#does the idea of suffering through a slow burn bring you joy?

[spacejammie-eimmajecaps]

Do you want to read a matsuhana fic?

What if it was a childhood-friends-to-lovers slow burn?

And what if it also featured an iwaoi childhood-friends-to-lovers slow burn?

And what if there were traces of kyouhaba enemies-to-lovers?

And what if there was a plausible (canon-compliant) excuse for the Seijoh 4 to meet and interact with the Tokyo 4?

Well, look no further!

Now, I know you're probably thinking that the description is vague and foreboding, which must mean this fic is full of angst and misery.

However, that's not the case!

Okay, yeah, technically there's angst here and there, and some characters certainly do feel miserable on occasion. Truth be told, you might even find yourself crying sometimes.

But you know what else you'll do?

Laugh. And smile. And experience fleeting moments of joy. And fleeting moments of impatience when you realize slow burn wasn't an exaggeration.

Doesn't that sound nice?

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 1: Fallen!Cas

In A Fortress of Pine Trees | @mistofstars Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,380 Main Tags/Warnings: Endverse, Croatoan, 2014, 5x04, Smut, bottom!Dean, Angst, Top!Cas Summary: Future!Dean / Future!Castiel "Cas", he finally exhales. "I could need one of your amazing hippie massages right now" -it starts with a simple massage and ends somewhere else; Dean gives in to long neglected needs... DESTIEL in 2014

The Warmth of your skin | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,414 Main Tags/Warnings: Sharing Body Heat, Hurt!Cas, First Kiss, Naked Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, no explicit sex, human!Cas Summary: Dean and Castiel are in the middle of a forest, when a snowstorm surprises them in the middle of the summer. To make their luck perfect, Castiel breaks into the ice of a lake. There is only one way to survive this cold. Body Heat.

Are We Human? | @one-more-offbeat-anthem

Rating: General Word Count: 3,766 Main Tags/Warnings: human!/fallen!Castiel, first kiss, love confessions, pet cats Summary: After losing his grace, Cas struggles with being human. Dean tries to help him out—and in showing the former angel how to find joy in the little things, starts to find joy himself (if he's brave enough to reach for it). And also discovers that maybe cats aren't so bad.

The End Of The Beginning | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,885 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, omega Dean, alpha Cas, endverse, endverse Cas, heat, pwp, S5E4 The End, there's a sequel Summary: He just wished that Zach-y boy had picked a better time. Dean could feel those deep seated aches in his abdomen that could only mean he was a day or so away from his damn heat starting. Hopefully he could learn his little lesson before he had to lock himself away for a few days to keep himself from presenting to every damn alpha in a five mile radius. He usually took suppressants, but dealing with Lucifer had kind of taken front seat just long enough for Dean to miss a few too many doses. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself as he rubbed at his wrists, finally free. He wandered out to see where the hell he was. It was an old summer camp, that much he could tell, but that was about it. But as weird as all this was, as unreal and impossible as it had to be, the most mind blowing part was definitely Cas. Fuzzy, stoned out of his gourd, sex guru to a gathering of betas and omegas Cas. Cas, who smelled so strongly of alpha and everything that Dean had ever wanted that he had to shift himself when the guy wasn't looking to try and hide the quickly growing erection in his pants, praying that he wouldn't slick right through his jeans.

Finally Realized | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,018 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, alpha Cas, omega Dean, Dean in heat, human Cas, first time, porn with plot Summary: Dean is sick in bed, so Sam calls in a now-human Cas to come and take care of the cranky patient while he escapes goes on a hunt. Dean cooperates with Cas, but it just figures, when the cold is finally gone, his heat takes its place. Now denial stops being an options as Dean begs Cas for the thing he's always wanted, but could never admit to.

Sweet Cherry Pie | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,801 Main Tags/Warnings: No archive warnings apply, first kiss, first time, friends to lovers, top dean/bottom cas Summary: Dean takes the newly-human Cas to a diner to try some new foods. Cas wants more than a taste.

Tick Tock Goes The Clock | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,784 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, omega Dean, alpha Cas, human Cas, alcohol as a coping mechanism, implied mpreg, angst, porn with plot, drunken confessions, drunken sex Summary: It was a well known fact that every omega had a metaphorical biological clock ticking away inside of them, just waiting to spring the alarm and make the poor guy or girl go just a wee bit baby crazy. And as much as Dean Winchester tried to deny it, mostly to himself, the one inside him was gonna blow at any second. Even though Dean would never admit it to anybody, especially his brother, he had always felt pretty maternal towards Lisa's son, Ben. He’d always wanted a nice, big family with plenty of pups of his own, ever since he had presented as an omega as a teenager. At least, whenever John hadn't been pressuring him to act like the alpha his dad thought he should've been, that is. It had only gotten worse when Sam presented as a beta, so Dean had shoved that dream so far back in his mind that he completely forgot about it ninety-five percent of the time. That was exactly why the omega knew that his biological clock was gonna kick his ass any day now. Where he used to mostly forget about the idea of having a bunch of pups, it was now taking up the vast majority of his thoughts lately.

