himself up. You wondered how much he really did need to get cleaned up, since you noted no blood or bruises, but the latter wouldn't show up for another couple hours if there were any.

Wait, was that how demon bruising worked—?

"I can hear your mind racing, Yn," Changmin drawled as he hiked up the stairs next to you.

"Not literally, right? I just have to make sure," you added on at the end when he looked over at you.

He absentmindedly scratched his jaw. "No, not literally. You're just easy to read."

Your expression flattened. "Oh."

"Hm."

"Okay, well you owe me some answers." You amended, folding your arms over your chest, "A lot of them, actually."

The sigh that fell from his lips was a familiar one, and he turned his head over his shoulder to check that there wasn't anyone else around. There wouldn't have been since it was only the two of you staying here, and the auntie who ran the inn was somewhere downstairs. "Let's talk in my room."

"Your room?" You squabbled incredulously. To you, Changmin seemed like the type to like his privacy, especially when he got a room to himself. But you questioned no further and he made no additional comments as the two of you entered the space that was his bedroom.

The room itself was similar to yours, but flipped. The wall on the far left was his room shared with yours, his bed pressed up against the far right. The shutters in here remained closed and angled upward so the sunlight outside could peer through, but only at a faint glow. It was enough to get around, at least. The space was spotless, bed unslept in. The sheets were still tucked tightly into place and his backpack sat in the armchair in the corner.

"You didn't sleep?" You voiced aloud, shutting the door behind you while he made a beeline for his backpack. You knew sleep wasn't a demonic necessity, but even so, sleeping for leisure was still something he indulged in, right?

He dug through its contents for a spare shirt and pants to change into after his shower. "No, I went out last night."

Your head perked up from where you'd settled on the very foot of the bed. "Where?"

"The woods—where else?" As if that were obvious. "The circles of Hell are pretty much dark all the time anyway," he said while passing by you to get to the bathroom door. He dumped his clothing items onto the counter and you heard him rip the shower curtain open. "It was—it was just, you know, like exercise and shit. Nothing important."

You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it, losing your train of thought.

The bathroom door shut, but you could still hear the stream of water running behind it.

Did living like this make him uncomfortable? Was he used to moving from place to place, never making a permanent home?

"Changmin." You raised your voice so he could hear you from through the door and over the water.

A faint, "Yeah?"

"What you said, back there during the advising board meeting, when they asked if there was more of this pendant—" You fingered the stone again. There was no one here to gawk at it. "—you said that this wasn't the only one."

For a moment, he didn't answer, and you thought that perhaps he didn't hear you.

Then, "Your sister, she—she had the other half."

You peered down at the stone in your hand and watched its blood ruby surface pulse. If you were careful, you could just barely make out the duller edge versus the sharper one, no doubt where Sena's half would have been. It hadn't even occurred to you that this was only half the necklace, like a locket.

You asked him the next reasonable question. "Where is it?" It hadn't been in the lockbox, nor had it been on her person when she died or at the funeral. Did he have it?

"I'm not sure actually."

Those four words settled heavily over your shoulders. He didn't know. There had to be some connection with how she died then. Someone took it off her body—

"Is that—" The bathroom door opened. You hadn't even realized he finished and was dressed, "—what we're looking for then? You said we have to go to one of her safe houses to find the thing she messaged you about. Is that the thing? Is whoever was following us earlier—were they after my half?"

Changmin leaned against the bathroom door's frame, freshly rinsed off of dirt and grime and sweat, a new set of clothes on his body. He crossed his arms over his chest with a pensive gaze. "They probably were after your half, yes. I didn't really know what she wanted me to find, to be honest. I thought you would have her half, too, but when you only said you found one pendant in the lockbox, my mind shifted into believing she stashed hers in a safehouse somewhere."

That must have been why he reacted like he did that day… how he wanted you to be sure there wasn't anything else in the box.

He continued, "Sena was the one who poured over ancient texts and researched about this. I gave her context about supernatural things and was the muscle where need arose. She knew everything, and now I'm kind of kicking myself in the head for that." He massaged his jaw. "She mentioned something about an activator of sorts. I can't remember all the details, but it would be in one of her notebooks."

"We just have to find them," you murmured.

You and he locked eyes, and he nodded, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "Yeah."

You fiddled with a spare thread from the duvet cover by your hand. "And about the demons—you know, the lower level ones who have been popping up everywhere?"

"Those are easier beings to summon," he breathed out. "Anyone can summon them through a ritual and they'll do your bidding for the price of a sacrifice. Those are usually the ones people are calling upon with their… Ouija boards and pentagrams and shit." They seemed a lot more vicious than the ones that came with pentagrams, but you couldn't speak from experience.

You shuddered at the memory of those teeth engraved into your mind. If anyone could summon those kinds of demons, then it wouldn't necessarily be a demonic entity after your pendant. More details to consider, you supposed.

A thought occurred to him and you saw it come to the forefront of his mind like a lightbulb turning on. He disappeared back into the bathroom and returned with a little paper cup in his hand. He stirred something inside it with a wooden popsicle stick used for coffee and crafts.

"I, uhm…" He stepped toward you, apprehensively, with the paper cup. "I consulted the resident medic for some of that salve the wolves use for bruising. She didn't have anything on hand for humans, but she told me what herbs I could grab from the woods."

When he was close enough, you could see the greenish paste at the bottom of the cup. Your eyes widened in surprise, uncertain of what to do with all this information.

He stood in front of you, teeth biting down on his lip. "Can I see your neck?" His voice quieted at the end, and he cleared his throat.

You could feel your heart stutter in your chest. "Uhm, yeah. Sure." You carefully swept any stray pieces of hair from your neck and to the other side of your shoulder, tilting your head slightly to give him access to it. You didn't know exactly what this was going to do, but for some reason you trusted that it would help.

He took some of the paste onto the end of the popsicle stick and carefully dabbed it over the places where the demon teeth marks vandalized your skin. It was still purplish in some areas, darkened where the teeth had sunken in the deepest to pierce your esophagus. Shallower places had already begun to sallow, but clearly, it wasn't at a supernatural creature's pace by any means.

When he was finished he stepped back to inspect his handiwork. Neither of you had yet to say anything.

You let your hair fall back into place. "Thanks."

You couldn't read him again; you wish you could. "Yeah," he said.

#9—OUT OF REALM.

THE NIGHTS WERE WARM here in the little town of Moonstone Creak. The air was comfortable and settled so comfortably on your skin. No gooseflesh or raised hair or anything.

You sat on the front steps of the pack house to the sound of music being played in the square before you, and wondered if Sena had ever come across something like this in her travels. If she and Changmin had been business partners, so to speak, she must have come across a myriad of supernatural and divine beings.

A couple days had passed since you and Changmin first got here, and the wolves unfortunately were unable to find the source of your pursuers in the white car, who bore the same scent as the pendant around your neck. You almost forgot that was why you both were here in the first place.

A blur of fur flew past you as two wolf pups scrambled down the steps, one chasing the other's tail, in a game of tag. Seeing mothers hold their infant children between jaws of teeth was becoming less and less of a shock, and you found yourself smiling at the kids playing around in the square, beneath the hanging lanterns.

"This seat taken?" You glanced up to meet Kevin's boyish smile, a white dress shirt and board shorts hanging from his frame.

You welcomed him next to you with a smile. "Busy day?" You asked after having not seen him since he left breakfast this morning.

He gave a sigh, leaning back onto his palms. "A little, but it's always nice to take some of the younger ones out into the woods. It's how they build community and stamina."

The two of you peered out at the town center as those dancing around Lily and Sangyeon with their guitar and keyboard cheered to the end of the song. It was merry and vibrant and full of life; no wonder they lived in this pocket of the world—it was to preserve their serenity, and perhaps even their ways of life.

Kevin turned his head toward you. "What about you? How have you filled your day today?"

"Well," you started with a chuckle, "Haknyeon and Eric and I went down to the creak and they taught me how to snatch a fish out of the water with my bare hands."

His grin widened. "Oh, I see. So dinner tonight was on you?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "I would like to take credit for that massive hunk of salmon, but I could barely get my fish out of the water."

"It comes with practice," he assured you, eyes turned up in amusement. "Plus, Haknyeon and Eric have a bit of an advantage over you."

Ah, that was right. Wolf shifters were, for lack of better phrasing, “built different,” as you liked to say. They were stronger, faster, and more alert, with their five senses heightened to a scale you couldn’t put into words. You imagined that shifting between human and wolf forms took a lot of strength and energy, so it made sense in a way. There were also a few humans living among the wolves here besides yourself who either married into the community or simply moved in after visiting or doing business with the town’s inhabitants. You couldn’t blame them for that either. (A part of you, stewing in the back of your mind, humored the possibility of moving here yourself. It seemed almost too good to be true.)

You and Kevin watched as Jacob joined the fray with Eric in tow, the two of them starting a game of “Simon Says.” A thought occurred to you while you observed the angel; there was something distinctly absent from his silhouette. “Kevin?”

“Hm?”

“Why doesn’t Jacob have wings if he’s an angel?” For the entirety of your stay since you met him, he lacked the white-feathered wings characteristic of an angel. Of course, there was also a lack of halo, too, but you thought Jacob’s radiating warm personality was enough to make up for that loss.

Kevin straightened. “Oh, that’s an easy one—he’s in an energy-conserving form. That’s why you don’t see Changmin with the demon horns or tail and stuff. This human form is the base level of this realm, so it’s the most energy-conserving for them while they’re away from their native realms.”

You didn’t expect that your question would lead to a conversation about the mechanisms of the universe. You blinked, then shot him a look you expected told him exactly how you were feeling. “What?”

“Realms,” he repeated with a chuckle. “We have the mortal plane, which is where we are now; the Heavenly sphere, which is where the hierarchy of angels are; and then the circles of Hell.” He nudged your knee with the back of his hand and gestured for you both to move to the bottom step of the porch so he could draw you a diagram in the dirt. Kevin found a small rock lying by his feet and diagrammed the three realms.

“It looks like that,” he said once he was done. “Think of each as not levels, but more like separate rooms.”

You tilted your head at the drawing. “So Heaven and Hell really are just above and below us?”

“Not… exactly?” He winced. “More like pocket dimensions. That’s why energy conservation works how it does when it comes to bodily forms, rather than how humans usually explain it in physics.”

“Don’t expect me to know anything about that.”

He grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure this’ll make a lot more sense—there’s a whole lot less math involved. But then again, maybe human physics and this concept is more similar than I’m making it out to be.”

You lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I’d confirm or deny, but science was never really my area of expertise.”

“And what’s that? Your area of expertise,” he asked, dropping the rock back onto the ground and resting his cheek against his fist to turn his attention to you.

“Me? Well, I’m in finance and accounting.” You made a face at how human that sounded compared to the subject of your current conversation. Accounting did not measure up to talks of energy conservation and supernatural pocket dimensions. “It was just… kind of the practical route that I had in mind when going into college.” Practicality had driven so many of your decisions throughout your life. It was for the sake of keeping yours and your sister’s heads above water. Sena had never been afraid of chasing her dreams though, so you figured that you would support her and let her go out to do what she wished. But by the looks of where that got her, should you have done that? You didn’t really know.

Kevin bobbed his head. “Practicality is good,” he said softly. “You know, we just lost one of our bookkeepers in town. We could always use another.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest at the sentiment and you couldn’t ignore the tenderness of his gaze, but maybe you were making things up. Your heart pitter-pattered and the pendant at your collar echoed it. “Good to know.”

His lips curled into that pretty smile of his, and he sat up and waved his hand around. “But, uhm, going back to what we were talking about earlier… because Jacob and Changmin are both far away from their home realm, they need to exert a lot more energy to sustain a form that is less supported in this realm.”

You squinted, pursing your lips. “So like… a supernatural version of home court advantage?”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to pause. “Home court ad—I’m guessing that’s a human thing.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about it,” you dismissed. To be fair, your high school had drilled the concept of home court advantage into your head in order to encourage more people to come to sports outings when your school was hosting. The phrase lived in your head because it was etched there. “Ah, so wait—if, let’s say, Changmin went to the Heavenly sphere…”

“If he had any reason to go there,” Kevin said with an ill-concealed grimace, “pray for him.”

That reply did nothing to reassure you. You swallowed, trying to imagine what would happen should Changmin find himself in Heaven, and if Jacob went to Hell. If this was their supported form one realm away… then what would it be two realms away?

“But don’t worry too much about it,” he added swiftly, “demons don’t usually find a reason to go to the sphere. And if there is a reason, they usually don’t stay long enough to find out how much energy it takes to maintain out of realm bodies.”

“Out of realm—I’ve heard that saying before when Changmin and Jacob were sparring a couple days ago. They both agreed not to use any out of realm abilities.”

He hummed cheerily, nodding. “Mmh, yeah. Out of realm usually just refers to the mortal plane here, and any form or abilities that aren’t ‘supported’ like flight or magic—”

“Magic?”

“That’s just what I’ve heard,” Kevin huffed a laugh. “I hope you never find yourself in any of the circles of Hell, Yn, but if you’re ever down there with Changmin, then ask him to turn a rock into a diamond necklace.”

Your eyebrows flew up to your hairline. “So you’re telling me he’s an alchemist?” You hadn’t even thought about what other things your demon counterpart was capable of besides attacking people and brooding.

“Not quite—”

“Alchemy isn’t really the word I would use to describe it,” came Changmin’s drawl from behind you.

You nearly fell backwards off the stairs if it hadn’t been for Kevin’s arm shooting out to grab your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you shot Changmin a dirty look. “You—” you sputtered, trying to get your bearings, “—need to stop doing that!”

He quirked a single brow upward, quietly shoving another forkful of blueberry pancake into his mouth. “Not my fault you didn’t hear me coming.”

“I smelled you coming,” Kevin laughed, the sound brightening at the sound of your snort.

Changmin’s expression flattened. He swallowed his bite and impaled another. “Can I talk to you?” He directed the question to you, nudging you with the toe of his boot.

You and Kevin exchanged glances, but you hoisted yourself up from the porch steps, dusting any dirt from your pants. “Uh, sure. What about? Also, where did you get pancakes from at nine o’clock at night?”

The demon motioned with his chin to start walking in the direction of the inn across the square. “Lily had leftovers,” he said simply.

You hmphed and let it slide.

Since Changmin revealed to you that there was a second half to your pendant, you hadn't shared another long discussion pertaining to the real reason you were on this quest. He would often linger at the edges of crowds here, keeping to himself and the limited number of people he knew. He seemed to avoid interacting with most, and you wondered why that was. He wasn't… that scared of social interaction, was he?

Changmin leaned up against the wall of the inn and you perched across from him with your back to the porch railing. "I've been thinking."

"Is this a good thing?"

You raised your hands in innocence as he scowled at you. He sawed a chunk of pancake in half with the side of his fork before impaling it with the tines. "Sometimes you sound exactly like your sister."

"Sarcasm runs in Ln family blood, what can I say?" You mused. "So you were thinking."

He hummed. "Mmh. Well, I was thinking that—" he cleared his throat, his fingers brushing over his throat. "We've been here for a couple of days and nothing has seemed to crop up. There hasn't really been any immediate dangers and—" He wrinkled his nose, apparently annoyed at something.

You sobered a little. "What is it?"

He knocked the back of his fork against his skull. "You look—happy here. And safe, of course. You're safe here," he finally pushed out. His jaw worked as he speared his last piece of pancake and shoved it into his mouth.

Your eyes widened slightly. You didn't realize he was monitoring your mood like that, but you could agree that you definitely felt safer here than out there. "I… agree?" However, you still didn't know what direction this conversation was heading.

Changmin sighed, his brows creasing in frustration. "Yes, you agree. So, I think the best decision is that I leave you here and I go out and find the second half of the necklace."

What.

"Changmin, you—"

"Just hear me out," he said. "We've already been attacked twice because of that thing, and if we step foot out of these bounds, it's liable to happen again." He wrestled down a swallow. "You're just—better off here."

You idly rubbed the pendant over the fabric of your shirt. "You're serious."

"When am I not serious?"

Did he not trust his ability to keep an eye on you? Or no, it had to be you that was the problem. If you could fend for yourself, he wouldn't have to worry about being attacked all the damn time. His logic had grounds, and though you could breathe easy here, for some reason, letting him go after the second half didn't sit right with you.

You chewed on your bottom lip. "I think we should—"

The world stilled, the music screeched to a halt. The night air filled with the chilling sound of a howl.

You instinctively leaned away from the railing and came to stand beside Changmin, scanning the immediate premises for danger. The hair on your skin stood on its end, heartbeat quickening—

From the far end of town by the conventional entrance, a dark-furred wolf, followed by two others, charged in. You recognized the one at the front as Juyeon from the advising board.

The town center cleared; Lily was already corralling little ones into the pack house, her head on a swivel between Sangyeon and the wolves barreling back into town from the night watch. Kevin and Jacob were swift to join them.

Changmin's expression turned troubled. "Stay here."

"I'll hold your plate," you murmured, taking the plate and fork from him and backing up toward the entrance to the inn. The auntie who owned the establishment appeared at your side, ushering you in so she could lock the doors. This had to be some kind of protocol.

You set the plate and fork on the table in the parlor and pressed your face up against the window to watch the congregation at the town's entrance. From this distance, your sight wasn't nearly good enough to make out their individual expressions, but it didn't look good.

"Auntie?" You asked, fumbling for Clyde in your pocket. "What's going on?"

She peered over from where she was twisting lanterns to the off position. "Intruders," she answered.

You leapt out of your skin when the inn's front door handle was forced open.

Changmin and Kevin's heads whirled about the room until they found you. "We're leaving," Changmin said, already charging toward the stairs. "Pack your things; Kevin's leading us out."

You scrambled after him in the dark. "Changmin. Changmin what the fuck is happening—"

He threw a stern look over his shoulder. "I'll explain in the car," he said before disappearing into his room.

You tossed your hands up into the air and did as you were told. There wasn't much to pack for yourself. You tossed your clothes haphazardly into your backpack, located any other spare items you left in the room, checked the bathroom for anything else. By the time you were done, Changmin was slapping his palm against the door jamb and hustling you out.

Kevin waited for you both in the lobby, his wolf form anxiously pacing the area like he was itching to get out of here. You could hear snarling and hissing and crashes and crackling from outside the door. What were you going to see when you stepped foot out of the inn?

"Let's go," Changmin said, nodding to Kevin, and shoving out into the night.

You lost your breath.

The pack house was on fire.

Wolves brawled against demonic forms, teeth gnashing around necks and snapping them. Black and red blood stained the dirt—they had come for the pendent. And they would take the pack down with them if they had to.

"Yn." A hand hauled you down the porch steps to round the building to Changmin's car.

Horror and panic and everything in between poured into you as you threw yourself into the front seat of Changmin's car. Your eyes, wide as saucers, could not leave the sight of violence happening before you.

You blinked—dark, whirling masses in the sky appeared out of thin air, and out of them spilled more and more creatures of Hell. Their jaws of daggers made you sick to your stomach; what was this? A small army?

Changmin swerved the car after Kevin, who was leading you not through the fray, but behind the inn house and straight into the woods.

You twisted in your seat. "Are they going to be okay?" You whispered, hands shaking as they dropped onto the headrest.

He was quiet for a beat. "They have Jacob."

But was one divine being enough? There were so many of them, oh fuck. And Jacob wasn't at full power, was he?

"They'll—they'll leave when they sense we're no longer there," he added quietly. "I hope."

You hugged the back of your seat, murmuring prayer after prayer. Please be safe. Please be okay.

