#and a smattering of other characters too

[kibasniper]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Psychonauts (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kitty Bubai/Elka Doom, Dogen Boole/Lili Zanotto, Dion Aquato/Gisu, Mikhail Bulgakov & Crystal Flowers Snagrash Characters: Kitty Bubai, Elka Doom, Dogen Boole, Lili Zanotto, Dion Aquato, Gisu (Psychonauts), Mikhail Bulgakov (Psychonauts), Crystal Flowers Snagrash, Background & Cameo Characters Additional Tags: Halloween, Ficlet Collection, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Future Fic, Aged-Up Character(s) Summary:

Inside, outside, and near a particular home, interconnected events transpire on a night invoking the spirit of the season. Immersed in the atmosphere of Halloween, dressed in their favorite costumes, their revelry ensues well throughout the night.

a short collection of trick or treats!

[sexynetra]

Anyone. Literally anyone you feel comfortable writing bestie, Scarlet? Kam? idk just 😭 I'll support your fic 100% bestie, all Dame content is good content

Forgot to answer this one but you are so in luck because I am physically incapable of not writing Dame right now it’s an addiction I think I already have… 4 wips and a published fic and it’s been, what, a week since I said I wanted to write her? Maybe two? I just love her your honor :)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[atlabeth]

geyser

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy learns about the first girl luke castellan ever loved.

a/n: this is a lil sad. sorry about that. but i really like it and it came out of nowhere in like 2 days so i hope you enjoy despite the sadness. title from the mitski song

wc: 6.5k

warning(s): major character death; not shown but hangs over the whole fic. angst made angstier by fluffy flashbacks. mostly told through percy’s pov but includes luke, annabeth, and reader povs

also if you saw this before on another account DONT WORRY... that account was also me. im just doing some stuff behind the scenes right now as i figure stuff out lol i promise no plagiarism is going on

Percy thought that his head might explode. 

He didn’t know how he was still walking, honestly. His mom died, he killed a— no, the— Minotaur, all the Greek myths were real and his dad was one of them, and now he had to deal with that freak accident with Clarisse and the toilets. 

At least he would be ready next time she tried to beat him up. Percy had been the new kid enough to know there would be a next time.

All he could do was stare at the Minotaur horn in his hands, the only sign that what happened outside the border was real. The horn in his hands and the hole in his heart. 

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d been thrown into the deep end, and the only thing on his mind was when he would start to drown. 

“Hey.” Percy looked up to see the counselor he’d met earlier with Annabeth—Luke. He tossed a ziploc bag at him and he caught it, taking a moment to look at what was in it. 

“I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he explained. “Thought it might make you feel more at home.” 

“…Thanks.” He didn’t know if Luke was joking, but the damage had already been done. And it was the nicest thing someone had done for him so far. He set it down next to his Minotaur shoebox. “Is this the best that it gets?” 

Luke’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “For now. We’re a little crowded, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“Just a little bit.” Percy stood up from his sleeping bag and worked out the knot in his shoulder. “Where’s your bed? Assuming you have one.” 

“I couldn’t wrangle all these cats without some back support,” he said, and he pointed to a bed in the corner. It was the only one on its own without a bunk, and he had a fair amount of decorations. Counselor privileges, he figured. Percy walked over, Luke trailing behind him. 

“Nice place,” he said. Percy picked up the Yankee’s cap on his bedside table and nodded as he looked back at him. “Nice taste.” 

“It’s for Annabeth,” Luke said. “She wanted us to match.” 

Percy nodded again in approval. “Good taste for both of you.”

Luke had various other things around — an alarm clock knocked over next to the baseball cap, a huskie sticker on the wall half-scraped off, a poster for an album he didn’t recognize. 

But the thing that caught his eye was a polaroid hanging on the wall, surrounded by a smattering of others varying in size. 

The first one had to be an old picture—Luke didn’t have his scar, and the biggest smile stretched across his face. He had a girl close with an arm slung around her waist, and she might’ve been smiling even more than Luke. A bright energy emanated around her, something that must have transferred through the picture, because Percy found himself feeling a little better just looking at her. He wondered if she was a camper. 

His eyes flicked to the next picture, which was another one of Luke and that girl. They were both laughing as she tried to put a blue hat on Luke’s head, and he protested with a hand on her wrist. They were in the forefront of a baseball game, Percy noticed.

There were other pictures, too—Luke, a girl dressed all punk, and what looked like a young version of Annabeth, most notably—but a majority of them were either Luke and that girl, or the girl all on her own. In every single one, she beamed brighter than the sun. 

Percy pointed at the picture of Luke and the girl at the baseball game, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s that?”

That seemed to catch Luke off-guard, his lips parting for a moment as if he wanted to say something. It barely took him any time to get back on track, but Percy found himself frowning. 

“That’s…” Luke cleared his throat, wet his lips, shook his head. “A friend. A very good friend.”

“Does she go here?” Percy asked. 

“She did.” 

He frowned. “Where is she, then?” 

“Percy—” Luke’s voice was strained, but he didn’t really notice as he went on. 

“I didn’t see her around,” he continued, “and you look pretty close.” 

Luke blinked a couple times, and Percy swore he could see the telltale glimmer of tears starting in his eyes. A muscle worked in his jaw, and suddenly Percy was worried that he’d said something horribly wrong. He had a talent for that, it seemed. 

Fortunately, he was saved by the bell—conch shell?—and something like relief flooded through Luke’s expression. Tension still coiled in his body. 

“Come on,” he said, that camp counselor smile coming back as he put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and guided him away from the enclave. “That means dinner’s about to start.”

Percy’s frown deepened as curiosity won out again. “Was she your—”

“You don’t wanna be late,” Luke continued, ignoring his attempt. “I assume you’re pretty hungry after two days spent out?”

Well, that only made him want to push harder. But Percy figured he wouldn’t get anything out of him—especially not now. 

“…Yeah,” Percy said. “Starving.”

An odd look flickered across his face, but again, it only lasted for a second before he was back to normal. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Eleven! Fall in!” 

Percy was at the back of the line by virtue of him being the new kid, and he found himself looking back at that picture of Luke and the girl. He didn’t know why, but something drew him to her. Before Percy could think about it more, the line was moving and his growling stomach drew his attention away. 

He would have plenty of time to ask Luke about it later. 

Or rather, ask him and piss off the only person who’d tried to be his friend so far. 

…Gods. 

Maybe he was going to drown sooner than he thought. 

-

“Luke—” 

“No!” 

“Luke, please!” 

“Annabeth will kill me if she knows—” 

“She won’t know!” 

“Alright, alright— stay still, you two!” 

Your mother laughed from behind the camera as you and Luke fought with each other, you trying your damnedest to get your Red Sox cap on his head as he tried his damnedest to stop you. The frantic laughter on both sides made it a little difficult for either of you to succeed in your quest, but eventually, you got the rock up the hill and the hat on his head. 

“Take the picture, Mom!” you exclaimed, pulling Luke even closer by his arms so he couldn’t get it off. “I need the proof!” 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Luke groaned, staring at the camera as you wrapped your arm around his side and leaned into him. He could already imagine your victorious smile, brighter than the sun beating down on them in the stadium, and just the thought of it made one of his own flit across his lips. 

“Oh, shut up, Castellan,” you said. “You chose to come to this game. Everyone’s gonna know you’re a Red Sox fan now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Luke defended, wrenching his arms free of your control to take the hat off his head. “I don’t even care about baseball!” 

“You care so much about it,” you said cloyingly, “and you’re ride or die for the Boston Red Sox.” 

“If you say a single word—” 

“Okay, kids!” Your mother pointed at the seats next to her. “The game’s about to start—you can keep arguing, but only if you sit down so I can see.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” You grinned at her as you pulled Luke over to your seats—they were a step up from nosebleeds, but they were the ones closest to the balcony so you could at least peer over the railing down to the diamond.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She glanced at Luke with a smile, and he could really see where you got it from. “We’ve gotta make him a fan somehow.” 

“I guess I can live with the brand.” Luke set the cap back on your head once you were seated, purposefully pulling the brim a little over your eyes, and he smiled at you. “Even though it looks better on you, anyways.” 

“You just don’t have what it takes to be a Red Sox fan in the heart of Yank territory,” you mused, pushing the hat back up so you could see. “It’s fine.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, but he could hardly bite back his smile. 

“I am glad you came, though,” you said, glancing back at him. “I’m glad you came with me in the first place. This is gonna be the best semester.”

“Thanks for having me,” Luke said. “It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve left camp.” 

“Fingers crossed for no monster attacks, eh?” You held up your hand. “At least, not during the game. I could live with it happening any other time.” 

“Don’t speak it into existence,” your mom said. “We’re going to have a monster-free school year.” 

To humor her, you made a claw over your heart and pushed out. She hummed in satisfaction, and you looked over at Luke. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because two kids like us aren’t gonna draw any attention.” 

“Oh, I know we will,” you said. “But I know it’ll be fine.” 

Luke frowned. “How can you be so sure?” 

You shrugged with a smile. “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, he was thankful for the freakish heat that honestly made no sense in the spring—at least it covered up any sign of what your words did to him. 

Luke thought you were joking when you asked him if he wanted to come back home with you for the school year. He didn’t know why you wanted to go back in the first place, being a Big Three kid that apparently had a death wish, but the thought of him leaving camp was almost inconceivable. 

Even after you assured him you weren’t joking, he still wasn’t sure. He was on the run with you for three years, then… 

Well, he couldn’t think about it for too long. But Luke had been on the outskirts of regular society for so long, doing nothing but fighting for his life, that he didn’t know if he could actually function at a normal school.

But it felt right for you two to get some normal time together after you were separated for so long. It took him a semester to decide, but one day during your usual Iris message conversations, he told you he’d love to spend the rest of the year in Boston with you. Luke still remembered the grin you wore, your disbelieving but victorious cheers, the apology you yelled back at your mother for your noise. 

Luke watched you as you talked with your mom, discussing Boston’s chances and player statistics and baseball jargon he didn’t think he’d ever understand, and he knew he would sit through a thousand Red Sox games if it meant he would get to keep seeing your smile.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you glanced over at him. “Are you okay?” 

Luke smiled. Gods, he was so glad you were here. 

“Never better.” 

-

“That one nearly got me,” Luke said. 

Percy huffed as he picked up his sword from the ground—he was pretty sure he would officially lose his mind if Luke disarmed him with that stupid move one more time. One benefit to the Hermes cabin being too scared to associate with him after getting claimed was that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself in front of other people. 

“Maybe I can only beat you when I pour water on myself,” he said. 

Luke chuckled as he took a bottle from the cooler on the side and held it up. “Wanna try?” 

He shook his head. “I think my arms will fall off if I keep going with you.” 

He tipped his shoulder. “Fair.” 

Percy stared at the ground as Luke gathered himself, trying to put the free range thoughts roaming around his head in order. It didn’t help that he’d gained a million questions after Poseidon claimed him, and it didn’t help that there’s been a newest addition to his dream last night. 

He still felt strange asking Luke about it, but he had to know more about her. Percy didn’t know why it felt like his mission to find out who this mysterious girl was, or why he felt that strange connection to her. Maybe it was the way Luke acted whenever he brought her up, maybe it was that she’d popped up in his dream next to him at the very end, maybe it was just plain old curiosity. 

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Percy said, breaking the silence. “I could die at any time in a bunch of different horrible ways. So will you tell me more about that girl on your wall?”  

Again, Luke seemed to be caught off guard by it. Percy heard the crunch of plastic as his hand clenched ever so slightly around the bottle, and he tried to cover it up with an arched eyebrow. “Why do you want to know so badly?” 

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? 

“I’m curious,” he decided. 

Luke huffed a dry laugh before he took a sip of water, and he stared off into the distance for a while. He did a lot of staring whenever this girl was brought up. They looked like they were best friends in those pictures, but maybe whatever they had ended badly. And if she was a demigod too…

Well, it would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about her. 

“You know that phrase about curiosity?” Luke asked. 

“And how it killed the cat?” 

He nodded, drinking some more. “It goes double for demigods.” 

“Everything else wants to kill me,” Percy said. “So curiosity’s gonna have to get in line.” 

Luke’s laugh was a little more genuine this time, and he shook his head. “I guess I can tell you a little about her. You actually probably have a right to know.” 

“Is she a half-blood?” Percy asked immediately. 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Who’s her parent?” 

Luke capped his water bottle and looked at Percy for a good, long moment. His face glowed in the warm afternoon sun, his scar cast in a softer light than usual. The scar used to unnerve him, but he’d gotten used to it after weeks staring at it during sword fighting. 

“She was a child of Poseidon, Percy,” he said. “Just like you.” 

Percy felt short of breath, like Luke had just knocked his sword out of his hand and shoved him to the ground. But he stood on his own two legs that somehow still worked, and Luke hadn’t moved. 

He had a sister? 

“I have a sister?” 

“…Had,” Luke corrected. “She… she died a few years back.” 

A vice latched onto Percy’s heart. He was still having a hard time breathing. No wonder Luke always used past tense when he was talking about her. 

He had a sister, he wasn’t alone, but he was because she was dead. And if Luke was one of her friends, that meant she died young. 

Gods. 

“What about their oath?” Percy asked, trying to ignore the aching in his chest. “I’m already on thin ice for my whole existing thing. How did Poseidon get away with two kids so close to each other?” 

Luke shrugged. “I’ve never known why gods do things. Her mother was a great woman, though—I could see what drew Poseidon to her against the oath.” 

One half of Percy wanted to ask every question that kept popping into his head. The other side of him wanted to break down and cry. 

“How did you meet her?” 

“We ran into each other when we were both young,” he said. “Both child runaways, both demigods, both New Englanders—we decided to rough it out on the road together. Couldn’t be any worse than doing it on our own.”

Percy tried to imagine it. A young Luke and a younger version of that girl—maybe Percy’s age—living together in the wilderness and fighting monsters. Surviving off of nothing but their wit and skill, facing death each day before they’d even reached middle school. 

“It… it didn’t happen then, did it?” he asked hesitantly. 

Luke shook his head. “Couple years later. All we did was watch each other’s backs out there.” 

Percy couldn’t help himself. “What happened to her?”  

“The same thing that happens to everyone,” Luke said flatly. “There’s a reason I’m the oldest one here.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Percy insisted. “It— it makes it worse, Luke. You see that, right?”  

Luke stared at his empty water bottle then tossed it back into the cooler. When his gaze met Percy’s, he was shocked by how… tired he looked. Beyond exhausted—bone-weary. Percy wanted to say more, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“This isn’t good conversation,” Luke said, “and it’s getting late. You should hit the showers before dinner.” 

The sun still beat down on them, bright and angry in the sky, but Percy provided no argument. He had a lot to think about. 

Before they went their separate ways, Percy stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Luke.” 

Luke’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, his eyes growing glossy. “So am I.” 

-

Percy sat on the floor of the Hermes cabin in the corner that used to be his, staring at his meager belongings. He had to decide what to take on his quest, which was made easier by the fact that he hardly had anything to his name. Things could always be worse, though. At least he would have a change of clothes. 

He should’ve been doing this in his own cabin, but it felt too empty, too suffocating in its silence. Eleven was still more familiar. He heard the door open and saw Luke walk in, and his eyes lit up when he saw Percy. 

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you left. How’re you feeling pre-quest?” 

“Like the world’s about to end,” he said. 

Luke’s lips twitched into a smile as he sat on the bed across from Percy. “Understandable. It kinda is.” 

“It’s just overwhelming.” Percy shoved the unfolded clothes into his backpack. “I have to clear mine and my dad’s names and get Zeus’s bolt back, or else war will start. No pressure at all.” 

“You were chosen for a reason,” Luke said. “You may not see it, Percy, but you’ve improved a lot since you got here. If anyone can do this, I think it’s you.” 

Percy looked up at him, and he was reminded of the way their last conversation went. He was asking before he could really stop himself. 

“I could die on this quest and never see you again,” Percy said. “So could you tell me more about my sister before I go?”  

Luke smiled wistfully and sighed. “You really won’t let this go, will you?” 

“It’s not really something you just let go,” he said. “Besides, I… I saw her in my dream last night.” 

Luke’s smile faded. “You did?”  

Percy nodded. “For a split second, but I know it was her. I felt the same way I did whenever I looked at her pictures. And… it’s the second time she’s shown up.” 

He let out a long sigh and shook his head, his gaze trailing off to the wall. He always looked so much older when he talked about this girl, like he was a war veteran reminiscing on his lost love. And from what he’d gathered, it might not have been too far off. 

“I told you we ran together when we were young,” he said, and Percy nodded. “We were both nine, and it should’ve been terrible, but she had a way of making everything better. Always found the bright side of things, was always able to make me laugh.” 

“She was from Massachusetts—right in the middle of Boston.” Luke chuckled as he looked at Percy. “Huge Red Sox fan.” 

Percy grimaced. “We all make mistakes.” 

Luke smiled, though it faded a bit. “We got separated for a while, but we found each other again when I got to camp. Things were more peaceful than they are now, so she’d been claimed at camp pretty quickly. I figure Poseidon wanted her to have the protection of him openly standing behind her after what happened.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” 

Luke shook his head. “That would be an awful story to send you off on.” 

Percy wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Luke was probably right—Percy didn’t want to make him relive it and then have to go on a death quest right after.

“A happier part, then,” he suggested.

“She ran away from home as a kid to protect her mom, but now that she had an idea of what she was doing, she started going back to school. She invited me to stay with her during the school year one year, and I accepted. That—” Luke’s throat bobbed, and the other hand clenched into a fist— “that was when she died.” 

In his stunned silence, Luke got up and went over to his alcove. He pulled the drawer open on his bedside table and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It must’ve been folded and crumpled a million other times in messier ways by all the creases he could see, but when Luke opened it, he could see handwriting all over the front. 

A letter. 

“We Iris messaged each other constantly while she was at school,” he said, “and we wrote back and forth when we couldn’t. This was the last letter she sent me.” 

Percy’s first instinct was to say he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he realized that he didn’t really care. These were words that his sister wrote—he would sit here the rest of the day forcing sentences to make sense if that was what it took. 

So he took the letter when Luke offered it. 

To the one and only Luke Castellan, 

My mom said yes! After a very long interrogation (she now knows basically everything about you) and a million promises that you would be as careful as possible and that you were good enough at sword fighting to take down anything that could come after us, she said you can spend the year here. We spent a couple hours every day making my mom’s study into a guest room, so you have a place to stay.

I’m an idiot that didn’t bring enough drachmas so that’s why I have to send this letter—hopefully it gets to you soon enough, because we’re gonna come get you a week before my winter break is over. Mom is letting me drive down because she says I have to get my permit soon. It makes sense that my first big test is getting to you. If we don’t make it, it’s because we died in a fiery crash. 

Just kidding. I’m a great driver. But tell me some of your favorite songs when you reply and I’ll burn a CD for the ride—I figured out how to use LimeWire. Oh, and throw in a couple drachmas with the envelope so I can Iris message you next time. I miss your face and your voice, and my hand is cramping up writing all of this. 

But this is so exciting! I can’t wait to introduce you to all my friends at school, and show you my favorite places in the city, and make you into a Red Sox fan. And you can come to my soccer games— I’m the greatest forward there is. 

Jokes aside, I’m going to make sure you have the best time. We’ll spend every second together, Luke. We’re gonna make up for the time we lost. 

I can’t wait to see you again.

Your hurricane.  

It took Percy a long time to get through it with the words swimming all over, and it didn’t help that his vision had grown blurry. 

Tears, he realized as he blinked, and he did it again to make sure they wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Luke, not over a girl he didn’t even know—even if she was his sister. But maybe he was grieving that—the fact that he would never get to know her. 

“God, man. I— I’m sorry.” Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She sounds like she was great.” 

Luke couldn’t even manage a smile this time as he stared at the wall. Percy was surprised he could even talk to him about it. 

“She was,” he murmured. “You would’ve liked her. And gods,” this time, a bit of a smile broke through despite it all, “she would have loved a little brother.” 

“I’m gonna make her proud on this quest,” Percy vowed. “I’m gonna clear our dad’s name for her.”

Something in Luke’s gaze had changed—sadness, almost regret. “You’re a good kid, Percy. I hope your quest doesn’t change that.” 

I hope I come back alive, he wanted to say. But given the topic matter, he didn’t. Percy carefully folded the letter back up and handed it to Luke. 

“Thank you for telling me about her, man,” Percy said. “I… I know it can’t be easy.”

Luke let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the closed letter—Percy wondered how many times he must have sat in this same position, reading her words. “No better way to honor her memory than helping her brother.” He glanced at Percy. “I see a lot of her in you.” 

He’d been wondering if he had anything in common with her. Percy felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him—it wasn’t fair that she was dead. Poseidon was a god, and she was a teenager. He should have saved her. 

Percy’s mouth was drier than a desert. A part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and sob over the sister he never got the chance to know, but the other part of him knew—from what little Luke had told him about her—that she wouldn’t want him to. 

“I should get going,” Percy said, standing up from the floor. “We have to leave for the quest soon, and Annabeth and Grover are probably wondering where I am, and…” 

Percy trailed off, and Luke nodded in understanding. He turned around and took one of the photos off the wall—one of you alone in the middle of a park, wearing a bucket hat and absolutely beaming. 

“You deserve to have a part of her with you,” he said. “For good luck.” 

He felt himself choking up, and he pushed it down as he accepted the photo. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

“Good luck, Percy,” Luke said. “You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”

Percy found himself studying the picture of you once he made it outside, trying to memorize your face. With your wide, infectious smile that emanated pure sunlight, he could have mistaken you for an Apollo kid. But when he looked at you, he got that same warmth that he felt every time he imagined his father. 

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.” 

-

After sleeping in his train seat for half the day, Percy vowed to never complain about his bed in Cabin Three again. He was gonna be going down to the Underworld with permanent cricks in his neck. 

Grover was still sound asleep—Percy envied him for how easily it came to him in the worst conditions—but thankfully, Annabeth wasn’t. Her gaze was focused on the view as their train chugged along. 

Percy cleared his throat in a flawless attempt at getting her attention, and it worked. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Unfortunately.” Percy sighed. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?” 

“Another day, at least,” she said. “And we’ve got a layover in St. Louis.” 

“St. Louis,” he hummed. “Nice.” 

They sat in silence for a while—there wasn’t much to talk about when they were coming off of two— or was it three, now?—near-death experiences. But eventually, Annabeth cleared her throat, taking a page from his book, and it worked again. 

“There— there’s probably something you should know,” Annabeth said, and that worked even better than clearing her throat. “You’re not the only Big Three kid to come through Camp Half-blood lately.” 

“I know,” he said. “Grover and Luke explained it.” 

Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned forward in her seat. “Luke did?” 

“…Yeah. You all already told me about Thalia.” Percy glanced away, suddenly feeling a chill in the train car. “Luke told me about my sister.” 

Annabeth went silent. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of annoyed Luke until he told me. Doesn’t really seem like a subject people at camp like to talk about.” 

“I’m just surprised he did,” she murmured. “They were… they were close, Percy. Her death destroyed him—Thalia and your sister. All of it’s complicated.”  

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I got some of that.” 

“I only knew her for a year at camp, but everyone loved her,” she said. “She was nice. Popular. Always helped when she could, always had the biggest, most infectious smile on her face.” Annabeth looked down at her hands. “She didn’t deserve the fate she got.” 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever grieved so much for someone he never knew. “But her and Luke—were they…?” 

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, “they were a thing, later on.” 

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the matter. Percy decided not to push. 

“How did you meet her?” he asked. 

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I met her on the day I thought I would die.”

-

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase couldn’t think. 

It had all happened so fast. One second she was running with Luke and Thalia and Grover, praying to her mother and any other gods that would listen to make the horde of monsters let up even a centimeter.

The next, she’d collapsed on the ground, never so grateful to have grass and dirt and dust in her face. But she could hear Luke yelling, barely able to make it out in her delirious state—she didn’t know when she’d last had a sip of water, and they’d been running for at least three miles—but he sounded hysterical. 

She remembered her last clear thought: they weren’t going to make it. 

But they had. They had, so why was Luke losing his mind? 

Annabeth pulled herself up from the ground—how long had she been bleeding out of those slashes on her arm?—and looked for the rest of her friends. Luke wasn’t yelling anymore, instead arguing with someone she didn’t recognize in a bright orange shirt. Grover’s furry legs trembled as he stared down the hill they’d just gotten up, completely silent, and Thalia— 

Where was Thalia? 

Annabeth tried to get up but her legs gave out almost immediately, and steady arms caught her before she could fall to the ground again. Kind eyes served to ease some of her panic—she was older than Annabeth, maybe around Luke or Thalia��s age. 

Thalia— 

“Hey, you’re okay,” the voice said, and Annabeth’s attention was drawn back to you. “I’ve got you.” 

“Where’s Thalia?” she blurted out, because now she couldn’t think of anything else. 

Your brows creased and you glanced back down the hill—Annabeth did too, and she saw Grover and Luke arguing with each other. Or rather, Luke was yelling at him as Grover anxiously hooked his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” you said, “but right now, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt?” 

Annabeth absentmindedly held up her arm, but she was only focused on her friends. Why wasn’t Thalia with them? Why was Luke so upset?

You cursed under your breath in Ancient Greek as you cradled her arm, and you looked back down the hill. Annabeth could see at least half a dozen other kids. 

“We’ve got two half-bloods and a satyr, one injured!” you yelled back. “Get Molly and Brayden!” 

“Three,” Annabeth found herself saying. “There’s three half-bloods—” 

“Annabeth!” 

Her head shot up at the sound of Luke calling her name as he bounded over, and her eyes widened at the blood steadily spidering across the fabric of his shirt. 

“Luke, you’re hurt—” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s fine.” 

“We have Apollo kids coming,” you said, looking up at him, still cradling Annabeth’s arm. “We’ll get y—” 

Your sentence stuck in your throat, and Annabeth could see tears welling in your eyes as your brows furrowed. She thought Luke’s eyes might burst out of his skull as he stared at you, his lips parted but nothing coming out. Neither of you were able to form words. 

When he finally did get something out, it was a single name. One Annabeth knew by heart, one that he’d mourned for years. 

“Luke?” you whispered. 

Before he had the chance to do anything, two teenagers got over the hill and called out your name, the same one Luke used. He always said you were dead, but you clearly weren’t dead, because you were here and you had her arm in your grasp and while your hands were cold, they weren’t cold enough to be dead— 

“Molly’s gonna take care of you,” you said, looking back at Annabeth and cutting off her inner dialogue. “She’ll get you to the infirmary and heal you up, okay?” 

“My friends—” 

“They’re gonna be okay too,” you said. “I promise.” 

Annabeth looked up at Luke, and he nodded. “We’ll be with you soon, Annabeth. We— we have to talk about some things.” 

So she went with Molly down the hill, and Annabeth put pressure on her bleeding wound when she told her to—it had started to sting like hell now that her adrenaline was fading. 

She looked back just in time to see you and Luke share the tightest hug ever. 

The hug of two people who realized they weren’t seeing ghosts, Annabeth thought. 

-

You bolted up in bed, eyes wide and your chest heaving as you rapidly sucked in air. Your fingers found purchase in your bedsheets, desperate for something familiar—it took a second for you to recognize your surroundings, that you weren’t in an endless void, but your childhood bedroom offered little comfort.  

You ran a hand over your forehead, damp with sweat, as you tried to calm down. Your breathing slowed, but you couldn’t shake that awful feeling that hung over you in your sleep. 

Your nightmares were getting worse, you knew that much. That raspy, demented voice used to be a rarity, and now it appeared every night. You could usually deal with your nightmares, but the sense of absolute dread that voice and the pit fostered in you was too much. You hadn’t managed to sleep through the night once since you came home for the school year.

You could deal with the monsters—to you, this was the worst part of your godly blood.

A knock rattled on the door out of nowhere, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The only thing that calmed you down was the thought that monsters didn’t knock. 

“Come in,” you croaked, your throat drier than a desert. 

Thankfully, a monster hadn’t come to make your night even more miserable. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyebrows creased in concern, messy curls hanging just above his eyes. He wore the Red Sox t-shirt you’d bought for him at the game you dragged him to, and in your addled state, you didn’t even think to tease him about it. 

“Are you okay?” He should’ve been as disoriented as you, but his alerted eyes told a different story. 

You could only think of one thing. “How did you know?” 

Luke’s lips parted for a moment, as if he hadn’t even considered it. “I could just feel it.”

You managed a smile despite every atom in your body screaming at you. “I think that means you can come in.” 

He closed the door behind him, and you shifted over in your bed to make room for him. There wasn’t much in a twin, but you made it work. Luke’s weight pressed into the mattress, making you adjust your position, and it was more comforting than any amount of blankets. 

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, laying the back of his hand against your arm. “How do you live like that?” 

“Blame my dad,” you said. “I’ve got water in my blood.” 

“I think that’s probably a bad thing,” Luke said, and you knocked your shoulder into his with a huff. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Luke let his hand fall back in his lap, and as you brought your knees up to your chest, you pulled the covers with them. 