I Been Blind | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 22,387 Main Tags/Warnings: Human!Cas, porn-watching, masturbation, mutual pining, porn with feelings, suggestion of m/f and m/m/f sex (in porn), oral sex, frottage, anal fingering, suggestion of bottom!Cas. Summary: Castiel is in love with humanity. At least, so long as he's not the one experiencing it. A lighthearted smutty romp wherein Dean helps Cas navigate the tricky minefield of human needs.

Roaming in the Dark (WIP) | @casbelieves

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 24,624 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Bottom!Cas, Top!Dean, Heavy Angst, Smut, Fallen Angels, Apocalypse, Croatoan Virus, Canonverse, Minor Character Death Summary: A reimagined look into how "The End" came to be. Castiel does not return to heaven after he rescues Dean from his stint in an apocalyptical 2014. The brothers don't reunite. The angels do fall. A dangerous and deadly virus spreads worldwide. But, without fail, Castiel follows Dean and, perhaps, that is his only fault.

Room A Thousand Years Wide | @mittensmorgul

Rating: Mature Word Count: 34,921 Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Getting Together, Long-Suffering Sam Winchester Summary: Once the world and their lives are finally their own, and Cas has chosen humanity once and for all, he begins to find a new routine of daily life with Dean. Sam doesn't know how much longer he can take their apparently oblivious platonic domesticity, when their regularly scheduled evening goes out the window with a single text message from someone they never expected to hear from again. Ex-Ghostfacer Ed Zeddmore is afraid he's stumbled over something too big to let slide, and sends them a link to a potentially dangerous Ghostfacer wannabe, and a case that isn't at all what it appears to be on the surface. What they uncover dredges up a lot of interesting feelings all around, and they must finally face a few ghosts of their own.

Empty Spaces | @thisisapaige

Rating: Mature Word Count: 48,411 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst, Drug Use, Drug Abuse, Drug Withdrawl, Fallen Castiel, Pre-series Dean, Canonverse, Internalized Biphobia, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort Summary: [Castiel] found the colour. It was a green, one of the few gentle colours at the edges of his dreams and the one he tried to capture in his paintings, never quite finding the right hue. He spent so long chasing the colours, trying to find it though pills and needles, but they always evaded his grasp. Yet he found one, right here, hiding in the eyes of a stranger. He studied the colour, the subtle differences between dark and light, the little flecks of gold nearly hidden in the sea of green, the ring around the outside. He studied it, trying to commit the colour to memory. The other man cleared his throat. “Uh, dude?” Oh. Castiel forgot the colour was attached to a person. ~~~ What if Castiel had fallen before the start of the series and met Dean on a routine hunt? Set in the spring before Dean goes to find Sam in Stanford.

Gates of Bronze and Bars of Iron | iCeDreams (AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 80,466 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 9 Divergent, Dean in Heaven Summary: Dean realizes that staying in Heaven and catching endless fish isn't living up to its hype. Especially since the gates of Heaven are still closed and there are no angels to guide you in the hereafter. Castiel is surviving Earth, fallen and human until a reaper brings his attention to a hunt forcing him to seek out his fallen brothers.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

[mimosaeyes]

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

Post-200. Jon and Martin wake up somewhere else. 2.2k, fix-it but not really.

In case this turns out to be the last fic I finish in this fandom, I want to especially thank my beta @emberidzae for introducing me to TMA. Or, at least, for talking about it enough in my general proximity that eventually I got curious.

Someone is cradling Martin’s head on their lap, and running their fingers through his hair. Jon, he thinks absently. He’d know him anywhere, even by such tiny details as the shape of his calluses where he grips a pen, and the texture of his burn-scarred skin.

But that can’t be right. Jon is dead. He’d killed him in the Panopticon, hands shaking until the instant before the knife had plunged in. The only way he could force himself to do it was to make it as quick and painless as possible. He couldn’t falter and draw out Jon’s suffering, not when it was already such a torment to hear him groan and scream as the building began to crumble around them. Or to see the look in his eyes, the utter trust and love warring against the Beholding’s hold on him.

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

He breathes, even and steady like he’s trying to fall more deeply asleep. If these are his last seconds of awareness, he wants to spend them just like this.

Then he hears Jon quietly ask, “Are you awake?”