The road Kevin led you both down was twisted and hazardous with winding paths that sent your shoulder careening into the side of the car and bumps that jostled your organs. Changmin somehow was able to keep up with Kevin without the headlights on and you didn't have the mind to question it.

You sunk into your seat to face forward, eyes glued to the side view mirror. You could see the glow of flames from here, could see how far up into the sky the fire went.

Oh god, this is all your fault. You brought trouble right to their doorstep. It's all your fault. All your—

The car broke out of the woods and into a small clearing with a worn path that led up to another road that hugged the side of a small mountain. This was where Kevin stopped.

Changmin nodded to Kevin in the front windshield.

You jammed your finger against the button in your door to roll your window down. "Kevin," you said.

The wolf trotted over to your door, and you stuck your hand out to meet his head. Your chest ached. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't communicate with you in a way you understood, but you liked to think you got good at reading his eyes. They seemed conflicted—the way they glistened like moonlight with the silver lining the edges, but burned like molten gold when he turned to motion toward the smoke in the distance.

"I'm sorry," you repeated. "Stay safe."

With one last look, he took off back toward his home.

Changmin passed you a glance, eyes softening at the corners, then turned the car up onto the road.

You pulled yourself back into the car and rolled the window up once you couldn't see Kevin's form anymore. Your eyes stared at the front console, brain muddled—you focused on taking deep breaths.

"Are they going to be okay?" You asked again. He had given you an answer before, but—fucking Hell, you were going to be sick—

"They'll be okay," he assured you. One of his hands lifted from the steering wheel and rested on your shoulder.

You broke down, face burying itself into your palms. Sobbing filled the silence of the car with the weight of lead. First, there was Sena. Then, it was whatever the fuck you were doing on this ridiculous task. Now… now, you'd gotten bystanders involved. Good people. They were good people.

You couldn't lose anyone else.

One person was more than you could take—more than you thought you could take.

You lifted your head, dragging the back of your hand across your eyes, your palm over your cheeks. "I want to go home," you whimpered as the back of your head hit the headrest. He had spoken too soon—you weren’t safe anywhere.

His hand was still on your shoulder and it slid down to your forearm, his fingers curling around you in a tentative form of comfort. "I know, sweetheart," he murmured. "I know."

#10—HOLD YOUR BREATH.

"PULL OVER, CHANGMIN."

The demon's head whipped over to you for a second, taking his eyes off the barren highway. There wasn't anyone else around this early in the morning, especially on this road that hugged the coast rather than a more straightforward freeway like the main interstate. "What?"

"Pull over," you repeated.

"We're almost there."

"Please."

He stopped the car.

He just barely put the vehicle in park before you were clambering out and headed in who-knew-what direction.

You heard the driver's side door slam shut as he followed after you. "Yn. Yn, where the Hell do you think you're going?"

"I don't know," you said, wrapping your arms around you. The salty sea air brushed past your clothes and your skin, and it felt nothing like the warmth from Moonstone Creak. The sky before dawn was a white-ish purple with clouds blanketing out where one might see the sun creeping up to its perch. The two of you were on the road for nearly five hours, and you didn't sleep a wink of it.

He caught up with you and grabbed your shoulders to face him. "I know that was a lot of shit to take, but we can't be out here."

"I can't do this anymore," you told him. "I can't risk any more lives, I can't risk mine or yours—I don't want to end up dead in a ditch. I—" You yanked the necklace around your collar and unclasped the chain, the weight falling from your sternum feeling more akin to an empty cage than a freed one.

You ripped out of his hold and stormed across the highway.

"No, no, no—YN. Yn, let's talk about this—"

You were getting rid of all your problems. If they wanted the pendant, then they could fucking have it—

Changmin appeared in front of you, expression stormy. "Don't do it."

"Get out of my way."

"If you lose that necklace, Yn—"

"THEN WHAT?" You practically growled in his face. Your hand fisted around the stone in your palm, and you waved it around wildly. "If I lose it, then what? Changmin, I don't even know what the fuck it does. You haven't told me why it's important. My sister sure as Hell didn't tell me jackshit. What, in the name of all things fucking holy, is so important about this red rock! Why am I risking my life for it?"

Changmin balked and his lips pressed firmly against each other.

Disappointment churned in your stomach. "Why won't you tell me?" You asked him, dropping the stone to hold it by the chain.

His eyes flickered to your movements. "I'll tell you, but just—we can't talk about it out here." He turned slightly and pointed out a building in the distance. It was a lighthouse, and it was erected on the edge of a rocky outcropping that jutted out from the coastline. White-foamed waves crashed against its shore like drums. "You see that? That's the safehouse."

That was the safehouse? "She bought a lighthouse?" Oh dear god, she had not listened to any of your advice about investing.

"Yes," he said. "Don't ask me why. I don't know the answer to that one, but if we can just get over there…"

You eyed the building. It was a standard cylindrical-shaped tower painted in white with a large glass cap at the top, housing a spotlight to guide ships home. A second, much smaller building the size of a shed was attached to the base, and you could just make out what looked like a chimney on top. Against your boring financial advice, Sena had been a romantic at heart. You wouldn't be surprised if one of her other safehouses was an idyllic cottage in a meadow.

You swallowed your pride, reaching up to reluctantly clasp the necklace back around your throat. Changmin visibly relaxed. "Fine."

The two of you made to turn around and head back to the car, but something in the water below caught your eye. It was a long way down from where you stood, and the jagged, dark cliff face didn't make the drop any more appetizing. The water was a deep, murky shade of gray-blue that screamed a cold, watery grave. You squinted down at the water in search of the glint of something you thought you saw.

Changmin glanced back at you. "What is it?"

When you came up empty-handed, you followed him to the car. "Nothing. I think I'm just tired."

The car was still quiet when Changmin pulled up outside the lighthouse. The building sat on the lower end of the outcropping, surrounded by a field of overgrown grass watered by sea spray and rain. The thrashing of waves was much louder here, like rolling thunder, and they threw themselves up against the shore bedecked in dark rocks, eroded into rough edges to make them appear akin to teeth.

You grabbed your backpack from the backseat as usual, eyes peering up at the lighthouse and trying to drink it in.

So… this was where she had been hiding. At least, some of the time she was away.

Your fingers drummed along your bag strap. What were you going to find inside? The last time you opened one of Sena's locked things, you ended up on the run.

Changmin's hair whipped up in the wind. "I think I can pick the lock," he said.

"She didn't give you a key?"

He began making his way to the front door. "I've only been here a couple of times, but only when she was around. Sena only had one—copy." When he jiggled the doorknob and it drifted open, he stiffened.

You frowned. "Awful lock."

"It wasn't locked," he said. He put his arm out in front of you. "Stay behind me."

That feeling you knew all-too-well—like a spider crawling down your spine—returned. You shoved your hand into the pocket that held your angel blade, slowly creeping in after Changmin.

The first floor of the lighthouse looked as if a tornado blew right through it. The couch cushions were torn off their perches, the rug was thrown aside, the bookshelf devoid of its occupants who lied scattered about the room. You took it all in with wide eyes, gently trekking through on the balls of your feet like you were going through a minefield. The connecting shed was for the kitchen and dining needs, and that too did not look much better. All of the porcelain plates and cups and silverware were in pieces on the stone floors.

Changmin blew out a breath, hands burying into his hair as his eyes wildly searched the area for any signs of who had been here for you. "Shit."

You made your way over to the couch-side table where a small lamp was undressed of its shade and a picture frame left cracked and picture-less. But you recognized the shoddy paint job on the frame from your childhood when you'd painted it in an arts and crafts class in first grade. You felt the picture's loss like an empty void. Whoever had been here took it with them.

Failure burned through you like hot acid. It made your body scream as it incinerated you from the inside out; you would never figure out what your sister was doing or what was going on. Not at this rate.

You set the empty frame down and brushed past Changmin to the front door.

"Yn—"

"I need some air." You didn't wait for his response.

The sun was making a gradual ascent now, turning the sky above you a more aggressive shade of lilac and egg yolk. You rounded the circumference of the lighthouse until you were descending the hill at its back down to the dock. It was a short, wooden platform where you could sit down and breathe in ocean air for a moment.

You lowered yourself by the edge with your feet crossed beneath you upon the sun-soaked planks. In the distance, you heard the cry of a seagull as it made landfall.

For all of the noise the waves made, it was awfully quiet. Disturbingly quiet.

It didn't occur to you right away. You were more focused on the hot tears trailing down your cheeks and the pressure building up in your head to start a killer headache. Goddamn, what were you doing? What did you think you were going to accomplish?

You yanked the chain out of your shirt collar with an angry frown marring your face. "Stupid fucking necklace." This was all its fault—and there you were, blaming an inanimate object for all your troubles.

"What if I just tossed you into the ocean?" You gazed out at the infinite horizon. It would be so easy. Would it not solve all of your problems?

You sighed, rubbing the space between your eyes with the pads of your fingers.

For a moment, you soaked in the air around you, the warmth of the boards beneath your thighs, and the sweet song drifting through your ear. What a beautiful sound the ocean made… it crooned something melancholy to you, luring you closer toward it in wonder. How sad the ocean was… its loneliness resonated with yours… it sang it so in the song.

You were enchanted by it, scooting closer to the edge of the pier to see if you could figure out the source of the serenade.

It's the ocean, something told you. It wasn't coming from a person or a thing, but the entire body of water before you. It heard your pain, could feel your suffering… it wanted you to come into its arms so it could lovingly embrace you.

"Yn. YN? YN!"

The song coaxed you closer to the edge. Almost there, love.

Your legs dangled over the side, eyes glazed over and glassy. The dark waters beneath you were so lovely and lonely. You could keep it company, couldn't you?

"YN, SNAP OUT OF IT."

Don't listen to him. He doesn't understand your pain. But I do.

You murmured. "Who does?"

Come a little closer, pet. I can make the hurt go away.

Thunderous stomps down the hill became muffled in the background. "YN. LN. WAKE. UP."

For a moment, your eyes shuddered. His voice was familiar. You turned your head back to look, and saw Changmin charging toward you with his eyes wide and—

Look at me, the voice demanded.

Something wrapped around your ankle, and you had little time to understand what was happening before you were dragged straight under.

As soon as the water swallowed you, the cold seeped into your bones and snapped you out of whatever trance you had been put under. Panic seized your chest, and you thrashed around, holding your breath, in a desperate attempt to free whatever had your leg trapped in a death grip.

You screamed silently, the surface getting farther and farther away.

You desperately kicked out with your other leg, the sole of your shoes scratching and scraping and chipping away at the hand holding you. You fumbled in your pants pocket, then brandished Clyde. With as much might as you could muster, you stabbed at the appendage wrapped around your ankle.

When you made contact, it retreated instantly. There was a trail of something dark down below, but you couldn't quite tell between it and the bottom of the water.

Running out of air fast, you desperately pumped your legs and clawed your way up towards Changmin swimming toward you. He extended his hand to you, his eyes flickering between you and something behind you—you didn't have time to think about what it was.

Your fingers made purchase with his, and you grabbed onto each other with a mutual vice. He hauled you up to the surface before him, and you gasped for breath, arms bracing onto the wooden deck.

You hacked out sea water and your throat felt like it was closing in on itself. It burned like Hell.

Heart pounding, you lifted your head to find Changmin and—wait. Where was Changmin?

"Changmin?" You whipped your head around, eyes going down into the water. "Fuck."

You gagged from sea water again. Could you stomach going back down? You had to, for fuck's sake. Your demon was down there.

You wielded Clyde tightly in your other hand, took a deep breath, then went back under.

You could now make out the figure who you assumed held you captive earlier. He had Changmin wrapped tightly in his grasp, the demon thrashing in the half-man half-fish's arms. You knew you were probably staring death in the eye, but you continued swimming straight for them.

You and the fish man made eye contact, and he grinned menacingly, the smile tinged with a set of sharp canines. In any other circumstance, you would have thought him beautiful.

Changmin saw you coming and his eyes widened. I just saved you. What are you doing back here?

But he realized something key with your presence reappearing. Changmin's jaw clenched—you didn't realize what was happening until he threw his arms back behind him to grab ahold of his captor's head. His fingers had grown darkened claws, razor sharp, and he gouged his thumbs into the eyes of the siren.

If you could hear screams underwater, it would have rattled your bones.

You watched, frozen, as the siren attempted to thrash around an escape Changmin, but your demon counterpart had too good of a grip on his skull.

You knew what the dark trail was now, and there was so much of it pooling in the water.

When Changmin was satisfied with the limpness of his captor's body, he shook his hands out and the claws disappeared. You didn't know where they went—didn't care, only that they existed in the first place.

He urgently swam up toward you as both of your supply of oxygen dwindled with each passing second.

When you broke the surface a second time, you clung to one of the posts of the dock, body shaking from the icy cold and the chill of witnessing a piece of Changmin's violence first-hand.

Changmin gasped for air and threw his upper body onto the face of the dock, his muscles trembling as he struggled to pull himself out of the water. Both of you were soaked to the bone, clothing and shoes heavy with seawater.

You stuck Clyde into the wood of the pier above you to anchor yourself onto the boards.

The two of you laid there on the dock to regain your breath and strength. Despite Changmin's demon-ness, he was still a creature of land, not water.

The sun had managed to climb up into the sky now, its hot rays piercing through clouds, and yet, all you could feel was the wind.

"You should have stayed…" he managed to say, "...up here."

You rolled into your stomach and braced your palms onto the wood to push yourself up. "You're stupid if you thought I was gonna—let you die." You glanced over at him, eyes finding his fingers—they looked normal again, save for the dark red rimmed beneath his fingernails.

You shuddered.

Changmin squinted his eyes open at you. "Don't ever… do that again."

You could only nod.

For a moment, only the waves and gulls existed between you. You hunched over your legs, dry heaving any more of that stinging salt from your mouth and eyes. Your brain kept rewinding the struggle over and over, repeating the look of pure survival instinct in Changmin's eyes as he mercilessly drove his clawed fingers into the creature's eye sockets.

You heard him stir again, and you asked hoarsely, "How much energy did it take to summon claws?"

After a beat, he replied, "Let's just say, I'm rusty and winded."

You turned your body over so you could face him. His white shirt was drenched all the way through, but you could still see the dark red seeping in places over his ribcage. "Oh my god, you're bleeding."

You reached out to examine him, but he slapped your hand away. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"Let me see," you argued, fixing him with a hard look. When he relented, you gently peeled the fabric away from his skin.

His skin, pale and wet, looked like a watercolor canvas of blues, reds, and purples. Bruises bloomed in splotches and blood made up the rest. You delicately ran your fingers over the bruised areas, hearing him suck in a breath at your touch.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'll survive."

"Don't be an ass. Does it hurt?"

He lifted his arm over his eyes. The scratches there were still an angry red. "...Yes."

"Did he get you anywhere else?"

"No."

Relief soared through you—or, the dispelling of fear from your body—and you racked your brain for a solution. There was nothing you could use down here to heal him to get him up to the…

Who were you kidding? There was something.

You wrenched Clyde out from the board you'd impaled him into and held the sharp end against the plush pad of your thumb. How much human blood did he need to get back on his feet? How much would get him up to the lighthouse, and how much could heal him fully like at the motel—?

He lifted his arm off his eyes. "Don't even think about it."

You met his eyes. "And why not?" Once, a long time ago, you managed to slice your finger open from cutting a lime in your palm rather than against a board like a normal person. If you used just enough force to break the skin—

"I'm not—drinking your blood—" He grunted while attempting to sit up. The stubborn bastard fell onto his back, face screwed up in pain and frustration.

You leaned over him to block the sun from his eyes. "You were saying?"

He narrowed his eyes up at you. "I'm not drinking your blood."

"You've done it before."

"That's because you were dying. You're not dying now, and neither am I."

"Your ribs are broken, aren't they?"

He huffed air out of his nostrils. "Yeah."

Returning to your original plan, you pressed the blade back against your thumb, wincing slightly as it split your skin. Dark red welled into a little pocket, before breaking form and dribbling down your finger. You moved it in front of his mouth, waiting to feel his tongue against it.

Reluctantly, he stuck his tongue out and licked a neat stripe up the length of your finger, all while giving you a stink eye. This isn't my choice, he seemed to say. It didn't matter though. He knew that he needed this, even just a little bit, to get up to the lighthouse and the car.

There could be more sirens, after all.

You pulled your finger away already feeling your skin cells knit themselves back together from his saliva. "Better?"

He licked his lips. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

"Asshole."

"Human."

You snorted, clambering to your knees, and then your feet. You lifted pressure off of your right leg where your ankle ached from being anchored onto. "You say that like it's an insult."

He raised a brow at you, clasping onto your forearm when you offered it. "Take it as you will," he said with a half grunt as you used gravity and momentum to pull his body up.

You threw his arm over your shoulders to begin the trek up the hill. Trying to avoid putting weight on your right foot was a little difficult, but you were determined. Your joints and chest ached and your socks squelched grossly in your shoes.

"Your ankle," he started.

"I'll survive," you repeated his words from earlier. "It's nothing compared to broken ribs." The thought occurred to you that if the siren could break Changmin's ribs with his arms, then… he could have easily shattered the bones in your ankle.

A shiver slithered down your spine. You were thanking every divine being who existed for keeping your ankle intact.

"You know I'm not letting you drive, right?"

He let out a noise of indignation. "I can drive, Yn."

"You're not driving."

You could feel his eyes roll. "Whatever."

#11—THE DRIVER'S SEAT.

IT WAS A MIRACLE THAT both you and Changmin fit into your sister's clothes. There was a decent stash of clothing left in the second floor wardrobe of the lighthouse, and you both dressed in relaxed pants and t-shirts as you recuperated. Once you were cleaned up, for the most part, it was back to the car.

Changmin watched with a pained look on his face as you settled into the driver's seat and began adjusting everything for your personal preference.

"Are you going to seatbelt or should I do that for you?" You asked as you finished checking the side mirrors.

He slowly buckled himself in. "I hope you know how much I despise this."

"You despise a lot of things."

"I can drive, Yn."

"Okay, yeah. I almost died for the third time five hours ago. I don't want to risk my life a fourth time." You shoved the keys into the ignition and twisted the engine to life. Leaning back in the seat, you put the car into reverse to begin taking the vehicle up the road to the mainland. "You said to get onto the interstate and keep following until—"

"Deer Ridge—can you be careful," he hissed, eyes slicing toward your movements, before gritting his teeth at his swollen ribs.

You swatted his micromanaging away. "I am so surprised you have never made this much of a fuss about your car before."

He brooded, eyes never leaving your hands on the wheel. "I should've learned stick shift."

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a baby."

Because the lighthouse was of no use and not safe, you were going to drive yourself and Changmin to the next closest safehouse. It was another five hour drive, give or take a needed food stop at some point because you hadn't eaten since dinner at Moonstone Creak. You were afraid Changmin would use that against you at some point so he could be in the driver's seat again. Stubborn brat.

If he wouldn't drink your blood to rejuvenate, if he wouldn't let you drive when you were clearly the most capacitated, then what the Hell did he want from you?

You followed the road signs and his passive-aggressive mutterings about how to get to the interstate from here. You hadn't driven in a long time, mainly because your apartment was so close to everything you needed, and gas cost an arm and a leg. Maybe that was why Changmin was so prickly about you driving his car… but some things were a necessary evil. He would have to put on his big boy pants and deal with it.

"You know," you said after you'd officially hopped onto the highway. "Now would be a great time to start explaining things about the necklace. Since we were supposed to talk about it at the lighthouse and all."

You heard him push out a breath. One of his hands cupped the side of his body that was battered the most while his other rested on the center console. "Right."

You waited.