“So,” Luke said, glancing at you, “what’s got you awake at the witching hour?” 

“The usual,” you mumbled. 

“Nightmares that might be prophetic?” he asked. 

You made a lazy gesture with your hand. “Bingo.” 

“The worst sense of dread imaginable?” 

“Bullseye.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“You don’t always have to put on a front, y’know,” Luke said. You felt his eyes on you. “You don’t always have to be strong.” 

“I’m naturally strong,” you said with mock austerity. “Comes with the god for a dad.” 

Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured. 

You leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck. Luke wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh. 

That voice in your nightmares seemed so small when you had Luke. 

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” 

“Just like old times,” you whispered. 

“Just like old times,” he agreed. 

Luke ran hot, and you’d never been more thankful for it as you fully settled into his side. Icy blood ran through your veins, and you let out a shaky sigh. You could hear his steady breathing, feel his heartbeat through his chest, and the anxiety from earlier began to steadily fade. You never felt safer than when you were with Luke. 

There was something between you—you weren’t that stupid—but you hadn’t talked about it. With you and Luke, it was just… you and Luke. You didn’t have to put a label to it. 

How could you put a label to your relationship, when you’d spent your first few years together fighting for each day, and then the next few thinking the other was dead? 

Maybe someday, you would talk about it. But for now, this was more than enough. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured in your ear as your eyes began to droop. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

And by the gods, you believed him. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

Marks

Hi all! I wrote this for @jeguluskinktoberr but it's not explicit so I decided to post it here as well! Slightly NSFW! TW for an unnamed character giving a nonconsensual lovebite, but it's very quick.

“Absolutely not,” Regulus admonished, pushing eager lips away from his neck, rolling his eyes frustratedly.

The boy who had been happily kissing him a second ago pulled back, sending him a glare. “What? Why?”

“No marks,” Regulus stated, frowning. “Absolutely not.”

The mood was lost after that.

-

It was a rule of his. He’d never, not once allowed a boy to leave a mark on his body. Perhaps it was some sort of unresolved trauma, founded from years of not having control over his own life. Maybe it was just stubbornness and not wanting to be ‘owned’ by anyone. Either way, he hated the idea of bearing a physical sign that he’d allowed another person that type of vulnerability and power.

Barty and Evan teased him. As they marked each other up for the sheer pleasure of seeing who could make a hickey stay on the other longer, unabashedly biting each other’s necks in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room, Regulus kept his skin pristine. 

-

Once, he slipped. Got a bit swept up in a drunken exchange and woke up the next day with a small bruise on his neck. 

The feeling was awful. His skin crawled and goosebumps formed on the back of his neck as he looked in the mirror. He felt sick. He was marked. What would people think when people saw? That he’d let someone else in so far as to be able to do something so vulnerable? That he wanted someone to do that?

He’d almost cried.

But instead, he just found Sirius, asked for some makeup to hide the mark and held his head high, vowing to never let someone touch him like that again.

-

James Potter was not someone, though.

As they grew closer, Regulus found that somehow, the Gryffindor was able to knock down walls he didn’t even know he had. Part of him hated it. How was it that this annoying, obnoxious, overly-extroverted boy was able to make him feel so ridiculously safe? How was it that he was able to make him feel loved and valuable and free? It was insane, and there had to be a catch.

But part of him melted with it. Wanted to soak up every bit of James and never leave his side.

Never before had he wanted to belong to someone. Wanted to be vulnerable with someone.

So as James kissed gently up his neck, making him moan and arch into the touch, he couldn’t help but whisper, “More,” his voice gruff and needy.

And when he awoke to a smattering of marks in the hinge of his jaw the next day, he didn’t hide them. He smiled to himself as he walked through the halls, chuckling at the whispers that followed him around. 

Let them stare. He was too busy looking at James, anyway.

[pure-smut]

say red.

featuring: Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

contains: academic rivals to lovers, dom!Iwaizumi, rough s*x, degradation, dirty talk, creampie

note: all characters are over 18!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 2k

series: 1. say red | 2. say red | 3. say red

masterlist

You’d never paid attention to Iwaizumi Hajime. Just another face in the lecture hall, another voice answering questions, another serious guy with a serious face taking things so seriously.

It’s only when you’re paired together to work on a semester-long project that you pay attention to him for the first time. And wow – he’s fucking annoying.

“We need to meet up more than once every two weeks,” Iwaizumi tells you, frowning at your suggestion. “We won’t get enough done before the deadline.”

“It’ll be fiiiine,” you sigh. “The project barely contributes to our grade. All we need to do is pass.”

Iwaizumi narrows his olive eyes at you, entirely displeased.

“How are you,” he bites out. “… top of the class?”

You give him a sweet smile, throwing up a peace sign.

“Because I’m great, obviously.”

You had somewhat noticed that Iwaizumi’s name was always second below yours whenever test scores were published. It’s clear that’s a sticking point for him because he clenches his teeth so hard, you can see a muscle bouncing in his jaw.

“We’re meeting up twice a week,” Iwaizumi says, standing. When you open your mouth to protest, he gives you a hard look. “That’s final.”

You roll your eyes and shrug.

“Fine, fine.” A grin crawls across your face. “Iwa.”

He shoots you a disgusted look.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, Iwa? It’s cute.”

Iwaizumi pokes his tongue into his cheek and rolls his eyes skyward.

“Whatever.”

With that, he gathers his bag and stomps out of the lecture hall. Your gaze follows the back of him as he disappears, the smile only slipping off your face when he leaves.

“So annoying,” you mutter to yourself, packing up your own things.

But it’s only until the end the semester. You can grin and bear it that long. Plus, it’s like you said before – the project barely impacts your grades. Iwaizumi might want to force you into way too many boring meetings but you have absolutely no intention of cooperating.

*

Iwaizumi messages you his address and a time to come round to work on the project.

Gotta buy a girl dinner first before you invite her to your bedroom, you message him back. He ignores you.

Like most other students, he lives on campus with a few other roommates. You half-expect to see them when you arrive at Iwaizumi’s but he tells you he’s chosen a day when everyone else is out.

“I need some peace and quiet if I’m dealing with you,” Iwaizumi says.

“Flattered,” you reply.

His room is neat and tidy, a smattering of volleyball trophies on the shelves. You vaguely remember that he’s on the college volleyball team but you didn’t know he’s good enough to have trophies. You smooth your features into something neutral so he doesn’t know you’re impressed.

You both sit at his desk, where Iwaizumi’s already set up notepads, pens and sticky notes.

“You’re prepared,” you remark, eliciting a heavy sigh from Iwaizumi.

“I’m sure it seems that way to someone who doesn’t even bring a pencil to class.”

You swing side to side on his wheely chair as Iwaizumi launches into his plan for the project, talking you through the list of bullet points. You make noncommittal noises, your eyes drifting off.

He has kind of a nice face, you think, your gaze dropping from his short dark hair to his sharp jaw. Iwaizumi’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves tight around his biceps. Damn, he’s pretty built, too.

Iwaizumi continues talking as your mind wanders. You wonder if he’s a good kisser. Hmm, probably too serious for that. Only chaste tongueless kisses and missionary in the dark.

You grin at your own thoughts and Iwaizumi stops talking mid-sentence.

“What are you laughing at?” His brow furrows. “You’re not even fucking listening.”

“Uh, no, not really,” you admit, throwing your hands up in defeat.

“Jesus christ…” Iwaizumi puts his elbows on the desk, digging his palms into his eyes.

He wants to launch himself out of the window. How is it possible that you of all people beat him in class? He freezes when he feels your finger trail over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi looks up.

“You’re so tense,” you say. You’re not lying – Iwaizumi’s muscles are like boulders. You give his bicep a poke and realise there’s almost no give. “Maybe that’s why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“You’re just taking this too lightly,” he says, frowning.

You’re looking at him weirdly, your eyes locked onto his, and the way you’re touching his arm is making his cheeks feel warm. What the fuck is going on?

Iwaizumi’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard and you smile, knowing you’ve got him. You stand up to move over and put yourself in Iwaizumi’s lap instead. His thighs are as hard as the rest of him and it feels like sitting in an actual chair. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re kind of cute, y’know,” you say, cocking your head.

“Kind of,” he echoes, giving you a flat look. “Thanks.”

Iwaizumi’s hand rests on your thigh despite his unimpressed tone. You give him a sweet smile and trail a finger along his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there.

“Maybe you need some stress relief, hm?” you suggest, dragging your finger down to his hard chest.

“And you’re offering?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart?” You cock an eyebrow. “Obviously, yes.”

Iwaizumi regards you, eyes sharp, and your breath hitches. Your smile nearly falters but you save it in time. It feels like he’s looking through you, into you. It’s a struggle to hold his gaze but you’ve never been one to back down. So you look right back at him.

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften and you see him smile for the first time. No, he smirks.

“Say red,” he tells you. “And I’ll stop.”

“O-okay.” You’re annoyed at yourself for stammering but something’s changed with Iwaizumi and it’s thrown you off.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“If I say red, you’ll stop,” you tell him and he gives a short nod, satisfied.

“Good.”

Iwaizumi stands abruptly, picking you up with him and throwing you on the bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, bouncing softly against the mattress.

“What-?”

You don’t have time to ask what the fuck is happening before Iwaizumi’s on you. He presses his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly. He pushes his body between your legs, forcing them apart to accommodate his thick frame.

One of Iwaizumi’s hands grabs your hip as the other snakes around your throat, holding you with enough force for you to feel it but not so hard you’re gasping. His soft lips are in contrast to the sharp stubble scratching your skin, his tongue sliding over yours.

Okay, I might have been wrong, you think. There’s nothing chaste about this.

Iwaizumi grinds his bulge against your clothed pussy, now exposed to him as he tugs up your dress. The friction through two layers of fabric is teasing, making your hips buck, desperate for more. You moan into his mouth and he squeezes your throat.

“Needy little slut,” he says roughly.

Iwaizumi’s degrading words only serve to turn you on even more. His voice has completely changed, now deep and throaty and utterly commanding. Iwaizumi keeps one hand around your neck as his other reaches down to unbutton his jeans.

“Is this what you want so badly?” he says as he pulls his cock free.

You gasp as it slaps against your mound, sending a spark of pleasure through you. You try to nod but Iwaizumi has your throat in too tight a grip.

“Use your fucking words,” he spits. “Tell me.”

“Y-yes, I want it. Please, I want it.”

Iwaizumi reaches down and you hear a violent rip. You’re not able to look down, your head fixed in place, but there’s a cool breeze across your exposed pussy. Your mouth drops open as you realise he’s ripped your panties clean off.

Iwaizumi smirks at your reaction.

“You act like a slut, you get treated like one.”

The Iwaizumi you knew before, so serious and studious, is long gone. You look up at him, his eyes feral, and realise you’ve severely underestimated who you’re up against. He lines up the fat head of his cock with your dripping hole.

“Look how fucking wet you are already.” Iwaizumi pushes himself inside you and you give a choked moan at the feel of him stretching you. “You don’t even need me to get you started, do you? You’ll spread your legs for fucking anyone.”

Iwaizumi’s flurry of degradation is making your pussy drool for him, only spurring you both on. But a nugget of defiance forms in your chest, even as tears stick to your lashes.

“This what your needy little pussy wants?” he demands, pushing in deeper to bottom out.

His cock feels so fucking good, dragging against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you to make your whole body feel like it’s on fire, but your determination not to let him take over fully kicks in.

“Y-yes, Iwa,” you breathe out.

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenches.

“I told you not to fucking call me that,” he grits out.

As if to punctuate, he starts to pound at you hard. Every slam pushes you closer to the edge, sending a jolt through your body to the tips of your toes. His large hand around your neck is delicious, pinning you beneath him as he fucks you raw. You sink your nails into his forearm, lustful whimpers falling from your lips.

“S-sorry…” you gasp. “… Iwa.”

Iwaizumi growls, moving faster and setting a brutal pace.

“Fucking brat.”

You don’t have the strength to talk back anymore. Iwaizumi’s cock is pulling you to the edge, making your eyes roll back in your skull as he rips an orgasm from you. Your pussy clenches down like a vice grip around his cock and a moan escapes Iwaizumi’s throat.

“Fuck… fuck…” he groans.

Iwaizumi fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, wanting to watch you bounce under him. Your walls are so slick, so hot, so fucking tight. You’re tearing down all his restraint, moaning so sweetly even as his fist is wrapped around your throat. He knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m… gonna cum…” Iwaizumi says, voice hoarse.

“Inside me,” you plead. “Cum inside me, Iwa.”

Your words tip him over the edge.

His grip tightens on your neck, almost making you dizzy, as he thrusts once, burying himself fully. The moan he makes as he comes undone inside you is intoxicating, satisfying in a way you can’t explain. Iwaizumi’s chest heaves as he half-collapses on top of you, his arms shaking as he holds himself up.

Neither of you say anything, breathless and sweat-slicked.

“Well.” You break the silence with a grin. “I dunno about you but I definitely feel better.”

Iwaizumi’s serious face returns as he rolls his eyes, pulling away from you. He tugs a few tissues free from a box on his nightstand, handing them to you first before himself.

“What a gentleman,” you coo, cleaning yourself up.

“It’s polite. I’m not a savage.”

“The way you fuck says different.”

Even though you’ve still got his cum spilling out of you, Iwaizumi’s ears go pink at your comment. He ignores you and buttons his jeans back up. Cute, you think with a smile.

You point at your destroyed underwear.

“And you ruined my panties. That was rude.”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks tint as he blushes harder.

“Yeah, sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Finished cleaning yourself up, you hop off his bed and straighten your dress. “I’ll just make sure I’m not wearing any next time.”

Iwaizumi stills.

“Next time?”

“Duh.” You put a hand on your hip. “That was great, right? And my head feels totally clear. I think I’m actually ready to listen to your project plan or whatever.”

You take a seat at his desk, hands clasped demurely on your lap and smiling sweetly.

“Twice a week you said?”

[inkykeiji]

character: valentino warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, possessiveness, toxic relationship, daddy kink, gun play, slight oral fixation, fem!reader who has unspecified piercings notes: for @sovya, who is val’s precious lil princesa ♡ and who always listens to my insane ramblings about ideas i had at exactly 6:20am hehe c: words: 687

Valentino has an interesting little quirk, you’ve come to learn; he always has to have something of his inside of you. It’s a simple fact, really. No matter what it is or where you are, a piece of him must always be within you in some way, shape, or form. 

He, of course, prefers for it to be a part of his body—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—but unfortunately that isn’t always feasible. 

And, of course, there are other objects that work well, too. 

Sometimes it’s his gun, barrel rammed down your throat as far as it possibly can be, teeth scraping against the N of his bedazzled name as you desperately attempt to swallow more, knees sinking into the plush shag of the carpet beneath his work desk, your chin resting on his thigh as you sit at his feet. Your lips pucker tightly around the barrel as they suck, thick dribbles of saliva oozing from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your jaw in shimmering cords, while a dutiful tongue curls around the heated metal in a protective, almost loving embrace, eager to siphon it further into your body. 

Sometimes it’s one of his shiny gold rings, pressed flat under your tongue as you suck it into your flesh during your daily outings, the metal clacking daintily against your teeth while you mindlessly toy with it, the tip of your tongue hooking through the band then circling the halo in a lazy, messy outline, encrusted salt melting against your tastebuds, staining your tongue with the zest of his sweat. 

Sometimes it’s his favourite bullet vibrator, soft pink silicon engraved with his full name and a smattering of cute little hearts buried deep in your cunt as you go about your day, never knowing when Val might turn it on, turn it up, but always knowing that he’s watching through the discreet cameras he had Vox plant all over your shared condo, always ready for that telltale video call that you better fucking answer right before you cum—and knowing that if you don’t, you’ll be suffering endless edging until Daddy gets home (and sometimes after that, too). 

He gets off on it just as much as you do, chuckling darkly when your knees knock together and your thighs tense, a sharp gasp spilling from your throat and nails chipping as your fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen counter, tauntingly asking if something is wrong, amorcito? as his face swims into view, sadism stretched sharply across his face, eyes glowing with the knowledge that he holds all of your pleasure, all of that power, in the silky palm of his hand, controlling it with the single flick of a notch. 

Sometimes it’s his custom-made heart-shaped studs and barbells, embellished with ostentatious V’s and filling all of your piercings, glinting in the late afternoon sun or heating under your clothes as he drags you from store to store, an arm tightly linked through your own—showing you off, his most cherished accessory, his prettiest prized possession, his best accomplishment.  

If he has to pick a favourite, though, it’s his fingers, one of his four hands wedged between your soft thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt full and idly stroking the silky walls as he works—writing scripts or reviewing footage—and you play—mashing buttons on your pretty pink handheld or colouring a picture for him, book folded at the spine and balancing against your bent knees, little tongue playing with the point of your fang as you concentrate. 

And yet, despite the sensuality of it all, it isn’t even sexual half of the time, going far beyond the shallow pleasures of carnality. Because that secret, shared knowledge that there is a piece of him constantly inside of you—a private claim of ownership in the most intimate sense—provides a deep-seated comfort; a warm, dense calm that roots itself at the very core of your souls, that soothes anxieties and serves as a steadfast reminder: that you are owned, that he owns you, that you belong to one another, always. 

[kckt88]

Two Sides Of The Same Coin.

Summary:

Aemond can't stand Y.N and he knows the feeling is mutual, with the pair of them regularly trading insults and snide remarks until one day their disdain for one another reaches boiling point.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Teasing, Name Calling, Miscommunication, Kissing, Smut - Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Positions, P in V.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

Word Count: 3760

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond lounged on the worn leather sofa in the shared living room of his apartment, a slight scowl etched on his sharp features.

The dim light from the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the space. He ran a hand through his short silver hair, his gaze flicking towards the door as he heard the familiar, grating sound of Y.N’s laughter.

She was here again. Of course, she was.

His older sister Helaena had invited Y.N over for what seemed like the hundredth time this month.

They had been friends for years, but to Aemond, Y.N was nothing more than a constant thorn in his side. She was always there, always smiling, always ready with a quip or a snide remark. And for some reason, she seemed to delight in riling him up.

As Y.N stepped into the room, her eyes immediately locked onto Aemond’s. She had that infuriatingly confident smirk on her face, the one that made him want to throw something. Anything.

“Look who’s lounging around as per usual,” she teased, tossing her bag onto the coffee table. “Did you do anything productive today, Aemond? Or were you too busy looking in the mirror?”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter, his fingers drumming on the arm of the sofa. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet before you barged in,” he retorted. “Not that you’d understand the concept of peace.”

Helaena, ever the peacekeeper, entered the room with a smile, oblivious to the brewing storm. “Hey, guys! Glad to see you’re getting along as usual.”

Y.N rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, you know us, Helaena. We’re just the best of friends.”

Aemond snorted. “If by friends, you mean sworn enemies, then sure.”

Helaena sighed, shaking her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Try not to kill each other while I make some tea, okay?”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Y.N plopped down on the sofa next to Aemond, deliberately sitting closer than necessary. “You know, Aemond,” she said, her tone mockingly sweet, “Maybe if you smiled more, you might actually look approachable.”

“And if you talked less, you might actually be tolerable,” he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Helaena sighed, placing the tray on the table between them. “Can’t you two at least try to be civil?”

Y.N. raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’m always civil. It’s Aemond who’s the grump.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so insufferable,” Aemond snapped.

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight,” she countered, taking a sip of her tea.

Aemond had just finished a long, hot shower and had barely managed to slip into a pair of gray sweatpants when he heard a knock at the door. His damp blonde hair clung to his forehead as he walked through the apartment, the cool air hitting his still-wet skin.

He opened the door, expecting to see a delivery or a neighbour, but was instead greeted by Y.N.

Aemond rolled his eyes, for fuck sake, here she is again. The red hue of her newly dyed hair radiated in the light of the hallway, the piercing in her nose glinting slightly and those damn beaded bracelets that kept clacking together every time she moved her hand.

Y.N.’s eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of him, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, on his lithe form, the smattering of hair that decorated his chest, the silver chain that hung around his neck. Aemond noticed and couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Enjoying the view?” asked Aemond, his voice low and teasing.

Y.N. snapped her eyes back up to his face, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for Helaena.”

“Well, Hel’s not here, she’s at work,” Aemond replied, leaning against the doorframe, his smirk widening.

“I know she’s at work,” Y.N. retorted, holding up a bag filled with books. “She asked me to pick these up from the library. I’m just dropping them off for her”.

Aemond smirked as he closed the door behind Y.N.

He watched as she put the books on the table and arranged them into a neat pile, his gaze focused on the way her dress rode up her thighs as she bent over slightly.

“What does Hel need them for anyway?” asked Aemond.

“Well, some people like to read-“

“An interesting concept, I honestly didn’t know you could read” mocked Aemond.

“I read more than you-“ quipped Y.N.

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in her appearance. “Have you done something different?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual as he looked her up and down.

Y.N. raised an eyebrow as she turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

"There's something about you-" muttered Aemond.

"Well I-" muttered Y.N as she ran a hand through her hair.

Aemond’s lips curved into a smirk as he leaned back, his gaze settling on her face. “Oh, I see. You’ve finally had your upper lip waxed.”

Y.N.'s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "Funny. And here I thought you were going to say something actually clever for once."

Aemond shrugged, his smirk unfaltering. "It’s hard to be clever when the response would be so basic-Not really something I can take seriously"

Y.N. crossed her arms over her chest, a wicked glint in her eye. "Well, it’s hard to take you seriously when you spend more time on your hair care routine than anyone else I know, Mr. scented oils and hair serums, is it true that you used to straighten your hair before you got it cut-"

Aemond’s smirk vanished, replaced by a glare. "At least I take care of myself. Unlike some people."

"Sure, if taking care of yourself means smelling like an overly used perfume shop and spending half your life in front of a mirror," Y.N. retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’d rather smell good than look like I just rolled out of bed," Aemond shot back, his tone icy.

"Oh please, you look like you spend hours trying to get that 'effortlessly perfect' look," Y.N. replied, mimicking air quotes with her fingers. "Newsflash, it’s not working."

Aemond stepped closer, his eyes blazing with irritation. "And you think your look is working? Please. You’re a walking disaster."

Y.N. took a step closer as well, her eyes flashing with anger. "Better a walking disaster than a walking ego trip. You’re so obsessed with your appearance it’s quite pathetic."

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "At least I have something to be proud of. What do you have, besides a big mouth and a bad attitude?"

Y.N. glared at him, her voice low and dangerous. "I have more than you’ll ever understand, Aemond Targaryen. And for the record, I’d rather have a big mouth and a bad attitude than be an insufferable, self-absorbed dickhead."

“Tell me, are you naturally this stuck up, or did it take you years of practice?"

"I’m not the one who’s stuck up. You’re the one who struts around like you’re all that” snarled Y.N.

Aemond stepped closer, his expression taunting. "Me? You’re the one who walks around acting like you’re all that, when in reality, you’re about this much of that." He held his fingers a mere inch apart, emphasizing his point.

"Nice hand gesture," taunted Y.N, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "Is that the size of your cock, because I think your being far too generous.”

"What?-"

"Don't be too disheartened-it's a medical condition you know, it's called micro penis" laughed Y.N as she wiggled her little finger.

Aemond’s expression darkened, his smirk vanishing as fury flared in his eyes. In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, his hand shooting out to grab her by the throat.

He slammed her against the wall, the impact causing a picture frame to rattle precariously.

“Say that again,” he hissed, his grip firm but not painful, his face inches from hers.

Y.N.’s breath hitched, her defiance flickering into something else entirely as their eyes locked. For a moment, they were frozen, the air around them charged with a potent mix of anger and something far more dangerous.

“Make me,” whispered Y.N, her voice challenging but breathless.

Aemond’s response was swift and unexpected. He crashed his lips onto hers, the kiss rough and demanding, fuelled by their unresolved tension.

Y.N. responded in kind, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back fiercely. It was messy, all teeth and tongues, their anger translating into a passion they could no longer deny.

Her back pressed against the wall, Aemond's body pinning her in place as their mouths battled for dominance. Y.N. bit his lower lip, eliciting a low growl from him. He retaliated by deepening the kiss, his hands sliding down her body to grip her waist.

Just as abruptly as it began, Aemond pulled away, his breath ragged. He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. His heart pounded in his chest, the heat of the moment still thrumming through his veins.

Y.N. smirked, her lips curling up as she looked into his eyes. "Is that all you got?" she taunted, her voice a low, teasing whisper.

Aemond growled as he spun Y.N around and pressed her face against the wall, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other quickly pushing down his sweatpants and boxers.

“I’ll show you what I’ve got-“ rasped Aemond as he nudged her ankle with his foot, signalling for her to open her legs wider.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Y.N moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth digging into her skin.

Not having the patience to properly prepare her, Aemond spat into his hand reaching down to run it up and down the hard length of himself, eyeing Y.N with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she bent forward for him.

He rucked up the dress she was wearing and pulled aside her knickers as he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” spits Aemond.

Y.N can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing the tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers, his fingers digging into her hips as he pushes and pulls her against him.

His cock reaching deep inside her, the sting of being stretched by him now giving way to a pleasurable ache.

Then he withdraws from her and spins her around, lifting her into his arms, his mouth pressed against hers as he quickly thrusts back inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Y.N. as she claws at his back.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

“P-Please. Oh Please. Yes-yes” babbled Y.N ignoring the pain in her back as the force of Aemond’s thrusts kept slamming her into the wall.

“That’s it-” encouraged Aemond his gaze rooted to the place where they were joined, transfixed by the sight of her cunt stretched around his cock.

“Oooh-please-please” muttered Y.N

But then, his thrust begin to slow, and he withdraws from her, making her whimper in frustration.

But Aemond ignores her as he lays her on the sofa and falls to his knees.

Sliding his hands up her legs, bunching the fabric of her knickers in his hand before he rips them from her body.

“Aemond” shrieked Y.N as Aemond’s mouth quickly descends on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into Y.N’s core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could.

Still gasping, Y.N clutched at his head with one hand, her other digging into the fabric of the sofa.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Y.N ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Y.N gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak– But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Y.N, the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks.

“Be a good little girl and take what I give you” said Aemond as he reached for the buttons on the front of her dress before he grew impatient and tore it from her body, leaving her breasts bared.

A loud moan erupted from the back of his throat at the sight of Y.N’s perfect breasts, he leaned forward and took one of her rosy nipples into his mouth, sucking on the stiffened peak before he bit her.

“Ooooh Aemond-“ whined Y.N as she writhed against him, he smirked as he released her nipple and moved across lavishing the other one with the same attention.

“P-Please-” sobbed Y.N as she felt his hard cock sliding against her folds.

“Hmm” growled Aemond as he wrapped his hand around Y.N’s throat and sheathed himself inside her.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Y.N.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance.

“Tell me you want me-“ growled Aemond as he ran the head of his cock through her wet folds.

“I want you” exclaimed Y.N.

“Tell me you need me” whispered Aemond as he sheathed himself back inside her.

“I need you-“ muttered Y.N as one of Aemond’s hands slid up her body and wrapped around her throat.

Aemond smiled and then began to fuck her in earnest, his fingers digging into the flesh of her throat, using her as leverage as he repeatedly plunged his cock into her cunny, over, thrilled to hear Y.N’ moans of need echoing around the living room.

His thrusts, brutal and unrelenting.

“Come for me-” breathed Aemond.

Y.N. screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Gods, he needed to spill his seed, but not like this.

So, with his cock still nestled inside her, Aemond manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with Y.N on his lap.

“Give me another-I want you to come on my cock again” growled Aemond.

Y.N ran her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, her nails digging into his pale skin.

“That’s it-mark me fucking harder” growled Aemond, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Y.N ran her nails across his skin.

“Oh” gasped Y.N as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me-good girl”.

Aemond placed his hands on Y.N’ hips and marvelled at Y.N as she bounced on top of him.

“S-so good-Aemond-“ whimpered Y.N.

“I-I’m never leaving this sweet cunt-“ moaned Aemond.

Y.N slid her hands over his shoulders and coiled her fingers into his silver hair as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Y.N as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast.

Y.N’ thighs began to burn, as she felt her second peak approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N her vision going white as she came around his cock.

“I-I’m gonna cum. W-where s-shall I?” exclaimed Aemond, the tension in his abdomen was about to burst.

“I-Inside me-please-I take pills-” whined Y.N.

 “FUUUCCCKKK” roared Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside her, collapsing against the sofa, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses. Meanwhile Y.N had collapsed against him, her face pressed into his neck.

After a few minutes Y.N began to squirm in Aemond’s grasp, her senses rapidly returning.

She’s just had sex with Aemond. The same Aemond who annoyed her, the same Aemond who never missed an opportunity to wind her up, the same Aemond who’s cock was still buried deep inside her.

Y.N began to panic, would this change things between them or would he use this against her, she didn’t want to find out, she didn’t want to look in his eyes and see that he regretted what they had done, so she tried to move away from his hot sweaty body, but his grip on her tightened.