He struggled to fit the words into the right places for a decent explanation, nothing seeming quite adequate, but he eventually came up with an answer. "The necklace—" he paused, amending, "I guess I should call it more of an amulet—the amulet is something made of very ancient, powerful magic. It was something forged from a combination of all three realms, and so the energy that it stores within itself is complacent with all three realms.

"I can't remember exactly the mythology that came with the damned thing, but your sister did. She knew all the ins and outs of the legend—she obsessed over it."

"Obsessed over it?" Your eyebrows furrowed

"Yes," he said. "Which is why it's crazy to me she was even able to keep it a secret from you in the first place." Changmin brushed a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat awkwardly. "Anyways, the amulet is kind of like a key. It needs a vessel to be the—the gate or the portal of sorts to activate it, but it would grant the creature who wields it the energy and power to travel through realms as if it were their own."

You checked your mirrors and flicked on the signal to change lanes. "Wait, not to sound like a YA fantasy book protagonist—"

"A what?"

"Human thing," you dismissed airily. "So if someone got their hands on this thing, they could hypothetically conquer whole realms that aren't their own? Hypothetically, of course."

Changmin nodded slowly. "Hypothetically," he drawled. "If that's what they wanted to do. You'd have to have one Hell of an army to do so, and the amulet can't really give power to other people, only the one."

"It's a portable charger for one person's plan of mass destruction?"

He huffed, turning his head to the window, and when you glanced over for a millisecond, you swore he was smiling. "You're so…"

"Funny, clever, charming?" You supplied, the corners of your lips curling upward. You licked your lips, then pursed them in thought. While you were driving and pondering the weapon of otherworldly conquer seated upon your neck, you also kept a look out for any restaurants at nearby exits. Maybe an all-day brunch place with blueberry pancakes… "Changmin?"

"Hm."

"Is there a way to destroy this? To ensure that no one can ever use it?" There had to be some method of self-destruct for something potentially so dangerous. Then again, you weren't an expert on magical artifacts.

Changmin's eyes moved back over to you. "If there is, it'll be somewhere in Sena's notes."

Oh.

The car ride chugged on for another hour or so before you gave up. Your stomach growled its disapproval of going so long without something sustaining, and you marked the billboard of a gas station at the next exit. The car needed to be fed, too, anyway.

It was a standard little pump-and-wash with an option to fill your tank, take your car through the little Soapy Joe's car wash in the back, or both. The gas station building was a camel-colored sandstone with deals on gas station snacks printed in massive, red block letters on bright yellow paper. For the most part, it seemed pretty empty, with only an SUV of a family on a road trip and another sedan with a rather disgruntled looking business man.

You swung the car into the pump station closest to the gas station store's door and began searching for the gas tank button.

"Bottom left, second from the right," Changmin instructed, already clambering out of the car. He suppressed the urge to make a noise as he did so with his still-bruised and battered torso.

"What are you doing?" You asked after locating the button and giving it a push. The muffled pop sound followed right after.

He braced one hand on the roof of his car as he peered back in. "I'm filling up my tank."

You deadpanned. You should have known the stubborn cretin would insist. It was better for you to not fight him if he was gonna be this anal about driving his own car while injured. "I'm getting snacks then."

"Have fun," he muttered, pulling his card out of his bifold. Where did even get money to put on that thing?

You mused upon that thought as you dug around your backpack in the back seat for a couple twenties. You wouldn't need much, just enough so you could indulge a bit.

Ten minutes later, you walked out of the gas stop with a plastic grocery bag in one hand and a blue and red swirled slurpee in the other. It was no 7/11, but goddamn did the sugar hit your system just right. After nearly drowning in sea water, it gave your body the perfect amount of zip.

You found Changmin in the driver's seat (were you surprised? Of course not), with his seat and mirrors adjusted back to how he liked it, and his phone plugged into the USB port in the center console. You clambered into your designated seat with the grace of a car sale balloon because of your sore ankle.

He glanced up from his phone, hand carding through his hair. "Ready?"

"Wait, before we go—" You sorted through your bag of treats and looked for the little, brown paper bag amongst all the other junk. You pulled it out, the bottom beginning to seep through from the grease of the pastry inside. Childlike glee rushed through your veins, and you couldn't tell if that was just the slurpee or the thought of getting him a treat. Beaming, you extended it toward him. "I got you a blueberry muffin."

For a second, Changmin just stared. His eyes widened at the expression on your face, and you couldn't tell why something felt like it had shifted. He glanced at the grease-soaked paper vessel, then back to you, then the bag, then—

"Thanks," he said slowly, grabbing the bag from you and unrolling the top edge to open it up. (If you'd paid attention longer, you would have seen the darkening of his cheekbones. A rare sight.)

"They don't exactly sell blueberry pancakes," you prattled on and decided between a bag of kettle chips or a packet of dried seaweed; you decided on the former and popped the bag open. "So I got the next best thing. And the woman running the store looks like she bakes them fresh. Oh, I saw that it had this crumble on top and thought it had to be a sign it was top notch stuff."

Changmin inspected the muffin, then took a generous bite, cupping beneath it to catch any crumbs. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned. "Fuck—me. That's so good."

You brightened. "Glad you think so," you chuckled in amusement.

He hummed in reply, already going in for his next bite.

With a car of slightly more content campers, you hit the road. The remainder of the journey would add up to a little more than four hours from here, as long as there weren't any other pitstops made. Hopefully, you would arrive before it got dark and you wouldn't have to deal with another situation like this morning.

The bag of snacks rested at your feet and you had tucked away the chip bag for later. It was concerning how fast your body became accustomed to this seat again, how it knew exactly what way to sit in order to be comfortable.

Changmin glanced over at you just as he made it onto the interstate ramp. "You should get some sleep. It's been… a long day and night."

Right on cue, you yawned. "Do you dream when you sleep—if you sleep?" You asked, instead of heeding his advice.

"Huh? Oh." He used his free hand to adjust the AC coming in through the vents. "I only really sleep if I'm bored, or if I know I'm not under threat, I guess."

You frowned. "Do you not feel safe a majority of the time?"

"It depends," he lifted his shoulder. "When we were at uni, there usually wasn't much threat around, so I slept sometimes. I only sometimes dream though."

You hummed, acknowledging him. "I think it's kind of funny that you're a demon studying anthropology."

His laugh was breathy. "Yeah? A little ironic?"

"What? Did you think it would help you blend in or something?"

He snorted. "No… I mean, it seemed like an interesting topic when I perused the website when applying."

You made a face, eyes staring out at the vast road before you. It was just before a typical afternoon rush hour, so there wasn't much traffic. "How did you even have the credentials to apply and get in?"

"A little white lie never hurt anyone," he said innocently.

You threw him an incredulous look, and a chuckle fell out of his mouth. "Despicable."

"I am a demon."

You fiddled with the hem of your sister's shirt, then reached up to play with the chain and pendant around your neck. You'd become so used to its weight that it felt wrong when it was gone. "Would you ever teach me how to use Bonnie?"

Changmin's hand felt around the middle console blindly until he met the lid of your slurpee. "I'm drinking this."

"Wait, I have an extra straw—"

"What, you don't want my magic spit?"

Your gaze flattened into a deadpan. "Oh, so now it's magic spit?" You watched in melodramatic disgust as he took a generous sip of the sugary drink from your straw. You didn't really mind, of course; you weren't going to finish that thing all on your own. "And you didn't answer my question."

He replaced the cup back into its cupholder. "What's a Bonnie?"

"I hate you."

He let out a loud laugh that made your forced scowl nearly shatter. Who knew a demon could look so pretty when he laughed like that? "I don't even use it, you know that, right?"

"And I haven't the slightest idea why you keep her locked up like that." You shoved the pair of sandals you'd stolen from the lighthouse off so you could fold your legs onto the seat with you. Your finger brushed over the flesh of your ankle, where it was gradually splotching with blueish purple.

It was a familiar scene, that of Changmin taking his eyes off the road the briefest moment to inspect your bruise and frown. Humans are so fragile, he'd said before. The bruises on your neck from the motel had faded by now, thanks to the miracle salve he gave you at Moonstone Creak.

He cursed under his breath. "I forgot to bring the cup of salve from the inn," he sighed.

"That's fine," you murmured. "We were… in a rush." You swallowed, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the pack house in flames. "I hope they're okay."

"Yeah, same."

"Would it have mattered if we stayed?" You asked.

You expected him to simply say that it wouldn't have mattered, because that wasn't our goal. He knew what the wolf shifters were capable of, what Jacob was capable of, but you didn't. You'd seen them in bliss and peace, without the ferocity of what he might have been used to.

He thought about it and confessed, "I'm not sure. They can take care of themselves, but I—" he stumbled over his words, reeling them back in before he could say them out loud.

"You…?"

He shook his head. "It's not important. What's important now is that you—we—got out alive." When you couldn't find anything to say after, he reached over across the console to find your forearm again. His fingers curled around you, like they had when you'd left the woods. "If it makes you, uh, feel better, we can reach out to them. Send them a message once we get to the safehouse."

You nodded, moving your arm so his hand rested in yours and your other hand patted the top of his. "I'd appreciate that."

Changmin's nod was small, and he kept his hand sandwiched between the two of yours.

#12—ALL HER SECRETS.

WHEN YOU DREAMED, your sister was drunk and stumbling across a dark road for help. Your throat lurched with air, but your scream was completely silent as her eyes went wide in the glare of the car lights. A deer in headlights, in a literal sense. It never occurred to you how morbid the saying was until you witnessed it in action.

Her body laid sprawled over the stretch of road as the couple driving scrambled out to check her vitals.

Dead on impact.

You awoke with a start.

Everything was fuzzy and muddled, and you sucked in oxygen through your nostrils, hands reaching up to rub your eyes with the heels of your palms. The place on your thigh where your hands had been resting grew cold at the lack of warmth as Changmin retracted his hand to his own side, putting the car into reverse to back into the driveway.

Cirrus clouds blotched the bruising sky, golden hour long since passed and the highway far out of view. You noted the residential street you faced through the front windshield with the sounds of children biking and drawing chalk masterpieces on sidewalks in the cul de sac down the road. You'd only ever really experienced this kind of tranquility in movies, never for yourself.

Your heartbeat, once erratic from the dream, calmed. (It was crazy how real a dream could feel.)

Changmin shuddered off the headlights and the engine died down. "We're here," he cleared his throat. He cracked his knuckles, one hand cradling the other.

You peered through your side view mirror, only catching part of the house in view. How had she afforded a whole house in the suburbs? Granted, it didn't look as large as the others on the street, but the fact that this was under her name… she hid all of this from you.

"I dreamed about her," you murmured in a voice hoarse from sleep.

He glanced at you. "Sena?"

"Yeah," you hummed. "How she died—or I guess, how I imagined her death to be." You met his gaze, and it seemed like he was searching for something in your face. You reached down to gather your belongings in the gas station grocery bag, then popped the car door open. "So this is the place, huh?"

Changmin shook his hair out of his eyes. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I've only been here once or twice, too, but it's nice."

"How'd she afford this place anyway?"

"I think she found a vampiric sundial for a client." Crazy. Must have been one well-off client.

He hadn't been wrong about the place being nice. It was one of those cookie-cutter houses with white shutters in the windows, a garage big enough for two cars, and a driveway flanked by twin beds of emerald green grass. A little metal mailbox sat at the end of the driveway by the street with a red tab and the house number branded on the side. It was the dictionary definition of suburbia.

Changmin walked right up the front porch and stuck his hand in the potted plant hanging from a hook. Out of it, he withdrew a key, rusted and dirtied, but the perfect fit for the front door. It was a massive change from the lighthouse's situation.

Inside, you didn't expect anything less cozy than what you found. The entryway was confronted by a staircase that led to the second floor, and there was a hallway that led further into the home, and a doorway to the right that went into the living room. You took this all in with wide eyes, your breath held at the sight of unlit candles on tables, quirky baubles beside them, and picture frames—dear god, the picture frames.

You stopped in front of one of them and picked it up. In the dimming light, you traced the lines of your sister's smile and yours right next to hers. You both looked so young in this photo—way more carefree and innocent. You wondered how she had saved all of these photos when you only had them encased in your memory.

Changmin had disappeared up the stairs, most likely heading straight for Sena's room or an office, anywhere that might hold the notebooks you and he had been looking for. The wooden planks creaked slightly under your weight as you climbed the stairs, and you ran your hand along the smooth railing as you went.

"Hey Changmin?" You called out, head swiveling around the upstairs landing to find which doorway he'd disappeared into.

"Yeah?" He asked from somewhere within the furthest doorway. You followed the sound and stuck your head into what looked to be a home office. It was outfitted with a desk and office chair, a few bookshelves, and an armchair in the corner. Changmin brushed his finger along the spines.

You joined him at his side and picked a random one to pull out. "How are your ribs?" You asked him, moving your gas station grocery bag handles to hang on your forearms you flipped through the journal. This one didn't seem to have much; maybe she wanted to start a planner in this and never finished.

His movements paused for a second, then resumed. "My ribs? Oh, they're, uh… they're fine now."

Your face screwed up in incredulity. "That's insane."

"Supernatural regeneration plus human blood," he said like he was explaining one plus one equals two.

"But patching up broken bones?" You replaced the book back in its slot and wandered away from the shelf. The office space was decorated comfortably enough but there were no other personal additions besides the furniture.

You stepped back out into the upstairs loft to search for the bedroom. The master was located on the other side of the office door, and when you opened it up, you were hit by a wave of nostalgia.

That was her. That was what Sena smelled like. And where you knew she always kept a bottle, there sat a glass vial of her favorite perfume on the nightstand table. It was as if it said to you, "Welcome home, Yn. We've been expecting you." Except, you never got to be welcomed here, not by your sister, at least.

It was like going into her locked room at the apartment all over again. There weren't as many things here as there were back at your place, but the subtle things left around reminded you of her, besides the scent lingering. It was uncanny how such a thing could stick around for so long, clinging to the walls, the sheets, the floors, until even the air vents recycled that same smell on its own.

You settled on the edge of the bed and just sat there.

It seemed you were returning to the same questions over and over again. Why had she hid any of this from you?

Changmin appeared in the doorway, his hand bracing the doorway. "Hey."

"Did you find something?" You asked.

He pursed his lips, the miniature mole beneath his bottom lip popping out at you. "Nah, not yet anyway. I just… wanted to, uh, see where you'd gone."

"Oh, I came to find her room, is all." You pressed your hands flat on the comforter to feel the fabric. You didn't quite know what to think. "It's weird knowing she lived here at some point."

"She had her reasons for keeping things a secret," he said quietly while venturing a step into the room.

You exhaled sharply. "Yeah, I figured." At the motel, he had confessed that he and Sena both agreed to keep you out of this business unless necessary. He had sisters, did he not say? It didn't seem too far-fetched to assume that he could sympathize more with Sena than you. "You mentioned once that you have sisters."

He stiffened, and you wondered if you'd crossed a line.

"I do," he replied slowly. "I'm not as close to them as you were with Sena."

Your smile was thin. "Yeah, well, based on the past few weeks, I'm not so sure we were that close."

Conflict flickered across his face, and he crossed the space between the doorway and the bed, and took a seat on the edge adjacent to you. "She talked about you a lot," he said. "Thought the world of you."

Your eyes were pinned to the floor as tears welled up in your eyes and blurred your vision.

"Always talked about her baby sister, and how you were the one with your head screwed on right."

If she could see you now… you were going half mad, but the corners of your lips curled upward at the sentiment. You sniffled, wiping your eyes and cheeks with the side of your hand. "You know," you mused, your voice watery, "for a demon, you're getting good at this empathizing thing."

Changmin's shoulders lowered, his hands laid out over his legs as he chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. It's not as hard as you make it out to be."

"Liar."

"Human."

"You need new insults," you groaned, shoving his shoulder.

His bangs hung in his eyes and you couldn't see his expression quite clearly. "Who said it was ever an insult?"

Changmin let you check the state of his still-slightly-broken torso (liar) as long as you let him examine your bruised ankle. You chalked it up to your demon being a big baby again, but you figured there was no harm and no foul in letting him take a peek. It wasn't like the injury hindered your movement an awful lot anyway.

You hissed as he jabbed at a blossom of purple on your ankle and you tried to retract your leg. He kept a firm enough grasp unfortunately. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"So it does hurt."

"No," you quipped, "you're just a sadist."

The two of you sat on the couch in the living room with a first aid kit opened up on the coffee table and a legal pad next to it. In your lap sat one of Sena's many, many journals propped open to a page that you were scanning for anything that might be of help. Changmin had set aside the journal he was reading to drag your foot into his lap.

The top leaf of paper on the legal pad was impressed with the message you had scrawled out for the wolves of Moonstone Creak, asking about their state of health. Changmin had summoned a sprite (???) from over the fence in the backyard to ferry it over. Apparently, it was the supernatural equivalent of medieval pigeon messaging.

You couldn't even begin to wrap your head around all of it. The point was that he had kept his word, and now, you were keeping yours.

The words scrawled in your sister's handwriting blurred in your vision, and you glanced up to watch Changmin again. "What are you doing?" You asked, leaning your head against the couch cushion. "You're not… gonna lick my ankle, right?" You scrunched your face up. As much as you appreciated him trying to heal your injury—

"That's not how saliva works," he replied, holding your leg with one hand so he could lean forward and dig around in the first aid kit.

"Oh, I'm sorry I don't know how saliva works."

He arched an eyebrow up at you, and you recognized the silent "Really?" in his expression.

You lowered your eyes back to the journal in your lap and tried to suppress your amusement. "I don't know how you plan to heal a bruise, but usually ice and time are the best—oh shit, that's cold!"

You squealed and attempted to wrench your foot away once again, but he yet again prevailed. He anchored your foot down as he pressed a bandage-looking adhesive around the circumference of your ankle. As the sharp, icy pain gradually diminished, your muscles loosened up.

"Don't ever do that again," you told him with a scowl, successfully pulling away your leg from him (because he let you).

He sent you a flat look. "You'll thank me later. It's a good thing she had some stashed away," he said, flipping the first aid box lid closed and returning to the journal he picked out.

You gave your ankle an experimental roll. The ache had numbed and there was no longer a jab of pain when you moved the joint around. "What is it?"

"Some magical bandage that is specifically for mortal species," he said offhandedly with his eyes glued to the pages. "You have to find a witch apothecary to get them, and even then, they sometimes scam you and jack up the price."

"Huh." There was still much for you to learn, it seemed, but even the supernatural world fell victim to capitalism.

With your foot patched up, the both of you descended into silence to return to your respective journals. There were interesting things scrawled between the lines and the margins. Your sister liked to sketch things, and so you figured out pretty quickly that this journal was used to document supernatural herbs she came across while on her adventures.

You ditched that one to move onto the next. This one seemed like a standard, hard-covered journal with a lilac-colored ribbon used as a bookmark. It wasn't marking any specific page, however, but was only tucked between the cover and the first page. You flipped through the entries, noting the dates—wait.

Wait… these were recent.

"Changmin," you muttered, tapping his shoulder as you scanned the inky scrawls.

Changmin put his notebook down and the two of you converged onto the same couch cushion, your shoulders and thighs pressed together, and the book opened between you.

"Do you recognize when this was?" You asked, pointing out the dates in the top corners. "I remember she told me she was going up north to study abroad during this time."

His forehead creased between his eyebrows. "Yeah… I remember. She was being vague with where she said she was going."

"She didn't tell you?"

"She didn't report to me, if that's what you're asking."

You turned your attention to the diary entries. This particular one was labeled with the third of November, the year before:

A note to self: never choose the Holiday Inn off the I-375. It might literally smell like a dead body in here, and I'm keeping my window open the entire night.

You snorted. Noted.

—drive was long and I don't think Yn expected anything. She had this massive exam today, so I think she was a little preoccupied, but she sent me off as usual. (Fighting Yn!) It's tough keeping this from her, but at the same time… I'm not sure if she would understand.

She's always been in the right headspace—not whatever dream world I've been living in. I don't know why I always invalidate myself when I know this is all real. Maybe it's not?

That's besides the point. I'm supposed to meet the amulet owner in a couple days and there is still a laundry list of things I need to do before that exchange happens.

"The amulet had an owner before her?" You voiced aloud. And what did she mean that you wouldn't understand? Was that why she never told you the truth?

Changmin gave a head bob. "I wouldn't mark it as a ridiculous notion. A lot of magical artifacts sit in basements and get pawned or sold as antiques." He shrugged. "It's not like they come with manuals that say I'm not just a Tiffany lamp; I'm a magic carpet."

You squinted at him. "I never realized how silly you were."

"I'm not silly," he scoffed.

Sure you aren't, you thought. Demons and their tough guy act.

Changmin flipped past the pages, both of you skimming each as you went for any words that jumped off the page.

"Stop," you said, bumping your hand against his. "Go back."

You thought you had seen something… there.

It was dated several weeks after the first entry, and her writing looked more scratchy, more frantic:

I translated one of the passages wrong. The amulet doesn't use the wearer's blood as an activator, it BINDS them to it. The wearer is an amplifier, NOT an activator.

What.

You stopped reading there, digging the pendant out from beneath your shirt collar and watching the red upon the stone wink at you. The blood drained from your face—what did that mean, amplifier?

Next to you, Changmin kept reading on. His eyebrows braided together in concentration as he soaked up all the words on the notebook like a sponge. This was all of the information he hasn't gotten from Sena before, and what she might have wanted to tell him beforehand. At least, that was what you thought. That was what made the most sense.

It's too late for me anyways, I already pricked my finger against it and it sucked it all up. It's been done, was what your sister wrote. I don't know how magic reads blood types or genetic code, if it even does that, but for some reason I'm less scared and more curious.

Things to note: it seems to match my heartbeat. The full amulet should ideally be the shape of an infinity loop—supposedly. It's a little off, but it might be from the wear of time. It's missing a piece though, a middle portion that slides over it like a connector or binder of sorts. Neither half will stay together without it, and without said third piece, the amulet won't work.

I guess my next course of action is to find out who does have the third piece, and to make sure this damn thing will never EVER be used.

Changmin flipped the page, and you began unclasping the chain.

He stopped you, placing a hand over your own with wide eyes. "Woah, what are you doing?"

Your mouth dropped open. "Did you not just read what she said? This is an amplifier, Changmin. I don't know what the Hell that means, but I don't want it on me." No matter how much the emptiness left behind protested, the word "amplifier" made your heart drop.

He protested again, stopping your movement. "Yn—Yn, listen to me. We cannot lose the one piece we have."

Your heart was moving erratically now, the pendant pulsing in perfect time. If it had your sister's blood in it then why did it match yours? "I don't want it on me," you croaked. You fisted the pendant and held it away from your chest. "It matches my heartbeat, Changmin. Do you know how fucking unnerving that is when it's supposed to be my sister's?"

Changmin faltered at this revelation. He blinked. "I—since when did it match your heartbeat?"

"Since the moment I put it on."

His eyes went to the amulet in your hands, and his expression rearranged itself into something you couldn't read—worry, maybe—

He froze.

You just barely picked up on the sound yourself while descending into panic, but it sounded like wheels rolling on the street in front of the house. Both of you peered out the window shutters to the front lawn space as a white colored sedan pulled up along the front curb.

A white sedan.

Changmin's hand tightened on your arm as he assessed the car. The headlights remained on, but the driver had yet to step out and reveal themselves. "You have Clyde?"

"I do, but… what if they're here for the neighbors?" You whispered even as the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Not here, not again. You and Changmin were finally getting answers.

He looked like he was about to counter when the driver's side door opened.

Instead of a big, scary monster or creature, the person who clambered out was quite petite. Then again, you weren't quite sure what to expect. She wore a big, white knit cardigan that hung off her frame, and she had platinum blond hair with dark purple highlights. The car door slammed shut behind her as she trudged up the grassy lawn toward the front door and rang the doorbell.

Changmin seemed just as surprised as you did.

"Girl Scout cookies?" You suggested under your breath. It definitely wasn't Girl Scout cookie season, and the woman didn't seem young enough to still be a Girl Scout. (And usually, Girl Scout sellers came with something to sell. This one just had her car keys and a phone.)

He passed you a look. The muscle in his jaw told you he was still on the offense. "Stay here," he said, then got up and quietly made his way to the front door.

The doorbell rang again, the sound echoing throughout the house loud enough to wake the dead.

Changmin made eye contact with you once more before he began unlocking the door. He pasted on a smile, with one hand on the doorknob to keep the door angled so the woman couldn't see past him, and the other lingering around his middle "Hi, can I help you?"

You didn't even think he had the vocabulary to be polite.

"Oh, uh, hi!" Chirped the visitor. Her voice was bright, but with a raspy quality to it. She neither looked familiar nor sounded familiar. "This is probably really strange, but did you recently move into this house?"

Changmin moved his hand up to his opposing shoulder. "Yeah, actually. My partner and I just moved in. Why do you ask?"

Partner? He meant the strictly-business kind, right?... Right?

You stood up and began making small steps toward him in the entryway. He must have heard you, because you saw his eyes flicker toward you in his peripheral vision, and he stuck his hand out behind the door to swat you away.

Like you were going to listen.

"Ah," said the woman, "I just…" she chuckled, shaking her head. "One of the neighbors texted me about seeing you guys come in earlier today. I used to know the previous owner; we were pretty close, I guess you could say."

His eyes darted to yours for a millisecond. You heard that, too, right?

You approached the door, standing just behind the wall and out of sight.

"Oh, you knew Sena?" Changmin asked.

"Yeah," she answered easily. "She was my ex-fianceé."

#13—NO SUCH THING.

"SO HOW LONG HAVE YOU TWO BEEN TOGETHER?" The question nearly had you snorting tea from your nose. Beside you, Changmin had a similar reaction, turning away slightly to catch the water that trickled out of his mouth.

Mika, the woman with the platinum blonde and purple hair, the woman who had shown up at the door, the woman who was Sena's ex-fianceé, widened her eyes in alarm. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry—is—is that not what you both are? I assumed when he said partner, but I shouldn't have—"

You shook your head, thumping your chest. "Oh, no, no," you said, pretending your voice hadn't gone up four octaves. "It's—it's okay! You just caught us both off guard, is all."

As soon as Mika revealed her identity, you said "screw it all" and practically ripped the door open. Any skepticism was dashed when she recognized you immediately as Sena's little sister—as stupid as it sounded, that was enough proof for you.

You invited her in.

Now, she sat on the armchair adjacent to you and Changmin. Sena's books had been kicked under the couch in the haste to clean up, leaving the first aid kit and legal pad out. To Mika's credit, she didn't comment on either one, just accepting your offer for a drink.

"We're uhm…"

"Kind of together," you said, but it sounded more like a question.

Changmin swallowed. "Uh, ish."

"It's complicated."

You hoped your face hadn't gone too red because it burned like the pits of Hell. Changmin didn't look any better; even his face was brushed in pink.

Mika let out a delicate laugh, lifting her mug of tea to her lips for a sip. "No, I get it. You don't owe me an explanation."

You could have sagged in relief. At least she seemed nice.

"I really appreciate you both letting me into your home," she continued and nursed the mug in her lap. "I know neither of you know me, but I suppose we have one mutual friend."

You nodded. "Yeah no, of course. I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you. Sena…" Hid so much from me. "Sena and I both had pretty different lives." Understatement of the century.

Mika straightened. "Oh, yes! I completely understand. She actually told me that she traveled a lot, and that you're studying—I believe it was accounting?"

You blinked. "Yes, actually."

"That's lovely, by the way," she said pleasantly. "I've never been great at math, so I admire you for that. Definitely not my cup of tea, but good for you."

"When is math anyone's cup of tea?" You mused, and she gave a little laugh of agreement.

This was… unexpectedly nice. But while the moment was sweet, you were divided internally. Sena told Mika about you, but didn't tell you about Mika. Had you done something where she didn't trust you enough to disclose this very important part of her personal life to you? It wasn't like you hid anything from her—you just, well, didn't have anything to hide.

"I didn't realize that Sena even told you about this place," Mika said, gesturing around at the house.

Oh, right. Back to the reality of your current situation. "Heh, yeah," you drawled and scratched the side of your neck. "She wrote all of the details down in her will for me." That seemed like a logical lie to tell.

"I'm surprised you weren't included in the will reading, Mika," Changmin suddenly jumped into the conversation. Your eyes were wide as you whipped your head toward him. His expression was carefully blank, words and movements executed with a lethal casualness. Because that was who he was—lethal. You just couldn't understand why he was putting it on for this lady.

"Changmin," you whispered sharply in reprimand, setting your cup down on the coffee table.

"No, it's okay, Yn," Mika replied good-naturedly. "It's a perfectly reasonable observation. I told her not to include me in her will, if she ever wrote one. I just… I have a lot of material things already, and it sounds kind of corny, but I didn't want anything like that from her—just her and her company." You noted the way she played around with the empty spot on her left ring finger absentmindedly, as if something—a ring—had once sat there.

Your chest warmed. At least you knew your sister was properly loved, as she should have been. A bittersweet sort of sadness wormed into the back of your mind still. "Ah, I see. I wish I would've known how to contact you after…"

"After that, yeah," she nodded. She swallowed, setting her mug on the table and shifting in the armchair. "Same here. Sena never gave me any means to get in touch with you, but I'm sure it was for a certain reason."

"How did you know that Sena was dead?"

You slapped your hand over Changmin's mouth. "I am so sorry about him. You don't have to answer that—"

"I just assumed that Sena had me as one of her emergency contacts, besides you, of course." Mika gestured to you with her expression still light and unbothered. You removed your hand from Changmin's mouth, nodding along. "Somebody contacted me about how her sister identified the body, but that Sena was dead, nonetheless."

That made sense. The morgue had been cold when you stepped foot inside it to confirm it was your sister there. You could imagine what Mika must have felt when authorities contacted her to give her the bad news. It must have been something close to how you felt.

With one hand resting in your lap, the other fiddled with your pendant. You'd forgotten to tuck it away earlier.

Mika's eyes darted toward it after following your hand movement. "Oh, that's an interesting necklace."

You enclosed your fingers around it and straightened. Every time anybody else noticed the amulet, you always felt like a deer in headlights. "It's—it's nothing really. I just—"

"I have one exactly like it."

Your fidgeting slowed. Heartbeat racketing against your chest, you could feel your counterpart tense next to you. "You do?" You stammered.

She bobbed her head. "I'm pretty sure, yes. Sena gave it to me. At first, I wasn't sure exactly what stone it was—I kind of just figured it was something precious, but I knew it had a level of sentimental value to it." Mika smiled, the corners of her lips curling sweetly, eyes misting. "I guess it makes sense that you have the other half."

Of course. Of course Mika had the other half. That was why Sena split the halves of the necklace and gave one half to you. Maybe this was her way of connecting you and Mika together by giving either of you a half of the very important necklace. One question that still remained was why hadn’t Sena mentioned anything to you about Mika or the other half of the necklace? Had she forgotten to write it down in her haste? Perhaps she hadn’t thought she was in danger just yet, and didn’t have a moment before her untimely death to sit down and explain everything in a letter.

“Do you happen to have the other half with you?” You asked her, leaning forward onto your knees. “I’ve been so puzzled as to what it is these past few weeks.” A blatant lie, but you needed to know how much Mika knew. She hadn’t mentioned anything about the dire importance of the necklace yet, but she said “sentimental value.” That wasn’t the same thing. Was it?

Mika pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t, unfortunately. It’s at home with my other accessories, but I’d gladly bring it for you to see, maybe over dinner?”

Changmin delivered a swift nudge to your side with his elbow. “Can I talk to you?”

You pressed your lips together. “Sure,” you said, and he immediately stood from the couch to head out into the hallway. You supposed he assumed you were going to follow him. You sent Mika an apologetic look, then trailed after your demon.

You found him waiting for you in the kitchen, leaning against the island with his hands folded over his chest.

“What did you want to talk about?”

He looked at you in earnest and pressed a finger to his lips in a quiet signal. You fixed him with a look, coming to stand beside him. “I don’t think we can trust her,” he murmured to you with his mouth by your ear. He had leaned over so close, you could see the pores on his skin.

The two of you pulled away simultaneously.

You coughed and braced an elbow against the countertop. “Why do you say that?” You asked. You didn’t mean for it to sound so defensive, but you bristled at the thought that you couldn’t trust the one other person who might have more insight into your sister’s life than you or Changmin.

Changmin cocked his head at his tone. “You believe her?”

“She hasn’t given me any reason to not believe her.” You pushed out a breath. If you stepped out of your own head for a moment, it was clear that something was bothering him. Considering he was the one with the supernatural experience and he had yet to be wrong yet, there had to be a good reason for him to not trust Mika. “Okay, why don’t you trust her?”

His eyes roamed over your face—he was doing that thing again—looking for something, but what, you weren’t too sure of. “I…” He sighed, “I realize that this—this is your chance to reconnect with a part of your sister’s past, but she… her presence just doesn’t sit right with me. The timing, her answers… sweetheart, there’s no such thing as coincidence.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “So you think she’s here because of the necklace, or something to that effect?”

“Yes, something to that effect,” he said.

“But all of her answers make sense to me. If Sena had both halves of the necklace, giving two halves to two of the people she deemed close to her would make sense. And I think what she said about the will was a little corny, but…” You admitted, “It was a little strange that Sena didn’t mention anything about her in the will.”

Changmin bit his lip. “I know we probably shouldn’t villainize her right off the bat, but there’s something so weird about this, Yn.”

“Okay,” you said, “I don’t fully agree, but let’s say yes to dinner and then go from there, yeah?”

He seemed to be in agreement after that, and the two of you returned to the living room where Mika glanced up from her phone. “Everything okay?”

You nodded. “Oh yeah. No need to worry; just a personal thing,” you said casually and took your seat from before. “You were saying something about dinner, right?”

As Mika told you about a neat, little restaurant nearby themed like a Prohibition-era speakeasy, you absentmindedly reached for your cup of tea on the coffee table. Before your fingers could make contact with the handle, you felt another hand bump yours out of the way. The cup was suddenly not there.

Instead, you glanced over at Changmin as he swept your tea mug up into his grasp. “Sorry, I wanted some. I hope you don’t mind.”

Your expression was quizzical. He must be a lot more comfortable with sharing things with you after he stole half your slurpee in the car ride. “It’s okay. I wasn’t really that thirsty,” you said slowly.

But his gaze wasn’t on you; it was on Mika. His eyes narrowed at her over the rim of the cup, and he drained its contents in one gulp, like a challenge. You would have to ask him about it later.

Mika didn’t look the least bit fazed. She continued on about dinner plans, none the wiser to Changmin’s dagger-sharp eyes. You had to give her credit for sitting there under his gaze without shrinking into herself, because you probably would not have survived.

The remainder of the visit went without a hitch. Mika didn’t say anything else that drew a snarky response from Changmin, and the three of you (really, it was just you and Mika who participated) decided to meet at the restaurant she mentioned the next day for dinner.

“Well, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Mika laughed lightheartedly, and the both of you stood at once.

Changmin stayed on the couch, but you figured it would be fine if you just walked her to the door. You frowned, though, noting the way his eyelids fluttered, like he was trying to keep himself upright. “Nonsense,” you said to her, “it was really nice to meet you, Mika.”

You opened the front door for her, and Mika fitted her shoes back on. “You, as well. And your partner.” Her lips curled up into a sweet smile. “Can’t wait to see you both tomorrow again, and to get to know you better. We have so much to catch up on.”

You nodded. “Yes, definitely. Get back safe, Mika.”

“I will. Thanks, Yn.” She gave a wave before marching down across the front lawn. You lingered by the door to make sure she got into her car okay, and returned her final, little wave through the driver’s side window.

With one hand braced on the side of the open front door, you craned your head around to look at Changmin on the couch. “Hey, you doing okay?” You asked, eyebrows creasing at the way he was hunched over now. “Changmin?”

“I think she—”

You didn’t hear what he said.

From your peripheral vision, you saw something swoop in toward you fast. You couldn’t comprehend what was happening—just the blur of feathers, the scream you let out, and the sound of Changmin yelling your name.

He was so sure that Mika drugged your tea with essence of sloth.

After you and Changmin came back from the kitchen, he’d seen the way the surface of your tea swirled as if something had just been stirred into it. The tea, which had been a mild green color before, looked a shade deeper, with fresh steam rising from it. He recognized those properties so distinctly to that of supernatural essences modeled after the seven deadly sins. He hadn’t even needed to think about it—he just reached for it and drank the entire thing. The worst case scenario was that Mika put enough of the essence in there that Changmin would be slightly affected, but only that much; either way, he would be able to stomach it better than you could. He couldn’t let you consume even a drop of it.

But now that his eyelids were as heavy as lead curtains and his brain felt like cotton, he was thinking it had to be sloth. But even if it was sloth, he wouldn’t have been this affected by it.

It had to be something different. Something he hadn’t taken before, something she knew a demon wouldn’t already have tolerance to.

He tuned into the conversation happening, just as Mika was excusing herself to head home. Good, she would leave and he could sleep this fucking drug off. You would be none the wiser.

“—will. Thanks, Yn.”

Almost gone.

Changmin’s eyelids shuddered closed as he leaned forward onto his knees with his head ducked to his chest. This… whatever the fuck this was, it was hitting him… hitting him… like… like a truck.

A familiar voice—no, more than just familiar—came to him. Your voice reached out to him, a lighthouse guiding his ship through a storm to shore. “Hey, you doing okay? Changmin?”

Could you close the door and come closer? Come over to him and sit next to him again. He gave a rough shake of his head in an attempt to knock some sense into his head. “I think she—”

Your scream sliced him right through the chest, and he jolted. “YN?”

“Changmin! Changmin—”

Everything blurred in his vision as he tried to stand. The floor wobbled beneath him, and he swayed toward the polished wood violently. “YN,” he yelled. Please, please, please—he needed to get to you.

He could barely make out the shapes in his vision: the flurry of gray feathered wings, your legs kicking out as you fought your captor. Changmin’s body lurched toward you, but stumbled pathetically, nearly tripping over the coffee table. Panic seized him by the ribs, but he trudged onward. He… he had to get to you. “YN? YN.”

“Chang—”

He swore.

His knees hit the floor. He would fucking crawl if he had to.

A pair of boots came into his blurred vision. “Well, isn’t this a lovely sight?”

Something in the back of his mind told him to RUN. But he couldn’t. Fucking Hell, he couldn’t even push himself up.

His chin was tilted upward, and he made out the shapes of eyes staring into his soul like a cat to a mouse. “She’ll be alright,” the voice purred. “You have bigger problems now.”

#14—DON'T TRUST ANYONE.

OUT OF FEAR OF FALLING STRAIGHT TO YOUR DEATH, you didn’t struggle in the arms of your angelic captor. Your heart ratcheted around in your ribcage as you dangled from the powerful grasp of one divine being you didn't recognize. His feathered wings, colored a medium gray, would have been beautiful to you if you weren't currently one slip away from splatting to the earth. This angel was nothing like Jacob.