“Where do you think your going-I haven’t finished with you yet” growled Aemond, his cock growing hard inside of her once more.

“A-Aemond” breathed Y.N.

“I told you that I wasn’t leaving your sweet cunt and I meant it-I’m going to take you to my bed and fuck you so many times tonight that you’ll not be able to walk straight tomorrow”.

Later that night, Aemond lay beside Y.N. in the dimly lit bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across their entwined forms. The room was filled with the quiet sounds of their shared breaths, a stark contrast to the passionate chaos that had erupted between them earlier.

Y.N. slept soundly, her long red hair fanned out across the pillow like a fiery halo. Aemond couldn’t help but admire the vibrant strands, the way they framed her serene face.

He traced his gaze over her delicate features, lingering on her plump lips, slightly parted as she breathed deeply. The softness of her skin tempted him to touch, to memorize every curve and contour.

His fingers moved slowly, almost reverently, as they traced the flowery tattoo on her hip. He marvelled at the contrast between the toughness she displayed during their confrontations and the softness he now felt beneath his fingertips.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. The day had been a revelation. He had never wanted any other woman the way he wanted Y.N.

His desire for her was ravenous and unrestrained, a primal hunger that had taken him by surprise. He had experienced passion before, but nothing like this—nothing that consumed him so completely.

Fucking her in the living room had done nothing to quell the fire within him, he had brought her back to his room and fucked her four more times.

Aemond’s mind wandered back to the intensity of their kisses, the way their bodies had moved together as if they were made for each other. He had felt alive, every nerve ending electrified by her touch. The connection they had forged was undeniable, transcending the petty insults and animosity that had defined their previous interactions.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder, careful not to wake her. As he settled back against the pillows, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She stirred slightly, her body instinctively moving his, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

For the first time in a long while, Aemond felt a sense of peace. The anger and frustration that had always simmered between them had transformed into something deeper, something he couldn’t quite define but knew he wanted to explore further.

He closed his eyes, allowing the exhaustion to finally take over, his last conscious thought a realization that shook him to his core: he had never experienced anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let it go.

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains as Y.N. stirred in Aemond's bed. She carefully disentangled herself from his arms, glancing at his serene, sleeping face. Trying not to wake him, she slid out from under the covers, her feet touching the cool floor, but just as she was about to stand up, a strong hand clasped her wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aemond’s voice was husky with sleep but firm.

Y.N. turned to see him sitting up, his silver hair tousled, his intense gaze fixed on her. “I thought I’d sneak out before you woke up,” she admitted with a small, guilty smile.

“Not happening. After last night, I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Y.N allowed herself to be pulled back into the bed, settling beside him. “I thought you hated me,” she said softly, searching his face for answers.

Aemond shook his head, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. “I never hated you, Y.N. I don’t know what it was, but it was never hate. Last night opened my eyes to what I’ve been blind to all this time. My perfect woman has been right in front of me.”

Y.N.’s breath hitched at his words, her heart pounding in her chest. “Are you saying you want to be with me?”

“If you’re willing,” he said, his voice earnest. “I want to explore a relationship between us. I want this, and I want you.”

A smile spread across Y.N.’s face, her eyes softening. “I’d like that too.”

Aemond leaned in to kiss her, his lips just brushing hers when her stomach let out a loud grumble. They both froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Well, I would like to get something to eat,” Y.N. said between giggles, “But I don’t think I can walk properly.”

Aemond’s laughter echoed through the room, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “What can I say, love? I’m a man of my word.”

They lay back down, their laughter subsiding into comfortable silence. Aemond wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Y.N. snuggled against his chest, feeling a sense of contentment she had never known before.

As they lay there, tangled in each other’s arms, they both knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. And for the first time, their banter and bickering felt like the foundation of something real and lasting, something neither of them wanted to let go.

The End.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

I’m literally going feral over ur fierce deity fics I’ve been dehydrated for so long and these are like a tall glass of water

Could I pretty please with a cherry on top request a Fierce Deity x reader where Like theyre Just hanging out together and fierce is just really gently putting flowers in the readers hair and they’re watching the sunset together and fierce just thinks the reader is really pretty while they’re yapping about their day

THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE IF YOU DO DECIDE TO DO THIS BUT YOU DONT HAVE TO <333

CONSIDER IT WRITTEN. Fierce Deity is literally my weakness, so I'm ecstatic more people love him!

Braided Daisies

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): Tooth-rotting fluff and philosophical discussions that probably shouldn't be read before one's morning coffee.

Masterlist

There was a clearing a mile's walk from your house. It was small and quiet, filled to the brim with tall, swaying grass. In early spring, a myriad of flowers bloomed among the vegetation, as if sprinkled by the gods themselves. But its best feature was by far its proximity to a staggering, craggy cliff, and the accompanying view that followed for anyone lucky enough to stumble upon it.

"—And THEN I told him I don't make the rules around here, but nooo," you ranted to the Fierce Deity from your sprawled position on the grass. You had originally intended to come here alone, but it seemed you had an adventurer in your midst. That, and the fact that it was becoming increasingly hard to refute him when he looked at you with such... care? Want? You weren't quite sure, but from the looks the other boys would shoot him, you assumed it was deep. "—of course I look rich enough to be the owner... in my work uniform!"

"That is... unfortunate," mused the deity, looking almost offended. When his gaze turned menacing, you realized you probably shouldn't have shared your troubles with a literal guard dog of a god. "If you require assistance—"

"Nope, nope, nope," you waved your hands frantically. "I am not dealing with you mauling someone."

The put-off expression on his face would have made you cackle if you hadn't known his offer was very much real. "Shame."

Shame?!

"I'll stop baking if you kill someone," you leveraged, holding back the urge to laugh when his expression turned to one of abject horror, then what you could only assume was his version of a pouty face. "Don't look at me like that, I will do it."

There was silence as you held his gaze, setting your jaw in what you hoped was a stern expression. Miraculously, Fierce was the first to break eye contact, leaning back on his arms with a deep sigh. "You are brave," he said, and there was something soft in his tone that you couldn't place for the life of you. "Have you always been this way?"

It was such a him question, yet you had to stop and process why in the world the Fierce Deity wanted to know something so mundane about you, a mere mortal. It couldn't have been genuine curiosity... but there was no other explanation. "I... maybe? It depends on your definition of bravery, I guess."

"And what is yours?" He was getting closer, practically casting a shadow over you. A callused hand drew forward, capturing a strand of your hair, rubbing softly, and the notion that he was feeling your hair threw you for the greatest loop of your life.

"Bravery is..." you trailed off, averting your eyes. What was bravery? To say one had bravery meant they had a strong character... some could even say a heroic one, but it felt too simple an answer to give to such a being, especially when he gazed down at you with a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time. Not even the burning tangerine of the horizon—smattered with flashes of gold and honeysuckle— could ignite your skin in the way his eyes could. "...immediate."

Impossibly, the deity leaned closer, tone expectant. "Immediate?"

Fuck, he was practically on top of you. "I-It's not like courage, because that comes slow and is more moral based, but..." you gulped. "I guess bravery is what happens in the moment, as in the choices you make when there's no time to make them."

"I see," rumbled Fierce as he withdrew, resuming his cross-legged position next to you. As if on instinct, you raised yourself onto your elbows and huffed.

"Why do you even want to know?" you questioned, emboldened by the falling sun. "You're a god and I'm just... human. I'm sure there's a million more interesting things out there."

"You speak as though my curiosity is an insult," intoned the deity, gaze fixed on the bleeding horizon. "I can assure you, it is not."

And that was all there was to it, really. You knew the topic had died as soon as he fell silent, though it didn't mean you were giving up just yet. You reached out, picked a nearby daisy, and offered it to him. "Can you braid?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said you wanted to discover," you defended lightly, even though there was no need to. "Hair braiding is easy when you get the hang of it, but it's a lot easier to learn using someone else's hair."

A beat passed, and you thought for sure he was going to reject the idea. That is, until his hand twitched up to take the flower, examining it with keen eyes. You took it as an invitation to scoot closer—already parting your hair in preparation—until your legs brushed his own and your chests were nary two feet apart. "Okay," you relinquished the flower and put the head at the top of the braid. "You're going to want to cover it with one section like so, then keep braiding like you normally would without letting the stem fall, capiche?" You held up the half finished braid for inspection, eventually pulling it apart and offering him the flow. "Now you try!"

There was determination in the Fierce Deity's eyes as he relinquished the flower and did as instructed: laying the head at the top of the brain and incorporating it with every cross and pull. His touch was so gentle you could have mistaken it for the wind pulling your hair, and you wondered it he feared anything harder than featherlight pressure would shatter you, though that was most certainly not the case. Before you knew it, he had reached the bottom of the strands, and was merely holding it as to not fall apart. You took that as a cue to snap a hair tie on that sucker and shoot him a happy grin. "It looks great, awesome job!"

But the Fierce Deity remained silent, simply gazing at you with eyes softer than silk before rising to his feet. You tilted your head in confusion, about to ask where he was going, when he bent down, plucked another daisy from the earth, and plopped down behind you. "What are you—"

A heavy hand laid itself on your shoulder, applying gentle, firm pressure as the deity's voice rumbled in your ear. "Be still, I am only using the skills you have shown me."

And, without preamble, he sectioned your hair like a pro and began to braid while you sort of just sat there, questioning everything that had lead up to this point. He was so close that you could feel the press of his muscled abdomen against your very unmuscled back, and it was doing unspeakable things to the beating organ in your chest. A sort of choked gasp left your lips when he reached down to capture your wrist before pulling a hair tie from it, but you forced yourself into silence—he seemed to enjoy it, so who were you to deny him—?

"Have I upset you?" Came Fierce's voice, clear as day. His actions with your hair halted, and you nearly morned the loss of his body heat when he pulled away.

"I— what?" How in the world could he have upset you? There was simply no way.

"You are quiet," answered the deity, as if it made perfect sense. "I ask again: have I upset you?"

"No?" You could hardly comprehend how he came to such a conclusion, but you would do everything in your power to rectify whatever misunderstanding he was living under. "How does that have anything to do with me being upset?"

"You talk when you are happy," and he noticed?? Did he think you were upset because you weren't rambling?

"Well, yes," dear lord, he was too precious. "But I can be happy in silence, too."

"Ah," you felt a wave of relief when his hands fell on the braid again, lifting it for what you could only guess was inspection. "I had assumed you disliked quiet."

"Funny, because I thought the same."

"Then it appears we both assumed wrong," stated the deity, and you couldn't have agreed more.

The fading light was filled with laugher as you regaled him with more stories from work, throwing in a few embarrassing childhood ones when things became dry. During this, Fierce fitted two more braids into your hair, each with a different flower. You could hardly wait to look in the mirror when you arrived home, an idea that seemed less and less pleasant as your conversation dragged on.

When the sun was all but a speck in a sea of navy, you reluctantly started the trek back, noting how insignificant the darkness seemed when you had Fierce by your side, expression attentive as he listened to you talk about nothing in particular. It puzzled you how he seemed to hang off of every word, but you assumed it was merely loneliness. Had it been lighter outside, or your attention sharper, you would have noticed the crimson flush painting his cheeks a deeper red than the very horizon.

The plot got away from me a bit, but I still think it turned out great. Hope y'all enjoyed!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Like a Stone 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki, Tony Stark (Professor AU)

Summary: your work as a TA is complicated by more than your advisor. (tall reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

‘Acceptable’. Not exceptional, acceptable. That word needles at you. 

You knew if from your first meeting, from the fact that the professor would not even look at you, that this would be difficult. Nothing worth doing is easy. But why can’t it be? 

You take a deep breath and let it out little by little. You make the suggested changes, although you would argue that some are unnecessary. Yet, you applied to be a TA as much for the learning experience as the extra money. 

“You okay?” Olive asks as she looks up from a paper streaked with eraser marks. 

“Fine,” you insist. “It’s early in the semester. I'm still getting back in the habit.” 

“I know what you mean,” she says and cradles her chin again. She furrows her nose at the textbook. 

“Need help?” You shift your laptop to the side. 

“Prim, don’t tell me you can do physics too,” she sighs. 

“My dad is a physicist,” she says. “I dabble.” 

“Wow, but... what about you?” 

“What about me? He told me to choose my major and I did.” You explain. 

“Right, sorry. I only...” 

“He wasn’t happy with my choice,” you shrug and reach for her textbook. 

“Oh, whew, I got it,” Cerise interrupts as she drops into her chair, scraping it loudly as she does. “Cider for Primmy and a white hot choccy for my Oli!” 

“Can you yell a bit louder?” You ask as you look around.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Cerise says and lowers her volume. “I just got a bit lost and I left my phone so...” 

“Thank you,” you accept the cup, “it’s appreciated. I’ll help you with that Norse once me and Olive get through this formula.” 

“Oh, Prim, I can figure it out,” Olive insists. 

You look at her. You don’t want to push. She probably can do it herself. It must be your new gig. You taught your first lesson and now you think you know it all. 

“Here,” you set down the physics book and gesture to Cerise. 

She digs around in her bag and pulls out the bright orange Norse grammar book. You look it over. It’s brand new but the same edition you used. 

“Cerise, do you still have the receipt?” You ask. 

“I just bought it today, yeah,” she answers. 

“Take it back. You can use mine. I’ll have father Fedex it overnight.” 

“Oh, but... okay, thanks.” 

“Not at all,” you flip through the pages, “you have your notes?” 

You take out your first-year binder and spread it out on the table. Compared to Cerise’ notes, it’s immaculate. You want to help her but you also can’t do everything for her. She’s smart in her own right, people just underestimate her. 

You remember the first lesson pretty well. As you go through the week’s vocabulary list, it gets easier. Cerise nods along and rewrites her note. You notice how closely she bends over the table though. She seems a little less stressed at the end. 

You sit up and rub your neck as you tilt your head one way then the other. You have a horrible habit of hunching at these tables. You push your fingertips into your muscles and hold back a yawn. 

“How about you, Olive? Did you figure it out?” You ask. 

“I think...” she answers but you don’t hear her full response. 

A tingle ripple flows over you as your eyes are caught by another pair. It’s strange. You were sure that hovering sensation was nothing. You ignored it for the Norse translation but now you’re assured of that smattering paranoia. 

It’s that man. The one you’d run in your first day. With his gross leer and his grosser words. You don’t hide your derision as you frown. He seems amused as he smirks and winks. Does he recognise you or is he just a sleaze to every woman on campus? 

“Can you check my work?” Olive nudges you with corner of her notebook, jarring you back to the table. 

“Yes,” you answer abruptly and take the book. 

You bend your head and look over the numbers. Hm. She had it but then she missed one step. 

“Right here,” you put the book down flat and point with your sharp nail. 

She reads it over and clucks, “I knew it...” 

You slide the book over and she takes it. You peek back to where that man stood. He’s gone. You roll your eyes and go back to your revisions. 

A new email pops into the corner of your screen. It’s one of those dozen emails the college sends every week about a new conference or event. You can check it after. 

Nope. Another email. This one alerts you. Doctor Laufeyson. You tap the notification. It’s a forward of the last campus email. 

‘To attend.’ 

That’s it. The only message. For a man with a doctorate, he does not expand very much on his points. Well, you guess you understood exactly what he means. You’ll mark your calendar and RSVP-- $150 attendance fee? And it’s out of town. 

You rub the side of your nose and respond to his email to confirm that you understand. 

“Prim?” Olive utters. 

“Headache,” you tear your hand away from your face. It isn’t a lie. There’s a pinch right above your eyebrow. Usually that waits until midterms to come around. 

“Sorry, guys, I gotta go,” Olive checks her phone. “I have a group assignment in my photography class.” 

“Group work. Lovely,” you remark. 

“Oh, you know, I have to grab something to eat before I head back to my dorm,” Cerise says. “I still haven’t gone shopping.” 

“Right, guess I’ll stay and finish. Have a good night, you two,” you drag your fingertips around the mousepad. 

“Well, I can stay,” Cerise offers. 

“No, I gotta focus,” you insist. “Really, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Sounds good,” Olive says. 

They leave together and you’re thankful for the solace. You work best alone and yet, those two keep you from going completely over the edge. Before them, you would’ve locked yourself in your room and not come out. 

“Is that the prickly one they call Primrose?” The voice crawls up your neck as a body slides into Cerise’ empty seat. 

You glance up at the man with the silver temples and dark brown eyes. Your brows arch in disappointment and agitation. He’s a bit old to be bothering you. Wait, how did he know your name? 

“You are Laufeyson’s new pet,” he says. “Good luck with that. Shoulda guessed what put that stick up your ass.” 

“Excuse me?” You blink. 

“Ah, trust me. I get it. He’s a fucking treat but if you need to take the edge off, I got a few tricks,” he leans forward and smirks. 

“I don’t know who you are and I prefer that,” you say crisply. 

“Professor Stark,” he answers as if you asked. “Your dream man.” 

You purse your lips and lower your eyes back to your laptop. You start typing as you do your best to ignore his silhouette on the other side of the screen. He chuckles and hums. 

“Oh, baby, this will be fun,” he slaps his hands on the table and stands. “Took me nothing to get your name, I can figure out the rest.” 

[disillusioneddanny]

DPxDC Negativity

Hey this is just a friendly reminder that I'm going to put in the plainest terms that I can.

If you are telling people how they should and should not participate in fandom you are GATEKEEPING

If you are telling people that they need to read more comics before writing fanfic you are GATEKEEPING

If you are telling people that they need to do more research into canon in any form, whether that be reading wikis, reading comics, watching shows, whatever you are GATEKEEPING

If you are telling people that what they are writing is not canon compliant and therefore not a valid way to participate in fandom you are GATEKEEPING

Fandom is supposed to be fun

Fanfiction is supposed to be fun

We are not writing these stories for anyone but ourselves. And to tell someone that they are participating in fandom wrong is GATEKEEPING

There are plenty of fanfics in the DC only sphere and the DP sphere that are so far away from canon it's unreal and that's totally okay!

People are allowed to enjoy fandom in however the hell they please. If that means they are writing a crap ton of Batfam/Danny Phantom content and not very much Justice League/DP content, that's totally okay.

If someone read the Wayne Family Adventures Webtoon and decided that they want to write Danny being adopted into a loving and crazy Batfamily that is totally one hundred percent fine.

If someone wants to write Danny with abusive and neglectful parents guess what? they can.

If they want to write Vlad as being a nurturing and loving godfather to Danny, they can.

What I'm trying to explain to you all is that it's okay to write things that are not canon compliant. It's okay to write things that are so far away from canon it's not even recognizable--I mean have you even read a fantasy au or a no capes au? That's basically just slapping a characters name and face to an OC. And guess what? THAT'S OKAY.

It's also okay to want to see more people interact with the canon lore, to want to share resources and tell people about your special interests. But the moment you start doing it and it makes people feel bad-- even if that is not your intention you are GATEKEEPING.

Gatekeeping is defined as the activity of controlling, and usually limiting, general access to something.

By you telling others what they should and should not write, you are being a gatekeeper.

I get it, you want to share lore, you want to show that you know all these cool things about DC. You want more than just batfam and DP content. That's totally valid and really cool.

Do it yourself.

Don't take someone else's joy away simply because it's not what you want to see. They aren't writing it for you, they're writing it for themselves. You're just a lucky person who gets to see the beautiful works that they are putting time and effort into.

When I joined DPxDC I knew absolute shit about DC. Over the last year, I've read over 400 issues of the Batman comics, read all of the Red Robin series, and a smattering of random other comics with plans to read others. But when I started writing? I knew jackshit. My knowledge came from the Teen Titans cartoon, the Batman animated series, and vague memories of watching the Justice League animated series as a kid.

And if Dis from a year ago saw this gatekeeping shit, they would have never started writing for the fandom because they would have been too scared to be told they were doing it wrong.

Now? I'm writing DC only fics based off of what I learned in the comics and it's a lot of fun.

But I did that because I wanted to, I was starting to get more and more interested in DC and I wanted to know more. And I had access to pay for DC Infinite so that I could get access to the comics. Not everyone has that luxury.

Not everyone has the luxury of being able to read them from free sites either. Maybe they have to use a public computer that doesn't have ad blockers. Maybe their local libraries don't have access to the comics. You don't know what their situation is.

Maybe you're being well intentioned. Maybe you're just wanting to share your wealth of knowledge with the fandom. But remember, if just one person is getting hurt by your statements, that means you're no longer being helpful. You're being harmful. You're scaring off a new fan who was super insanely excited to start sharing their headcanons.

You're making people feel unwelcome. And that's not fucking cool.

Fandom is supposed to be a welcoming space for everyone, it's supposed to uplift and bring joy. Not make people feel bad for not knowing enough, or for feeling too anxious to even begin figuring out where in the 75 year history of DC they should start reading.

I know that's what kept me from reading the comics for a long time. it was just too overwhelming. It still is overwhelming for me and thats with having friends telling me where to start and what comics are best to read.

Before I end this super hella long rant I want to remind you of one last thing.

You don't know what someone has read or researched before writing their fic. You don't know just how much they know about that character or universe. For all you know, they may have read, watched, consumed every single piece of DC media in existence. But they may still interpret it different than you did and that does not mean that their Bruce Wayne is OOC because it doesn't align with how you interpret Bruce Wayne. it just means that they view his character differently than you do.

And that's such a beautiful fucking thing don't you think? That a single character, a single universe, a single fucking line can be interpreted hundreds of different ways by hundreds of different people and it's still valid.

It's what makes fandom so freaking cool in the first place.

Like one day someone woke up and they were watching Danny Phantom and they thought hm, what if I had Danny Fenton go to Gotham one day and hang out with the bats? And next thing you know, now we have thousands upon thousands of different fanfics, fan art and HCs, all because of it. All because someone had that one idea and shared it and others saw it, interpreted it their own way, and decided to create even more.

And now we're here! And this fandom is beautiful and thriving. There are so many amazing and lovely people in this fandom. There are so many discords to talk about fandom, there's so many events, a DPxDC Bang is the works, a DPxDC fanzine is in the works.

That's so fucking cool and we should be celebrating that! Not making others feel bad for not knowing as much as others.

[angelteyam]

Water Girl (n.s.)

(gif not mine)

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Metkayina!Reader

Word Count: 10,612

Summary: You were...“different”. You had always been different. Yet something shifts when the Sully family arrives, literally crash landing into your village. No one had ever noticed you, and yet, for whatever reason, the eldest Sully boy suddenly can’t seem to get you out of his mind. 

Warnings: major character deaded, floof, angst, moar floof, some kissy and touchy (nothin weird)

A/N: this is….a beast. also do not judge me for briefly mentioning neteyam’s unalivement, I literally do not have it in me to actually write it out. 

- -

“Hush, payíva. Listen to the ocean.”

Payíva. Drop of water.

The first of many names your mother gave you. Granted, she had many names of her own that you’d bestowed upon her too when you learned to speak: mama, sa’nu, mom, mommy. It seemed only natural for her to give you a few of your own, but a couple stuck out as your favorites. 

Payíva, for when you were young, and inconsolable from having skipped a sleep, and refusing to nurse due to the pain of your budding canines piercing through gum. 

Stubborn. As always.

Kxali was overtired too, and having failed every attempt she knew to mother you, and Ronal’s treatments falling on deaf ears, your mother wrapped you tightly against her bosom using one of your father’s shawls, and walked with you along the shoreline. 

Eywa, you were your father’s child. 

Elpawe was with Tonowari on a warrior’s hunt past the reef. The trip was supposed to last a week, but by day three, you had dissolved from your father’s absence. And though neither you nor your mother knew this, Elpawe felt the distance between you was as wide as the chasm of Eywa’s great ocean. 

You were too young to understand that your father, Tonowari’s right hand, would always come back. He had to come back - not just for his mate, but for you. From the day you were born you had him wrapped around your tiny fingers, and as much as your mother’s presence could comfort you, his aura was your salve.

So Kxali did what she could as a final plea, and used a leather belt to secure a warm, deep blue shawl around her hips, before tying it around her shoulders and tucking you into the fabric. Even she could scent your father in the fabric’s weave, and as she tucked you in against her chest, your knees and arms against her as if still in the womb, your howling cries that had lasted for days on end slowed to a dull whimper. 

This whimper continued still, as Kxali scaled a small boulder at the water’s edge to rest with you, her toes dipping into the waves that swirled and tangled around the rock as they made their way to the sandy beach nearby. She settled back against the rock, one hand beneath you for support, and the other came to rest against your head in soothing, graceful strokes. 

Another dull whimper from your small, plump lips. 

“Hush, payíva. Listen to the ocean.”

Kxali let herself breathe as if she was beneath the water. Belly full of air, and heart beating in a rhythm that matched the waves lapping against the shore. A large wave crashed against the rock beneath you, and you whimpered again. 

“Hush, my droplet. The waves are talking to you. The water is with you, just like mama.”

Another wave lapped against the rock, and as if it had heard your mother, it rolled against the shore in a smooth, slow motion, whisking away and leaving a smattering of beautiful shells behind. 

Hush, small one. 

The ocean seemed to speak, and as another wave came passing by, a few droplets of salty water landed against your forehead and trickled down to rest on the perfectly round tip of your nose. 

And just like that, the wrinkles in your forehead disappeared, the tension melted from your eyelids, and your lips parted. A barely audible sigh escaped you, and your mother smiled above you as you began to softly snore.

Your father’s child, indeed. 

As you grew older, the names your mother used for you did too. Most of the time you and your father shared the same one. 

Skxawng.

Although reserved for you when you were behaving particularly like him - meaning, particularly stubborn - for your father, this meant he had missed something important. 

Sometimes he had missed your orbits for hunting trips. This you could understand, for when Tonowari called, your father answered. He had to answer. Your mother wasn’t always so understanding, but these happenings could be forgiven for duty. 

Most of the time however, and as most Na’vi males do, your father would blow right past something even though it was staring him right between the eyes. He couldn’t see a tulkun even if it smacked him across the face with a fin some days. 

A forgotten chore, or a broken spear. Or, as was usually the case, returning from a tussle with another group of males, laughing and bantering as though it had never happened, and completely covered in scrapes and bruises. 

Kxali would patch him up, of course, but if there was one thing your little mind knew, it was that you did not like to see your father hurt. Even the smallest scrape on his cheek would send you into a fit, and you’d worm your way into your mother’s grasp, dipping your hands into the healing sap so you could help your sempu feel better. 

Through eyes full of tears, you’d rub your tiny fingers on the offending mark on your father’s skin - not fully grasping that rubbing the sap in harder would not in fact make the injury disappear. Elpawe would smile down at you, even through gritted teeth, and once done, you’d pull away to assess your work.

“Ma sempu all better?” You’d squeak, and he’d smile. 

“All better, little one.” He’d sigh, and he’d pull you in tightly to his chest, grinning at your mother behind you. 

And every time, Kxali would lightly smack him on the head. 

“You skxawng. You know how she gets.”

And as you grew older still, your mother and father took to calling you the same thing.

Paysmung. Water carrier. 

You may have been Metkayina, but something about your natural abilities in the water and with the ocean’s many creatures had even Ronal scratching her head. Your mother barely had to teach you a basic breath hold before you were swimming off like a fish, running your hands along an ilu’s belly as you swam beneath her. 

You were the one who gave Tsireya her first breathing lessons. You were the one who discovered which shells looked the prettiest in bracelets, and which looked the best against the pitch black of hair. You were the one who started testing your breathing ability by fetching shells from the ocean floor. 

Nothing entirely marvelous, true enough, but when you emerged from the ocean with piles of massive shells in your arms that no one had seen before, the waves clinging to your ankles as if they didn’t want to say goodbye, and no ilu in sight for that matter, you had the entire clan stumped. 

Gradually, though, as you approached your rite with no desire to take after your father’s path of warrior or your mother’s path as healer, and as you continued to spend your days beneath the ocean’s blanket of safety with no interest in a mate, the clan and all her people started to forget about you. 

Not Mama and Papa, of course. But neither of them particularly wanted you to follow in their footsteps. You were different. Softer, and quieter as you had grown with age. Sometimes you could fade into the water as if you were made of the ocean itself. And when you emerged, leaving behind small tokens for your parents that now covered every surface of your marui from floor to ceiling, hung across nets and dangling from ropes that made them twinkle like stars, well…neither of your parents was intent on discouraging you. 

Elpawe held sway, too. Some sort of power in convincing Tonowari to let you be. You did not have the warrior’s spirit, or the spirit of a healer like your mother. And one thing your father was very certain of was that he did not want his little payíva to be forced into choosing a fate you would not readily choose on your own. 

He even managed to convince Tonowari that you weren’t entirely useless. He did teach you how to fight, so you could defend yourself if you ever truly needed to. And your mother taught you to heal basic scrapes and mend small cuts, and to tend to the elderly and the sick. Where Ronal went, your mother followed, and you followed behind when you were needed. And when Tonowari watched you emerge from the water with a net full of fish you’d guided in as if you were their commander - well, that was a done deal.

And thus, you were left alone. 

Left alone as your mother and father grew in their duties. Left alone with no siblings to keep you company, and with the village’s children skeptical of you from the beginning, you had no friends besides those who lived beneath the ocean. Left alone to bond with your own spirit sibling, your very own tulkun, who would take you swimming father and deeper into the blue water than you’d ever gone before. 

Left alone with no mate, and no prospects who interested you, either. 

Invisible. 

That is, until the Sully family arrived. 

You were on the outskirts of the village, hopping along a ring of rocks that stuck out from the ocean during low tide, when a group of five ikran flew overhead, circling a sandbar at the village’s edge. They landed in a flurry of sand, hands raised and unarmed. 

And far too blue.  

The clan emerged in droves from their marui, and rode in from the waves at every angle on ilu and skimwings in a rainbow of colors, gathering around the new arrivals like a school of fish. You watched Tonowari and your father approach from the water, dismounting their skimwings and moving towards the strangers. Your mother and Ronal came from the back of the village, winding their way through the crowd. 

You sighed, having a feeling you’d probably be needed, and leapt into the ocean, allowing a swell to carry you towards the shore. You popped up next to Tsireya as she broke the water’s surface on her ilu, allowing yourself to catch your breath.

“What’s going on?” You wondered. 

Tsireya shrugged and rolled into the water, strolling up through the shallows to meet Ao’nung and Roxto. 

You watched as she and the smaller of the two sons met eyes, and as she tilted her head down to giggle. 

Gross. 

Of course Tsireya would immediately peak the newcomer’s interest. Why shouldn’t she? You may have been obtuse at the best of times, but you weren’t blind. Tsireya was one of the more beautiful girls in the village, and from the way the younger Sully looked at her, he wasn’t blind either. 

You rolled your eyes and plopped down to your knees, wiggling them into the wet sand of the shallow water. The water reached your chest, allowing you to tilt your head and watch Jake Sully’s plea for uturu. As Tonowari looked to your father and mother standing behind him. As his eyes met Ronal’s, and they shared a knowing glance, communicating in a way only mates could without words, before granting Jake Sully’s request.

You could see your mother’s eyes scanning the crowd and the water below, before they found you with a knowing smile. 

You smiled in return, and tilted your head in a silent gesture. You were going back out into the water. Your mother nodded, and signed to you. 

Go. Be back before eclipse. 

You nodded and pushed from the sand, legs extended as you floated onto your back, allowing your belly to fill with air before rolling over and diving below the surface, angling back to the spot from whence you came. 

What you hadn’t noticed was the older Sully boy watching you the entire time. 

After he’d shoved Lo’ak gently with his shoulder when the younger boy couldn’t peel his gaze from Tsireya’s, Neteyam’s eyes had scanned the crowd. Half to survey the surroundings and half out of an inherent protectiveness, while the rest of the clan had come to the shore, you had remained in the water, staring at his father with nothing more than blinking curiosity. 

He could barely see you in between the throng of people. But something in the tilt of your head, in the doe-eyed innocence of your gaze, and the way the ocean clung to you like a second skin had him very, very curious. 

When you pushed from the shore and floated on your back, rolling over and swimming away as if you were a fish instead of Na’vi, he had to chuckle. 

You hadn’t even noticed him noticing you. After all, no one except your parents up to this point had out of anything other than animosity, or because you were “different”, and not in a good way. While some - Tonowari and Tsireya, like your father - were accepting of those different from them, much of the clan felt the opposite. And as a result, the clan preferred not to notice you.

But you noticed them. 

You noticed everything. The glow of a new mother’s skin. A breaking fever. A warrior’s wound when it wouldn’t heal. Things you could appreciate in silence, small things more often than not. Secrets you could share with the water. 

You preferred the ocean as your friend anyway. 

But this - these new arrivals, this was a big thing. Several 9-foot tall things. And at first, Jake Sully, or rather Toruk Makto, commanded all of your attention. He mystified you. A walking legend. You knew his story, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. 

He may have been a legendary war hero, but he and his family knew nothing about the way of water. More than that, the oldest of his children looked to be about your age. 

They were worth watching.

So when you watched their first diving lesson from afar, lounging on a large ocean rock, and when their first breathing lesson went less than spectacular, you too had to press the back of your hand to your lips to keep from laughing. 

You may have been a skxawng, but these children reached a whole new level. 

One of them - the girl, Kiri, seemed a lot like you. 

She explored the same spots you did, ran her fingertips along the bellies of the rays just like you did, and plucked shells from the ocean floor as if she’d been doing it all her life. 

So one afternoon, as you watched her scan the ocean floor, you unearthed an iridescent purple shell from the sand and swam over to her, pressing it to her palm with a smile. She smiled in return, and you nodded, swimming away.

From that moment on, Kiri was a kindred spirit. 

You were never far apart, though you tended to drift away when a particularly colorful fish caught your eye. Call it a short attention span. But usually, you never swam too far, keeping her within your eye line.

You had enough shells as it was already. So if you found any more, you’d gather them for her, leaving her little piles on the beach as she sat in the shallows. Back and forth, almost like a game, if only so you could discover what her favorite color was.  You were never gone more than a few minutes before you’d return to her side and lay in the sand together, letting the sun soak into your skin and warm the chill of the water. 

You didn’t even really need to speak. Kiri understood your facial expressions more than words, particularly in the way you’d roll your eyes, so you’d just sit in comfortable silence together, building small structures out of sand and decorating them with the shells you found. Sometimes, little Tuk would join you, staying strictly to the shallower waters or the beach, allowing you to bring her tokens of appreciation as well. Tuk wasn’t picky - she didn’t have a favorite color.  She liked everything you brought her, big and small. 

It was a strange sort of comfort, having friends who didn’t even really need you to speak. You could just exist, even in silence, and it wasn’t uncomfortable. While the ocean may have been your friend thus far, it was nice to have friends of your own species. 

And the more time you spent with Kiri and little Tuk, the more Neteyam noticed you. 

The more he noticed the ease with which you hopped from boulder to boulder before diving into the water. The more he noticed the little treasures you’d find for Kiri and Tuk displayed in his family’s mauri. He started to wonder where they were coming from, and how they’d found so many. And then he started to notice that wherever Kiri was, you were usually within diving range. He started to notice the piles of treasures you’d leave her and Tuk, either on the shore or on the edge of their marui. Now, they grew to necklaces and bracelets, woven from their favorite treasures you’d found. A new braid that seemed to pop against their dark hair, a vibrant, colorful shell at its end. 

You were never far away from his sisters, and as he was never very far away from them either, Neteyam became the very first to take notice of you. 

To be fair, no female had peaked his interest yet either. He was far too busy staying attached at the hip to his baby brother until now. With Tsireya taking Lo’ak under her wing, Neteyam had the free time he’d never had before to take in the ocean around him. 

And where there was ocean, you were usually swimming within its waters. 

This time was valuable to Neteyam, and usually short lived. Stolen moments like the movement of the waves, there one minute and gone the next. Of course, as the eldest sibling, he still had to keep a reasonable eye on his younger brother and sisters. But with Jake learning the Metkayina’s ways with Tonowari and your father, Lo’ak under regular supervision by someone other than himself, and Kiri and Tuk always within the reef’s circle when they weren’t with Neytiri, Neteyam had the chance to take a breath. 

In the same way Tsireya had caught Lo’ak’s eyes, you had captured Neteyam’s attention. 

He started to learn your ways more than the Metkayina ways he was meant to be studying. He learned the boulders you favored when they appeared during low tide, and those you favored during eclipse. He learned your favorite paths to swim, and which you hadn’t explored yet. 

And boy, it made him laugh when he’d trail you to one of said favorite spots, only for you to dive into the water without even blinking, not realizing he’d been following you. 

Selective hearing, maybe, or pure tunnel vision, you usually only noticed the things you were interested in, or the things that were directly in your eyesight. Neteyam was worth noticing, of course, you just hadn’t laid eyes on him yet up close, and you hadn’t yet realized the irony of the one person you were destined for being the one thing you had failed to notice. 

Like two moons passing. Two arrows firing towards the same target. Now, Neteyam was just holding his breath, waiting for the two of you to collide. 

If you would ever open your skxawng eyes and notice him, for Eywa’s sake. 

It took you a solid week to finally realize he existed. And the only way he managed to accomplish this was waiting for you to take your spot on a boulder during a particularly sunny afternoon. He dove in from the shoreline, scanning the ocean floor for something he knew would peak your interest, and found a smooth, polished sea stone that glistened like crystal. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve kept it. 

He’d grabbed it from the sand, and rubbed it clean with a few swipes of his fingers. It was the size of his palm and oval shaped, with no imperfections. When he turned it in his hand, it seemed to sparkle, reflecting the colors of the ocean and the whiteness of the sand. When he passed it by his face, he could see the yellow of his eyes reflected on its surface. Special, and perfect, and new, it was strange the way the stone reminded him of you. 

He was positive you hadn’t found something like this yet. 

He pushed from the floor with his feet, aiming straight for the boulder he could see you sitting on, your feet dipped in the water beneath you. Slowly, he eased to the surface and emerged from the water. 

Your eyes flicked to him, narrowing when you noticed who it was. A low hiss left your lips, but Neteyam just…smiled. 

You cocked your head, eyes still narrowed, skeptical of the stranger as he swam towards you. As he approached, he raised his hands, one still closed around something. 

“What is that?” You gestured. “In your hand.”

Neteyam eased up towards the boulder and grabbed your wrist, extending your palm towards him, and placed the smooth stone within your grasp. 

“For you,” he breathed. Still smiling. 

You stared at the stone in your hands, flipping it between your palms and holding it up towards the afternoon light, allowing it to glint in your eyes. Neteyam just grinned, watching your increasing awe in what he’d found. 

When you finally met his gaze, and he was still beaming up at you with a toothy grin like you’d never seen before, you couldn’t help but blush and gaze back at the stone in your hands.

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

Neteyam nodded, pushing off from the rock. He still wore that same bright smile. 

As he floated back towards the shore where Kiri and Tuk were playing in the sand, he touched his forehead and released his palm towards you in a silent gesture. 

I see you. 

You could feel the heat spread across your cheeks. Turning your attention back towards the stone in your hands, you tried your hardest to keep your gaze from flicking back and forth towards Neteyam as he swam for his sisters on the shore. 

Tried, and failed. 

The way his deep blue skin seemed to ripple through the ocean water, instead of blending in like yours. The swing of his arms, and the dance of his braids as they floated behind him. 

You could still feel the cool, smooth surface of the beautiful new treasure he’d brought you as it lay in your palms. And yet, your eyes stayed glued to him as he emerged from the water, stumbling a bit in the sand when he tried to shake the water from his braids. You chuckled, rolling your eyes. 

Definitely a skxawng.

Later that evening, you placed Neteyam’s rock on a shelf in your marui, right in the middle of all of your favorite treasures. Tilting your head, you studied its presence among the rest of your collection, noting the way it reflected the colors of all the shells nearby, brightening their shades and making its own rainbow on the floor of the marui below you, taking the best pieces of each and turning it into something new and brighter. In all the time you’d picked pieces from the sandy ocean floor, you hadn’t found anything quite like this. 

Neteyam had definitely gotten your attention. 

The next day, you returned to the same boulder, sitting in silence as Kiri wandered the shore behind you. The rock was warm beneath you, and as you lay flat against its surface to bask in the sun, you heard a light splashing that was distinctly un-wave-like coming from your right. 

“I know you’re there,” you sighed. 

A chuckle came from the same direction as the splashing, and you felt a presence ease up from the water and climb across the boulder to lay next to you. 

“How’s it going, water girl?” 

Water girl. 

And thus, your most recent nickname. You had to chuckle a little; only a skxawng like Neteyam would come up with a name like “water girl”. But alas, it did have a certain ring to it, and of the many names you’d had over the years, something in the way he said it made your insides flutter in a strange way you’d never known before. 

It wasn’t paysmung, that was for sure. But it would do. 

“Never better, tree boy.”

Another chuckle. 

“Tree boy?”

You finally turned your head and opened your eyes to find him as close as he could possibly get without actually touching. His wide, yellow eyes were mere inches from your own, beads of ocean water still clinging to the tips of his eyelashes, and glistening from his forehead. 

You couldn’t find it in your heart to try and lie to yourself - he was kind of pretty. 

You smiled. “Water girl, tree boy. It fits.”

Neteyam smiled, and up close his smile was even brighter. It was effervescent, glowing like the rock he’d brought you the day before, and you couldn’t help but grin in response. 

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the sun overhead, letting the warmth of the midday dry his skin. 

And just like that, a peaceful silence settled in the air.

It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, but as you watched the rise and fall of his chest, and the glisten of his cheeks as the light hit their peak, you swore a school of fish was swimming through your stomach. One of his hands rested gently against his stomach, lifting and sinking as he took slow, deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn he was asleep. 

His eyes fluttered open, and you snapped your eyes shut, feigning that they’d been that way the entire time, and that you hadn’t been staring at him as if committing his features to memory. You heard him chuckle softly, and when your eyes opened, he too was scanning your features. 

As you watched his eyes flick from the top of your head to the pinnacle of your chest, where your neck dipped and curved into a hollow at its base, you felt your pulse quicken and a small ball of tension seemed to roll through the air around you. The school of fish in your stomach turned into a full swarm, dancing and spinning and tickling your insides. 

No one - quite literally no one - had ever made you feel this strange sort of tension just from existing. 

But in the same way you found him kind of pretty, he too was entirely raptured by your beauty. In the way the darker skin around your shoulders and hairline turned soft and creamy towards the center of your face. In the fullness of your lips, and the way they parted softly as he gazed at you. In the way the color of your eyes matched the blue of the ocean like no one else he’d seen, as if you were part of the water itself.

He turned toward you, resting himself on an elbow, eyes still scanning for any hesitation from you. But you were frozen, still as the rock beneath you, as he brought a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

He started to smile, and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, there was a commotion from the shore. You both sat up, tilting your heads to watch as Ao’nung approached Kiri as she lay in the shallows, three other boys following him.

Neteyam’s stare instantly hardened. 

“I’ll be back,” he growled. “Stay here.”

You tried to reach for him, but he dove into the water before you could grab his wrist, swimming for the shore just as Lo’ak approached the group from the other end of the beach. 

You watched as he emerged from the water, as he shoved Ao’nung away from Lo’ak, and prodded him with a finger to the chest. Ao’nung raised his hands, and as Neteyam pulled Lo’ak and Kiri away, you allowed a brief release of breath. 

And then Lo’ak punched Ao’nung in the face. 

Three times. 

You were already on your feet when Ao’nung hit the sand, but when Neteyam scratched his head and leapt into the fray, you dove into the water in an instant. 

You had just reached the shore when Lo’ak was being pulled by his tail, grasping the nearest Na’vi by the ear. After all, when Lo’ak was grabbed, he tended to grab right back, and with tenfold force. Even you knew this. 

Kiri was safe, and fine, on the edge of the fight and trying not to laugh. Neteyam had a clear edge over another boy, and had him pinned by the full force of his body weight. And while no one at noticed your arrival yet, when you walked right up to Ao’nung and grabbed him by the queue, jerking him away, everyone stopped moving as Ao’nung let out a particularly girlish squeal. 

Ao’nung’s eyes widened when he realized who had grabbed him.

“That’s…enough,” you growled. “Honestly, behaving like a child.”

You released Ao’nung’s braid, tossing it from your hands. You could feel Neteyam’s eyes boring holes in the back of your skull, Lo’ak’s too. But the way Ao’nung was completely baffled by your intervention, when you had done nothing of the sort for years, had a strange sort of pride swelling in your chest.

You were not one for fighting. Eywa, you weren’t even one for words. Ao’nung only knew of you as the silent freak, who was not even fun to pick on because you simply didn’t respond. 

Suddenly, you’d barged right in, and while Neteyam had managed to get them to back off, you had Ao’nung gaping like a fish. 

“Three of you,” you continued. “Against one. Really upstanding behavior, Ao’nung.”

Ao’nung’s eyes narrowed, and the surprise wore off. 

But still, you kept speaking, tilting your head and matching his squint.

“Shall I fetch your father?”

Ao’nung instantly closed the distance between you, puffing his chest and squaring his jaw with yours. 

“That’s rich,” he leered, “coming from the biggest freak of them all. You’re even worse than Kiri.”

Before you even had a chance to respond, and before the telltale tears could well in your eyes, your gaze was interrupted as Neteyam quite literally forced his way between you. He shoved Ao’nung aside for the second time, with such force that Ao’nung stumbled into the water. 

This time, however, Neteyam kept one arm wrapped securely around your waist, and his tail around your upper thigh. 

You were pressed flush to him, as if you were a second skin, giving you a front row seat to the clench of Neteyam’s jaw. 

“Stop. Leave her alone.” 

Ao’nung studied his surroundings. The three others still hadn’t stood from the sand, where they lay with hands clutching their various injuries. Lo’ak stood between them and Kiri, and despite the slight sway of his stance, his fists were clenched and his brow was hardened in a gaze eerily similar to Neteyam’s own stare. 

And what was worse - from over Neteyam’s broad shoulder, you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Jake, Ronal, and Tonowari approaching from the edge of the village. 

They didn’t look happy. 

Ao’nung turned to his friends, and gave a slight gesture. 

“Let’s go.”

They left, leaving you still pressed to Neteyam, your hand now resting against his bicep. It was warm beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the ripple of his muscle beneath your touch as he let go of you, replacing the smooth skin of his back with a firm grip on your waist as his eyes turned to meet your own. 

“Go,” he murmured, voice lowered as if no one could hear. “Go back to the rock. I’ll meet you soon. I have to talk to my dad.”

You nodded, looking past him as Jake stopped halfway to you, just as Ao’nung passed him with the three others. You had only seconds before he would reach you. 

Your eyes returned to his, dipping below to where a cut had opened in his lower lip. 

“Will you be alright?”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

Reluctantly, you slid from under his grasp, and turned back towards the water. You turned briefly to Kiri and Lo’ak, making sure they too were alright, before you jogged away and leapt into the water, swimming for the same boulder you’d just come from. 

You stopped halfway to catch your breath, and turned your head to where Neteyam was following Jake back towards the village. Jake had a firm grip on Lo’ak’s upper arm, and was tugging him along the sand, wearing the same scowl he’d had moments prior. 

Neteyam’s head was hung low, his fist pressed to his cut lip, braids only barely swinging as he trudged behind his father. 

You sighed. As you turned back to finish the brief swim to your boulder, you sent a silent prayer. Hoping Jake would go easy on them - particularly on Neteyam, who had only stepped in to protect Lo’ak, and who would have succeeded had the odds been more evenly matched. 

When you reached the boulder and climbed out of the water towards the surface, you stood for a moment, watching the now miniature figures of Jake, Lo’ak, and Neteyam disappear into the shadows of village. You sighed again, and having hoped you’d be able to see them from your small vantage point, you sank down onto the rock. 

Feeling perfectly hopeless. 

If anything, you wished you had done more. You wished you had followed Neteyam immediately, or even more that you had managed to grab him. That you had dove into the water together, and approached the group at the right moment. 

You wished, more than anything, that you hadn’t waited. 

It was starting to gnaw at you - that your life seemed like a bottomless pit of waiting. That you had no power other than to stand still at life’s rocky edge, helpess to do anything other than watch as moments passed you by. You were the silent one; the powerless one. The freak, as Ao’nung had put it. And even if you tried, you could quite literally do nothing to help as those around you seemed to suffer. 

Now more than ever, this gnawing deep within started to feel more and more like a heavy weight. It hadn’t bothered you until Neteyam had entered the picture, but the vision of his split lip, and the bruises beneath his right eye, and the scrapes on his chest now made the tears you’d held back come bursting to the surface. 

You had only known him in actuality for no more than a day, and yet the way he’d come bursting to your rescue had you not only confused, and perfectly and completely smitten, but utterly heartbroken that he’d even needed to do so. 

And moreover, entirely positive that you weren’t worth saving. 

Kiri was - there was no question about that. Lo’ak definitely was, especially when he was that outnumbered and still managed to do considerable damage to his assailants. 

And then…there was Neteyam. 

Neteyam, who had successfully stopped the fight with nothing more than his presence. 

Neteyam, who when you arrived had Roxto pinned beneath him, who had Roxto powerless to fight back as he swung punch after punch. Who would have won for the second time if there had been one less to account for. 

Neteyam who, in truth, did not need your help winning. 

You had yourself fully convinced of this by the time you heard a light splashing coming from your left, and growing closer. You felt the lump in your throat swell as Neteyam eased his way onto the boulder, and that same lump grew larger when he grunted at the effort of bringing himself to your side. 

That groan, that all-encapsulating sound of pain, had you nearly shattering as your eyes opened, and you sat up to meet him face to face. 

When his eyes met yours, and you came in full view of the now purple bruise beneath his eye, and the cut in his lip that was seeping blood, and the scratches on his chest that extended the full length of his right pectoral muscle, you made a strange squelching sound, and plopped your head to his left shoulder. 

If you could have only seen the way Neteyam’s eyes widened at your touch, and softened at the feeling of wetness on his skin when he realized you were crying, you would have only broken more completely. 

Neteyam was not used to girls he liked crying on him, that much was certain. In fact, Neteyam didn’t have much time for girls period. So the fact that you seemed to be upset - over him - was entirely perplexing, confusing, and perfectly heartbreaking, all at the same time. 

Sure, he’d wanted you to notice him. Sure, he’d wanted you to return his pathetic attempts at affection, that he hadn’t yet realized you didn’t find pathetic in the least. Sure, he’d wanted to bring the two of you closer, and he’d wanted nothing more than your worlds to finally collide.

But not like this. 

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t particularly enjoy standing up for Lo’ak day in and day out - but that was his job. Literally, as the oldest brother, it was in his internal code to defend his younger siblings. It was his job to get Lo’ak out of the trouble he somehow managed to always be getting into.

But this - this was new. This was different, and ugly, and soul-wrenching. He loathed the feeling that ate him up inside now, as he brought up a hand to rest against the back of your head. 

He’d seen Jake do this for Neytiri many times. He’d seen Jake comfort Kiri this way, and he’d seen it work. 

What he hadn’t picked up on was the mirroring of pain that Jake felt when he had to comfort those closest to him. Realistically, Jake just hadn’t shown this, especially when his kids were around. It would have been helpful to know how much the sound of you crying - over him - would absolutely obliterate him, but then again, Jake probably would have never discussed it, even if Neteyam asked. It would have been helpful to know that by comforting you, that by taking away your pain, he would only be absorbing it into his own skin. 

So, Neteyam did what he knew how to. 

With the one hand still resting on your head, he brought the other to the small of your back, pulling you in as closely as he could, stroking your skin in soothing, circular motions. Hushing you, whispering in your ear, and trying with all his might to get you to stop crying. To make you stop being sad if he could. 

Because as he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t yet seen you smile. 

Actually smile. 

You’d grinned, of course, and bared your teeth at him in a hiss. You’d smiled with your lips closed, and he’d seen you let out small smiles, only when you were around Kiri or Tuk. And he definitely hadn’t seen you laugh yet. 

The moment he realized this, he decided right then and there that if he had any say in the matter, you wouldn’t ever be sad like this again. That he would never, ever give you a reason to cry over him again. 

And just like it was his duty to protect his siblings, Neteyam made a solemn vow to himself, the ocean, and Eywa - and frankly, anyone who was listening - to add you to that list. 

He would never again stand for a skxawng like Ao’nung, or anyone else, making you feel like you were less than the perfect being you were. And he certainly wouldn’t allow anyone else to ever again make you feel like you were a freak. To Neteyam, you were as perfect as the stone he’d brought you the first time you met, and the moment you were done crying, he was going to make sure you knew it. 

And if Ao’nung wasn’t already bruised into the ground from Lo’ak’s powerful right hook, then Neteyam was going to put him there, chief’s son or not.

Neteyam let loose the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. For the first time since he’d climbed up to meet you on the rock, his focus shifted from where you sat silently, head still resting on his shoulder, tears slowed and breathing returning to an even keel, to the salty water stinging the cut on his lower lip.

You felt him shift, as he brought the hand that had been resting on your lower back up to his lip, and you felt him tense beneath you at the self-inflicted pressure.�� A low groan left him, and you finally had to tilt back from your spot against his shoulder to study his face. He was blinking from the pain, his tongue rubbing at the offending cut, smearing a trail of blood across his chin. 

You brought your hand to his, pulling it away from his face to give you full view of where his once perfect lower lip bore a gash the size of your thumb. You winced, and brought your free hand to his cheek, stroking with your thumb the area that had bruised beneath his eye. And without thinking, you leaned in, gently pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth where there was no cut. 

Perhaps you thought it would make him feel better. Perhaps you thought you could take away some of his pain. Perhaps you were hoping for some sort of redemption, after you had behaved quite unlike yourself for the past few hours. After you hand dissolved at the mere sight of him, and had sat there like a skxawng with your head in his shoulder, your salty tears soaking into his skin. 

Still, you had no idea what came over you.  

Now though, as you studied his face, and his still widened eyes from your half-kiss, and ran a gentle finger over the scratches on his chest, you felt your normal steely resolve return somewhere deep within you. 

“You’re hurt,” you murmured.  

Neteyam shrugged. “It’s fine.” 

As he spoke, the blood was beginning to pool, even from such minimal effort. You shook your head and stood from the rock, pulling him up with you by the hand. 

“Come. Let’s get you patched up.” 

You dragged him down the line of boulders, chuckling softly when he nearly missed a jump, stumbling slightly from the rocky surface. As you reached the outskirts of the village, you both slowed from a jog to an easy walk, Neteyam only needing to extend his gait to come level with you, his arm brushing against yours as you made your way to your marui. 

You had to swallow down the slight spark of excitement building in your throat at his touch, and forced your focus to narrow on the injured boy following you. 

This was no easy feat, to be sure. But as you entered your marui, and gestured for Neteyam to sit on your mat, you felt that same steely resolve take over as you gathered your supplies. 

When you turned back towards him, a pile of bowls and dressings in your hand, Neteyam yet again had his hand against the cut, and his tongue running against it’s edge.

“Stop that,” you barked, “You’re making it worse.”

Neteyam’s hand dropped to rest in his lap, and as you knelt before him, organizing your supplies at your side, you could feel him watching you. Studying you.

You chose for the moment to ignore his piercing gaze. Instead, you brought a hand to his ankle, gently pushing it aside where he had been sitting cross-legged, allowing you to scoot your way in between his legs. He allowed his arms to stretch out behind him, resting the majority of his weight on the heels of his hands. 

When he had made himself mostly comfortable, you started with the scratch on his lip. If only just to get him to stop messing with it. 

You cleaned it first, wiping away the smears of blood, and after you’d cleaned and sanitized it, you gently applied pressure with a clean cloth. 

“Hold here,” you whispered, and Neteyam obeyed, bringing one hand to rest upon the cloth. 

This gave you the chance to apply a smooth, buttery healing salve to the bruises beneath his eyes, and those smattering the skin around his neck and chest. Next, you applied the same salve gently to the scrapes on the skin of his chest, and wrapped a bandage from around his shoulder to cover them, and to allow the salve to seep into the cuts so they would heal. The muscles in his chest rippled beneath your touch, and a low hiss left his lips from the slight, momentary sting as you finished your work. 

Finally, you gently pulled his hand away from his lip, removing the cloth with it. 

The bleeding had stopped from the pressure, and the wound was now clotted. You took the same salve on the pad of your forefinger, and eased closer to Neteyam, your face mere inches from his own. Studying the wound, you brought a hand beneath his chin to steady him, and bending forward, you flicked your eyes up to meet his. 

“This will sting again,” you muttered, waiting for him to gently nod.

When he closed his eyes, you went to work, applying the salve as quickly and gently as you could so the sting wouldn’t last. 

You didn’t even notice that as you finished your work, removing the bandage from around his chest where the salve had soaked into his skin, Neteyam could not stop staring at you. You didn’t notice, that is, until you bent back, resting on your heels, and came face to face with him.

This time, Neteyam had closed the distance between you, his knees resting against yours, and has he brought one hand to tangle in your hair, his other hand swept a stray strand behind your ear for the second time that day. 

And just like that, your breath was stolen from you in a small sigh that left your lips. 

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. 

For a moment, it was just you and him, eyes connected. His piercing gaze seemed to search yours, eyes flicking back and forth, scanning for any sign of hesitation from you. One of his hands rested on your cheek, and the other rested against the back of your neck, still tangled in your thick hair. He blinked once, twice, still studying you for any sign of pause, or resistance.

And other than the fact that you had stopped breathing almost entirely, there was none. 

Your heart didn’t even have time to skip a full beat before Neteyam brought his lips to yours. 

For a moment, all you could taste was the tangy bitterness of the salve against your lips. For a moment, it seemed as if your lips hadn’t actually met yet, the salve creating a slippery barrier between you where your lips couldn’t find traction. 

And then Neteyam was pulling away, just for a moment, laughing breathlessly, grabbing the cloth from beside him and wiping away the salve from his lips and yours.

You laughed, really honestly laughed as he palmed the cloth against your lips, muffling the sound only slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he brushed the cloth against your lips. 