All you could do was wait for doom. Whenever it decided to take you.

You hoped Changmin was okay. You prayed to anybody listening that he was okay; the way he stumbled toward you… the desperation in his voice. You swallowed. Oh god, you hoped he was okay. You couldn't stomach the thought of it—of losing him.

(You hoped you were going to be okay, too.)

The night sky looked akin to a dark void. No stars hung tonight, and you couldn't even see the houses beneath your feet. You screwed your eyes shut—better to not look down.

It wasn't much longer that the angel dove down into the dark mass of clouds and your voice became entrapped in your throat again. When you opened your eyes, there was a large estate coming into view with small lights embedded in the grounds lighting the way like a private airstrip. The angel followed, letting your arms go when your feet were close enough to the ground.

You rolled into the grass—he grabbed you up but the back of your shirt to stand upright.

"Come on," he grunted, "let's go inside."

"What the Hell do you want from me?" You gritted out as he practically dragged you across the lawn and toward the mansion ahead.

Shit, where did he take you? The grounds sprawled around you for what seemed like acres. You didn't have the mind to appreciate the architecture though, if this was your final resting place.

The angel didn't answer your question. Rude.

When he wrestled you into the front foyer, he threw you to the cool, stone floor. Your hands and knees caught the stone with a sharp slap, and you winced, rolling onto your backside.

"Stay here until—" Something embedded itself into the side of his neck. He scrunched his face up in mild annoyance, feeling around for the dart and pulling the needle out. He scoffed at the puny thing, flicking it to the floor.

Somebody leapt out from the front window curtains, screeching like a bat out of Hell. The creature, the person, launched themselves onto the angel's back and reared their armed hand back, before plunging the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades.

Gold-tinted blood arced across the ceiling and walls. You were frozen in horror as you watched Mika cling to the angel's wings and stab him over—and over—and over—and over—

The angel fought well, but the blade—fucking Hell, it had to have been laced with something.

He fell face first into a pool of his blood, dead, you presumed.

You scurried backward, trying to put space between you and the angel corpse. The golden ichor was slowly trickling toward you over the polished floors.

Mika huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes, sweat dampening her forehead. Her entire front and hand was covered in angel blood. She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead, leaving a streak of it there like gruesome war paint.

She smiled at you—you shivered. "Sorry about that," she said, stepping over the corpse unceremoniously. "Had to get rid of him. This one was a pain in the ass to work with anyway." She gave the body a kick in the side, and you flinched.

"What—" you choked, "—who the fuck are you?"

Mika's cheerful disposition was still present in her face. Her eyes still turned into crescent moons when she smiled. She was still the Mika you met less than two hours ago, but also not. Nothing about her softness before brought you any comfort now.

"We just met, Yn, don't you remember?" She walked toward you, and you scrambled away. "Now, don't be like that. We're on the same side." The blade in his grasp glinted gold and silver in the foyer lighting, and she gestured with it. "Oh, this? I put a little something special on it—it's the same thing your demon drank. In this world, we need as many advantages as we can, Yn."

When you had yet to say anything, she sighed, disappointed. "Don't tell me you're not impressed. Your sister was the same way when I showed her the thing I made."

You had one hand behind you, inching toward Clyde in your back pocket. "What… what do you mean? Is Changmin going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine," she dismissed with a flick of her wrist. "Well," she reconsidered. "I don't know if he'll be okay. Depends on the mood of the angels who have him. But that's not our problem."

"If you want the necklace, you can have it."

Mika laughed. "Goody! I was gonna take it from you anyway, but no, that's not the only thing I want."

"What else could you possibly want?"

She towered over you and you stuck your angel blade out between you and her. She raised a brow at the knife, slowly leaning down to be eye level with you. "Your sister really didn't tell you anything, huh?"

You gritted your teeth in frustration.

"Yn, let me tell you a story." Mika settled into the floor in front of you, crisscrossing her legs. Gold clung and dried against her clothes and skin, but it didn't bother her. "Not long ago, I discovered a little thing in my grandfather's attic. It was two halves of a pendant, and when put together, it made the shape of an infinity sign—or something to that effect. I had no idea what it was, but I figured there was no use keeping it around; I didn't need it. I put it on Craigslist and waited.

"Lo and behold, I got a notification from someone interested. Her name—can you guess? I bet you can," Mika mused.

"Sena."

"There you go," she said, leaning back onto her palms with a wistful smile. "Sena and I arranged a time to meet, and the first time I saw her—do you believe in love at first sight? I do. I fell in love with her, and I like to think she did, too."

You attempted to put a stop to the shakiness in your hands. "Where are you going with this?"

"Impatient, are we?" Her eyes narrowed. She drawled, carrying on, "She introduced me to her world and the necklace. This little amulet that my grandfather had tossed in an old jewelry box could conquer worlds, in the right hands. Could you imagine that? Jumping from realm to realm in a supercharged version of yourself without losing energy?"

Your mouth pressed into a thin line. "Dangerous."

"That's the boring answer."

"You're sick."

"I like to say ambitious," she countered. "You're just like your sister. Sena wanted to figure out how to destroy the thing rather than how to use it. Waste of time and talent, if you ask me. She didn't get it."

Mika cocked an eyebrow at you. "She cut her finger on it one day and it drank up her blood like a sponge. It was too late for her to back out then—she was bound to it." She waved a hand in your direction, and you clutched at the necklace. "And now you are, too. Your blood is the closest thing to Sena's, and you're the only one who can make it work."

You felt the blood in your face run cold.

"Don't look so surprised. That's why the demon kept you around."

Your head was spinning. "You're not making sense," you sputtered. Changmin—Changmin wanted to get rid of this as much as you did—but… but he hadn't. He hadn't, had he? "Why should I believe you?"

Mika frowned. "What reason would I have to lie to you?"

"You just murdered someone you worked with—"

"Oh, and you don't think he has?"

Your mouth snapped shut.

She leaned forward a little. "You and I, Yn, would never have to live in fear of the supernatural. The power that lies in your hands now, around your neck?" She started pulling herself to her feet, and you swiftly followed so you wouldn't be on the ground anymore.

You didn't need her to have any more advantage over you.

"It's priceless," Mika said, opening her arms wide. "You know what your little demon was going to do with the finished pieces of the amulet?"

"He was going to destroy the pieces—"

"He was going to take it for himself and use it to get back in his family's good graces," Mika corrected sharply. She took a step toward you, and you took one back. "You never suspected why he was so desperate to make sure you both 'finished what your sister started?'"

Oh god, you were going to be sick. You couldn't believe her—you weren't just going to believe her. Everything was spinning.

He was so insistent.

He was always so damn insistent. And he had never mentioned anything before about destroying the amulet.

The demon that day… it had addressed him as Your Disgrace. Oh God—

"I don't," you forced out, "believe you." Were you a fool? Were you a fool for believing in the goodness of a demon who saved you from death more than once, made sure you were fed and healing and happy and safe? Had you made a grave mistake?

Don't trust anyone.

Why hadn't Sena mentioned anything about Changmin?

"Then you're an idiot," Mika quipped. "Even Sena knew better than you."

"Oh, shut up," you snarled. You backed up all the way into the next room—the kitchen. Yn, look for a way out, damn it.

"He figured it out. That you were linked to it, and you were the ticket to accessing its power and the other pieces." You both came to a stand still. The ichor crusted over like caramelized sugar all over her face and clothes and hands.

"You have the third piece," you said tightly.

She shrugged. "Of course, I do. Money can buy you so many things."

"Clearly, it can't buy you a moral compass."

Mika barked out a laugh. "Oh, you're funny! It's almost a shame you're resisting; I'd hate to pick off another Ln sister."

"What—"

She pounced.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you moved out of the way, barely missing the graze of her knife. You gripped your own in your fist and swung it at her, adrenaline rushing through your veins and urging you to win—because who knew what would happen if you lost.

She came at you again with teeth gnashing and stained in blood that wasn't hers. You'd seen her take down that angel with a wild ruthlessness.

You caught her wrist as the counter dug into your spine, the point of her knife glinting in the kitchen lights.

"It brought me—" she grunted, applying more force down on you, "—no pleasure to do what I did to her, but she wouldn't—listen."

You bit your lip and got one leg free to kick her off you. "Fuck you!" You grabbed the vase behind you and chucked it at her head.

You heard the glass shatter, but hadn't seen the damage done as you made a dash for the front foyer again.

"Not so fast, little Ln—"

Something snagged into the back of your shirt, and you and Mika went tumbling to the stone floor. Your head hit the marble with purpose, a sharp pain piercing through your temple. Your vision blurred for a second and you put your hands out to fight for your fucking life.

"You killed her?" You caught her knife hand again and managed a slice with Clyde to her side as you shoved her onto her back.

"I wasn't—trying to," she grunted.

You yelped as she attempted to claw at your face, your head swerving out of the way just in time. "What the fuck does that even matter?"

"It wasn't my fault she was dumb enough to leave the bar." Mika kneed you off her body and your knife flew. You swore under your breath and she immediately fisted a portion of your hair and yanked you back toward her. "You should've seen the way she stumbled like a baby deer. Your older sister—such determination. That car didn't even see her until it was too late."

With ferocity, you knocked your head back against her face. You heard the satisfying sound of bones crack.

"Fucking Hell—"

You dove for Clyde, your fingers wrapping around the handle just in time to roll out of the way as Mika came down over you for a killing strike. Her knife struck the stone, and she growled at you, dark red oozing from her crooked nose, with one hand cradling her face. The vision of bared teeth and blood sent a shock of fear down your spine.

"You little—" she screeched, licking the blood off her lips and staining her teeth. "I'm going to have so much fun using your blood and bones for the amulet. Don't worry, it won't hurt—me."

You swore as she came at you again without abandon. She brought her knife down, time and time again, trying to catch you at some point.

Your blade sliced across her cheek, but hers caught you in the side. You felt it break skin, and you had little time to mourn over the sting in your stomach before you were rolling out of the way again.

You scrambled to your feet and with a war cry for encouragement, you charged at her, leaping onto her back and sending her crashing back to the floor. You grabbed the back of her head and smashed it against the floor. "You murdered my sister."

Mika screamed, and she used all of her adrenaline to flip you over onto your back. Bloodied and bruised, she drove her elbow into your gut, sending the wind straight out of your lungs. "The only thing I regret—" she said, turning over to face you with half her face drooling with blood and her mouth curled into a wicked smile, "—is that she won't be here to watch me skin you half-alive and use your body parts."

She crushed your knife hand under her knee, and you screamed as the pain made you see white. Mika pinned you beneath her weight with her knife raised high above her like an executioner's axe. "Goodbye, Yn. Just know that you had a choice."

You braced yourself for impact, head turned away and eyes screwed shut. At least you would see your sister soon, right? Was that some reprieve?

But the blow never came.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see a sword made of living shadows arc up in the air and slice across Mika's neck. Her eyes went wide for a split second, and you choked in horror as her dismembered head hit the floor with a dull thud.

Her headless body fell listlessly to the side. Dead and rigid.

Her blood was splattered all over your face and the stone floor, and you could taste the iron of it on your tongue. You gagged violently, a gross sob ripping out of your mouth.

Changmin stood over you with his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like daggers, and Bonnie in his grasp. His limbs trembled, his body covered near head to toe in golden ichor and some dark trails of blood from himself. Gold stained his palms and crusted beneath his fingers, and feathers of varying colors stuck out of his hair dampened in sweat and more blood.

The sword clattered to the ground and you startled.

Relief came crashing over you and you attempted to push yourself off the ground, but crumpled under your near shattered wrist.

"Yn," Changmin breathed, collapsing onto his knees before you and crushing your face to his chest. You fell apart—oh god, it was the breaking of a dam. His grip tightened around you, cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Fuck, I thought I lost you. Hey, we're—shit, we're okay. I got you."

For a moment, you let yourself fall apart against him. All of the fear and adrenaline dissipated into body tremors and tears.

You could feel his grip on you loosen, and you took that as a signal to pull back.

You knew the signs well enough by now—how his eyes drooped and fought to stay open, how he swayed with his world tilting on its axis. "Changmin, how much energy—"

"Had to… had to get to you," he slurred. He crumpled, and you struggled to keep him upright with your one good arm. "I don't—know—I'll be fine."

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was your face, scrunched in worry, haloed by the lights over your head. Yeah, you were safe now, and so was he.

#15—FOUR LETTER WORDS.

JI CHANGMIN CAME TO GROGGY AND LIGHT-HEADED. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was, because the last thing he could remember was defeathering an angel prick one stupid bird feather at a time. He made sure each one hurt.

Why? Why had he done it? It was—it was for information. Information about what? …it was… it was about—you. He was trying to find where their friend had taken you. You—

His eyes shot open and he jolted upright, a groan escaping him at the way his entire body ached.

He collapsed back against the armchair he sat in and took in the room. He didn't recognize it at all. The drapes were too heavy and embroidered with gold flowers, the floor looked too polished and expensive. The couch sectional adjacent to him was made of leather too soft to be the one from Sena's safehouse.

The room was dimmed slightly with only the lamp next to him providing light.

He smacked his lips together as he recognized the taste on his tongue. It was metallic and thick; he'd tasted it before, could name it blindfolded at this point.

Where were you? You'd dripped blood into his mouth while he was out, hadn't you? He didn't remember drinking it or—

Something rattled when he tried to move his left arm.

He glanced down at his wrist hanging over the side of the armchair to find that he was cuffed to the lamp next to him with a sterling silver necklace. It was made of chunky links, the band twisted in a figure eight with his wrist in one side and the lamp in the other so it would tighten around him every time he tried yanking.

Smart.

He sighed. Great.

The sound of a throat clearing drew his attention away and to the far reaches of the living room. You stood just where the light touched you, one wrist wrapped in something like gauze and Band-Aids littering your face and body.

His chest tugged and lurched painfully at the sight of you. You were so badly hurt when he finally got to you, but he had got to you nonetheless. He had grabbed Bonnie and ran.

"Feeling better?" You asked him.

His voice was scratchy and he coughed. "Y—yeah. Kind of. I'll survive." He could feel his body stitching itself back together. He would definitely survive.

The angel bitches had reignited the pain in his broken ribs before, but it was slowly being mended again. They were all strange sensations.

"You're okay?" He asked, swallowing. He didn't know what he'd do if you weren't. You seemed okay standing so far away. Why had you… why had you chained him to the lamp? Why were you so far away?

Your nod was slow and you braided your arms over your chest. He noticed Bonnie leaning up against the wall next to you and the damned pendant still hanging from your neck. Only there was an extra chain beside it with the second half present too, the halves facing away from each other. "For the most part, yes," you said. "Scrounged up some things around the house to tape myself back together. Mentally and emotionally? That's a little different."

He had heard what Mika said to you right before he lopped her head off. "I can imagine. I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't regret doing that."

"Beheading her?"

"Yeah, that." And he would do it a thousand times over if it meant you would live.

You glanced down at the floor for a moment. "I need you to be honest with me."

He let out a breath. "Okay."

"Why did the demon who attacked me at my apartment call you Your Disgrace?"

Changmin's blood froze over like the lakes in the seventh circle of Hell. Something akin to panic clawed at him from the inside and up his throat, and every instinct of his was telling him to shut down, reel back the drawbridge, and lock the gates.

But this was… this was you. You asked him to be honest. There was something in the way you looked at him, the careful mask you'd put on, that told him to fight whatever cowardice was trying to shine through.

He wrestled down another swallow. "My family—my father is a Duke of Hell. I'm the youngest of my family, but the only boy—" Changmin's knee bounced up and down to channel his nervous energy toward something else. "—and I didn't want the responsibility of being his heir or to be associated with any of that. I wanted freedom."

He could still remember the day he decided to run away. It was stupid that he thought he wouldn't get caught.

He bit down on his tongue so hard it bled. "Long story short, my sisters saved me from punishment, and my father did the one thing I wanted him to—disown me. I was banished from my home and exiled to the mortal realm." He pursed his lips and made a weak, vague gesture.

It wasn't a history he was proud of. For the first few years, it was all he wanted and more. But family was still family, and sometimes it was impossible to fill certain voids. Even for a demon.

Your voice carried across the room, "Did you ever consider trading the amulet to get back in your family's good graces?"

"How did you—"

"Yes or no."

His shoulder sagged. "Yes."

"Did my sister know?"

"Yes." He hated every single second of this conversation. Every yes he pushed out, he could feel your voice getting colder.

You cocked your head to the side. "Did you know how I related to the function of the amulet?"

"Yes," he said. "But it wasn't until you said it matched your heartbeat at the safehouse."

"And when did you plan to betray me?"

He gripped the arm of his chair. "I didn't—"

"Don't lie," you snarled.

His mouth snapped closed and he moved back like a flinch. His eyes shut for a second, before opening again to fixate on you. "I'm not lying," he drawled. "When I opened Sena's parting letter, I dropped any will to trade that thing to beings like my parents. I swear on my immortal life, Yn, I never intended to betray you at any point."

He didn't know how to get through to you. He didn't know how to convince you. Who was he but a creature of evil? He understood why you wouldn't be able to trust anyone, especially after the events of the past week. You were doing the best that you could… but fuck, you were so far away.

He'd fucked up.

You were quiet for a moment, and he couldn't read you. When he first met you, he thought he could read your thoughts and emotions like an open book. But now, it was near impossible.

"Okay."

A single word. Who knew four letter words could make him feel like this. "Okay?" He echoed, uncertain. Hope was so dangerous a feeling.

You nodded your head, shoulders lifting and dropping with exhaustion. "Okay," you repeated. "I believe you."

"You believe me? Why?" He asked against his better judgment.

You exhaled. "Well, for starters, you could have killed me like Mika tried to. You could have broken through that chain at any point, but you haven't. It's flimsy as Hell."

He glanced down at the silver chain around his wrist and gave it an experimental yank. It hadn't even occurred to him to break free; he hadn't the reason to. He was safe.

"And second," you continued, drawing his attention again, "you haven't given me any reason to not believe you." He didn't want to mistake the tenderness in your gaze now. Maybe he was seeing things. And it made his chest ache. "There have been so many times where you could have done away with me, but you always came back. For me, and not the necklace. I mean—keeping the necklace with me was one thing, but maybe I'm just stupidly convincing myself that you care."

Changmin shook his head in earnest. "It's not stupid." I do care.

You scoffed, raising a brow. "I sound like the dumbest person in the world, trusting a demon."

He hung his head for a moment, fighting for the right words. He grappled with himself, desperate and uselessly unable to describe the way he felt toward you because in demonic culture, this thing—this yank, this gravity he felt toward you—didn't exist. Demons used, stole, purged, devoured, but never whatever this was. This had to be wholly human.

"Yn," he began, feeling your eyes on him again, "I don't know what it is. And I can't describe it in a way that matters or might matter to you. But I'm—I'm… drawn to you." He wished he could shrink under your gaze, to be swallowed by the earth. Dear fuck, the way you pinned him down with that stare like you could see straight into his soul.

Changmin swallowed. "My chest aches, Yn. I don't know what it is, but it aches when I'm around you, and it aches when I'm not. It aches when you laugh, and it aches when you fucking say my name. And I—" He blew out a harsh breath, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he scavenged for the right words. He wanted it to matter because it had to. He wanted it to matter to you as much as it was coming to matter to him.

"I don't know what it is," he said again uselessly. "But I feel like you could just reach into my ribcage and I would let you. I would let you do whatever you want. Even if you—you wanted to just leave me here. If you would leave content and satisfied, then..." He would watch you go. But he didn't want you to. Please don't leave.

He wondered if he got the message across. He could barely possess half the meaning himself or wrap his head around it.