He was laughing too, and once the salve was gone, the both of you had to pause, catching your breath. 

Of course your first real kiss would be tainted by a skxawng with a cut on his lip, that you had just spent time trying to heal. 

When both of you had caught your breath, Neteyam’s eyes met yours, and he smiled at you. You already thought his smile was blinding, but now, you swore you could see the stars reflected in his wide grin. You couldn’t help but smile in return, a breathy chuckle leaving your lips. 

“You skxawng,” you breathed. “I just fixed that cut.”

Again, Neteyam closed the distance between you, hands gripping beneath your thighs to draw you into his lap, where you wrapped your legs around his waist and draped your arms over his shoulders. As you rested there, safe and warm within his grasp, your gaze meeting his, Neteyam let loose a deep, weighted sigh. And again, his hand came up to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently stroking against your lower lip. 

He shrugged, grinning still. 

“I don’t care.”

And for the second time that evening, with bated breath, Neteyam closed the short distance between you and brought his lips to yours.

This time, you had the upper hand. This time, he angled his head to parallel with your own, allowing the kiss to instantly deepen. This time, his hands gripped and massaged at the skin of your thighs, coaxing a sigh from your lips that met with his own heavy breathing in a tangle of knotted air. 

This time, instead of the bitter salve, all you could taste, all you could feel was him. 

He tasted sweet, and minty, with a salty edge that reminded you of the ocean. And while his lower lip had been marred by a deep cut - which you would be thanking Ao’nung for later - the rest of his lips were plump and soft and perfect against your own. Like molten lead, or a pair of pearls fused together with time, his lips against yours matched like two pieces of the same cloth.

And slowly, a knot began to grow within you, deep within your core, that had you positively certain you couldn’t get enough of him. 

Neteyam couldn’t get enough of you either. When your small, soft hands scratched against his chest, he let out a low moan that he was positive he’d never made before, and he grabbed at you with a force like he was going to sink you into his skin and never let you go, like he couldn’t exist without you.

And maybe, in truth, he could, but as you pushed from his lap and grabbed him by the neck, pushing him against the mat beneath you in a furious tangle of teeth, lips, and limbs, Neteyam was absolutely certain that while he could live without you, he definitely didn’t want to. 

It was there, on the floor of your marui, that you stayed with him until eclipse had long passed. Until your lips had become bone dry, and his cut had come open again. Until all the breath had sucked from your lungs, in a way you’d never felt before in all your years mastering breathing where there was no air. 

It was there that Jake and your father found you both, dead asleep, tangled up together and splayed out on your mat. A blanket covered you, and one arm was wound around Neteyam’s chest, your legs wound between his.

Jake hadn’t seen Neteyam sleep this peacefully in years - not since Lo’ak had started walking. 

His eyes met your father’s, and they shared a knowing grin, before backing out of the marui to meet with Neytiri and Kxali on the edge of the village. Neither of them had the heart to interrupt the two sleeping teenagers, and both of them seemed to have a deep understanding that while the two of you had grown up apart, now, you had found each other. Now, you had found a small slice of peace, and though they didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of the mischief you two would get up to together, it paled in comparison to the thought of forcing you two apart. 

Neither Jake nor Elpawe were going to let that happen. 

Of course, Lo’ak took the mickey out of Neteyam when he returned to his family’s marui the next morning. The Mighty Warrior had spent all night, tangled up with a girl? In Lo’ak’s eyes, Neteyam deserved some teasing. 

Neteyam took it well as always, shoving Lo’ak gently by the chest, playfully grinning as Lo’ak shoved him right back, sending Neteyam stumbling over the marui’s edge and right into you. 

You caught him by his arms, steadying him. 

Seeing Lo’ak behind him grinning like the devil, and surrounded by his family, you tilted your head and gestured towards Neytiri and Jake. 

“I see you,” you spoke, bringing your finger from your forehead towards Neteyam’s parents. 

They nodded, returning the favor, and you did not particularly like the knowing grin on Jake’s face, or the steam that seemed to be coming from Neytiri’s ears at the sight of her oldest son with a stranger from another clan. But when Jake placed a hand on Neytiri’s knee, she softened, and smiled up at Neteyam.

“Go,” she said, “And be back before eclipse this time, please.”

Neteyam nodded, not speaking, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. Chuckles arose from his siblings, and you could hear the entire family dissolve into laughter as Neteyam tugged you by the hand towards the beach. 

When you reached the shoreline, plopping down into the sand, Neteyam sitting next to you, you finally let loose the laughter you’d been holding in. 

Your head tilted back, you let out a loud, barking laugh, shaking your head, and looked to Neteyam.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, in between a fit of giggles. “I’m so sorry.”

The way he was looking at you, brows quirked, studying you again, made you remember that first day on the rock, when you had studied him the same way as if you were committing his features to memory. You didn’t realize of course, that Neteyam actually was committing your bright smile and the sound of your laugh to memory, somewhere deep in his mind where he would never forget it. 

And then he smiled, and laughed with you, and tackled you into the sand, sending you both into another fit of howling laughter. 

When he pulled back, only for a moment, he smiled down at you, and waited for you to smile in return, before connecting his lips with yours. This kiss was new, and different - passionate, tender, and slow, his lips seemed to dance with yours. Not only that, but he brought one leg between your own, the other pressed firmly into the sand beneath you, and his entire upper body seemed fused with yours in a perfect molding of skin against skin, like roots digging beneath the earth. 

Again, you found peace within each other’s touch. The world around you disappeared until it was just you and Neteyam. Even the sand beneath you faded away, and all you could feel was his chest pressed to yours, and his hands gripping at your waist and your thighs and anywhere he could easily reach. You were certain he was going to leave bruises behind where his fingers dug into your skin, but if you were positive of one thing, it was that you didn’t mind. 

If you could have one wish, if Eywa could grant you one thing, it was that you could stay here forever with him on the warm sand, tangled up in his arms, his braids tickling against your cheeks, his smile mirroring yours when he pulled away, breathless and sighing. 

When he did pull away to breathe, you didn’t let him stay apart from you for very long. 

In the same way he’d grasped at you like you were a lifeline, you wound your arms around his shoulders and pulled him back into you, reconnecting your lips in a flurry of motion, and wound your legs around his hips, giving him access to the soft skin of your thighs. 

And if you were feeling particularly bold, you’d grasp him with your legs and tackle him into the sand, pinning him beneath you in a wild spray of hair and limbs and breathless laughter. 

There you’d stay for as long as you could, hands against his chest and lips fused together like iron, his own palms exploring places they hadn’t before, running up and down your back, and your thighs, and the roundness of your bum, squeezing and grasping at any soft parts of your skin that he could reach. 

You’d let him, sighing breathlessly against his lips. And sometimes, you’d pull him into a sitting position, grabbing at the nape of his neck. The more you started to explore each other, the more you discovered things you liked about his supple skin, and the more marks he left on your own, in the soft spots where your neck met your shoulder. You too left a few marks of your own, in little scratches on his back, or in the equally buttery soft skin of his neck and shoulders. The more marks you left behind, the more beautiful noises you coaxed from his lips, and the more you enjoyed peppering his skin with brands claiming him as yours.

Days, and weeks, and months passed like this, in a beautiful blur of young love. 

Neither of you planned for Neteyam to leave you behind. 

And what was worse, you hadn’t even been there when it happened. You were there for his funeral, off somewhere in the water as Jake and Neytiri laid him to rest with your ancestors. As Lo’ak and Payakan swam by, brother with brother. When Jake and Neytiri went to the Spirit Tree, you followed them, tucking yourself deep into the branches where they couldn’t see you, and connecting your queue to one of the glowing palms.

When Jake found you on the beach a few days later, crying into your hands, he had plopped down in the sand next to you in a manner eerily similar to Neteyam. 

When he’d wrapped an arm around you, bringing you into his chest, he told you - and only you - what he’d seen in the visions the Spirit Tree gave him the night of Neteyam’s funeral. 

Somewhere in the middle of his story, your tears had slowed. Somewhere during his tale, you’d looked up from your hands, wiping away your tears, and leaned into his strong embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Jake uttered in reply, squeezing you a bit tighter. “I’m sorry too. He loved you, you know.”

You nodded, sniffling. 

“I know. I loved him, too.”

Later that evening, as your mother came and kissed you goodnight, wiping away a few stray tears from your eyes, she lay next to you and sang you to sleep with the same song she’d sung during your early years. 

You’d cried in her arms for several minutes, and she’d whispered in your ear just as Neteyam had. It had only made you cry more, how little things were reminding you of him, chipping away at the gaping hole he’d left behind. 

As you finally drifted off, your mother still stroking your hair, she’d whispered to you in the silence, just as she’d done when you were a baby. 

“Hush, paysmung. Listen to the ocean,” she murmured softly. “He is in the water now. He is with you.” 

- -

You padded along the beach, one hand held above your brow to shield you from the sun, toes digging into the sand as you hopped along, jumping over shells the waves were leaving behind. The trees blew in the wind, and the waves were on your left, crashing against the sand and pulling back into the ocean. 

Your hair blew in the breeze behind you, cooling you from the warmth of the sun, and you turned, smiling, to watch as Neteyam came jogging up to meet you. 

Oh, Neteyam. 

He was even more stunning in your dreams, if it were even possible, and his effervescent smile still had the power to make you smile in return. 

He came running up to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest, lifting you off your feet and spinning you in circles. Making you smile, and laugh, your head ducking into his shoulder as your long hair tangled with his braids. 

When he set you back on your feet, the both of you slightly dizzy, you smiled up at him, your arms still wound around his neck. His arms were still tightly around your waist, strong and muscular, pressing you flush against him. 

One of his hands released a braid from where it had stayed tangled in your long, wavy hair, but while one of his arms stayed wrapped around you, his free hand came to rest softly against your cheek. 

“How’s it going, water girl?” He breathed, smiling. 

Suddenly, a great sadness overcame you, and even in your dreams you felt a lump rise up in your throat, constricting you. 

“My Neteyam,” you croaked. “Why did you have to leave?”

“Ah, water girl,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, and brought his forehead to yours, your breathing tangling together as a few stray tears escaped down your cheeks. When your eyes finally opened, tears were spilling down his cheeks too, and you brought your thumbs to swipe them away.

You were allowed to cry - Neteyam was not. 

“It’s okay,” you gasped. “I’ll be okay.”

Neteyam smiled sadly at you, brushing your hair from your face. The both of you could tell you didn’t quite believe your own words. 

“I know. I know you’ll be okay, water girl.”

He brought his lips to yours, pressing them together in slow, tender circles. A breeze blew through, sending your hair blowing wildly behind you, the beads of Neteyam’s braids clicking against each other in the wind. And still, you did not break apart for as long as you could bear, only separating from him when the both of you could no longer breathe. 

Once again, he brought his forehead to yours. 

“I can’t stay,” he murmured. “You have to wake up soon.”

Your chest started feeling as if it was going to cave in, and a panic rose up within you like a great wave. 

“No,” you choked out. “I don’t want to, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know.” 

Neteyam ran his thumb across your cheeks, swiping away another wave of tears from your skin. 

“I know, my love.”

A great wave crashed from behind him, splashing up against your calves, tangling you in the water. 

“It’s time,” Neteyam sighed. 

“No,” you protested. “No.”

You grabbed onto him as tightly as you could, digging your face into his shoulder and pulling him into you. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you cried between sobs, “Please. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know. But it’s time. The ocean is calling,” Neteyam said as he separated from you, holding both of your hands in his. 

Another great wave crashed onto the shore, rising up around you and pulling Neteyam from your grasp. 

“Neteyam, no!”

Neteyam looked out at the ocean, and turned back to you, a bright smile once again adorning his beautiful features. He reached for you, your fingers barely touching his, the ocean rising and pulling the two of you apart. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’m with you.”

As he swam off into the water, you watched him until he was a small speck on the horizon. It was only then that he turned, and waved at you in a silent goodbye. 

As you waved back, the ocean swelled around you, wrapping you in a tight embrace that smelled distinctly like him.

Don’t worry, water girl. I’m never very far. 

- -

ow this horted

thank you for reading 

xoxo, carrie

[pasteidolons]

𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤 - 𝔩𝔧𝔥 || 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

pairing: lee jihoon x female!reader genre: historical au, fluff, angst, smut (later routes), supernatural members: choi seungcheol, wen junhui, kwon soonyoung, jeon wonwoo, lee seokmin, kim mingyu, boo seungkwan, lee chan, xu minghao, hong jisoo warnings: crass humor and language, blood, violence, mentions of suicide, alcohol, minor character death, 660's sexism, crossdressing, medical procedures, political upset, historical inaccuracies for the sake of plot progression word count: 16.6k summary: riding the highs and lows coming from the crown ordered raids and sieges, the hwarang find themselves in deeper trouble when mysterious figures begin emerging and demanding something strange- you.

taglist: @hipsdofangirl

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦 || 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

𝔉𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 6𝔱𝔥, 662 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The new year sweeps in not unexpectedly, but with a gust of cold that chills you to your core. Seorabeol sits under a blanket of snow, much like it had when you first arrived a little over a year ago now.  

You finish eating breakfast with the captains a little earlier than they do, you excuse yourself to make them some tea before their morning briefing. Thankfully, the halls remain warm, so you don’t need to worry about the winter chill as you make your way back to the main hall, the smattering of captains sitting around.  

“Thank you,” Eunseok says as you set down a cup for him, a smile on his lips as he wraps his cold fingers around the steaming cup. You make your way around the hall to give the captains their drinks, most giving you a curt but appreciative nod as you do so.

“The monks at this temple have been nice enough to let us stay here this long,” Jihoon calls out, disrupting your thoughts as he speaks to the captains, “but Shoshin is getting crowded.” 

“Especially with all of the new guys coming in,” Mingyu agrees, nodding his head. 

“If we could get a bigger space, that’d be good,” Junhui adds, a tinge to his voice as if he’s thinking about how little room there is to move around these days. “Even in the overflow buildings it’s stuffy.” 

“Most of these kids are nobles too, not accustomed to living like this,” Mingyu sighs, not vouching for them, just knowing it would take some time to acquaint themselves with their newfound home. 

“If we can find somewhere bigger to host us,” Seungkwan says, “I’m sure the newbies would be more appreciative.” 

“What about Bulguksa Temple?” The man sitting next to Youngmin speaks up, glancing over to the map hanging in the front of the room.  

“Bulguksa?” Suh Kangjoon frowns, looking towards the map, “Isn’t that a bit far?” 

“Maybe,” the man shrugs, “But it’s one of the only places big enough to accommodate the Seorabeol Hwarang. And its position would allow a tactical advantage in times of panic, it’s a relatively easy place to fortify.” 

After he’s done speaking, the man leans back in his chair to see what the others have to say. Kim Gongmyung had joined the Hwarang on Soonyoung’s excursion to Hanseong in early autumn of last year. His family’s school is quite popular there and his academics gained him notoriety with the nobles of the area. “Besides, it’s closer to the border so if there’s a need to intercept or fend off any Baekje loyalists looking for trouble, it’d put us in the best spot to do so.” 

“Those are good points,” Youngmin nods enthusiastically, “An exceptional amount of detail as always, Gongmyung.” 

Even if the chief thought it to be a good idea, a few voices rose in opposition. 

“Isn’t it a bit… presumptive to do something like that?” Seungcheol frowns at Gongmyung, his hands atop the table, fingers tapping along the wooden grains.  

Gongmyung’s smile flickers as he turns to the colonel, “Then would it be better to be negligent of the possibility, the high possibility, that the loyalists are up to something again?” His question leaves little room for the colonel to answer before he begins speaking again, “It’s a lovely thought, thinking that we’re safe now, but we all know it’s not true.” His deflection of Seungcheol’s statement leaves a bitter taste in everyone’s mouths. 

“I agree that the loyalists need to be stopped, but to place our personal interest there instead of being directed to do so by the Crown or the council is…” Seungcheol trails off, clearly thinking more inwardly than he was expressing outwardly. 

“So, then, what should we do?” Another voice piques up, questioning Seungcheol. “Wait until the bastards are knocking at our door to actually do something about it? Or maybe wait until they’ve actually captured Munmu and have burned the palace to the gro-” 

“Dongyoung,” Gongmyung interjects, “Watch your mouth.” 

“My mistake,” Dongyoung scoffs after a moment of staring at his brother for interrupting him, “Couldn’t stop myself.” 

Kim Dongyoung is the younger brother of Kim Gongmyung by blood, and only by the same father. Dongyoung had joined the Hwarang with Gongmyung in autumn and had accompanied him to Seorabeol. 

“He has the tendency to run his mouth like a child still,” Gongmyung explains, “I apologize.” His attention then turns back to Seungcheol and away from his brother, “So, don’t take it too personally, please. I’m sure someone like you is needed to make the Hwarang successful. Even if your arm is unusable in a fight, your smarts and tactical abilities will prove all the more useful.” 

You see Seungcheol biting back a retort towards Gongmyung’s sour wording, the tension between the two only cut by another voice.  

“I don’t think I heard you correctly, Gongmyung.” It’s Jihoon, his voice low as if he’s trying to stabilize the tone so as to not sound angry. “Seungcheol is smart, as you said. He is not useless and not replaceable, make sure you don’t forget that.” The commander only speaks when there’s something important to be said, having spoken up now means that Gongmyung’s words must’ve gotten to him.  

“My arm, though…” Seungcheol mutters out, seemingly unable to finish the thought. Jihoon’s words remind him of what he once was, causing him to frown at the reality of it all. 

“I didn’t mean to cause such a disturbance,” Gongmyung sighs out with false sympathy, “I’ll be sure to keep my thoughts to myself next time. Seungcheol is quite a beloved member, I see, it’s nice to see such a tight knit group. I can only hope the new members share that sentiment.” 

Jihoon’s eyes seethe with anger as he glares at Gongmyung, but before he’s able to snip back, Youngmin steps in and tries to calm the air. 

“For now,” He begins, looking at each member of the opposing parties, “Let’s just keep matters on finding a new headquarter location. Gongmyung, would you mind coming with me? I’d love to continue our earlier conversation.” 

“Of course, Chief.” Gongmyung says and rises to his feet at the same time Youngmin does, the two begin to leave the room, quickly followed out by Kangjoon. 

“May I join you as well?” The latter asks before the two step out of the hall. 

“Of course,” Youngmin accepts, “I’d like you to hear what Gongmyung has to say, it may help you with strategy points.” 

“Thank you,” Kangjoon says with an appreciative smile as the three exit, shortly followed by Dongyoung who scoffs at the encounter before slinking out after them. 

“Who’s the asshole that invited them to join us?” Seungkwan frowns once the sound of their footsteps falls out of earshot. 

“That asshole’s still in Hanseong,” Junhui huffs, “When Soonyoung gets back I might just wring his neck.”

“The Kim’s father is friends with a few pro-military councilmen,” Mingyu muses, “Interesting to see that they’d join us if they share those same beliefs.” 

“They’re probably playing some sort of superiority game,” Jihoon says, his arms crossing over his chest. “Just listen to the bullshit that Dongyoung spouts off, and it looks like it’s rubbing off on Youngmin. And that’s definitely not good.”

“Youngmin’s always been like that,” Seungkwan adds, “Easily deceived by those who act nice and appear virtuous but are just vipers waiting for the right time to strike.”

“And Gongmyung’s the deputy commander with Dongyoung in a captain’s position,” Mingyu shakes his head, “They’ve rooted themselves deep.” 

Jihoon’s gaze travels to Seungcheol, who’s been staring at the patterns in the wood since his conversation with Gongmyung. “Don’t listen to him,” the commander says to him in hopes of cheering him up.  

“Gongmyung is a skilled orator with a proficient education to back it,” Seungcheol laughs dryly, “And not only that, but he’s also skilled with a sword and bow. With a gifted Deputy Commander, the Hwarang have little need for a colonel now.”

“Seungcheol-” Jihoon begins to protest as the colonel rises to his feet and starts to head for the exit. The commander’s voice trails after Seungcheol as he leaves quietly, no one daring to stop him. 

“Of all people…” Mingyu sighs out, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair, “Even the wang-do are avoiding him now.” 

“Why?” You question and turn to the captain, “It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.”

“It’s his attitude,” Junhui responds in the elder’s stead, “It doesn't matter what you say to him, he takes it the wrong way regardless.” 

“Not to mention the smartass tone he’s been taking up,” a twisted frown settles onto Mingyu’s face, “it’s no wonder the men are scared shitless of him.” 

Their words confuse you, even though you haven’t been here as long as the other captains, Seungcheol was well liked among everyone in the Hwarang. After he’d received his injury, it seems as if that demeanor has taken a turn for the worse.  

“Can’t you come up with an excuse to get Gongmyung the hell out of here?” Seungkwan asks, turning towards Jihoon. “There’s barely been a moment of civility since he got here.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Jihoon’s expression turns sour, “Youngmin’s all over the guy. Besides, he brought in a bunch of warriors from Hanseong, their allegiance doesn’t solely lie with us yet. They’ll pack up and leave the second we tell him to get lost.” 

“Fuck him though!” Seungkwan does little to quell the irateness of his voice, “You’re the goddamn demon commander, make the impossible happen!” 

Jihoon barks out a snarkish laugh, “Fine, Boo. How about I make you commander so you can kick Gongmyung and his thugs out?” 

“Hell no,” Seungkwan snickers, “That’s too much work.”

It eventually comes to fruition that Gongmyung isn’t to be trusted, having no other captains speak out on his behalf.  

You’re going around once more to distribute tea to the men when you stop by Hansol, who’d been quiet for most of, if not all, of the prior conversation. He looks up at you, as if he had felt your thoughts wander over to him.  

“What are your thoughts on Gongmyung joining?” You ask as he sets down his teacup onto the tabletop.  

Hansol sighs as you begin topping off the cup, “As any group begins to grow in numbers, it’ll have more and more people with differing opinions.” You pull the pot away from his cup, staunching the flow of the liquid, “Although, if one intends to be the catalyst for change instead of it occurring naturally, the group will begin to kill itself from the inside out.” His words hang heavy as you stand next to him, unsure of what to say next.  

Gongmyung’s acceptance into the Hwarang, from your perspective, wasn’t to tear them apart, but maybe to cause dissension among the members. You’re not fond of him, but his treatment towards Seungcheol and the colonel’s receptiveness to the critiques is what worries you the most. It’s not as if his arm would work again overnight, it would take a miracle to happen, and Seungcheol doesn’t seem like the type to frequent shamans.  

Sometime later you find yourself wandering back to your room, the meeting dissipating with little to be done with the newest arrivals. Although cold outside, the setting sun gives off little warmth as you trapeze yourself through one of the gardens. The reddish-maroon of the sinking star unsettling you. 

You still have Seungcheol in mind as you pause for a moment, staring up at the shifting hues of the heavens. A conversation you’d heard in the news of Seungcheol’s injury had spurred the conversation of the Furies as well as a serum. By the way they’d spoken of it, it made it seem as if the item was only used in dire circumstances, and it was highly secretive. You weren’t even supposed to know about it in the first place, but Soonyoung had let slip some information on it and now you can’t help but think about it. 

If you were to try and learn of it yourself, it’s no doubt that you’d find yourself in a world of trouble. Yet, you are the daughter of a physician, surely you have more medical knowledge than them? 

Falling onto your better judgment, you return to your quarters. Even if you’re worried about Seungcheol, you’re not sure that there’s much you can even do for him at this point.  

When the sun finally drops below the horizon, it seems as if Shoshin Temple bursts to life with activity. But the sounds aren’t boisterous, not the gaiety induced ones of the captains rough-housing, these were more ominous. You hear footsteps charge past your room, never seeming to cease as the men run off to an unknown location.  

Despite trying your best to keep out of it, your curiosity overtakes you, amalgamating in you slowly creeping out into the hall and following the sound of the commotion. The sounds take you to the main hall, the door left ajar so you quietly make your way inside. 

“To think that Seungcheol would’ve…” You can hear Youngmin’s voice, a seriousness in it as he comes into view. Jihoon and the other captains stand around him, each looking to be in a different stage of shock or disbelief. 

“What the hell were you all doing?!” Jihoon shouts out towards the other captains, his grief seeming to take shape in the form of unbridled anger, “I told you to watch out for Seungcheol! Was there some fucking part of that that you didn’t understand?” 

“You can’t blame us for this,” Junhui retorts defensively, “Who would’ve thought that he’d drink that shit? He was also in charge of that stuff so how were we supposed to know he had it?” 

“If he’d hidden it in a vial we wouldn’t have known,” Mingyu adds, glancing from Junhui to Jihoon, “And suppose that it does treat his arm… Everyone who took it went crazy. It didn’t work.” 

The serum… is that what the captains are referring to? You don’t have enough context on the situation to understand fully, but has Seungcheol taken whatever it is? 

“Seungcheol had been trying to improve it,” Hansol interjects, “He’d hoped his arm would heal before it deteriorated too much… Maybe he felt as if there wasn’t any other way. Regardless of that, when he realized his failure he ignored Seungkwan and tried to kill himself.”

“Kill himself?” You gasp aloud, momentarily forgetting that you aren’t supposed to be here. Slowly, all eyes shift to you, Jihoon’s gaze quickly meeting yours. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks and suddenly you’re unable to speak. His gaze holds an iciness that causes your throat to clam up, restricting any words that are trying to form. It’s the same way you felt upon entering Shoshin the first time, a mixture of anxiousness, suspicion and animosity.  

“Jihoon,” Youngmin says, his hand moving to rest on the commander’s forearm, “I think it’s time you tell her what’s going on. She is Heo’s daughter, after all.” 

Your eyes grow wide at the mention of your father’s name. Why is he being brought up all of a sudden? 

“I’m going to make this clear,” the commander stares at Youngmin with a grimace, looking back to you after a moment and sighing out lengthily, “The Hwarang don’t need you. There’s a chance that you’ll help us find Heo, but even without you, we’ll find him one way or another. Do anything strange and we’ll have you killed.” Your limbs feel frozen in place as he speaks, you’re able to stutter out an ‘Okay’ before he continues. “I’m going to tell you what’s happening here, but keep in mind that if you tell anyone else about it other than those that are in this room: it’s your own head.” 

“Are you… going to kill me?” 

“Not yet, but don’t think that means you’re free to run off.” 

“We never told you why your father was here in the first place,” Youngmin steps in, allowing you to break your gaze with Jihoon. “He was developing a… treatment of sorts.” 

“Like the one Seungcheol took?” Words forming on your lips, testing out how shocked you sound.  

The leader of the Hwarang nods solemnly, breathing in deeply before responding, “We first learned of it when one of the Crown’s men brought it to us. They told us it was obtained through trades with merchants in Tang.” 

The curiosity of it all, as dreadful it may be, swirls inside of you. Culminating into something you’re not sure you have the words to describe.  

“A foreign drug said to augment a man’s healing and bolster their strength,” Hansol sighs out, “Anyone who drank their fill would, supposedly, be able to fight off a guhin with no issue.” His voice serious, despite having alluded to a mythical beast, “Any of their injuries would heal almost immediately, unless they were decapitated or pierced through the heart.

This all sounds like something your father would’ve told you as a child to fuel your imagination, not something that was feasible now. 

“Yet, that power comes at a price. It spirals whoever drinks it into an unreturnable madness, they seek out human blood to satisfy their hunger instead of food or drink.” Hansol continues, looking at you with a wary gaze, Heo took it upon himself to try it out on some of the Hwarang so that an attempt to perfect the serum could be worked on. 

“My father?” You’re not sure how surprised you sound, something within you twinges but it’s probably the knowledge somewhere deep inside that you knew your father is connected to all of this. Yet knowing that he was using his skills to try and work on this… serum, makes a pit begin to form in your stomach. “So that night where you all found me...”

“We keep the men who’ve taken it to a temple just outside of Seorabeol, if they were kept here people would’ve become suspicious,” The explanation doesn’t tell you how you’d come to find them, but you can infer that they’d probably escaped. “As long as they don’t get any blood they stay relatively quiet.” With the way Hansol relays the information, it makes it seem as this is just a nonchalant topic for him, and it may have very well been. But to you, it’s alien but helps you put together a few things you’d been wondering since your arrival here.  

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks, a tinge of concern to his voice, “You don’t look great.” He stops himself, scoffing inwardly before continuing, “Of course you’re not, this information would sicken anyone.”

“I think we’ve told her enough,” Jihoon interjects before Mingyu can continue, “We need to think about what to do with Seungcheol.”

“I guess…” Junhui frowns, crossing his arms, “But he was practically dead when Eunseok took him out of here.”

“This was a new draught of that shit, though,” Jihoon sounds as if he’s trying to contain himself, to keep his hopefulness on the floor, “we don’t know if the effects are any different from the last batch. And if it’s supposed to do what it's meant to, then that cut isn’t going to kill him.” His eyes flicker to the leader, “Youngmin, can you watch over him? I know Eunseok’s taking care of him but he’s just a kid and I don’t think that-” A pause as he catches himself fretting, he gives himself a second to straighten up, “Tonight will tell us if he’s meant to live or die, and whether he’ll be sane or not by the end of it.”

“Of course, isn’t Seungkwan with him as well?” Youngmin asks before he turns on his heels and heads towards the door.

“He’s guarding the room,” A curt response from Jihoon before Youngmin nods and exits the main hall, the sound of his footsteps dying down after a moment.

“I want you to keep everyone away from the captain’s wing,” Jihoon looks towards Mingyu, a frown dancing on his lips, “Especially Gongmyung’s men.”

“I know,” Mingyu huffs looking to where Youngmin had exited.

“Junhui, go and check on Hwangnyongsa.”

Another order from Jihoon, Junhui nods wordlessly and begins to head towards the main exit of the headquarters. As he passes, you see a glint of the same hostility he’d held towards you on the night of your first arrival. It’s tense and suspicious of you, an itch of gooseflesh overcoming you as he walks out into the night.

“Hansol, go to the inner courtyard, if the Kim brothers or their men show up, keep them busy,” And before Hansol’s even left the room, Jihoon’s gaze settles on you. “I want you to stay with one of the captains.” His concern stems not for the care of your well-being, that much is evident in his gaze, but more to the fact that tonight isn’t a good night to be wandering around alone.

“I’d stay away from Hwangnyongsa, they get rowdy at night,” Mingyu notes, his teeth biting at his cheek.

You nod, thankful for the suggestion, but even with his warning, you’d be limited in where you could go.

“I think I’ll stay here,” you assert to the remaining men, nodding to yourself that this is probably the safest place you could remain within the compound.

It doesn’t take long for Hansol and Mingyu to take their leave, heading for their respective locations around the headquarters before you’re left alone with the commander.

The main hall feels suffocating, mostly from Jihoon’s quietness and the thoughts of what had transpired here merely an hour beforehand. Your gaze shifts from looking out of the main entrance to the commander, his brow furrowing and eyes looking sullen. It’s easy to see that the events of tonight are eating away at him, his concern for his second-in-command utterly gnawing at his very being. His eyes close and he lets out a quiet sigh before speaking again,

“You might think you know who Seungcheol is, but this… It’s not really who he is. He’s an intelligent man who is more than just a sword. The colonel sees the full picture rather than what lies duly in front of him.” Another sigh as if he’s reminiscing, “His guidance helped me through a lot more than I’d like to credit, but his words were always more commandeering than his blade. In a way he was more powerful than me, without him, the Hwarang would’ve regressed to the likes of the Wonhwa.” A subtle smile curling on his lips, “He was like my big brother.” Hands balling into fists atop the table, there is a sincerity that drips from his words bitterly.

“He must mean a lot to you,” you say softly, your own hands falling into your lap, your back hitting the back of the chair as you lean.

“It sounds a little childlike when you say it aloud,” the absinthian smile still clinging to him. He sits, probably thinking the worst outcome for his longtime friend, reminiscing on their past and contemplating what it may mean for the future. Jihoon’s position leaves him unable to divulge this with most others, yet by sharing them with you, he can hold off on the truth for a while longer.

“The only reason we didn’t get rid of that serum is because we thought we could heal his arm with it somehow… Because I thought we could heal him,” the smile fades away, replaced with a grimace. “I should’ve seen this coming.” His own hands fall away from the tabletop and to his sides, a relent in the tension building in his shoulders, “We need Seungcheol. We can’t lose him.”

An anguish coming over him due to the morality of his friend. It’s hard to watch, and you’re nowhere near close enough to him to offer him substantial comfort or advice.

“It’ll be okay,” quiet words leaving you as you straighten up in your chair, his gaze flickering over to you.  

“Do you have anything to back that statement up?”

“Back in Toehwa-hyeon, I saw my father treat a lot of people. Most of them believed that they’d recover, and my dad said it was because they had a strong heart,” you say slowly, trying to space out your words coherently. “Seungcheol never seemed like the type to give up fully, and if we all think that he’ll recover then…”

Jihoon lets out a small laugh with a smile and shakes his head, “The Commander of the Hwarang being cheered up by a physician’s daughter. Who could’ve ever imagined this?” A spark igniting in his eyes, returning to the glowing embers and eventual blaze that he so often carries. “You’re right, though. Seungcheol drank the medicine with the intent of getting better and fixing his arm, we just have to believe that he’ll recover.” 

𝔉𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 7, 662 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The night breaks into dawn long after you've retired to your room. A clattering of noise and the rise of voices rouse you from slumber and pull you back to the main hall. Upon entering, you find that the captains have gathered, each in conversation with one another. This scene isn’t interrupted until Eunseok enters. 

“It seems as if the hardest part for him is over,” The youngest nods, a collective ball of tension in the room dissipating instantly. 

“How is he?” Mingyu asks, looking to Eunseok. 

“Still asleep,” he nods, “he was in and out of consciousness the entire night, but he looks peaceful now.”

“Has he gone crazy like the others?” Junhui’s question is blunt as he blurts it out into the space. 

Eunseok shakes his head in the negative, “Not seemingly. But we won’t know until he wakes up. But as for now, he looks as he always has.”

Before another captain is able to ask Eunseok of Seungcheol’s status, the doors open and Gongmyung strides into the room.

“Good morning everyone,” A cheap smile painted on his face, “How are you?”

You can hear Junhui let out a soft, “Fuck,” at the sight of him. 

Gongmyung scans the faces of the captains after their muffled hellos, “You all look… gloomy.” 

“Isn’t it obvious that it’s because we’ve got to see your beautiful face every morning?” Junhui bites with a snicker. 

“What a… cute response,” Gongmyung’s quick to brush away the insult as he turns to the other captains. “Is the reason you all look so down because of what happened last night?”

“Ah, actually,” Youngmin begins, fumbling over his words. His gaze hops from captain to captain, looking for someone to relieve him of trying to offer an excuse to Gongmyung. 

“Jae,” Junhui’s elbow finds the older’s side as he whispers, “make something up!”

“You see,” Mingyu says after a moment, he too, stumbling over his words, “Well… Uh, yesterday…” 

“Didn’t you say you used to act for the nobles in your village?” Seungkwan scoffs at him quietly, “Be quiet and let someone else do the talking.” You think he’s talking about himself, but instead of speaking up, Seungkwan looks to Hansol, who begins speaking almost immediately. 

“As you may have heard, an incident occurred last night at the headquarters,” voice plain as he speaks to the Deputy Commander, “We have yet to gain full knowledge on the situation. If we were to make a statement now, it is a risk of polluting fact with falsities. Later this afternoon I’m sure we’ll be able to provide a much more detailed report.” 

“Hmm,” Gongmyung mulls over Hansol’s statement for a moment, “I’ll look forward to hearing all about what happened later this evening, then. For now, I’ll return to my men.” He waves everyone on his way out, a strange smile cutting across his face before he exits. 

“That was easier than it should’ve been,” Seungkwan huffs, watching the door close with a soft slam.

“What do you mean?” You ask, attention turning from the door and to Seungkwan.

“Gongmyung isn’t stupid, unfortunately,” Jihoon frowns and looks at you, “We shouldn’t have let him in here. The only person missing from our ranks is Seungcheol, it’s not going to take him long to realize that something’s happened to him.” 

The Deputy Commander had most likely suspected what had occurred but decided to not press the issue. Before you can think on it for too long, the door opens once more and Choi Seungcheol shuffles in.

A small laugh as he looks at them, his voice sounding a little weak, “Come on, it’s not like I’m some kind of monster.”

Eunseok rushes to him, offering assistance to stand but is waved away by the Colonel, “You should be resting, are you okay being up like this?”

“I’m tired… sore… but I suppose that’s a side effect of my new condition,” Seungcheol’s brow furrows slightly as he looks down to his hand, “Those who’ve taken the serum have found it difficult to do work in the daylight.” His face is a bit pallid, but with the way he stands and moves, it doesn’t seem like he’s hindered all too much. “I’m no longer human,” the words echoing around the room with a chilling effect. Each and every captain fell silent to them.

“Who cares about what you are?” Youngmin speaks up after a moment and steps towards Seungcheol with a bright smile, trying to lighten the mood, “All that matters is that you’re alive.”

“How’s your arm? Healed?” Seungkwan questions, looking down to the colonel’s once bandaged limb. 

“I don’t think I’ve fully recovered yet,” Seungcheol notes, flexing his fingers at his side, “It seems to have healed for the most part.” 

Despite the disturbance and subsequent chaos of the night prior, it seems like Seungcheol’s wish to use his arm again had come true. 

“You can’t go out in the sunlight though, right?” Mingyu asks, voice concerned, and his brow furrowed, “Will you still be able to fight with us?”

Seungcheol nods, slowly moving his head as if he’s mulling over a thought he’d been holding in for some time. “I think you should tell everyone I died.”

“What!?” Junhui shouts out, unable to hold in the burst of confusion. “The fuck are you on about?”

“I should serve in the Corps from now on. It’ll show them, and even more so, us, that success isn’t some far off dream.” Seungcheol says, looking at the frazzled captain. 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind Seungcheol?” Junhui’s voice shakes with every word, “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course, I do,” Seungcheol frowns, “The Crown has ordered us to keep the serum a secret, and if I,” a small hum as he postulates his next word, “die, that secret remains so. Researching in secret will give me more ability to track side effects and even give me the potential to remove them. What reason do we have for me not to if we’re going to use it?” 

The movements of the captains easily show that they’re against Seungcheol’s idea, although no one but Junhui has said anything against it. None of them wish to banish their friend to a life of hiding and secrecy. 

“We were given this task by the late King himself, carried on by his son…” Youngmin trails off, “This may be our only choice.”  

“This is what you asked for, isn’t it Seungcheol?” Seungkwan shoots him a look, “You’ve always been the type to take things into your own hands so I can’t fault you for that.” 

“Sometimes I think you know me too well,” the colonel chuckles.

Jihoon, who’s stayed silent for a majority of the conversation, scoffs at the remark. “This means moving the Hwarang to a new location can’t wait any longer. If we’re going to hide Seungcheol from Gongmyung and his crowd, Shoshin wouldn’t allow us to do that easily.” 

“You’re right,” Hansol affirms, “If the Colonel intends to begin researching again, then we’ll have to expedite our move.” 

A nod from the commander as he turns to face the captains in full, “Even though none of you slept well, we need to get to work.” He looks to you, “You should get some rest, I know you didn’t sleep well either.” 

You want to stay and help them, but with how fatigued you are from staying up so late you can only nod your head at him before quickly shuffling back to your room. 

The same thoughts that had plagued you last night as you tried to fall asleep plague you as you now lie on your bedding. Your father’s work… Are you safe under their pretext of safety still? Thoughts still buzzing around your head as you eventually find yourself drifting off into a dreamless slumber. 

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 4𝔱𝔥, 662 – 𝔅𝔲𝔩𝔤𝔲𝔨𝔰𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Bulguksa Temple has proven a better headquarters than that of Shoshin Temple, you’d come to this conclusion in the subsequent weeks of your arrival in March of this year. There’s much more room for the men to freely roam and train, and the view was even more astonishing than the last. The only downfall is the longer trek to the city of Seorabeol itself. On some days you still find yourself lost on the winding paths to the temple, but for the most part you can guide yourself around with little assistance from the monks who reside there.

On this particular day, you find yourself wandering the seemingly endless grounds for the Hwarang’s colonel. When you think you spot him standing in one of the shaded courtyards of the temple’s grounds you shout out to him.

“There you are, Colonel,” You call out, a tray held tightly in your grasp. The sun hangs in the sky above you, a slight burn beginning to burgeon on your clothed shoulders as you approach. “I’ve brought you your lunch.”

“Oh, hello,” he turns to you with a smile and beckons you closer, “Thank you.” A bird chirps in the branches of the tree above him, you look up to find the small creature before returning your gaze to him. You offer him a smile before extending out the tray to him. 

“It’s really gotten warm lately, hasn’t it?” You note, stepping into the shade once he’d taken the tray. Fingers rising to your shoulders to feel the heat of the sun that had soaked into the fabric. 

“It has,” he nods, moving to set the tray down on a stump beside him, “Although the increased sunshine has been more disagreeable than the warmth.”

“Ah, is it?” The sun doesn’t feel but so harsh on you, but the heat that swells around the compound has been making you sweat since the sun broke over the horizon. Yet, to Seungcheol his disposition probably found the light unbearable from his days in the shadows.

Sometimes it feels unreal to call Seungcheol dead, the night where he’d taken that serum to transform him into a creature lustful for blood, feeling more so like a dream whenever you recall it. As he stands before you now, you can hardly imagine it.

A light breeze wafts through the greenery around you, parting enough leaves in the tree from a few beams of sunlight to fall onto Seungcheol. For a moment, his hair turns a silvery white and his eyes seem to turn a deep crimson.

Your eyes widen and you take a step back, unsure if it were a trick of the light or your own imagination. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks, his hair now normal and his eyes once again brown. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and I know I’m not at that point yet.” Maybe you had imagined it.

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 6𝔱𝔥, 662 – 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Soonyoung had asked you to accompany him on his rounds this morning with an excitedness in his voice that would’ve been hard to turn down. So, now you find yourself briskly walking with him through the crowded streets, the blues of his robes shining brilliantly in the midday sky. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve asked me to come on patrol with you,” You note as you pass a vendor selling sickeningly sweet treats. 

“I know, right? Hanseong kept me pretty busy.” He sighs out, having only just returned from his trip to the northern city just a few weeks ago. “Junhui and Mingyu didn’t mess with you when I was gone, did they? How was it when I was away?”

“Everything was fine, and they didn’t bother me,” You assure him with a small smile. 

“That’s good,” He returns the smile as you continue to walk. “Any updates on Heo though? Did you find any leads?”

“No,” the smile from your lips quickly leaving. 

“I see…” His own smile quickly disappears as he watches you, “I stopped by his place with the information you gave me but… It didn’t seem as if anyone had returned.” The somberness of the male begins to transfer to you, a feeling of hopelessness beginning to overtake you momentarily. 

“Thank you for taking the time to check for me, I know Toehwa-hyeon isn’t on the direct path back.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” He waves you off, “The fact that you can’t freely come and go as you please is completely the Hwarang’s faul—” 

“Soonyoung?” You question as he’d stopped himself mid-sentence. He’d looked glum ever since his return from Hanseong. “How about you, though? I know it’s been a while since you’ve been back in Seorabeol.” 

“I do feel like the city’s changed, the people too,” he muses, glancing at the faces that pass by. There’s a solemness to his tone that wasn’t typically there in conversations you’d had with him prior, had something happened in Hanseong? Before you can question him on it, his head jerks to look above the crowd, standing on his toes and waving to someone across the way.

“Find anything over there, Seungkwan?!” He shouts out above the clamor of the street. 

“Nope,” the older replies as he saunters over, “Nothing out of order here.” Seungkwan is out for patrol too, but his route takes him through a different path through the city. “Normal for now, at least. Things will change once the king comes back from his family villa. Rumor has it that he’s going to address the Hwarang.”

“Is he really?” You question, brow raising in surprise.

“Yep, it’s got Youngmin all flustered,” Seungkwan chuckles, “Our dear leader really respects the Crown, as well all have to, I guess.”

“I see,” you nod, “I hope it actually happens, then, right, Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung looks lost in thought before he hears his name, stumbling out his words as he responds, “Ah, yeah, right.” 

You look to Seungkwan to see if he’s caught on to the other’s oddness. But he’s stifling his mouth with his hand, coughing into it. 

“Are you alright?” You question him as his hand falls away from his mouth.

“I’m okay,” he waves you off, “I probably just caught a cold from patrolling late one night or something.” 

“Well, try to take care of yourself,” a sigh leaving you. As strong and intelligent as the men were, they hardly ever took care of their basic needs, “I have some cold medicine back at the headquarters, I’ll give you some.” 

“Thanks,” Seungkwan smiles, “I guess it is good to have you around at times.” Something catches his attention, and he breaks his gaze away from you and into the crowds of the street.

“Is something wrong?”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” A voice rings out and you follow it to see a man holding the wrist of a woman trying to get away from him. 

“Let go of me!” She cries out, trying to pull herself away from his grip.

“We’re soldiers of this great kingdom, fighting hard every day to kick these loyalists’ asses! You owe us some drinks, and maybe even a little company.” The man says, and it’s then you realize it isn’t just him, but two other presumed soldiers are harassing this woman. 

“Are you guys seeing this?” You question the two captains.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung frowns, “Stay here.”

Yet, before Soonyoung could step forward, Seungkwan seems to be several steps ahead, reaching the group already.

“Soldiers don’t seem to be what they used to,” he tuts, “throwing that rank aloud doesn’t mean you’re owed anything.” The crowds coming to watch the scene shuffle away from Seungkwan as he hovers his hand on his blade, glaring at the men. As the harassers catch the blues of the Hwarang’s robes they seem to stiffen. 

“You’re a Hwarang, aren’t you?” One of them asks, furrowing their brow.

“And you must be the smartest one out of these men,” Seungkwan’s tone is condescending as his hand now rests on the hilt of his sword. “Now, what’s it going to be?” A snide, predatory smile as he grips the hilt, no happiness deriving from the grin as the soldier’s faces pale. 

“Why don’t you leave us alone? This doesn’t involve you.” The one presumed to be their ringleader remarks. 

“If you really want to get out of here unscathed, you should probably follow your own advice,” Soonyoung scoffs, now saddling up beside Seungkwan. 

The sight of two Hwarang seems enough to deter the men from their endeavor. Their faces draining of color before they scamper off like scolded dogs. 

“If they’re just gonna run off like that when they see us they shouldn’t have tried to start anything in the first place,” Soonyoung sighs, watching them disappear into the crowds. 

“Aren’t you going to go after them?” You ask, looking at them as you walk over.

“And charge them with what?” Seungkwan questions, retracting his hand away from his blade and crossing his arms, “Didn’t think you were the iron fist kind of person.”

Before you can protest that that’s not what you meant, the woman whom the two Hwarang had intervened for speaks up, “Thank you for saving me.” She gives both Seungkwan and Soonyoung a bow, more grace in her movements than you could ever hope to have. Even if you dressed like a girl you’re not sure you’d even come close. 

Seungkwan’s hand lands on your shoulder before you’re able to feel any sorrier for yourself. “Seungkwan?” You question as he pulls you forward to stand next to the girl.

“Just go with it,” he says and steps away from the two of you, his hand under his chin as he looks over both of you. You smile softly at the girl, embarrassed as to what the Hwarang is making you do. She returns the smile, beautiful on the outside but there is something almost… strange about it. 

“Just as I thought,” Seungkwan nods, “They look just like each other.” 

And then it hits you, the girl standing before you looks just as you do whenever you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirrors dotting the headquarters. 

“Really?” Soonyoung questions, tilting his head at the two of you, “I don’t think they look alike at all, Boo.”

“Dress ‘em up like a girl and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” Seungkwan insists.

“Captain Boo…” The woman says, looking at you, “She seems troubled.” 

She? Had the woman caught on to you so soon? Stuck in your thoughts she smiles at you once more, “I want to thank all of you properly, but I’m afraid that I’m in the middle of something important. My name is Ahro, I hope I’ll be able to repay you soon, Captain Boo.”

And with that she too disappears like a wisp into the crowds of Seorabeol, the strangeness of her presence lingering long after she’s left.

“It looks like she likes you, Seungkwan!” Soonyoung nudges the elder with his elbow.

“Is that really what you think, Soonyoung?” The other laughs, “You’ve got a long way to go before you’re at Junhui’s prowess levels.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Soonyoung shouts at the other, clearly offended by the remark. 

Their bickering fades away as you look to a puddle on the ground left from the rain the night prior. Looking into it now you see the resemblance that you and that woman had had. “Ahro…” You hum as a gust of wind causes the water to ripple and distort your figure. 

“Let’s get going!” Soonyoung calls, now further down the street as he’d begun walking back to Bulguksa.

“Coming!” You shout out to him as you look up from the puddle and begin to chase after him. 

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 11𝔱𝔥, 662 – 𝔅𝔲𝔩𝔤𝔲𝔨𝔰𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The main hall of this temple is open enough so that most, if not all, of the Seorabeol Hwarang can fit inside of it with ample room to spare. It’s a little strange to see all of these faces in one place, seeing as at Shoshin, only the captains and a few other members took priority of occupying the main hall. Yet, as Kwak Youngmin stands proudly in front of his men, any thoughts of the prior location escape your mind.

“By now it’s probably not our best kept secret, but King Munmu has asked us to act as his guard as he returns from his family’s villa to Banweolseong.” Youngmin beams excitedly as the hall begins to erupt in chatter.

“Guard him?” Junhui looks shocked as he turns towards Mingyu, “What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “I thought we were just going to get the usual ‘Keep up the good work’ spiel.” 

“Our work at Wonweol and Ongsan must’ve gotten through to them,” Jihoon nods, a hidden smile pulling at his lips. 

“The leadership of Silla resting on us,” Seungkwan muses almost gleefully, “That’s big.”

“Exactly right,” Jihoon agrees, “We’ve got to do beyond our best for this.”

On the opposite end of the hall, you can hear Suh Kangjoon speak up, “Guarding the king… That’s quite the promotion for us.”

“It truly is,” Gongmyung notes with a sigh, “If only Seungcheol were alive to see it. He would’ve been overjoyed.” Another lamenting breath tiptoeing on faux sympathy, “To have lost such an ally…” 

Kim Gongmyung and all of his followers had been told of the colonel’s passing. Actually, the incident surrounding Seungcheol’s transformation had been hidden, only a few of the Hwarang knew the reality of the situation. 

“I think doing our best to serve and protect the king is what Seungcheol would’ve wanted,” Youngmin interjects himself into their conversation. 

“Yes,” Gongmyung nods, “Of course. This is an excellent opportunity for us to gain favor with the masses.”

“We ought to assign roles at this point. I’d like Jihoon, Seungkwan, and myself to—” Youngmin begins before being cut off by Jihoon.

“Sorry Kwak, but do you think Boo can sit this one out?” The commander’s arms cross over his chest as he glances towards the third party. 

“Why’s that?” Youngmin questions, confusion sweeping his features.  

“His cold hasn’t recovered fully. And despite me telling him to take care of himself, he neglects to do so,” He sighs out, looking back towards Youngmin. 

“Is this true, Seungkwan?” Youngmin looks at the swordsman, “Are you alright?”

“Lee’s just babying me again,” Seungkwan says with a dismissive gesture, “I think I’m alright.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Jihoon frowns, “You nearly coughed up a lung earlier.” 

“Are you trying to sell me medicine?” He scoffs, crossing his arms with a frown, “There’s no way in hell I’m taking what your mother’s doctor prescribed anymore. It tastes like persimmons.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to—” a frustrated grunt from the commander, “Just do what I say, for once.”

You recall giving Seungkwan medicine some time ago after he’d been coughing while out on patrol, had it not helped him? It could be dust particles in the air, you know that the buildup of dust in the temple caused you to sneeze incessantly some mornings. 

From the corner of your periphery, you see someone raise their hand. 

“Is something wrong, Soonyoung?” Youngmin asks, having seen the younger calling for attention. 

“I’m uh, I’m not feeling so great either,” Soonyoung frowns, his eyes looking panicked. 

“You too?” Youngmin hums in defeat, “You should try and take care of yourself. I was hoping we could all go and guard the king.”

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung bows his head in apology. 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. Your health comes first, always!” Youngmin tries to brighten his tone to detract from the now somber mood. “I’m sure we’ll have another chance to do something great together!”

Jihoon and Youngmin continue discussing the precession that’s to take place, when suddenly, the commander turns to you.

“What’re you going to do?” Jihoon asks, an eyebrow raised as he poises the question. 

“What do you mean?” You say as you look to him, “Are you asking if I want to go with you?”

“I am,” He nods and after a moment of silence asks, “Are you?” 

“Is that really okay?”

“Of course it is!” Youngmin smiles, “We won’t mind. Besides, you’re practically one of us, I’d love for you to accompany us.” 

Another moment of hesitation before Seungkwan laughs aloud, “Why don’t you go? It seems a lot safer than what happened at Wonweol and Ongsan.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung nods, “I can’t imagine any loyalists would try to do anything when the king’ll be so heavily guarded.” 

“I’ll go, then,” you nod firmly towards the commander. 

“Alright,” Jihoon nods back with a small smile, “I thought we’d give you the job of running messages when needed. It’s not going to be the easiest job but I figure you can do it.”

Later that day you and the able captains and Hwarang left Seorabeol. Traveling about an hour or two outside of the city as you wait for the king’s caravan to greet you in a small village that you can’t remember the name of. You never actually saw the king, but you follow the Hwarang back to Seorabeol, arriving at the gates of the city just as the sun dips below the horizon. The walk through the city is brisk, and in no time the caravan disbands and you and a few other Hwarang stand outside the palace gates. By now, Youngmin, Junhui and Gongmyung are probably greeting officials and other important members of the king’s retinue. 

You shift on your feet for a moment, the sole aching slightly from the trek earlier, but you have a job to do. Jihoon had tasked you to tell the Hwarang when to change their shift and to carry any important messages when needed. It’s something of a glorified page position, but it’s not an entirely useless role… probably. 

“You’re the messenger?” A voice says as you approach them, “This isn’t a vacation, you know.”

“I’m not here to relax, Dongyoung,” you sigh as you stand before him.

“Is that right? Then why did we take someone here who can’t even use a sword?” Dongyoung scoffs, the light from a nearby brazier flickering across the sneer on his face.

“I’m here to do what I can,” You state firmly before beginning to relay your message. “The Chief is currently paying his respects to members of the court, everyone else should continue guarding.” 

“Message understood,” he says flippantly, causing you to look confused with how he didn’t retort on it. “What? Surprised I actually listened to you?”

“Oh no—I just—” 

“It’s a job,” He frowns, “It’s not personal. Now you’ve delivered your message, get going.”

You don’t ever speak much to Dongyoung, mostly on account of his brother being Gongmyung, but maybe he’s more responsible than you thought him to be. 

After he shoos you away, you continue to make your rounds, delivering messages to the Hwarang stationed around the castle. They’re easy to spot, wearing their white robes instead of their normal blues. They seem laxer now, maybe because the loyalists had been driven out of the capital for the most part, the Baekje revivalists fleeing back to the territory of the old kingdom. 

As you think that, and begin to approach another member of the Hwarang some distance away, your blood runs cold. A prick of gooseflesh running along your spine as your heartbeat reaches your ears. You can taste the blood in the air, looking around the trees encasing the palace and finding nothing. It’s not until you look at the castle walls and the walkway situated on top of it, does your stomach sink. Three figures jump down from the wall, landing on the dirt ground with a cloud of gritty dust.

“You’ve found us, then,” A familiar voice sighs out as they turn to you, stating your name somewhat cooly. The figure, flanked by two others, is haloed in the moonlight as you squint your eyes to try and get a better look at his face. “Not too slow.” Their piercing gaze fires into you, the name ‘Hong Jisoo’ battering through your mind as you remember the distinctive voice and way he carries himself. The last you’d seen him had been at Ongsan, and you face him now with much more dread than you’d had that day.

The two figures beside him must be Hwan Minhyun and Xu Minghao, the people whom other Hwarang had encountered during the battle at the fortress. You know they have ties with the inner court and had tried to stop the Hwarang��s efforts during the battle at Wonweol and Ongsan.

“Why are you here?” You question, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You mean ‘how’ did we get here, don’t you?” the one on Jisoo’s left, questions. “Man made obstacles are meaningless to a Demon.”

“We’re here for only one reason: you.” The other speaks up, crossing his arms. 

“Me?” You take a step back, the pounding of your heart unrelenting as you stare at them. “I don’t understand.” How do they know your name? “What do you mean by Demon? Is this some kind of joke?”

Jisoo scoffs, “You of all people are asking that? Maybe you’re the one who’s joking.” He steps forward, toward you, the shadows seeming to cling to his robes as he walks. 

When the man you now presume to be Minhyun speaks, it’s soft, almost caring in a way, “When you’re injured, do you heal quickly?” Your breath catches in your throat as he continues, “You heal faster than anyone around you, right?” 

This knowledge about you is unknown to almost everyone except for you and your father… How do they know this? 

You’re about to try and pull yourself together to defend yourself from the accusations when the other man, Minghao speaks up. “Wouldn’t it be better to just give her a demonstration?” His hand begins to reach for the quiver on his back before Jisoo speaks up.

“Minghao, do you really think I’d let you hurt a female Demon?” His voice slightly agitated as he glanced at the other. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hong.” He scoffs, “She’s being stubborn, what do you suggest we do?” 

Jisoo breaks his glare, only for his eyes to settle on the blade at your hip. “Her family’s name is a demon’s, she carries the Demon of Taebaeksan’s blade. Isn’t that enough evidence?” 

“My… name?” What’s wrong with ‘Heo’? His narrative, largely unknown to you, is cause enough for you to continue to panic. 

“Then again, it’s not like we need your permission to kidnap you,” Jisoo muses, looking at you with a frown, “Come with us or we’ll have to take you instead.” His hand outstretches towards you like a lure trying to bait in a fish. You step back, away from him, when you feel two figures brush past you. 