But he raised his head and watched you limp across the room toward him, his chest stuttering and stumbling the closer you came.

He could see you in the lamplight so much clearer now.

There were scratches all over your body, bandages littering your skin. But your eyes could devour him whole and he would sink forever.

You cupped his face with your good hand, and the organ in his chest flipped. There was a distinct softness to your touch, like the day your hand ghosted over his battered torso on the dock, and the way you tucked your cheek against his shoulder at the motel.

He shuddered, lips trembling.

"I love you, too," you said.

He knew you understood.

You pressed your lips against his, beautiful and perfect. Everything soft and tender he never thought he'd crave for all his life. It all melted into place. You were safe, and so was he.

The passenger side seat dug into your spine and your back molded against it like second nature. The sky was the color of darkened ash sitting at the bottom of a burnt fire pit, and the only light for miles around were the car's headlights. The road was barren, stretching on farther than your eyes could see. The time on the dash read a quarter past three in the morning.

Changmin sat behind the wheel with one hand steering and the other clasped between yours. Your dominant hand was wrapped up in a brace to support your broken wrist bones, and you'd replaced all your bandages with fresh ones. Bonnie was stashed in the back, and Clyde was tucked into your pocket as usual. Neither of you had any more of someone else's blood on your body, but you would feel the effects of the night's events for a while longer.

You were headed back toward Moonstone Creak. It was a place you looked forward to returning to, where Changmin knew you would be safe and happy, and where you knew you could be, too. Once you tied up matters at your old apartment, then matters about moving permanently could be settled.

You were playing it by ear, at this point.

Changmin's thumb ran over the back of your hand, gentle but with purpose. "You should sleep. It's a long way back."

The twin halves of the amulet hung from your neck with an equal, balanced weight. The third piece was tucked into your back pocket. You'd found it stashed among Mika's other accessories in her room. You and Changmin agreed it should be thrown somewhere over the side of a cliff. It needed to be lost and to stay lost.

Maybe you would give the second half to Changmin to wear.

"Why do you like blueberries so much?" You asked him instead of heeding his suggestion, as always. Your mouth opened to yawn, and he passed a sidelong glance at you.

He said, "They were the first thing I ate when I arrived on the mortal plane. They're a reminder of how far I've come."

You turned to him, and he met your gaze for a brief moment. "I didn't expect them to have such sentimental value."

The corner of his mouth curled upward. "That, and they taste good."

You smiled to yourself. "So about Bonnie—"

"I'm not teaching you."

"Asshole."

"Human."

You gave his shoulder a playful shove across the center console and he fought the grin on his face and lost.

He chuckled. "It was never an insult, by the way."

You settled back in your seat and curled your legs up. Brushing your lips against the back of his knuckles, you heard the breath that fell from his lips. "I know," you murmured.

a/n: i realize that you probably have questions... take it as an excuse to come visit my inbox! if you liked this, pls reblog :] thank you so much for reading mwah

#kflixnet #deoboyznet #bjnet #the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #q x reader #changmin x reader #the boyz oneshot #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz drabbles #the boyz fanfic #ji changmin imagines #ji changmin oneshots #ji changmin drabbles #ji changmin scenarios

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yourlocaltreesimp · 1 year ago

Note

How would the yandere chain react to a violinist reader? Who's REALLY amazing at playing, I'm talking lindsey stirling amazing ( if you don't know her, she is an phenomenal violinist, highly recommend listening to her music on YouTube) reader enchanting the chain as they gracefully dance as they beautifully play, maybe fairies, blubees, and wildlife come to watch, perhaps even satori themselves come to see.

Ohhhh! I love the way you think!

TW: Some obsessiveness on the behalf of the chain, as per usual with yandere requests. I am not a violinist, I used to be a cellist. I am unfamiliar with the most of it as that was a while ago.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You hadn’t fully guessed you’d have missed playing your violin so much. At first, you thought this would be a nice break from intense practicing and balancing life with your talents… but now you weren’t so sure. Nearly seven hyrules in and you’d yet to have found one. But hope was not lost. Falling into Wild pt. 2’s world -Sage for short- was jarring at first, but no changes couldn’t be adapted to. In fact, you’d almost forgotten the new world around you when your eyes caught the lacquered wood of a violin. It didn’t take much convincing, surprisingly. One plead was all it took before ten rupee wallets were out of pockets. After the war of who would pay for it, reminiscent on any family gathering, Sage footed the bill. Much begrudgingly of the others.

Outskirt Stable was quite lovely. Quiet and calm with a beautiful mountain in the near distance, it was a perfect rest stop. And also perfect for a chance to play. You were able to convince the chain into letting you practice alone first before playing for all of them, taking quick paces toward Mount Satori. You didn’t notice the sun dip below the horizon as you kept playing onward and onward until your memory of which string was plucked or where your fingers were supposed to press against the neck inevitably ran short. But it happened less than one would expect. The notes rose and dived like a swallow, nimble and fluid. You let the music carry you as your eye fluttered shut and the ballad embraced you. You were reminded of just how much you loved doing this. When the notes slowed and tapered off, hanging in the air and they drifted away, you opened your eyes. Only to be met with many more staring back. Tiny blue bunnies gathered at your feet. Little eyes baring into you as they chittered, almost if in applause or appreciation. They glowed softly, a calming blue which much reminded you of the music you’d just played. You lifted your violin back up and they all went quiet again, still gathered at your feet. The next turn you played was slow and steady, swelling softly before fading, only to be met with another rise. Like the soft pink sakura blossoms as they fell off the twisted old tree. You disregarded the strong blue glow behind you, presuming more money bunnies sorry i had to had gathered to see the show. But the nudge between your shoulders alerted you otherwise. You allowed yourself a gasp as you finished playing, turning to greet what stood behind you. Now, seeing the small glowing rabbits, while a little alarming, we’re rather cute and wholesome. But this… it was majestic. It held three of the faces from the rabbits, pale and with inquisitive yellow eyes that seemed wiser than any god. But it had the body of a horse, strong and capable. You almost saw it fitting to bow your head to the creature, as it held so much majesty it had to have been of importance. But it instead dipped its head to you, pressing forward so you could place your hand on its mane. It cooed, much like a happy bird, eyes flickering shut. The bunnies chittered among themselves happily. But as lovely as the sight was… you knew you’d be in deep shit. You were already late.

“(y/n)?” You jumped, you’ll admit. Hyrule seemed nearly as alarmed, the rabbits scattering as he pronounced himself and the larger of them -their lord, as you bestowed him- took a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry I-“ You began your apologies, but were cut short.

“No need, c’mon, Let’s go.” He nodded in respect to the lord before gesturing for you to follow… an odd endearing glint in his eye that lacked to be there before. You turned and left, following Hyrule back to the stable.

What you weren’t aware of, however, was the group watching you play the whole time. Hidden one way or another was the whole chain, utterly spellbound by your performance. Sky itching to play with you and adapt the ballads of his time to your violin. Time reminiscing on his time with the kokiri and their love of music… how much they would adore your tunes. Wind wanted to know if you knew any sea shanties. Sage and Wild basked in the music and adored the sight of you and the Lord of Mt. Satori. Legend was jealous of the other rabbits which got to admire you so closely, which held the softness of your attention. It reminded Four of the festivals he used to visit with his grandfather, and Twilight of the ones they held in castle town the ones required he visit. But he’d go to all of them if you were there. But Hyrule? He was captivated. Afterall, faeries bless those good with much talents, revelling with only the best of musicians and artists of the mortal realm, for which you would surly qualify. They all had their reasons for loving you, but that was now tenfold. And you’d get no rest.

#firreplies #linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #yandere linked universe #link x you #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #yan!chainxreader #yan!chain #lu sage #yan!sage #fir’s library

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scribbling-dragon · 2 years ago

Text

the world’s my oyster (i’m the pearl)

summary:

Um,” he stares at Scott for a moment longer. “Can I, uh, can I come in? Or,” he allows himself to trail off, still watching Scott. The crown certainly suits him, at least, even though the pinkish-orange colour of the coral is not something he’d ever have considered to go well with cyan.

The door swings open in front of him, and he almost startles at the abruptness of it, jerking his hand back and down to his side. “So,” Scott’s grinning, that grin that makes his teeth look far sharper than they actually are, “you've come crawling back, have you?”

“It’s,” he laughs, inching forward, “It’s not crawling back, it’s…sheepishly wandering in.” He smiles a little as he continues to inch his way forward, sliding past Scott and through the rather narrow ‘doorway’ when Scott doesn't move to stop him from entering.

Or, a 5 + 1 where Scott is acting suspicious, and Martyn is trying to figure out why

(ao3 link)

(11,149 words)

yeah the title’s a h2o reference. it’s comedy gold, alright (and mer scott. it just fits yk)

The small, rather rickety path out into the water is what first grabs at his attention, snagging it and holding it as he steps a little closer. He crouches, trying not to come off as too suspicious, even though he is acting incredibly, incredibly suspicious right now, and anyone that might see him would be well-founded in whatever boogeyman-related accusation they throw his way.

The curse itches beneath his skin, far more intense than it had been in the previous games. It ticks alongside his slowly counting timer. The itching only grows more fierce the longer he sits around twiddling his thumbs, but he sits, squatted in the bushes and sheltered by the trees overhead, and watches as Scott moves around the small island he’s constructing.

As Martyn watches, he notices the way that Scott moves around the island is actually rather odd, especially as he occasionally jumps away from the edge, as though he’s been burned- which is impossible, because it’s water.

Despite his apparent hatred for the water, Scott continues to build where he is, sticking firmly to the centre of the small island that is beginning to take shape around him. The only part that remains unchanged is the small shelter right beside the bridge, though Scott does glance over at it occasionally.

More than once, Martyn swears Scott looks directly at him as well, eyes pausing for a moment over his hiding spot before he returns to whatever he was doing before. It makes the curse thrum a little louder, a little heavier, beneath his skin in anticipation. He squashes it down a little further, before creeping out from behind the bush he’d chosen to hide behind for the past…however long.

His timer tells him he’s only spent five minutes crouched there, but the moon had been high in the sky when he first started watching Scott, casting most of his surroundings into shadow - only the island had been lit up, a small beacon on light in the darkness swamping everything else - but now that same moon is incredibly close to setting, and the horizon is beginning to tinge pink with the sunrise.

He doesn't believe these timers one bit, not at all. There’s something wrong with them, but either everyone’s too caught up in the newness of this game to notice, or they have noticed and simply don't care enough to question it. Martyn didn't believe in the twenty-four hours, anyway, not when Grian announced it in such an odd way. And those watching on would hardly be satisfied with a day of entertainment.

The dirt bridge crumbles a little beneath his feet, and he pauses, holding his breath as he waits to see if it will take his weight- if it will betray his entrance onto the island. Scott’s back remains turned to him, and he watches as the man sifts through one of the chests he just set up.

He gives no reaction to Martyn’s approach, so he continues onwards, making an effort to place his feet a little lighter as he approaches, wary of alerting Scott. Martyn is well aware of Scott’s reputation in these games, of his seemingly inhuman hearing that catches even the smallest of sounds- Joel had told him once, in one of the afterparties they host once the games come to a close, that Scott had found him and Grian during last life because he breathed too loud. The man’s ears are entirely normal, too, not at all pointed or giving any indication that they're anything but human ears with normal, human-like hearing.

He realises, as Scott begins to turn, that he’s just been stood on the man’s bridge and staring at him like a creep. He scrambles for something to do, eyes landing on the odd shelter once more, spying the boat lodged into the side of the island and containing one zombified villager. Perfect.

He lunges for the boat, throwing himself into it and beginning to slowly push off the edge of the island, ignoring the thumping in his heart- the roaring in his ears that demands he kills Scott then and there, that he had had his back turned for several long minutes, in which he could have neatly lodged an axe in the man’s back and be rid of the curse.

“Uh,” he glances back, one hand still resting against the edge of the island, still in the process of getting the boat unlodged, Scott’s turned to face him, eyes wide with…shock? It doesn't look like shock, more like surprise. Martyn almost begins laughing. “No thank you.” Scott says, and the man is beside him a moment later, moving almost scarily quick, but he doesn't have much time to focus on that, instead focusing on not overbalancing and dragging them both into the water and Scott yanks him from the boat.

He stumbles a little as his feet make contact with ground, foot catching on nothing, and he grabs onto Scott’s shoulders to steady himself, gripping tightly to Scott’s shirt. And he almost succeeds in pulling both of them backwards into the water as he tips back, already laughing.

The water rushes up around him, and he inhales some as he laughs, popping back to the surface, coughing. His hair obscures most of his vision, dripping in front of his eyes even as he pushes it back out of the way; it only falls forward again, obscuring his vision once more and sticking to his face.

He continues laughing as soon as he’s certain he’s not going to inhale any more water and choke to death. He makes a grab for one of his sandals as it begins to float past, and it only makes him laugh a little harder at the sheer absurdity of it, having to grip onto the edge of the small island to make sure he doesn't go under again.

“Aw, man.” He manages to calm down momentarily, huffing out a breath, breathing out slowly as it threatens to turn into a laugh again. “You sounded so offended, man.” He grins up at Scott, pushing his hair back from his face again- seriously, what’s even the point of wearing a headband if it doesn't keep his hair out of his eyes.

“You tried to steal my villager,” Scott frowns down at him, but Martyn can see the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, almost a laugh. “I think I have some right to be offended.” Scott tips his chin upwards, looking down at him almost haughtily- something that Martyn would only believe if he had known Scott for less than five minutes. The guy has some odd flair for the dramatics. It’s a shame that he and Ren never teamed, they would certainly have been interesting to watch.

“I guess so, thought you didn't hear me, though.”

“I heard you.” Scott says, looking down at him. The skin around his eyes catches the light slightly, flashing bright, but when Martyn takes a closer look, it’s just some rather bright eyeshadow the other has decided to wear. “I just thought I’d give you an easy kill.”

“An easy kill?” He laughs it off, ignoring how the itch beneath his skin seems to intensify with those few words- he already knows, he might as well. He shakes the thoughts off, pulling himself from the water. “Wait, wait, you think I’m the boogey?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, c’mon man,” Scott hops back a few steps as he approaches, looking more than a little nervous as Martyn steps forward. “That hurts, you think I've come here to just kill you in cold blood? Can't I just visit a friend?”

“While that’s a nice thought, I unfortunately don't believe you.” Scott smiles, expression not matching his words, the eyeshadow smudged around the corners of his eyes shimmering in the light again, drawing Martyn’s eyes back to it. “You got that whole-” Scott gestures at him, “-thing about you. Twitchy, like you're ready to swing at someone as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

“I mean, you did that, didn't you?” His clothes stick to his skin rather uncomfortably, clinging. He finds a piece of seaweed stuck to his calf as well, peeling it off as he speaks. He flicks it at Scott, for a laugh, watching as the man jumps out of the seaweed’s path and sends a glare his way. “Poor Skizz, the man just wanted to chat with you.”

“He set it up so well, Martyn,” Scott groans, suspicion dissolving for a moment as he complains. “Everyone’s been getting on to me about it, especially after Bdubs’ stunt- which also wasn't my fault! But he was just saying all the right things- it was far too funny for me to let the opportunity pass up.” And Martyn’s sure that They rather enjoyed the show too, especially from the one person that refused to cooperate with their schemes the last two games.

“I hear you,” he laughs, even as he attempts to slip his foot back into his wet sandal without fiddling about with the straps too much. His clothes are going to be wet for the next while and the sun’s not even up yet meaning he’s going to be walking around in squeaky shoes for several long hours- no way he’s sneaking up on anyone like that. “But still not the boogey.” He grins, only sweating a little as Scott continues to look unconvinced- one word and everyone would start avoiding him like the plague.

“Mhm,” Scott looks him up and down, with a judgemental enough look that he almost cowers beneath it. But Martyn’s built of stronger stuff than that, staring back at Scott in return. “If you say so, then.”

Scott’s lips quirk up in the corner a little bit, as though there’s a joke only he’s been let in on. And Martyn has a pretty good idea that he’s probably the butt of said joke.

“Have fun sneaking up on people in your squeaky shoes,” Scott says, which. Great. Scott’s already noticed that and he’s not even moved yet, this is actually hopeless. He’s going to be yellow within the day, and there’s nothing he can even do about it.

“Still not the boogey.” He reminds. He leaves Scott to it, though, turning around and walking back down the bridge. His sandals squeak as he walks, and he does his best to ignore the snicker behind him. “Yeah, yeah,” he shouts back, turning around to face Scott, “laugh it up!”

He slips as he turns, some dirt giving way beneath his heel, and almost falls back into the ocean. He manages to regain his footing quickly, scrambling to maintain his balance on the rickety little path, glaring at Scott when the man’s snickering turns into a sharp bark of laughter.

He grumbles to himself, mind already running over the few ideas he has left, searching for an idea. His shoes continue squeaking as he walks, and all it does is distract him from his game plans, dragging his mind back towards Scott, and the man’s odd avoidance of the water’s edge and just water in general.

It could also, very easily, be that the man was avoiding him. But he looked far more nervous than he needed to as Martyn approached him after his brief dip in the ocean, far too nervous for someone that was just worried about being murdered. And that also doesn't explain his behaviour before Martyn even approached, avoiding the surrounding ocean like his life depended on it; and unless Scott’s hearing has reached new levels of freaky, then he definitely wasn't watching for Martyn then.

When he glances back, Scott is still keeping his distance from the water.

He considers it for a moment, then shoves the thought aside. He has far more important things to worry about than Scott acting weird- he’s always acting weird! He’s a weird man.

=== === ===

II.

He stares at the ground in front of him, the bucket in his hands warm as he stares at the empty spot, where there had been a cow only moments before. He glances over at Etho from the corner of his eye, biting on his tongue so he doesn't start laughing at possibly the worst moment he’s had all day.

He still aches from the pufferfish Etho had flung at him earlier. It’s a very good reminder of why he should definitely not start laughing at something that is actually very, very bad.

“Dude,” Impulse is staring at him as well, face set into one of those I'm-not-mad-just-disappointed looks.

“I did not mean for that to happen,” he says. And he can hear the laugh bubbling in his throat, threatening to break free if he continues talking much longer. He clutches the lava bucket a little tighter, before deciding that is probably a bad thing to do because the metal is already heating up to a hazardous temperature. And he likes being able to use his hands. “I was just memeing Skizz, and then-” he cuts himself off again, peering up through the small hole in the ceiling to look at Skizz.

The man stares back down at him, one hand resting against the edge of the hole. Martyn had definitely considered simply leaving the lava there for Skizz to fall into, unaware, and taken the kill then and there, but the swift death of the cow had been enough to make him feel a little guilty.

“Aw,” he buries his face in his hands, stepping back from the small entrance. “I am so sorry.” His words are muffled slightly, but he’s sure the others can at least guess the sentiment of his words if they can't understand them. He pulls at his face a little bit, glancing up at the people around him.

Impulse just looks sad at this point, staring at the spot their cow had been only a few moments before. Martyn has never felt regret as intensely as he does in this moment, even if his whole visit had been a ploy to try and kill one of them.

“You gotta be kidding me right now.”

Martyn can feel his resolve begin to waver as they continue on about the cow, lips twitching into an almost-smile as Impulse continues to bemoan their loss. Etho, at least, seems to have planned ahead, or at least far enough ahead that he saw the cow not surviving for very long anyway, as he manages to retrieve a cow within a few minutes after the incident.

It’s as though the cow never died in the first place, and he watches it meander around the small base from the step. Impulse had told him, in very few words, that he’d prefer it if he sat up here and away from the cows for now. He hadn't minded it either, as it means he can sit a short distance away from everyone else- a long enough distance that the itch at the back of his brain is reduced, if only a little bit. The need for blood still lingers, but it’s nowhere near as intense as it had been before.