“Woah there,” Mingyu says as he stops, feet hitting the ground as his hand reaches for and pulls out his sword, “This really isn’t the place to try and pick up a woman.”

“You again?” Jisoo asks as he steps back, a sneer on his lips, “For a noble you really do like to keep it simple.”

“The same could be said to you,” Hansol says to him, also reaching for his blade. He looks back to you, “When we heard you hadn’t given your messages out on time we came to look for you.”

You nod and step back once more, your legs becoming unsteady as if the adrenaline that had been coursing through you suddenly left you at once. A hand catches you before you fall, pulling you further away from the skirmish.

“Stay back here,” Jihoon says sternly, looking towards the trio of assailants. His hand guides you to his side before he lets go of you, reaching for his blade. “I thought you’d be here for the king,” He says to Jisoo, “What do you want with my page?” 

“I don’t have any interest in you or this kingdom right now,” Jisoo says, looking past the commander and at you, “This matter only concerns us Demons.” 

“Demons?” Jihoon scoffs, narrowing his eyes at the foe. He seems confused by the statement, perhaps hoping there’d be a more coherent and understandable reason for Jisoo’s presence. 

“Haven’t seen you since Ongsan,” Minghao notes, looking over to Mingyu and Hansol.

“Looks like it’s fate,” Mingyu huffs out, “not that I’m particularly happy about it.” 

“I don’t feel great about this reunion either,” Hansol sighs and pulls out his sword, Mingyu following suit. 

The tension lays thick in the air, settling into your throat so that you find it hard to speak or breathe. With the slightest movement that could set them off, you reflexively reach for the blade at your hip so that should anything arise, you’ll be ready. 

“Don’t worry about them,” A voice from behind you speaks up. Cloaked in the shadows from the nearby forest, Chan slowly approaches you. “Jihoon’s asked me to escort you back to headquarters.”

“Are you telling me to run?” You ask, gaze shifting from Chan to Jihoon, who’s still locked eyes with Jisoo. 

“I am,” Chan nods, reaching out so that you might take his hand, “Even if you stay there’s little you can do.” 

You shake your head, his hand falling away back to his side, “I’m going to stay.” 

“What do you think you’ll be able to do here?” Chan doesn’t sound condescending, just confused as to why you’d wish to stay and endanger yourself further. 

You think to what the three intruders had said to you prior, the want to know more about what they’d called you sought itself out with more priority than your own safety at the moment. 

“You have a reason, I see.” The Hwarang shakes his head, not waiting for a response as he sees the conviction already dead-set in your gaze. “I can admire that. But I do have my orders. You may want to stay because you want to do what you believe is right, but I have to do the same.” His hand outstretches towards you once more, a pleading look in his eye as he quietly asks for you to go with him. 

Before his fingers are able to brush against the linen of your robes, an arrow whizzes by, buzzing before it lands with a solid ‘thunk’ in a tree behind Chan. Gaze traveling back to where it had been fired, you find Minghao lowering his bow, his hand still hovering over his quiver should he need to take another shot. 

“She said she wanted to stay,” Minghao sighs, grabbing another arrow before loosely notching it, “You have to learn to respect a woman’s wishes.” 

Mingyu lurches forward with his sword in retaliation for the attack on his fellow Hwarang, hoping to land a blow somewhere on Minghao’s abdomen. The strike though, is easily dodged by the bowman, who merely steps aside and watches as Mingyu’s feet falter as he moves to sling his bow over his shoulder and reach for the sword at his hip.

“Minghao’s temper is going to get him in trouble one day,” you hear Minhyun note with a frown as he witnesses the event. 

“Evidently so,” Hansol agrees, sword still clenched in his fist, “You don’t seem like you’re going to stop him, though.” He then moves to strike the unarmed foe, swinging his sword in a downward motion to try and disrupt the lax stance Minhyun was in. 

“And here I was,” a clanging of metal as Minhyun seems to unsheathe his sword in a blink of an eye and move it upwards to counter Hansol’s blow, “thinking we could just talk this through!” 

“Who the hell are these guys?” Jihoon says through grit teeth as you hover your hand over your blade once more. Behind you, you can hear Chan slip back into the tree line, presumably to go and fetch help for the commander and captains. Minghao and Minhyun are showing much more prowess with a blade than you’d thought, and with Jisoo still standing, you know it’d take more men than the three Hwarang to defeat them. 

For now, though, you put your faith into Jihoon and step back from the fight, an action that draws appraisal from the commander, “Good. Don’t be an idiot and draw your sword. Leave this to me.”

“Don’t you remember the last time we fought?” Jisoo frowns and you recall the fight that Jihoon had found himself entrenched in. The way that the stranger speaks of it unsettles you, as if he’s taunting the commander with the memory of it. “Maybe instead of going easy I’ll just get rid of you.” 

Jihoon laughs at the absurdity of the statement, “I’d love to see you try. I still haven’t paid you back for killing one of my men at Ongsan.”

The rivalry sparks between them, a fire igniting in their gazes before Jihoon takes the first step. They run towards each other, their swords clanging together and ringing out through the nighttime sky. Blades screaming against one another as they’re pulled apart by the respective opponent, Jihoon seeks to swing again only to be parried by Jisoo with ease. 

“What the hell are you?” Jihoon asks as the two part once more, his breathing heaving as it seems as if he’d thrown his all into his last strike. 

“Haven’t I already said what I was? A Demon,” Jisoo frowns, barely looking scathed by the short skirmish, “but not just me, or them, but her too.” His gaze flickers over to you for a moment before looking back to Jihoon. “We’ve come to relinquish you from watching over her.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Jihoon snorts before tightening his grip on his blade. This time, it’s Jisoo who strikes out first, their blades greeting each other with a shuddered clangor. They exchange a few more blows, a strand of Jisoo’s hair edging too close to Jihoon’s blade and quickly getting cut away. The cut strands flutter to the ground and settle by his feet. Instead of looking scared at how close a blade had come to his body, Jisoo shows what seems to be the tiniest bit of surprise before lowering his sword. 

Jihoon, seeing his opposition falter, lowers his blade as well, taking a step back. Around them, you see that Hansol, Minhyun, Mingyu and Minghao have stopped fighting as well. 

“Fighting like this is going to get us nowhere,” Minhyun frowns and looks over to Jisoo, “We’ll only attract more people.”

“I can’t help but feel that that’s targeted at him,” Minghao bites, “I know when to stop, the only one here who’s got an issue with that is—” His gaze trails towards Jisoo as he speaks, biting back a retort. 

A deep, almost exasperated sigh from Jisoo, “We don’t have to stay. We’ve only come to verify that the lead was correct.”

“Do you think we’ll just let you walk away?” Hansol questions, his sword still raised towards the trio. 

“You three might survive,” Jisoo nods, moving to sheath his sword, “but how many of your men will we have to kill before we escape? Are their lives that expendable?” Jihoon, Hansol and Mingyu remain angrily silent, knowing full well they can’t accept that risk. Jisoo smiles at them, he and the two others begin to make their way to the forest’s edge, but before they disappear completely, their leader turns and says one last thing to you.

“I will be back for you.” Not wanting to meet his gaze, your eyes travel to the embroidered yellow azaleas on his robes before they vanish in the denseness of the forest. 

The words whip through you like an icy chill, curling around your stomach with a fear you haven’t felt since you were a child. 

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks after he’s sheathed his sword and takes a few steps towards you. 

“I’m… alright,” you nod weakly, clenching your fists so they won’t shake.

“You’re bad at lying,” he laughs lightly, “Just wait here for a bit, we’ll have some other men take a few rounds and make sure those three don’t come back.”

“Thank you,” trying to sound as appreciative as you can, you look from Mingyu to Jihoon, who continues to stare into the darkness of the woods as if to try and spot the three figures. 

“Do you have any idea why they came after you?” He questions after a moment, locking eyes with you as if to probe your mind. 

“I’m not sure…” you relent, not knowing whether Jisoo’s words were accurate or not. Were you really what he said, a Demon? 

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 20𝔱𝔥, 662 – 𝔅𝔲𝔩𝔤𝔲𝔨𝔰𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The incident on the night of the eleventh never comes to the attention of any other members of the Hwarang, save for the commander’s most trusted captains. In lieu of that, life at Bulguksa remains relatively unchanged, the usual grumblings from Gongmyung and his crowd continue as usual and the captain’s antics remain unbothered. 

On this balmy morning, you walk through the halls, coming upon a line of Hwarang gaily chatting among themselves as they wait. Suddenly a door opens from the beginning of the line and Gongmyung comes racing out towards your direction.

“Never have I felt so violated,” He huffs exasperatedly, coming towards you. “This is absolutely horrendous!” 

“Is something wrong, Gongmyung?” You ask with a tilt of your head, wondering what has the Deputy Commander in such a tizzy. 

“Everything!” He pants out, a thin line of panicked sweat trailing down the side of his face, “Why am I meant to disrobe in that room of utter brutes!?” 

His sentence makes you furrow your brow, what exactly is going on? 

“Someone who calls themself a physician who Youngmin met while conversing with the King’s council arrived today,” the Deputy Commander does his best to straighten his robes and adjust his long strands of hair that had gone askew. “He’s holding physical examinations.” With a frown he nods his head towards the door he’d raced out of moments prior, “That monster said I should take my clothes off in front of near strangers! When I refused, he tried to take them off of me himself! And the other captains just stood there! Without doing anything!” 

Seeing as your particular… situation might not be the best for a physical examination in a group full of men, you think about returning to your room before you ask, “What’s the doctor’s name?”

“I think it was Namekawa Yasuo, some man from Yamato,” Gongmyung huffs indignantly. 

“Doctor Namekawa!” You nearly jump at the familiar name. 

The other takes a step back in surprise, “Do you know him or something?”

When you’d arrived in Seorabeol with your father’s letter and a few fragments of some from your father’s collection, his name had been among the signatures. It was your intention upon arrival to seek him out, your father had always called him a trustworthy man. Once in Seorabeol, you found that he’d been away on some patient’s request, and after that you’d quickly gotten swept up into the world of the Hwarang. 

“I’ve got to go!” You brush away his question and barrel past him towards the door he’d exited from. 

“You’re going in there willingly?” Gongmyung calls out from behind you, shaking his head in disgust. 

Almost immediately when you open the door you wish you hadn’t. 

“Alright, next,” the man you presume to be Dr. Namekawa calls out, motioning forward a Hwarang. A nearly fully disrobed Hwarang. 

“My turn!” Junhui shouts and steps forward, only wearing the pants worn underneath his Hwarang robes. “You’re looking at years of training right here,” he laughs almost comically as he approaches the doctor’s station. 

“I think you’re fine, Wen,” Soonyoung scoffs, in a similar state of undress as Junhui, “it’s your head he should be looking at.”

“Are you asking me to beat the shit out of you?” Junhui turns to look at him, a grin split across his face. 

Dr. Namekawa rolls his eyes at him before speaking, “Wen Junhui, you’re fine. Next!” 

“Hold on!” Junhui says, taking a step closer to the doctor and flexing his arm, “You’ve gotta make sure I’m in prime condition!”

“As healthy as a horse,” Namekawa reels, sitting back in his seat, “I’ve seen more than enough, thank you.”

“You’re holding up the line, Wen,” Mingyu calls out, and you spot Hansol standing next to him, both with unamused expressions on their faces. “For the love of— please get moving.”

“I just don’t think he’s had enough time to fully make sure I’m okay!” Junhui complains, “I’m trying to make sure I can bulk up more!”

“This is supposed to be about finding medical issues, not boasting,” Hansol sighs, his arms crossed over his chest, “Move.” 

Your mouth hangs open in shock, it’s now easy to see why Gongmyung had made such a hasty retreat. Shaking your head, you pull yourself from the room and back into the hallway, feeling a creeping heat of embarrassment rise up your neck.

“What are you doing here?” The Hwarang who’s first in line questions, “Is something wrong?” 

“Oh!” Turning, you see Chan gazing at you perplexedly. “Hi, I heard Doctor Namekawa was here.” 

“Ah, so you want to speak to him?” A tilt of his head. “I’ve been briefed on your situation, so I understand what you’re trying to do… But I’m not sure that this is the way to go about it. I’m sure he can speak to you once the physicals are complete.”

You nod, “I just think they might take a while, some of the captains…”

“I’m aware,” he laughs, “if you want me to, I can try to get things moving a little faster.”

“Would you?” Eyes widening, “I’d be thankful if you could.”

“Of course,” the smile still lingering on his lips, “Just leave it to me.” With that he walks into the room and towards the doctor, “Excuse me, Doctor Namekawa? Please let me look after those whose symptoms are minor, I’m sure you could use a break?” 

You stand in the doorway, unable to hear his response, so you step back into the hallway and wait for the doctor to exit. Namekawa Yasuo leaves the room a few moments later, his attention turning to you when you call out to him. 

Namekawa’s eyes narrow as he looks at you, inspecting you as if you were one of his patients. “I need to fetch some medicine from my things, would you mind giving me a hand?” He questions, his gaze softening once you nod your head. 

On the way towards his things, the two of you walk through one of the courtyards and come across Kwak Youngmin walking towards you. He nods at the doctor before glancing at you, “I see you’ve found her already.”

“Thanks to you,” Namekawa nods with a smile at the leader. 

Your brow furrows as you search both of their expressions before the doctor speaks up once more, “I came to Bulguksa to see you. Youngmin told me that Heo’s daughter was staying with the Hwarang.”

“I see,” you realize, your eyes widening as you look towards Youngmin.

“I knew that Namekawa and Heo knew each other,” Youngmin smiles softly, “So I thought that maybe the doctor knew of his friend’s whereabouts.”

Even if the Hwarang wanted to find your father for reasons other than yours, this slight clue was still enough for you to feel happy. 

“Thank you,” a bow to Youngmin and one to Namekawa, “both of you.” 

Namekawa then goes on to say how you’d left just before he arrived at your father’s clinic in Toehwa-hyeon when you’d gone off to Seorabeol. He’d received the letter you sent but once arriving had no idea of where you’d gone or how to find you. 

“I apologize for not seeking you out sooner,” he sounds remorseful, “It must’ve been difficult. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

“About my father…” the words leave you and Namekawa’s face turns grim, you already feel as if you know the answer. 

“Unfortunately,” he says once your words have trailed off, “I do not know where your father is residing.”

“Oh,” utter defeat lamenting in your voice as you speak the singular word. You almost feel bad now for feeling so hopeful that Namekawa would have some earth-shattering news about the whereabouts of your father. 

“I hear, though,” Namekawa coughs into his hand to clear his throat, “that you’ve become involved with the treatment… You do know what I’m referring to, right?”

“Are you able to explain it any more?” You’d learned of the serum, seen what it had done to those who’d taken it. But why, why is your father involved with it? “I want to know what my father was experimenting for.”

“Heo was working under Crown orders with the Hwarang to create what are called ‘Furies’,” Namekawa’s voice is low as he speaks, gravelly with a seriousness that permeates into you. “Furies are humans with near supernatural strength and speed. They heal incredibly quickly as well.” 

“Furies?” The word lingers familiarly on your tongue, it takes a moment, but you realize you’d heard the word before. Soonyoung had tried to explain to you what they are on the night that Seungcheol had been injured last year. 

“The contents of the serum are called pimul,” Namekawa crosses his arm, tone still low, “in Tang they call it ‘al iksir’ and in Yamato it’s ‘ochimizu’. It’s meant to grant immortality.”

These words sound like some sort of fantastical fairytale than what’s meant to be real life. Yet, the seriousness of the doctor assures you that it isn’t a sick joke.

“I’ve heard of its healing and strength giving properties,” you nod, “but doesn’t it cause the drinker to go mad?” Recalling the night you had stumbled into Seorabeol and the nobles who’d been attacked by the rouge Hwarang furies causes you to shudder. “And even if that doesn’t drive you insane, the smell of blood can set you off too…”

A heaving sigh as Namekawa nods solemnly, moving then to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, “So you’re aware of that as well…” 

“Why was my father doing this?” You plead more than ask, trying to search the depths of your mind to reason with yourself and come to a believable situation that would’ve caused Heo Jinsang to work with such a vile creation. 

“That may have been why he left,” Namekawa suggests softly, “His morals would no longer allow him to work on such a thing.”

“And yet we were given the pimul by the Crown to help strengthen the Hwarang…” Youngmin frowns and looks towards the sidewalk.

“It was an experiment,” Namekawa shakes his head, “and it failed. It’s probably best to leave it behind, I’m sure the Crown has abandoned its ambition with it as well.”

The leader looks up and frowns at the doctor, probably unhappy to hear that Namekawa would question the Crown’s once official decision. 

“You’ve seen what it’s done to your men,” Namekawa insists, “It’s inhumane and you know it better than I do.”

Youngmin lets out a huff of air and then falls silent. You know that he knows how detrimental it is to his men, painfully so. Yet, the pimul was given to him on official orders and a secret request from the former King. 

“I understand that you’re one of the King’s doctors, yet…” A voice from behind after a moment of silence. Your eyes widen at the sight of Seungcheol in the daylight, knowing that the sun’s rays have an adverse effect on him. “You’re not a member of the Hwarang, you have no right to object to our methods.” His face paling in the light, lost of all color, almost as if he were a walking corpse. 

“Are you okay walking around like this?” You ask him quietly, your voice teetering on worry and a whisper. 

“You look pale, Seungcheol,” Youngmin frowns at the colonel, “You should be resting.”

“Don’t mind me,” Seungcheol shakes his head and then turns to the doctor. “We use the serum effectively and at our own discretion.” His gaze hardens when they lock eyes, his voice becoming gravely serious, almost as if he’s been offended.

“It’s far too dangerous to—” Namekawa begins before being interrupted by Seungcheol.

“We have and will continue to work on Heo’s research.” His voice, behind the veneer of quiet anger, sounds weakened. “I am living proof of its effectiveness.” 

“You may be right,” Namekawa cedes before raising another point, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not forcing your body in ways unseen with the eye.”

“I’m perfectly healthy,” Seungcheol insists, “With continued research and alterations to the serum, we’ll have less casualties and more success.” 

“And are you planning on sacrificing your men for your success?” Namekawa frowns, “These men aren’t just common folk, many are the sons of nobles, aristocrats! Sons who will be missed should they just disappear.”

“It’s not as if we’re force feeding them pimul.” Seungcheol’s agitated at the doctor, you don’t know the last time he was able to see his own family since becoming a Fury. “The men who devote and give their lives to the Hwarang are the foundation of my work, they did not and will not die in vain.”

“But—”

“I think that’s enough,” Youngmin steps in before the doctor can say anything else, “from either of you. Let’s discuss this at another time.”

To you it seems that neither Seungcheol or Namekawa would ever come to a civil agreement on the ethics of the serum’s usage. But that was an opinion you feel is best not said at this moment. 

The anger in Seungcheol’s face subsides, and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smile before he bows and leaves the three of you wordlessly. 

“So…” Youngmin says as Seungcheol recedes back into the headquarters inner buildings, “How did exams go?”

“About that,” Namekawa begins, “It’s a bit troubling.”

“Troubling?” Youngmin asks, confused, “What do you mean by that?”

“What do you mean ‘What do you mean’?” Namekawa frowns, “The amount of injured and ill men you have is nearly a quarter of your forces!”

“That’s—” Youngmin’s voice catches in his throat, “Are you sure?”

“I am not only sure, but it is the definite truth,” A disparaging shake of his head, “What have you been doing to these men? Cuts, lacerations, bowel pains… Need I mention the lice?”

“I’m embarrassed to hear that, I really am,” Youngmin looks as such, his ears pink as he drops his shoulders. “What can I do?”

“Set aside a space for the ill and those needing medical attention, for starters. I can send some pyrethrum powder for the lice,” Namekawa lists off and you can see Youngmin mentally making a list, “Second, this place needs to be cleaned. I can’t help you otherwise.”

“Of course,” Youngmin nods, the tinge of embarrassment still riding his tone, “I’ll have everything seen to immediately.” 

And so, the Hwarang are ordered to clean. Those who are able-bodied enough to hold a broom or a rag are sent to the main hall, Youngmin quickly barking out cleaning orders and sending them all over Bulguksa to thoroughly scrub the temple down.

“Why the hell are we doing this?” Junhui grumbles as he sits on his knees, scrubbing at the wooden floors. “I can think of nothing less I would want to be doing right now.”

“Stop complaining so much,” Mingyu sighs and calls him over, “Help me lift up this cabinet, it’s a great way to show off your muscles from earlier.”

You’re walking into the main hall with a bucket of water when you hear Soonyoung cry out, causing you to jump and spill some of the liquid onto the floor and your shoes.

“A RAT!” He nearly screeches, hopping behind Hansol when he spots the gray creature dart out from a bookcase. 

“Calm down Soonyoung,” Hansol looks as if he’s holding back a smile, trying to keep the reserved demeanor he usually has, “It’s not that bad. It actually looks like it’s eating that—is that dried up tteok?”

“Yeah!” Soonyoung says, leaning forward to get a look at the rat’s snack, “Who the hell hides their sweets back here?!”

A grumble from the other side of the room, you look over to see Kangjoon holding a boom, “Why are we bothering ourselves with work a servant should be doing? I’m a strategist, not a cleaner.”

“Why don’t you show us your school’s technique, then?” Mingyu scoffs, “You said it’s prized knowledge, maybe it can help us here.”

“Shut it!” Kangjoon says angrily, “The Pohang style wasn’t designed to help with housework!”

“You’re a little bit of a bully, huh, Mingyu?” Dongyoung snickers as he peeks out from behind one of the various shelves, “Those old-timey tactics of his wouldn’t even allow him to hold a broomstick, let alone make a dent in this mess.”

Kangjoon’s stare hardens at Dongyoung, “You should watch your mouth… Compared to the techniques from Tang it may be outdated, but I can assure you it still holds up.” 

“Oh,” Mingyu looks past Kangjoon and out one of the doorways, “Youngmin’s coming.”

“Chief!” Kangjoon spins on his heels towards the door, “Look at this, the room was so filthy you couldn’t even walk properly, and with my guidance it’s—” He stops once he realizes there’s no one standing in the doorway, “Where’s Kwak?”

“You’re an idiot,” Mingyu rolls his eyes.

“Damn you, Kim,” Kangjoon spits venomously, “You tricked me!”

“An idiot and a kiss ass,” Mingyu hums, “Quite the multitasker. Don’t you ever get tired being such a two-faced asshole, not knowing which mask to wear?” 

Kangjoon fumes and angrily stomps down towards the other end of the hall. You see this as an opportunity to proclaim your findings.

“I brought you all some fresh rags and water to help you clean the floor with,” you announce, holding out the bucket and handful of cloth to the captains.

“Thanks!” Soonyoung says as he bounds over, swiftly taking the items from your grasp and heading back to his work station. 

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 21𝔰𝔱, 662 – 𝔅𝔲𝔩𝔤𝔲𝔨𝔰𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 “This looks to be adequate enough,” Namekawa Yasuo had arrived early the next morning to check the cleanliness of the headquarters. He now stands in the main hall, a look of approval on his features as he notes the sheen of the floorboards. 

“Right?” Junhui beams, “See? The doc can acknowledge my hard work.”

Kangjoon lets out something of a guffaw at the statement, “Compared to the nuances of strategy, it’s not like tidying up is a magnificent feat or anything.”

“All you did was complain,” Junhui frowns.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung nods, “And Seungkwan got to rest all day! Sounds like he was getting special treatment while we worked our asses off.”

“Not my fault,” Seungkwan raises his hands to show he’s innocent from that decision, “Jihoon’s the one being overprotective.” 

“It is your fault,” Jihoon snaps at him, arms crossing over his chest, “You’re not taking care of yourself, that’s why you’re coughing up a lung.”

“I will admit,” Hansol say, looking around the space, “It is nice seeing the headquarters put together.”

“It does look different,” Jihoon nods, also taking a moment to admire the cleanliness of the main hall, “I hope to keep it this way.”

“Then we should clean every day,” Mingyu laughs aloud.

“Great idea! Make sure you scrub the baseboards Soonie,” Junhui jokes along with the other while Soonyoung’s eyes go wide.

“But you’ve got the most energy and the biggest muscles, Junhui! Don’t think I’m letting you slide on this,” the younger argues to the two others. 

“I’ll help you,” you offer with a smile, knowing that he’d need it.

“Really?” He perks up, “Yeah, we don’t need them anyway, you and me against the world!”

“Hold on,” Junhui interrupts, “I didn’t say that I wasn’t going to help…” 

Jihoon lets out a laugh, “Wen, there’s some trash over there, mind taking it out?”

“Hooold on, we’re not starting until tomorrow, right, Soonyoung?” Junhui looks to him for help.

“If you keep flailing your arms like that you’re only going to stir up more dust,” Hansol sighs as he watches Junhui scramble to big up the assorted pieces of garbage. 

You laugh at the scene until something catches your eye, you spot both Namekawa and Seungkwan duck out of the room and head outside. Brow furrowing for a moment, you think to follow after them but stop yourself as it isn’t any of your concern.

After the ruckus in the main hall dies down, you grab a broom and head outside to sweep away fallen debris from the walkway leading to the main hall. You’ve just started to sweep the broom across the agate stone when a figure appears before you.

Head turning up from looking down at the azalea embroidered robes, all you can spurt out is a “You!” before taking a step back. 

“You’ve got ancient blood running through your veins and yet you clean up after these humans?” Jisoo sounds saddened on the verge of disgust as he looks at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You question as the grip you have on the broom handle tightens as he chuckles at you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to fight me with that?” He shakes his head, biting back a laugh, “Was your family not blessed with brains?”

You don’t respond, instead look around for anything or anyone who could help you. Of course, the entrance lies empty, all of the captains still squabbling somewhere deep in the compound.

“Calm down,” Jisoo sighs, his laughter ceasing, “I’m not here to fight today. I only want to know what, if anything, you have to do with Heo Jinsang.”

Stunned by his statement, your lips part in shock, “My father?”

“…Father?” Jisoo looks surprised by your answer, “Heo Jinsang is your father?”

“Yes,” you nod, “he is.”

The man seems shocked at first, then that emotion melts away as it looks as if he’s putting the pieces of a puzzle together. He opens his mouth to say something else but a voice behind you stops him.

“Sneaking into your enemy’s base alone?” Jihoon’s voice rings out as his footsteps approach, the sound of dirt under foot crunching growing nearer and nearer. “I thought you’d be smarter than that.”

A few other pairs of footsteps and you turn and see him flanked by both Mingyu and Soonyoung.

“In broad daylight too,” Mingyu shakes his head at the intruder, “Figures.”

“Get away from her!” Soonyoung’s more than a little adamant, his hand already hovering over his sword. 

“The Hwarang only come in bushels, huh?” Jisoo says, seemingly wanting to egg the men on.

“Watch it,” Jihoon says sternly, the tension between the two becoming more palpable by the second. 

Surprisingly, it’s Jisoo who tries to sate it. “If you want to fight, then I’ll be happy to do so… But I’m here for other reasons, more specifically, to issue a warning.” His eyes grow dark and his tone more serious at his next statement, “Stop trying to turn humans into Demons.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jihoon frowns as he watches the other carefully.

“What makes you think that we’re going to listen to you?” Mingyu pokes at Jisoo.

“You’re all idiots,” Jisoo shakes his head warily, “Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?” He rolls his eyes, “Forget it, it was useless trying to say anything to you.”

“This is our base,” Soonyoung raises his voice, “You should shut up before we decide to do something about you being here.”

Jisoo ignores the captain’s words and turns to you, a coldness in his eyes as he speaks, “Heo is with us now, don’t you understand what that means?” He searches your eyes for a spark of recognition, but it doesn’t seem to click so he elaborates further, “Your father has abandoned the Crown.”

“What…?” You say, still puzzled by what he means. 

“Why are you here?” A cold smile to match his gaze creeps onto his lips, “I think you should ponder on that. Carefully.” With that final statement he turns on his heels and seems to disappear into the shadows. You’re not sure if he just did, your mind too caught up in what he just said. 

What or who were the Demons? Your father is with them? You thought Hong Jisoo’s family to be just opposing the opposite side of the court that favored the Hwarang, was it a ruse and he’s actually some sort of revivalist? Does this mean that your father is working with them?

Who are these people that call themselves ‘Demons’? And what do they want with you? 

“Who are they?” You look at Jihoon, “The Demons?”

“After fighting them, I can say that they’re not like any human I’ve ever fought,” a shake of his head, “Not even close. I’ve fought against people from each kingdom but none of them… They’ve never been that powerful.” He muses for a moment and nods, “I’d say ‘demon’ is a pretty accurate descriptor.” 

“If the commander thinks they’re demons, they really just might be,” Mingyu says, his brow furrowing at Jihoon. 

“He is the Hwarang’s Demon, after all,” Soonyoung notes, the same concern from Mingyu’s tone riding in his. 