He can't help but panic a little, unable to see any of these people splitting off from the pack so that he can follow and murder them. He also can't see them just letting it slide if he does kill one of them, so maybe it’s not his greatest idea to pick one of these four.

“Oh, Skizz,” his ears prick up as a new voice joins the jumbled fray, a little louder than many of the others and much further away. He stands, moving from the step Impulse had instructed him to stay on so there weren't any more cow related accidents. “Bud.”

He can hear the sympathy in Scott’s voice, and when he pokes his head out of the entrance to the underground base, Scott is smiling sympathetically at Skizz. A boat rocks gently behind him, lodged firmly in the sand as Scott steps gingerly out of it, scurrying a few metres up the beach before he comes to a stop.

“Dude, it’s been brutal,” Skizz says.

Martyn emerges fully onto the small island, only because hovering in the darkness is making him far more suspicious, and it would be very easy for Scott to pin it on him right now- especially as the man seems convinced that it is him anyway.

“What happened?” Scott seems to be asking from a sympathetic standpoint, but Martyn also knows Scott, and knowing Scott means that he knows Scott just wants the details of what happened from the source. Martyn listens as well, nodding at Scott when the man’s eyes slide over to him.

“I was way, way deep down,” Skizz gestures to the ground beneath their feet, moving back and forth a little bit as they talk. “I was just looking for some diamonds, and a creeper killed me.” Skizz turns his back to Martyn, and he has the idea to just do it now- do it here. He’d considered it already, back in the cave when the curse first settled itself over his mind, but he’d resisted then. But he’s so close to running out of time, so close to failing-

His hand hovers over the sword at his hip, and Skizz’s back is still turned, and Scott had even proposed an alliance to him earlier today, so he doubts Scott’s going to rat him out right now. He glances up, hand still hovering, still uncertain.

Scott glances between him and Skizz, mouth setting into a grim line. He then shakes his head, slight enough that anyone not looking would have missed it. And Skizz continues talking, oblivious to the silent conversation that had just passed between him and Scott.

And Scott’s right, honestly. It would be a bad idea, and they would have four angry people after them, one of which is definitely going to be a yellow soon, and that’s not something he wants to see at all. He swallows, glancing away, mind racing, curse roaring, demanding he ignore Scott, that he does it anyway.

He takes a step back, away from the shoreline and Scott and Skizz, pulling his hand away from his sword forcefully, reminding himself that it would be a bad idea, over and over again, and that Skizz has already lost enough time as it is, to lose more would only put him on Skizz’s list.

He takes another step back, and his foot catches on something. He glances back, finding it to be the hole that leads to the base beneath the island. The…confined base that has little to no escape routes, something which could very easily be blown up.

He glances back to the talking pair on the beach. Neither of them watch him, neither of them are looking to see where he goes.

He drops down into the hole, ignoring the slight jolt in his ankles as he lands. He pauses, not daring to even breathe. He can't hear himself over the sound of blood roaring in his ears- he doesn't know how loud he would be, can't know how loud it would be. So he doesn't dare breathe, straining his ears to make sure that there are people in the base below him, that him tossing away the few resources he has won't go to waste.

He chips away at the wall in front of him, clenching his hands tight around his pickaxe to stop them from shaking. Ignores the pounding of his heart, the rushing in his ears as he breaks through the rock, pausing to heave in a breath and to check that he hasn't been heard- hasn't been found.

He can't be found, he can’t. He doesn't have long left for this, not long at all, and he can't be yellow. Not yet, it’s too soon. Far, far too soon.

He breaks down the few feet that separates him from the room below, pulling back as soon as the last chunk of rock has been chipped away. He has to let it fall, there’s no way he can grab it back now, just has to watch it plummet and hope no one pays attention to the sound.

He holds his breath, feeling it catch in his lungs until he feels as though he’s going to explode. He watches as Scott turns around and stares at the rock for a long, long moment. Long enough that Martyn thinks he might say something, that he might warn the others.

He doesn't, eyes glancing up, though he can't see him- the rock blocks him from seeing Martyn, tucked away in his little gap in the rock, just large enough for him to crouch in. And then Scott turns back around, and he doesn't say a word. He just listens as the team continues talking, chattering amongst themselves.

He doesn't dare breathe, not even a sigh of relief- it could tell them that he’s still here, that he’s not disappeared away again.

He pulls the first bundle of TNT from his inventory, holding it in shaking hands as he fumbles for his flint and steel, grasping it and bringing it up to the wick, striking it once, twice, three times, hands shaking as he tries to light it, watches as it continues to sputter out before the wick can catch.

And then it does catch, flaring to life with a sizzle and he shoves it away, pulling the next bundle free, lighting this one quicker than the previous. There’s a shout from below- someone spotting the TNT no doubt. But it hasn't exploded yet, he still has time.

He drops the second one.

The third is the easiest to light, and he drops that too, peering over the edge, some morbid curiosity filling him- to see if he can get the kill or not. To see if someone might stray a little too close to the detonating bomb.

But, no. They huddle in a corner, all watching the TNT with wide eyes, watching. Waiting. And then it explodes, and his ears beginning ringing, though not with bloodlust this time. Instead, he blinks, coughing as smoke fills his mouth and makes him choke. He pulls back from the small opening he created, hacking and choking on his own breath as shouts of panic break out below.

He peers in again, still blinking back the tears in his eyes, watches as the rock wall behind where everyone huddles begins to crack, begins to give way beneath the sudden lack of stability and structure.

Scott breaks free first, sprinting across the room and skidding to a halt before throwing himself up the small wall and onto the stairs. Only then does he turn back around, posture stiff and tense, watching as the room begins to flood through the small fissures in the rock.

The TIES groan and grumble at the sudden flooding, kicking through the water and sloshing it around their ankles. And Martyn should move on, should leave now that Scott has thrown him under the bus- they could say something in the general chat at any moment, could condemn him to failing his one task.

But they don't, they continue complaining, continue kicking the water around. And Martyn finds himself far more fascinated about how scared Scott seems to be of the water, backing further and further away from the main room, beginning a slow, jerking path up the stairs, away from the steadily rising water and out of the splash zone of where the TIES have begun splashing water at each other.

Martyn watches Scott, files this odd information into his brain, alongside the way Scott avoids water like the plague. Doesn't even go near it despite having chosen to take up residence in the middle of the ocean, where you are surrounded by water.

And then one of the TIES shouts for his blood- and he knows they can't do that, they can't. It’s against the rules. And yet he flees anyway, squeezing back down the small corridor he’d hewn out, and sprinting for the surface.

He only looks back once he’s a safe distance away, watching as Tango and Skizz patrol the surface of their island and Scott climbs into his boat, and begins rowing back to his own island. Rowing, where someone else would have swam the short distance.

But the curse still lingers, still has its hooks in his mind. And he doesn't have time to sit around and watch Scott act odd, because he has other, far more pressing matters to attend to.

For now, at least.

=== === ===

III.

Scott’s island is bigger than it had been before. Spanning over a larger stretch of land, half-grown shoots of bamboo sticking out of the earth, marking out a perimeter. The leaves rustle gently in the breeze, and a few of the closer sticks of bamboo knock into each other, rattling in the wind.

A door stands at the entryway to the island, though there is no frame surrounding it. Truly, there is nothing but manners stopping him from bypassing the door completely, and stepping around. And also because it is far too comedic to knock on the door as well.

“Hi,” Scott peers around his door, not even bothering to open it. And…he’s wearing an odd crown of coral. Something he hadn't been wearing last time, at least. And the coral hasn't begun to bleach yet, remaining colourful despite being on land.

“Hi.” He responds, peering around the door as well, fist still pressed against the wood from where he’d knocked. The bridge is larger this time, too, more stable than it had been previously. He feels far less like he’s about to take an unwelcome dip into the ocean and far more like he’s going to remain nice and warm and dry.

“Um,” he stares at Scott for a moment longer. “Can I, uh, can I come in? Or,” he allows himself to trail off, still watching Scott. The crown certainly suits him, at least, even though the pinkish-orange colour of the coral is not something he’d ever have considered to go well with cyan.

“You abandoned me,” Scott says, frowning. The sadness in his voice is incredibly fake, truly, no one would be buying it. But Martyn has to make a good impression, because this is his only chance at an alliance, and Scott is definitely a good choice for a teammate.

“I didn't abandon you,” he protests.

Scott ignores him. “You came to the coral isles, and then you left.”

“I didn't wanna kill you!” He protests, throwing his arms out. When Scott doesn't try to interrupt him, he continues. “I was already the boogey at that point, yeah, yeah, well done, you guessed it. Whatever. And then you were in the TIES’ hole, and I attempted to kill you, and if you attempt to kill someone then you don't immediately go crawling back to them and ask for an alliance! You leave them to cool down, to work out their frustration for a few hours, and then you come to grovel.”

“You're grovelling right now?” Scott raises an eyebrow. “I've seen better grovelling from a dehydrated plant.”

“Now that’s just hurtful, man.” He presses a hand to his chest. “And I am grovelling, I said sorry.”

“No you didn't.”

“I'm sorry,” he tries. “For, uh, trying to kill you- but in my defence! I was almost out of time, and there was a big group, and I was almost certain that the TNT would have gotten them.”

“It would have, if you threw all of it in at once.” Scott crosses his arms. “Throwing in just one, right after you lit the fuse too, Martyn, means that they had the time to react and then huddle, so the other ones didn't do anything.”

“So, what? I should just hang onto the TNT until it’s about to explode?” He’d have probably blown himself up if he’d done that- he can hardly remember anything from that panic-filled haze, so he doubts his planning skills were actually being used at any point.

“Yes.” Scott says, then sighs. “But I get it,” he shrugs as he turns away, “you were panicked, there’s a lot of pressure. I took out the first person I saw.” Martyn follows after Scott as he moves a little closer to the centre of the island, unsure whether he’s actually welcome to stay here or if Scott’s just humouring him.

“So,” he decides to break the ice, trailing behind Scott. “Can, can I move in?” He scuffs his feet against the ground, and Scott turns at his question. Scott frowns, lips pursed as he looks him up and down again.

“You're wanting to be a coral kid?” Scott asks. He sounds almost…pleasantly surprised.

“Okay, uh,” he laughs, “maybe not a coral kid,” Scott frowns a little deeper, “but I've come back with ideas- name ideas, okay? You know, I've been out and about, travelling the world,” the tiny little world they're confined in for the foreseeable future. “Uh,” he scrambles to keep talking, taking a few steps back from Scott, away from the small area he has set up in the middle of the island. Scott doesn't follow after him, propping a hip against the crafting bench. “I'm older, I'm wiser. I'm smarter,” he nods to himself, glancing back at Scott.

Scott seems to be mildly amused by him, head tilted at a slight angle as he watches him talk, smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I've got some name suggestions,” he finishes, giving a little jazz hands as Scott continues to stare at him. He’s got that same eyeshadow on again, glinting around the corners of his eyes. Maybe it’s his new thing for this iteration of the games- people try new things all the time.

“Okay,” Scott drags the word out, but he gestures for him to continue. Martyn is absolutely going to get to stay on this island, thank god.

“Alright,” he rocks forward onto the balls of his feet before rocking back again, “so, obviously, there’s coral kids.” Scott nods his head, “Not too bad, but, you know, I think it makes us sound kinda like pushovers? Uh,” he thinks for a moment, “next one on the list honestly isn't that great either, though, so, damp dudes? Feeling that one?”

Scott clicks his tongue, leaning back on the crafting bench a little further, before shaking his head. “Nope, don't enjoy that one.”

“Alright,” that wasn't his best one, but better to lead with his worst because they can only get better from here on out. Hopefully. “Seeing as this isn't really much of an ocean,” and it isn't, “how about puddle pals?”

“No,” Scott’s response is immediate. “Puddle feels even less,” Scott pulls a face and Martyn gets the message.

“Okay.” Maybe he should have written them all down in a list. He’d spent most of last night brainstorming ideas, hoping to put himself on Scott’s right side and gain a teammate if he can impress him with a team name. “So, I was imagining leather jackets for this next one- like the bad boys’ jackets,”

“You know Jimmy just stole his from Tango, right?” Scott’s grinning, leaning forward a little.

“Really?” He blinks, thinks about it for a moment, then, “Yeah, that makes sense. Timmy doesn't seem like the kind to own a jacket more of a-”

“Denim guy, yeah.” Scott nods his head along, hair falling in front of his eyes before Scott brushes it back again. Martyn finds himself watching Scott for a moment too long before he averts his eyes again, moving a little further around the island. Scott swings his legs over the crafting table to watch him go.

“Alright, us in leather jackets: sons of beaches.” Scott doesn't say anything in response to that one, and when Martyn turns around the other is just staring at him, apparently slightly lost for words. He laughs a little, more out of nervousness at Scott’s silence.

“It’s, hm,” Scott pauses to think. “It’s better than the other two, but, uh.”

“Alright, alright. I've still got a few more,” he nods, even though his list is very rapidly running a little short. “I know you like the film Mean Girls,” Scott nods at that, “so what about Mean Shells?”

Scott tips his head to the side, still staring at Martyn. He stares for long enough, apparently lost enough in thought, that Martyn begins to feel a little flustered beneath Scott’s undivided attention. The green of the man’s eyes is far too intense compared to their normal blue, and it freaks him out. Just a bit.

“I like it,” Scott says, “but I don't know if people will get that reference.” Scott pulls a face, “Mean Gills, would’ve been-”

“Mean Gills!” He bounces a little in place, pointing at Scott and nodding. Scott looks a little taken aback by his enthusiasm, but smiles after a moment anyway. “Yeah, yeah! You've nailed that one there. Mean Gills,” he repeats to himself.

“Did you have any more?” Scott asks.

“Only a couple. What about beauty and the beach?”

“Okay,” Scott nods, “do like that. But which one of us is going to be the beauty and which one of us is gonna be the beach? Because I can tell you right now which one I don't want to be.”

“Oh yeah, alright. What about santa’s little kelpers?” He grins, quite proud of that one.

Scott looks rather unimpressed. “Bit too seasonal.”

“You're a harsh critic, Smajor.” He laughs, “Big buoys? Like, spelt like the, the floating things? B-U-O-Y-S.”

Scott shakes his hand back, side to side. “I think the bad boys would get annoyed with us there, encroaching on their territory and all that. And like, they might be bad at these games, but they've also got full diamond and enchanted armour, so I don't really want to go around annoying them, yeah? Trying not to make enemies just yet.”

“Sal-men?” He tries. His list is dwindling now, though Scott is cracking a smile at a few of these, so it’s not a total loss.

“Oh, no,” Scott shakes his head. “I've had a whole,” he gestures with a flippant hand, “salmon fiasco in the past. Let’s not go there.”

“LGB-Sea?” He says. “Like, like S-E-A?” He laughs a little, because it was a rather bad joke on its own really, but Scott seems to find it funny too because he’s laughing as well, leaning forward on his makeshift seat as he giggles.

“I like the-” Scott laughs again. “LGB-Sea is great.”

“Alright, alright, last one, and maybe we should just lock this one in straight away because I like this one: H-Two-Bros.”

“H-Two-Bros is great,” Scott’s lips are quirked up in a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles, that blue eyeshadow flashing in the light again. “But I'm kinda torn between that and mean gills.” Scott’s eyes then widen a little. “Not that either of us have gills, though,” he laughs, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “That would be ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows crinkle together. “Neither of us have gills. But we’re going for the ocean-y fish theme, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott nods, “why don't we get Pearl’s opinion on this?”

Pearl’s? The question is half-formed on his tongue before Pearl pops out of the water, spraying it everywhere. Scott is halfway across the island a moment later, looking rather like a startled cat even though he was the one that requested Pearl join them.

Pearl then shakes like a dog, hair and water flying everywhere, hitting him as well. He winces as a stray chunk of hair hits him in the face. He backs up a few steps, away from the edge of the island and the danger zone that is currently surrounding Pearl.

“Ask me what?” She asks, rather cheery.

“We’re choosing a name for the people on this island,” Martyn gestures between him and Scott, who is yet to return from his corner of scared cat-ness. “And we’ve got two contenders currently: Mean Gills and H-Two-Bros.”

“I like Mean Gills better, it’s kinda cute.” Pearl laughs.

The conversation devolves from there, and before he knows it he’s rummaging around in his inventory to find a few bits of gunpowder and handing them over to Pearl. “I cremated her.” He says with a smile, watching as Pearl’s eyes widen slightly, glancing up at him, then back down at the gunpowder.

“I'm leaving,” she says, voice high-pitched. “This is not,” she shakes her head, hopping back into the ocean. She doesn't emerge until she’s several feet away from the island, water splashing as she kicks her way towards the next body of land.

“I don't know what she wanted me to say!” He laughs, though it’s a poor defence, really. Scott laughs a little as well, moving back towards the centre of the island now that Pearl has left. Scott didn't seem to hold any ill will towards Pearl, so Martyn doesn't understand why he avoided her so clearly. “She wants her dead dog from the last games, I don't have anything for her!”

“You could've saved that until she gave me the grass,” Scott frowns. “We only have a little bit now.”

“Eh, it’ll spread in no time.” He assures.

=== === ===

IV.

His hourglass is beginning to come together nicely, even with only the barebones of the structure constructed so far. The chest of resources he’s gathered for this mini project sits a few feet behind him, lid swung open so he doesn't have to keep opening it whilst building.

Scott sits on the small deck chair he’s built for himself, leaning back in it and watching him build. He had been wearing sunglasses, up until the point where Martyn had pointed out that he looked like one of the bad boys and he’d taken them off rather quickly after that.

He’s squinting against the sun as he watches Martyn build, still wearing that eyeshadow despite only getting up half an hour earlier. Martyn hadn't even seen him put it on, but it had been there as soon as he was up, so he must have put it on at some point.

Not that he noticed it immediately. He’s taken to watching Scott recently, but he’s not been staring at his eyes. His eyes might look rather nice, but that doesn't mean Martyn is caught up in staring at them all the time.

“See something you like?” Scott tips his head to the side, eyes still squinted mostly shut. Scott then stretches out on the deck chair, raising one arm above his head. He even winks, just to add to the effect.

“Not really,” he snorts, turning back to his hourglass. He still needs to add most of the glass to it, and that’s definitely going to be the most time-consuming part of this whole affair; he’s going to have to make sure he doesn't bend any of the glass too far and shatter it- why did he decide to build this again? It’s hardly going to be functional and Scott’s beach house is plenty large enough for the two of them. Their beds are side by side in there, too, and he’s not going to be moving out of there any time soon. “Keep dreaming, Scott.”

Scott hums behind him, and he can feel the other man’s eyes on him as he rummages through the chest, collecting as much glass as he can comfortably hold.

“Make sure you don't bend it too far,” Scott says as he starts to place the glass into its frame. “It’s an inflexible material and it will just shatter if you bend it too far.”

“Thanks for that, Scott. I am well aware.”

“Just making sure!” When he looks back Scott’s got his hands raised in surrender, drink held in one of them- when did he get a drink? He stares at Scott for a moment, and Scott stares back at him, before taking a sip from his drink. Where did he even get a straw from? Did he bring it with him?

…Honestly, he can see Scott doing exactly that for a moment like this.

“I just don't want to be the one cleaning you up if you manage to slice your hand open on some of the glass.” Scott shrugs, drink sloshing dangerously against the side of his glass. Scott seems to realise this, jerking the drink away from him hurriedly, before grinning at Martyn.