“This is serious,” Jihoon looks at them, trying to quell the playful argument. You feel the tension in your shoulders ease after a while, the dread of seeing Jisoo on familiar ground eventually dissipating as the moments pass. With his arrival, and how easy it was for him to come unexpectedly, you’re sure that you’ll have to have a higher guard now as you walk the headquarters. 

𝔖𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 7𝔱𝔥, 662 – 𝔅𝔲𝔩𝔤𝔲𝔨𝔰𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Compared to the year before, it seems as if the Hwarang aren’t being called on to do as much. Both the raid on Wonweol and the attack on Ongsan seem like a distant memory as you look up at your ceiling from your bed. In a way, you’re thankful for the peace wrought on by this year. It’s allowed you to take up looking for your father again and help more around the temple. The night rolling in and covering your room in a shroud of darkness, the sound of the crickets outside chirping away keeping you awake. 

You push yourself from your bedding and rise to your feet, maybe a walk would help you become sleepy. Right now, you are anything but tired.

Treading quietly across the floor, you open your door, the hinges creaking as you push it open. The halls are quiet as you trapeze through them, in some rooms you can hear loud snoring, in others, nothing at all. You don’t catch sight of anyone until you reach the end of the hall that opens into a courtyard, a figure standing in the shadows as they look up towards the sky. 

As you edge nearer to the greenery, you can see that it’s the commander, standing still as the moonlight cascades down onto him. His foot taps in subtle anxiousness, as if he’s waiting for someone. 

This isn’t something for you to see, but a quickening curiosity takes over you as another figure approaches the commander from the other end of the courtyard.

“I’m sorry for asking you to come out so late, Jihoon,” Seungcheol’s quiet voice rings out through the nearly empty space. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jihoon turns from gazing up at the stars and looks to his friend with a small smile, “It’s a little difficult to talk during the day.”

You’ve lost all chance to either leave or inject yourself into the conversation, so you just stand and watch their conversation unfold before you. 

“How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, his once soft gaze hardening with concern, “Don’t bullshit me, I’ve barely seen you since you went to Hwangnyongsa.”

Seungcheol merely smiles softly, “I’m feeling alright since the sun’s down. If I was going to complain I’d talk about the heat or humidity.”

“I know you don’t like the sun,” The commander notes, “and everybody hates the humidity and heat. But you know what I’m asking, Seungcheol.”

“Are you asking if I’ve gone mad?” The colonel asks simply, his brow raising. “If you’re worried about me, I’ll let you know that I don’t regret taking the pimul; I’ve regained the use of my arm, I’m able to carry a sword when I thought I’d never do so again.”

 Seungcheol’s smile doesn’t seem to be the answer that Jihoon is looking for, and a frown overtakes him. “At what cost, though?” His voice low as he asks, pressing further, “When you become a Fury, you lose a part of yourself… Maybe even too much. I’m sorry if I’m not taking this lightly, I’m worried about you.”

“You’ve always worried too much, Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, brows knitting together as he cannot fully understand his friend’s concern. “This was a gift, a miracle, even!”

“One man’s miracle is another’s curse,” Jihoon sighs out with a scowl, “I don’t like the monkey’s paw aspect of it.”

“How scary!” Seungcheol chuckles, “I’d be a fool if I ignored one of your famed hunches.”

“You’d be a fool if you joked about this,” the scowl still present as Jihoon crosses his arms, “I’m not trying to be funny.” His fingers tap along his robes as he shakes his head, “You should be standing side by side with Youngmin and me, you’re a colonel, our colonel.” 

“You’re acting odd,” Seungcheol’s lighthearted tone vacating, “Are you okay?” He suddenly looks over to you, locking eyes with yours as a small smile dances along his lips.

Jihoon follows his line of sight and catches you eavesdropping into their conversation. “What are you doing out here?!” He questions as you panic in place. 

“I’m sorry,” breaking your gaze with Seungcheol you look to the ground, “I wasn’t sure if I should say something and then the two of you began talking…” 

“You’ve got more important things to worry about than me, Jihoon,” Seungcheol sighs out and looks at the commander. “Gongmyung and his men, for starters. I’ve heard he’s been acting stranger than usual these days.”

“I’ve been working on that,” Jihoon relents, dropping his arms to let them fall to his sides. 

Seungcheol nods, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye before he gives you a simple nod and walks away into the depths of the compound. You’re about to return to your quarters before Jihoon calls out to you.

“I haven’t dismissed you yet,” he says as you begin to turn. You freeze in place only to turn to face him fully once more. “I know you’re not an idiot so you shouldn’t act like one.” His voice is low, almost a whisper as he doesn’t wish for anyone to overhear him, “The more you know about us, the more danger you’re putting in front of yourself. It’s easy to die around here, you’ve seen that… Do you understand?”

“I’m sorry for imp—” you begin before he cuts you off, raising his voice.

“Don’t be sorry,” his head shakes, “Just be careful and stay out of trouble.” When it seems like he has nothing more to say, he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinches it, quelling some sort of thought before he turns of his heels and begins to walk back towards his room. 

“Commander,” you find yourself calling out. Jihoon looks so… dejected and lonely after his talk with Seungcheol, you have to say something. “Can I help with the research?”

“What the hell?” You hear him say before he turns to look back at you, “Of course not.”

“I don’t have my father’s knowledge or expertise… but I want to do something to help,” you insist, feeling responsible as if your absent father’s duties had been passed to you. “I can read his notes and help explain them, he left a lot of research material at his clinic in Toehwa-hyeon… There’s got to be something useful there. I can find something to help.”

“Heo continued his research here, don’t you know that?” Jihoon takes a deep breath as to not fume so much, “Even if we tore his clinic down to the foundations to get any scrap of information, the chances that we’ll find some new research is slim to none.” 

“I can do my own research!” You push, hands clenching at your sides.

“You’re not thinking about this hard enough,” His gaze hardens, “Could you accept responsibility for things if they go south?” A sigh as he sees you begin to stumble and scramble for words, “Look, your father’s one of the top doctors in the kingdom with the knowledge of Tang medicine. He couldn’t figure that shit out. Someone like your or me with no outstanding medical knowledge isn’t going to do much better.”

Jihoon’s right and you know it, even if you don’t want to admit your faulty thinking. It’s highly ambitious of you to think that you could find a cure-all to the pimul and what your father had done to the Hwarang. As you look to Jihoon, you try and look as stoic and unbothered as possible to stop him from seeing how heartbroken you feel.

His mouth turns into a wry smile at your attempt, “You want to help and that’s what’s important. I won’t forget that.” Jihoon nods his head to show appreciation, “But you have to wait for now. The Hwarang dug themselves into this hole so that means we have to find a way out.” 

Even if his demeanor is cold most of the time, there’s a hidden sincerity behind that face that only peeks through sometimes.

“I get it,” he continues, “your father was a part of the research team and you feel responsible, right? We’re still looking for him, and either we find him, or we don’t, you’ll just have to wait.” When you continue to silently object him, he frowns a bit, “Furies are bad news, in a perfect world we would’ve never gotten involved. But this world is far from it, and they might be our advantage should Goguryeo try and help those revivalists. Only as a last resort though, the cost is still too high.”

A shake of his head, “Never mind that now, though. This is between you and me though, okay?” His words hold the same tinge of threat that you’d heard on several occasions before. You nod almost out of habit at this point. “Also, the next time you take a stroll, be more cautious of who and what you may be stumbling in on.”

[feedthepheasants]

fluff/kinktober day 3 - "pumpkin carving"

pairing: f!tav x gale

prompt: pumpkin carving [from the same list as before, have not located OP's blog :') ]

part 2 of the modern/college au from day one! [youngish] grad students, fluff, tastefully cheesy (?), pumpkins, fall campus activities!

wc: 1,318

read here on ao3!

“This looks terrible,” Tav says with a pathetic laugh, shoulders slumping and hands slimy with the pulp from the half-carved pumpkin before her. 

“I offered to help,” Gale says from across the table, focused entirely on his own pumpkin. “But you declined.” 

“Using magic to carve a pumpkin completely defeats the purpose of participating in the activity!” 

“It does not,” Gale retorts, looking up at her. “It just makes things a bit easier. Cleaner, too,” he says, nodding towards her hands. 

“That’s supposed to be part of the fun,” Tav says. “But it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I forgot just how messy it gets…” 

As part of the fall festivities on campus, there’d been a pumpkin-carving event scheduled; Gale had been waiting for Tav outside Smith Hall one Thursday, ready to walk to her next destination. It had been the only time they’d really gotten to spend with one another since their night in the library. Both were swamped with work, so finding a time they both had free had been a challenge. As they crossed the quad that day, Tav saw the event flyer for the following Saturday and had gotten so giddy when she’d read it that Gale had no choice but to clear his schedule and take her. It hadn’t quite been the date he’d been planning, but any excuse to see her was well worth it. 

Even if it meant not using his magic and having his hands covered with pumpkin guts. 

“Well, I’m sure whatever you’ve got over there is a masterpiece in the making,” Gale says with a teasing but sweet smile. Tav’s face heats, but when she glances back at her ‘masterpiece,’ she lets out a laugh. 

“No, Gale. It’s terrible.” Tav leans back in her chair, laughing in defeat. 

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Gale sighs, putting down his carving tools and moving to stand from his seat. 

“No!” Tav says quickly, throwing her arms around her pumpkin and dragging it close to her chest, desperate to keep him from looking at it. 

“Tav,” Gale laughs incredulously. “Come on, let me–” 

“NO,” Tav says, her own giggles starting to come out as she turns in her seat, pumpkin still in her arms. 

“Give me that–” 

Gale comes around the other side of her chair, attempting to wrestle the gourd from her arms. Their commotion earns some looks from the other students, but it’s as if they’re the only two around. Plus, he can’t get enough of her laugh, and he doesn’t get to hear it nearly as often as he’d like to. 

Tav’s grip on the pumpkin slips, and Gale finally takes it from her grasp. He gives her a smug, triumphant smile before turning his gaze to the gourd. 

“Oh,” he says with a frown. 

“I told you. It’s terrible.” 

“It’s…” He tries to find something to say, but it’s all he can do to stifle his laughter. “Well, it’s certainly got character, hasn’t it?” 

“Like yours can be much better,” Tav teases, reaching across the table to turn Gale’s pumpkin around. 

“What the fuck, Gale?” Tav asks in surprise. 

“That’s my cat,” Gale answers. “Her name is Tara.” 

Across the face of the pumpkin is a cat, resting on a curling tree-branch, paw raised in the air to swat at a bat. The space around it has been etched into, making wispy, curling tendrils and a smattering of stars. 

“You’re cheating,” Tav says, staring in awe at the pumpkin. 

“Cheating?” Gale huffs a laugh, setting Tav’s pumpkin back down in front of her. “For your information, I happen to be quite skilled with my hands.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Gale and Tav go quiet for a moment, but burst into another fit of flushed laughter when they make eye contact. Gale tries to calm himself to recover, but is only partially successful. “I mean, well– you know, as far as– stop laughing–” he shakes his head, “I mean as far as those silly plastic carving tools go, of course–” 

Tav is out of breath from laughing, face completely red as she turns her attention to anything but Gale, her mind fluttering with a thousand racing thoughts – all of them concerning those hands. 

“Clearly you’ve been practicing your carving skills,” Tav tries to say as evenly as possible, a few giggles slipping out as she attempts to turn her attention back to her half-carved jack-o-lantern. “Either that, or you’re–” 

“If you insinuate that I’m cheating one more time–” 

~

By the end of the event, Tav’s jack-o-lantern certainly looks better than it had before, but only because she’d finally accepted Gale’s help. She sat with her legs crossed in her chair as he worked, reshaping the eyes and mouth to be more symmetrical and happy rather than mangled and wonky. Her eyes had remained fixated on his hands the entire time. 

“Thank you for fixing my handiwork,” Tav says as they near her car, glancing down at her pumpkin. “And for humoring me.” 

“Humoring you?” 

“I know pumpkin carving is silly– well, apparently not when you do it–” 

Gale laughs. 

“And I know I complained through a lot of it, but really,” Tav shakes her head, smiling, “thanks.” 

“You say that like it’s a chore,” Gale says, playfully nudging her shoulder with his own. “I would’ve gone to the– I don’t know, a pencil museum if you’d asked me–” 

“A pencil museum?” 

“Yeah, a pencil museum,” he replies, looking down at her. She glances up towards him, but immediately turns her focus ahead, trying not to melt under his gaze. “I’ll take advantage of any and every opportunity to spend time with you, Tav. Now, I can’t say I necessarily thought about a date where we’d be carving fruits, but–” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What?” Gale asks, immediately tracing back through his words. 

“Carving– fruits?” 

“Er– yes?” 

“Vegetables,” Tav says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Carving…vegetables.” 

“Fruits,” Gale pushes, tilting his head. 

“No,” Tav shakes her head.

“Uh, yes,” Gale laughs. 

“No–” 

“Tav, I hate to break this to you, but a pumpkin is a fruit.” 

“Gale, a pumpkin is a–” She stops. “A date?” 

“A date is also a fruit, Tav.” 

“No, you said date,” she pushes, changing the subject. 

“I did,” Gale nods matter-of-factly. 

She stares up at him. “A date?” 

It’s Gale’s turn to blush. “Yeah, Tav, a date.” 

“You’ve thought about dates?” Tav asks. She can’t help but feel a bit girlish — she’d thought about dates too, but neither of them had broached the subject. While her own insecurities had begun to bubble, she had to keep reminding herself that he’d made a habit of waiting for her on Tuesdays and Thursdays, even admitting he’d do his best to leave early when he could, so she wouldn’t have to wait on him. 

“Of course I have,” Gale nods. “I was trying to find a good time to ask you— you know, now that I know your schedule as well as you know mine—“ Tav rolls her eyes. “To officially ask you out on a date. But you know, you were so excited about this—“ he gestures towards their pumpkins, “so I moved some things around so I could— well—” he shrugs, lifting the pumpkin with a sheepish smile. 

“Yes,” Tav breathes. Gale lifts his brows. “To a date, I mean. You tell me when, and I’ll be there,” she nods. Her stomach is fluttering as his gaze shifts from flushed to enamored. “Maybe not to a pencil museum, but—“ 

“I won’t take you to a pencil museum,” Gale laughs, shaking his head. “At least, not this time. But if you can spare a night to have dinner with me, I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Whatever you want, I’ll make it for you. How does Wednesday sound?” 

Tav smiles. “It sounds like a date.”

taglist:

@dr-demi-bee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @lanafofana

@marlowethebard @crimson-and-lavender @spooky-lil-bee

@lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss @amorgansgal

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

[dharmasharks]

I read so many neat fics this summer thanks to the @ficreadingchallenge and managed to black out my bingo card! Not only did I finally get to stories that had been languishing in my TBR for literal years, but I discovered tons of delightful fics in genres I wouldn't have sought out otherwise.

Thank you mods for organizing this, I’m already itching to do it again. Bingo card below the cut, plus my unhinged ramblings about the 24 fics I got to read. (Mostly Stucky, but also a smattering of Sambucky, MattFoggy, a Winterhawk, a Captive Prince, and a Catwin.) 

WIP: on the shore of the wild world by verger_de_pommiers

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 19k | Civil War AU

In which a fierce little Steve shelters wounded union soldier Bucky in his remote cabin. Gorgeous prose, immersive historical detail, and tender protectiveness. I lucked into finding this as it was posting (it’s now complete!) and felt like the author had been reading my dream fic journal because it ticked so many of my very specific boxes!

No powers AU: Broken But Mending by Lissadiane

MCU | Bucky x Clint | M | 15k | Modern AU

Bucky is a recovering war vet who starts rebuilding his life one instagram post, coffee, and plant at a time with some motivation from Clint Barton’s weekly sex advice column. Spoiler: the advice isn’t so much about sex as it is about trying again, and accepting that we’re all scared and scarred and worthy of love anyway. Read this on a day where your heart needs a big hug of happiness. 

Secret relationship: Don't Ask by AnnaFugazzi

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 21k | WW2 

I’ve seen this fic recced a lot for wartime stucky but was admittedly apprehensive because it’s canon-compliant and we all know where that train gets off, ya know? This is not a lighthearted premise either: Steve and Bucky get outed and because they’re a propaganda machine, the Howlies are ordered to keep their relationship a secret, despite their intense discomfort—all told in a devastatingly effective outsider perspective from Gabe. I appreciate that the author didn’t shy away from depicting unflattering (and hard to read!) period-typical attitudes, including those Gabe and Morita would have faced in the service.

Newest fic in the tag of your choice: Cabin Fever by missbeizy

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5k | Cabin PWP

Missbeizy never fails to deliver on beautifully written stucky smut that caters to my tastes, so when I got that notification you better believe I jumped on it stat. Even in their shorter fics, they always build up a lovely setting and tension, which makes the eventual hot, hot sexy times feel even sexier. (All their stucky fics are *chefs kiss* — Foothold and Number of Years are my favorites.)

Mission fic: (With eyes shut) it's you I'm thinking of by Yavannie

MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 3k | Partners with Benefits

Gosh only knows I enjoy a dynamic where it’s easier for two closed-off people to communicate physically than to actually talk! About their feelings! Good stuff!

Found family: Only the Good Die Young by ZenaidaMacroura / @zenaidamacrouras1

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 23K | Shrunkyclunks

There’s banter both awkward and charming, sweet sweet crushing, and a whole cast of wonderful characters who care so much (even when it’s hard). I love the dynamics between everyone in paramedic!Bucky’s crew and the way they look out for each other.

Pets: no years of silence in the shadow of regret by Ginny_Potter / @hipsterdiva

MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 9k | De-serumed Steve

I don’t usually have the strength for post-EG fic, but look at me now, I read three this summer! Here, Steve is irrevocably changed by everything he’s endured, and he suffers for it in the most perfectly Steve-ish way: very, very quietly. Such a satisfying balance of grief and hope as Bucky tries to bridge the distance Steve’s put between them (and his acquired pet, The Dog) in order to protect himself from the possibility of loss. 

Mythical creature AU: all this and heaven too by spinawren

Captive Prince | Laurent x Damen | M | 15k | Selkie AU

I may never get over how perfect a Lighthouse keeper / selkie AU is for these characters. There’s Laurent, whose sense of self-preservation is so integral to his sense of self that giving love feels like giving a part of himself away—because it means giving up your armor. And Damon: unwaveringly devoted, who knows that love isn’t taken, it’s a choice you both keep making. I want to live in the lush world of this fic forever. 

Oldest fic in the fandom: Genie In A Bottle bykupcake_goddess

Dead Boy Detectives | Cat King x Edwin | E | 2K | Missing Scene

Edwin was hot for that hot cat guy and they should have kissed about it. Fanfic is great.

Fake dating: The Constellation of Touch by what_alchemy

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 19k | Pretend Relationship

What’s juicier than fake dating your best friend? Fake dating your best friend while actually going through a messy (law partnership) divorce! Featuring: wonderful Nelson family dynamics, a singular bed, and the intimacy of getting to know the person you thought you knew best all over again. I’ve read a lot of gorgeous depictions of the way Matt experiences the world, but these might be some of my favorites. 

Author’s oldest fic: the wrote and the writ by stewyonmolly

MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 10k | everybody lives, nobody gets serumed

You know when you read the first paragraph of a fic and go, “yes ha ha ha YES,” like a sicko, but what you’re really sick over is the author’s style? That’s how I feel about this fic. I would eat the dialogue if I could! While it includes one of my favorite soft premises (everyone home safe in post-war Brooklyn, the end), Bucky doesn’t come back unscathed. But Steve–and this is a wonderful, wonderful Steve–never dances around Bucky’s amputation and Bucky never coddles him back.

Parallel universe: Except it Abide in the Vine by spitandvinegar

MCU | Steve x Bucky x Sam | M | 27k | Multiverse Shenanigans 

If you’re afraid of the summary just know that there is a place for every Steve and every Steve in its place, which is with a Bucky (and/or a Sam)!!! And by golly are there a lot of Buckys to love in this one, including a scrappy 616!bucky with the most pockets and everyone’s favorite cannibal, Sweetpea. There are plenty of melty exchanges (and breathtaking art!) but my favorite multiverse moments are always when a WS!bucky gets to see a small Steve again. I could read it a million times and it would never be enough. 

Free space: When I Put Away Childish Things by hansbekhart

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 14k | Prewar

One of the most vivid and immersive prewar settings I’ve had the pleasure of reading, which is saying something, because I have read a [redacted] quantity of prewar stucky. The narrative structure is so powerful and effective, even if you already know what we’re building toward. The author also has my new favorite take on Bucky’s enlistment status, which felt nicely refreshing (and this is a 10 year old fic!) given the otherwise ubiquitous fanon.

Space AU: We'll meet again in Brooklyn by Gfawkes / @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 33k | Scifi AU

Amazing dystopian premise and world building featuring the bravest small nurse Steve and a devoted and self-sacrificing soldier Bucky. They’re both so loyal to each other but also to their separate friends and teammates.

Werewolf AU: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) by notcaycepollard

MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 12k | werewolf!bucky

In this canon-adjacent-verse, Bucky is freed from Hydra’s clutches, but they turned him into a (very soft and sweet) werewolf who just needs to be cuddled and petted and maybe bossed around a little bit. Sam is understandably beside himself…and also up to the task. 

Vampire AU: the blood is the life by obsessivereader

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 3K | vampire!bucky

When Bucky keeps sneaking off to bite a lot of strange young men, Steve’s biggest concern is, “Why not me????” I love the trope that the super soldier healing factor makes them great vampire companions.

Short fic: give up on trying to save us by returnsandreturns

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | <1000 | Hate Sex

They’re rival lawyers, they banter, they are not going to have sex with each other again except that oh no, yes they are! What’s not to love!?

Slow burn: Steve Rogers, PA by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace

MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | WIP | Hunkyclinks

Hopefully you all are reading this one already because it’s a freakin delight all around. The premise is incredible and very funny, but there is also action and wound tending and my favorite thing ever, which is Steve and Bucky always managing to know each other better than anyone.

Holiday fic: Teshuva by JHSC

MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | 6K | Recovering Bucky

I could not find it in me to read a holiday (lbr: Christmas) fic over the summer, but ‘tis the season for atonement, y’all! That’s right, Yom Kippur is upon us, and this was a really lovely read on Bucky coming to terms with his memories, his relationship to his mother, and what it means to seek forgiveness. 

Medieval AU: The Tale of the Silver-Armed Knight by BeaArthurPendragon

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5K | medieval AU

I had never come across a medieval fic in my journeys before, so this was a fun scavenger hunt. I managed to stumble my way into some sexy, sexy treasure by way of smithy!Steve measuring knight!Bucky for a special suit of armor. Amazing historical detail including—and I am very serious—D/S dynamics that felt so period appropriate. 

Video edit: Evidence by @bromcommie / vivelarevolution

MCU | Bucky Barnes

Why are you reading this rec list (or whatever this is) when you could be watching and reblogging this fucking edit! Are you watching it yet? Are you??? OP’s perfectly matched dialogue, parallels, and transitions will destroy you and you WILL thank them for it. (Thank you, Max.) The build up from the quiet of Bucky’s therapy session to the blurred violence between Bucky, the Soldier, and everyone he’s been in between is beautifully gutting.

Inspired by another fanwork: [Podfic] If They Haven't Learned Your Name by quietnight

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | Post-CATWS

I’m far from the first to praise quietnight’s incredible voicework and podfic production, but holy heck, I’ll do it anyway. I have a hard time getting into audiobooks, and have never had a problem feeling fully immersed in their works. Silentwalrus’s story deserves all the praise it gets, too. A lovely balance of humor and heart, action and character work. 

Fluff: Invisible Ink by ctimene

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 16K | Tattoo Parlor AU

Hard to write a rec that isn’t just keysmashing and squealing sounds but OKAY FINE I’ll try. This ‘verse manages to parallel canon in ways that are both delightful and heart twisting, with all of Foggy’s heart, kindness, and snark translated to tattooing instead of lawyering. And they were still avocados! And also: sexy. Really, extremely sexy.

Time travel: Some legends are told by chaosmanor, rufferto

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 26K | Neolithic Wanderings 

In which Steve will go to any length to find Bucky, including 4 thousand years into the past (while wearing a very short tunic). I absolutely devoured this and was beside myself with delight over its uniqueness and all around nerdery—so many amazing and specific historical details.

Domestic: t'aimer sur les bords du lac by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 17k | Post-EG

Lovely and soft wish fulfillment: put those boys in a cabin until they can get the rest they deserve…and also talk about their feelings! I loved how careful they were with each other until they slowly found their footing again.

[inkykeiji]

character: zayne genre: fluff! notes: wrote this as a teeny tiny comfort piece for myself!! deciding to share it here in the hopes that maybe it can bring some comfort to someone else, too! warnings: daddy kink without the kinkiness, reader takes medication and suffers from unspecified health issues, reader is female words: 880

Thinking about Daddy Zayne who is also Doctor Zayne, who is simultaneously and consistently both, the line between the two smudged and blurred and bleeding into one another as they infuse his soul, a caretaker in the purest, rawest form; who is rigidly meticulous when it comes to your health, especially your daily medications and vitamins.

He knows you sometimes forget to take your pills, sometimes forget if you’ve taken the correct amount, or which ones you have yet to take for the day—it’s okay, he understands, he tells you tenderly when he raises his concerns to you. It can be overwhelming, especially on the days where you’re feeling extra sick, where even the most basic of tasks feels impossibly monumental; he knows, sweetheart, he knows—and so, he resolves to do everything in his power to aid you. 

If there’s anything, anything at all that he can do to make your health just a teensy bit easier, he wants to do it.

The pill box he brings home one night is a pretty pastel pink, plastic embedded with silver sparkles that glitter brilliantly as he pulls it from his work satchel, tiny twinkles catching on fragments of light, streaming from the kitchen pot lights. 

“To help keep you organized,” he says softly, placing the container down on the island’s marble countertop, gently, as if he’s afraid it may shatter otherwise. 

“It’s super cute,” you say, gaze swapping between him and the box, a small smile on your lips. “Thank you, Daddy.” Dainty fingers skim along the days of the week, each one etched into the plastic in a bright fuchsia. “This was really thoughtful of you.”

“You like it?” he asks, hesitant hope tingeing the edges of his voice.

“I do.” 

“Good,” he roots around in his bag again, producing a hefty stack of glittery packets from the depths, each wrapped individually in thin shimmering plastic. “Because I saw these, and I just couldn’t resist—they reminded me of you too much.”

Splayed out across the countertop sits pages and pages of cute kittens, hearts, and stars, twinkling delicately up at you.

Blinking twice, your head tilts. “Stickers?”

“Mm,” Zayne hums, nodding. His fingers traverse the sheets, one by one, pensively. “I thought we could decorate the pill organizer together.” 

And, oh, the way your eyes absolutely shine, brilliant and beautiful as they search his face, makes all of the trepidation he had accumulated in his chest on his drive home so worth it. 

It melts away in your warm blaze, mollifies into something doughy and pleasant, something that fills his ribcage and stuffs his heart and he feels satisfied, he feels right, he feels whole.

“Really?” 

“Yes.”

“Now?”

A light chuckle falls from his lips, gaze gone syrupy as he traces along the curve of your cheek, eyes following his finger’s trajectory for a moment before they find your stare again. 

“Yes.” 

Your smile grows impossibly wider, impeccably brighter, a sweet little squeal of excitement sticking in your throat, and he can’t help but laugh again, holding out an arm in invitation as his other hand pats his thigh. 

Scampering over to him, he pulls you into his lap, one strong arm curled protectively around your waist as he holds you tightly to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Alright, princess,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose along your jaw, then planting a smattering of kisses behind your ear. “Which first? The hearts, the stars, or the kitties?”

Ninety minutes and two paper cuts later, your pretty pink pill box is finally finished, embellished with meticulously arranged stickers, each one placed just right—spread out perfectly from one another and organized in a way that makes it feel flawlessly balanced, each sticker methodically and systematically assorted with careful attention (a dire requirement, apparently, so you don’t end up with too many of one kind too close together!, you had told him). They glimmer in the low light of the kitchen as you tilt the box in your palms, one way, then the other, admiring yours and Daddy’s handiwork.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh, resting your cheek against Zayne’s. “We did a wonderful job.”

“It is, and we did,” he agrees, chest puffing a little against your back as his spine straightens, raising himself back to his proper height and pressing his lips to your temple, brushing along the throbbing veins in a gentle caress. His voice vibrates against your skin as he speaks, little tingles permeating your blood. “Now it’s time to let Daddy allocate and distribute your medication for the week.” 

A large hand taps the side of your thigh twice, a silent demand to get moving. 

“Come,” Zayne instructs as you both stand, taking one of your hands in his. “Help supervise and make sure Daddy puts everything in its proper spot.” 

He hopes this will help, even if it’s only a little. He hopes you’ll think of him, every morning when you’re popping open the corresponding little compartment, and he hopes it’ll make you smile, even if it’s nothing more than a slight quirk up of your lips.

If he can ease your pain, no matter how incremental the amount, then he’s doing his job. A start is a start, no matter how small.