“I'm hardly going to slice my hand open on the glass,” he snorts. “What do you take me for, some kind of idiot?”

“Just remember that I dated Jimmy for a while, okay?” Scott says. Martyn takes his momentary distraction to slot a few of the glass panes in without any judgement or commentary. He’s all for ribbing at someone, but Scott takes it to an entirely new, rather impressive, level. “Love the guy, he’s great, but he was rather accident prone. I'm just making sure you don't hurt yourself.”

“Giving me the boyfriend treatment, Smajor?” He calls back, picking up the next piece of glass, bending it ever so slightly, careful with the amount of force he applies as he begins slotting it into its place.

“If you want, I've been told I'm rather good.”

The glass breaks in his hands, unable to withstand the sudden increase in pressure from his grip. And, hm. He stares down at his hands, brain not quite registering the pain yet, only that there is a lot of red. Probably a bit more than there should be.

“Scott?” He calls, not turning back around. Scott hasn't made any quip about him breaking the glass, so Martyn doubts he actually heard the glass breaking.

“Yeah,” Martyn can hear the rattling of ice against glass.

“Can you get tetanus from glass?” He asks. The pain is beginning to filter through his system, overtaking the shock and adrenaline of moments later to begin stinging. And then burning, a little.

“Uh,” Scott goes silent for a moment. “I don't think so?”

“That’s good.” He nods along. That is quite a bit of blood, and he thinks he might be going a bit light-headed from the blood loss. “You gotta promise not to make fun of me, alright?”

“I am not promising that.” Scott says. He can hear someone standing up. “Turn around, Martyn.”

He does, not sure what else to do. Scott is only a few inches from him when he turns around, and it’s enough to make him startle. Scott frowns at him for a moment- and they're both far closer than they've been during Martyn’s small stay here, and he can see the eyeshadow up close now, and it almost looks like-

“What did I tell you?” Scott interrupts his thoughts, and he snaps back into focus, slightly.

“Lots of things.”

“About the glass,” Scott stresses, grabbing his hand and shaking that as well a moment.

“Oh, yeah, don't bend it.”

“And what did you do?” Scott asks.

“Bend it?” He responds. “Look, man, I just wanna sit down, alright? I'm not…feeling great.”

“Yeah, no shit, Martyn. Look at this!” He shakes Martyn’s hand around a little, fingers smearing with blood. “This is why we don't play around with glass.”

“It’s your fault, anyway.” He frowns at Scott. “You surprised me.”

“I surprised you.” Scott deadpans. “And so it’s my fault.”

“Exactly.” He tries to point at Scott, but Scott is still holding one of his wrists, so the movement is far less confident and smooth than he had been hoping it would be.

“God, you're worse than Jimmy.” Scott drags a hand down his face. And his hand had blood on it, meaning he’s just smearing blood over his face. “How are you worse than Jimmy?”

“I take offence at that.”

“You can take offence at it when you're not about to pass out at the sight of some blood.”

“I'm not about to pass out,” he scoffs. Or tries to. He doesn't actually know how convincing it is, because everything sounds like it’s underwater. “It’s the blood loss.”

“You have not lost enough blood to feel dizzy.” Scott tells him, still gripping his wrist. “You're just squeamish.”

“Am not.” He tugs at the grip Scott’s got on him. “No way I’d have made it through so, so many of these games if I was squeamish.” It’s the blood loss- the same blood loss that is making the world spin around him like everything just’s been cranked up really high on speed, and his eyes ache with it.

“Martyn,” Scott sighs, but his voice is really muffled, and, wow, is that the ocean? The water is always super warm around here, he’s pretty sure it’s because of the biome they're in, but he always enjoys it. It’s like a slightly colder than usual bath- still warm but not too warm.

And it’s just as warm this time as he sinks into it, breath escaping him in a bubbly sigh.

There’s a loud splashing sound above him, and he squints his eyes open, but the saltwater makes everything blurry, and his eyes hurt already, so he squints them shut again. Something grabs at his arm, yanking him upwards.

And he resists, because this water is really warm and nice, and he actually rather likes it, really. Whatever is dragging him around, though, doesn't seem to care what he thinks, but he’s unceremoniously pushed onto dry land a moment later.

He breathes in, coughing a little and squinting his eyes open to watch as he coughs up water. His throat feels dry and scratchy, and his vision is still blurry. Blurry enough that he can't see much beyond vague shapes and colours.

Something moves in front of him, a little water lapping at his fingers as he opens his eyes a little more to try and get a better look at the- whatever it is in front of him. There’s a flash of deep blue, and then the whatever-it-was thing is gone. Huh.

Something flicks him on the forehead, and he blinks his eyes open again, finding that he’s lying on something far softer than the dirt ground, and blinking up at Scott. Scott is staring down at him, eyes flicking over his face, before he leans back so there’s more than just an inch of space between them.

“Good to see you're awake.” Scott says.

“When did I fall asleep?” He asks, going to push himself up, only to wince when sharp pain lances through his hand. He hisses beneath his breath, easing his weight off that hand.

“You didn't.” Scott smiles at him, but it’s the kind of smile someone wears when they're trying to hold back a laugh. “I didn't know you were squeamish.”

“I'm not.”

“Then why did you pass out at the sight of blood?” Scott asks, head tilting to the side. The bandages around Martyn’s fingers make them feel thick and clumsy, and the pain that sparks through his palm every time he flexes them is enough to stop him from moving that hand too much. “Sounds like you're pretty squeamish to me.”

“I'm not.” He protests, though his attempts seem to be in vain because Scott has actually started laughing at him now.

“Mhm,” Scott nods. “Seems like your hourglass is going on hiatus for a short while.”

“Ugh,” he lets his head drop back to the pillow, staring up at the sky. It’s cloudless. “Did I fall in the water?” He asks, after a moment.

“Yes, why?”

“My clothes feel all…disgusting.”

“Well, I didn't wash them for you. I'm not your personal servant.” Scott pokes him on the arm, just hard enough to hurt.

“Never said you were,” he rubs at his arm absently, frowning at Scott. “Did you see any big fish while I was attempting to drown myself?”

“Big…fish?” Scott’s back has gone a little stiff, and he looks down at Martyn with confusion.

“Yeah, kinda blue-y. Didn't see it for long, but.” He shrugs, which is actually a lot more difficult to do lying down than he thought it would be.

“No, I didn't see anything like that.”

“Hm.” Is all Martyn says in response. He doesn't buy it for one moment, but Scott’s stiffer than a stick of bamboo, and he knows when to leave well enough alone. “Alright then.”

=== === ===

He wakes up to something that is very much so silence, but there was also definitely something that just woke him up- something that was not silence. But it’s dark, and the moon is just past a new moon, meaning he is blind and left scrambling around in the dark for a light source that might reveal what just made a noise and then abruptly stopped making noise.

He fumbles around for a few moments longer, attempting to find a light source- any kind will do, really, he just wants to be able to see rather than scramble around helplessly and hope that it’s not someone come to kill him. Oh god, he hopes it’s not someone come to kill him.

He manages to find a torch eventually, hands closing tightly around it, before he begins another search for something to light it with. It takes him several more long and painful moments to find something to light it with. Because it is dark, and he is blind.

When he does light it, he almost expects to find someone looming over him, before unseen in the darkness now brought into the light and silhouetted by the moon before they kill him where he sleeps. But the torch doesn't light up any ominous figure, and it doesn't reflect off of any weaponry either.

He relaxes a little, laughing to himself slightly as he slumps down into his bed. He’s careful to keep the torch away from his bedsheets, as he’d rather not accidentally set himself on fire. He’s had enough accidents in the past few days, and his hand is still sore and tender from his most recent stunt.

But he still hasn't found whatever it was that woke him up in the first place- and it wouldn't have been the bamboo or sugarcane shaking in the breeze either, because he’s gotten used to the quiet sounds they make when the breeze leaps over the water and towards them- hard not to get used to them when he’s constantly surrounded by the sound.

The sound of the waves against the edges of the island also hadn't bothered him beyond the first night, where he’d had to cover his ears with his pillow because he just couldn't sleep and the waves didn't stop. But he can tune them out easily now, and it becomes just another part of the background noise of their island.

He laughs a little to himself as he continues to look around, because he is being far, far, too paranoid for his own good, really. No one has even gone red yet! It’s way too early for someone to be red, and the next boogeyman hasn't even been picked yet. So, really, the only thing he’s got to worry about is Skizz. And he highly doubts Skizz is going to make a trip over to their base in the middle of the night to murder him in his sleep. Especially when Scott is right next to him and it would be two-versus-one-

Or, it would be, if Scott was currently in his bed. Which he’s not. The bedsheets are pushed down to the bottom of the bed, lying in a crumpled heap that is a far cry from the way Scott normally makes his bed (Martyn’s convinced Scott does it just to shame him into making his bed as well. Which won't work! It’s been tried before, and it’s not going to start working now, of all times).

But the bed has obviously been slept in, which Martyn also knows because they’d gone to bed at the same time after putting the campfire out. Martyn had chucked a bucket of water over it for good measure, aware of how easily the fire could spread to the grass and then they’d be toast - literally.

He does a cursory glance around the island, holding the torch up a little higher as he peers around. But it’s not a very big island, and the only potential hiding spots are behind his hourglass (which is see-through) and behind the chests (which is just dumb). And Scott is nowhere to be seen, even as Martyn looks around again, in case he missed something on his first sweep.

But the results remain the same, and Scott is nowhere to be seen. But, when he presses a hand to Scott’s bed, it’s still warm, meaning he can't have been gone for very long. Which also means that Scott moving about was probably what woke him up in the first place.

The circumstances are still odd, but Scott has had multiple chances to let him die over the past few days, so he’s feeling rather secure in their alliance right now.

Scott’s mysterious disappearance aside, he’s awake now, and rather unlikely to go back to sleep anytime soon. Especially as Scott is still gone, and he probably won't be able to relax until the other returns. Safety in numbers, and all that. If it’s just him on his own, he’s much more vulnerable to an attack, but if Scott’s here, then there’s two of them, and they can both make sure the other doesn't die in a stupid way.

And he might also be a little worried.

Sue him! His teammate disappears in the middle of the night without so much as a word, a note, or even a private message to let him know where he’s gone. Instead, he’s left on an island in the pitch dark with no knowledge about his teammate’s whereabouts.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shuffling towards where he’d kicked his sandals off earlier. The sound of his feet against the wooden boards is barely audible. He slips the sandals on easily, stepping down onto the grass a moment later, beginning to putter around their area.

Some of the sugar cane has grown tall enough to be harvested, and so he chops a few of the stems, bundling them together in one hand as he moves onto the next plant, repeating the process. Once he has enough sugarcane that he can't carry any more, he meanders over to their chests, dumping the sugarcane inside, organising it slightly so Scott doesn't complain about it in the morning.

He goes back over to the next section of sugarcane that has grown enough, cutting the stems again, repeating until he can't carry anymore. He returns to the chest with his second load. He doesn't return to cutting the sugarcane after that, mainly because there isn't any more sugarcane to cut, but also because Scott isn't back yet, and he’s beginning to get more than a little worried about his wellbeing.

He sits at the edge of their island, in a small gap he’s created in the bamboo and sugarcane, for easy access for boats from the rear of the island- perfect for a quick escape if they ever needed to make one.

He allows his legs to trail through the water, kicking them back and forth, watching as it laps at his knees, the waves breaking before they reach the very edge of the island. The water is as warm as it always is, just a little bit cooler than a hot bath, but it’s darker than it usually is as well.

During the day, the waters are a crystalline blue, allowing them to see to the very bottom. He’s spent more than a few hours sat watching the wildlife dart in and out of the coral, tracking the shimmering shoals of fish that make their slow way through the coral reef.

He can hardly see the coral now, only vague shapes clustered together, some of them stretching up higher than the others. He can't see anything swimming between the bits of coral, but that doesn't mean that there’s nothing down there- there is almost certainly something that he can't see.

Even the faint glow of the sea pickles is hardly enough to light up the seabed, only a small pool of light around each one that’s so dim he can hardly see it.

He continues to sit there, ignoring thoughts of something swimming up and grabbing his ankle to pull him into the depths- there’s not going to be anything large enough to do that to him, and a small clownfish isn't going to be big enough to eat him, even if it tries its very best.

The water is soothing, at least, and he allows himself to stare at the small ripples, forgetting about his worry for a brief moment.

At least, he manages to forget about it until he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. He freezes, hands twisting into the grass at his side, threatening to uproot it. He watches as the shape moves, glittering scales outlining the apparent size of the thing.

It’s…large. Very big. Easily half the length of their entire island, if not a bit over. And things that big are hardly ever herbivores. And it is with that thought that he rather hurriedly pulls his legs out of the water, standing up. He doesn't move away from the edge, though, watching as the shimmering scales- bioluminescent, his brain reminds him, continue to circle around the island, almost lazily, before disappearing from sight.

He swallows, brain flashing to all worst-case scenarios. All of which involve him still being stood at the edge of the island when that…whatever it was reappears.

He backpedals, maybe a little hastily, and it might be stupid to feel a little safer when he’s back in his bed, sandals kicked off at the bottom of it. But Martyn has long since accepted that he might be a little stupid.

That feeling of safety doesn't help him get much sleep, though. But he must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he wakes up Scott is back, and he’s handing him a mug of coffee almost immediately- and Scott is definitely a godsend at times like this, he can't even deny it.

He doesn't ask where Scott went the previous night, and Scott doesn't offer any explanations. He also puts the sea monster (he is perfectly justified in calling it that! He doesn't know what it is!) out of his mind as best as he can.

And his best is almost good enough for him to completely forget about it

=== === ===

VI.

In all honesty, he had expected Scott’s suspicious behaviour to have more of a dramatic conclusion to it- something that would be shocking and just! Something different from what actually happened, at least. Because the way it happened is possibly the most stupid way Martyn has found out someone’s big and terrible secret (and he’s discovered several big secrets, each of which had far more explosive endings than this one did).

He pushes the door open with his shoulder, both of his arms full of the logs Martyn had left to collect because they were running low, and he rather enjoys their evenings around the fire with nothing but the crackling flames between them, which cast a rather complimentary light onto Scott’s face and makes the eyeshadow he wears glow even brighter than normal.

He makes direct eye contact with Scott, and Scott stares back at him. Scott is dripping wet, arms braced on the edge of their grassy island and in the process of hauling himself up. Scott is staring at him, and Martyn continues to stare back at him. Scott is covered in scales, deep blue scales that are really quite familiar-

Scott disappears with a small splash. Martyn drops the logs, not really caring if they land on the island or roll merrily into the water, instead sprinting over to the other side of the island and dropping to the ground, peering down into the water, hoping to catch any glimpse of Scott.

There’s a flash of blue scales between two things of coral, and he spares about a second to think through his idea before he’s kicking his sandals in and dropping his jacket off. He hesitates for a millisecond after that, and then simply dives in, plunging beneath the surface.

The one thing he appreciates about this biome is that the water is never a cold shock. The worst part about diving into water is always the cold shock, but the water here is warm, meaning he doesn't have to regather his bearings before he starts swimming after Scott.

It takes him a few seconds to realise that there is absolutely no way he’s going to catch up with Scott when the man is some kind of aquatic hybrid adapted for swimming. And he’s struggling to catch up with the other man for god’s sake.

He swims between the pieces of coral he had seen Scott swim between, ignoring the burn that’s beginning in his lungs, glancing around and squinting for any flicker of scales that would betray Scott’s whereabouts.

Something grabs him from behind, and he thrashes around for a moment, bubbles spilling from his mouth, and he almost inhales again on instinct before realising that he’s underwater, and that he definitely can't breathe underwater.

He breaks the surface, gasping for air as the grip on his arm remains iron, keeping him afloat as he regains his breath. He hadn't even realised his vision had started greying out a little until it began to clear up.

“Man,” he laughs. “I have gotta stop drowning myself, huh?”

“You are so incredibly stupid!” Scott responds, voice growling as he yells at him. “What the hell were you even thinking?”

“Wasn't, really.” He would shrug, but he’d also rather not accidentally submerge himself again, so he settles for a grin.

“I just-” Scott cuts himself off, shaking his head. It’s then that Martyn really gets an opportunity to take Scott in, eyes drifting over his face, taking in every small detail. He can see now, closer, that the eyeshadow that decorates the edges of Scott’s eyes isn't actually eyeshadow and is instead small scales. Scales which now spread to cover his cheeks and nose like some kind of freckle. Like, deep blue freckles.

In contrast, the fins at the side of his head are an orange-pink, fluttering slightly in agitation as they fan open before snapping shut again. The membrane of them is thin enough that he can see the sunlight filtering through them, making them almost glow.

“Huh.” He says, which is apparently enough to get Scott’s attention.

“Are you even listening to me?” Scott asks, and, huh, he didn't know Scott could growl like that.

“Not really,” he says. “I'm more caught up in your whole.” He gestures, because he doesn't really have words for what he’s thinking or feeling right now.

Scott’s eyes narrow and he pulls the arm supporting Martyn back, meaning he has to work to keep his head afloat. He reaches out for Scott again, grabbing onto his shoulders- and, oh wow, he’s not wearing a shirt. Like, at all. Huh.

He stares at Scott’s chest, and the scales covering large parts of it. They glint in the sunlight, wet from the water, which only makes them shine even more. They're smooth beneath his hand, and he finds himself rubbing a thumb back and forth over Scott’s shoulder without even thinking about it.

“Martyn,” Scott’s voice is half-strangled as he speaks, and when Martyn looks back at his face, away from the tail he had just noticed, he finds that Scott’s fins are pressed flat against his head, face faintly pink.

“Ah, sorry.” He stops rubbing his thumb over the scales on Scott’s shoulder, even though the pink flush of his face is really quite pretty- and. He’s not going to think about that one too hard, actually.

“It’s fine they're just,” Scott clears his throat, “sensitive.” One of Scott’s hands comes to rest beneath his elbow, supporting him a little more. “Aren't you a little- y’know, unnerved?”

“By what?”

“The whole scales and fishtail thing?” Scott quirks an eyebrow. “Normally people run screaming the other way.”

“I was more worried you were gonna freak out, honestly.” Martyn confesses. You looked a bit stressed before you just ducked back under.”

“Well, I am fine.” Scott clears his throat again, glancing away. “As lovely as this conversation is, I’d rather not be caught looking like this.”

“Why not? You look quite nice, honestly.”

“I- what?” The pink flush staining Scott’s cheeks is only barely visible beneath the scales covering most of them, but the scale-less parts of his neck and shoulders have turned pink as well.

“Aw, c’mon, Scott,” he leans a little closer, which isn't actually all that hard with their current positions. “You've been flirting with me for several days now, don't think I didn't notice.”

“I am a fish, Martyn.” Scott deadpans. “I am a literal fish and you're still absolutely onboard with this.”

“Absolutely still onboard with this, besides.” He rubs his thumb over Scott’s shoulder again, summoning his confidence with the action as he leans a little closer, close enough for their noses to brush. “You look really quite lovely right now- I thought you were wearing some really nice eyeshadow this whole time, and instead it’s these wonderful scales.”

“Martyn, stop, you're being ridiculous.”

“Aw, Scott.” He frowns as Scott pushes him away.

“I am not kissing you while we’re both in the middle of the ocean.” Scott says. “Also you stink of sweat.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.” Scott pats him on the cheek. “You've been chopping trees all morning, and you're definitely flattering me right now; but I also have standards, and those standards include not kissing people that smell of sweat.”

“You're so rude to me, and after I was so nice to you.”

“I’ll be nice to you once you don't smell of sweat, dear.”

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