Martin opens his eyes. Jon is peering down at him, his expression tender and tentative. In the weak sunlight, he looks washed out, his features rendered nearly in greyscale. There’s no trace of the bright red from when Martin had lifted a bloody hand to cup his face. The only indication of everything that’s happened is a faint mistiness about Jon’s eyes.

Furrowing his brow, Martin reaches up and touches his cheek. It’s wet; he leaves behind a fine dusting of black sand that has stuck to his fingers. “Are you crying?” he murmurs, almost confused. Surely, if this is all in his imagination, he’d have made Jon happy.

Jon surprises him with a soft laugh. “Tears of relief, Martin. Look around.”

Reluctantly, still half-convinced none of this is really happening, Martin rolls to one side and sits up. Jon scoots over a little for him, even though there’s plenty of space. The shore is completely deserted apart from them, and silent but for the gently lapping water.

“Is this...?”

At Martin’s questioning look, a smile slowly spreads across Jon’s face. It’s a complicated one, balanced between joy and disbelief, sadness and resignation. “Somewhere else,” he affirms.

“But I—” Martin stares at Jon. There’s no blood on him, no wound; only a tell-tale rip in his shirt where the knife had gone in. “I killed you.”

“I told you to,” Jon objects. His hands come up as if to touch Martin, who rocks back on his haunches.

“I killed you,” he repeats, this time in a whisper.

Jon watches him for a moment. His shoulders lift in a helpless sort of shrug. “Or maybe,” he says, “you killed everything that wasn’t me. Everything tethering them there.”

Martin can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He’s shaking his head slowly, but he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can deny the physical fact of Jon, here with him, miraculously unharmed and apparently, entirely human. It’s not like he wants to, either. He just hadn’t been expecting to wake up again — in a world he may have helped to doom, next to a boyfriend he was supposed to have died with.

It’s a lot to process.

A single sob escapes Martin, and at once Jon is hushing him, almost vaulting forward in his rush to pull him into a hug. They meet awkwardly halfway, in a tangle of clumsy limbs and warmth. 

With Jon’s arms around him, Martin lets himself just cry for a while.

It feels long overdue. The back of Martin’s throat has felt tight and strained since the moment he woke up to find Jon gone. He’d rushed to find Georgie, Melanie, and Basira, and then he’d rushed up the countless flights of stairs in the Panopticon, not daring to stop and catch his breath for fear he’d be too late. He was, anyway, and the moment Jon had turned around to face him, voice crackling with static and eyes illuminated as if from within, it had all come crashing over Martin: Jon had left him behind after all. He’d broken his promise, been so willing to die in some perverse kind of atonement that he hadn’t even waited to say goodbye.

Martin hardly dares to believe he’s here now, rubbing soothing circles over his back and murmuring, “It’s okay. Shh. I’ve got you.”

It takes some time, but eventually Martin subsides. The trembling stops and his breathing slows. Mildly embarrassed, he pulls back from the embrace. “Don’t ever,” he says wetly, poking Jon in the chest, “do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Jon says softly. He waits until Martin has settled back on the sand, then takes his hand and interlaces their fingers. 

For a while, they both stare out at the water, the way the seafoam stands out against the dark beach.

“Any idea where this is?” Martin asks.

Jon shakes his head. “I think Iceland has black sand beaches, but... you know. That’s back in our reality.”

Martin lets out a long breath. “It worked, then.” His voice is muted with weariness. “We saved the world.”

“And doomed every other one.” Without letting go of Martin’s hand, Jon pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them.

“Not everything is your fault, Jon. We all agreed on the plan.” 

He waits, but Jon gives no sign of having even heard the words. He watches him for a long moment, biting his lip. Then he clambers to his feet and pulls on their linked hands. “Come on.”

Jon blinks up at him. “Where are we going?”

“On a walk,” Martin tells him.

The beach looks the same in either direction, and a steep wall of volcanic rock prevents them from going farther inland. Undaunted, Martin starts off towards the left. Jon follows, possibly from force of habit. They’d gone on many such walks together, in the halcyon days at the safehouse before the world ended. 

Normally, Martin would point things out as they passed them by — good cows being a bonus, of course — but this place seems eerily devoid of life. There aren’t even any seashells or bits of driftwood. The air is still. The fog sits in heavy reams.

He’s just wondering if he should bring it up when Jon abruptly starts talking. He’d given one last statement, he admits, up in the Panopticon before Martin arrived. Becoming the pupil of the Eye had given him answers, at long last, about how the entities came to be. 

Jon’s train of thought is uncertain, and he frowns a lot as he rambles. Sometimes he stops and gazes out across the water, the look in his eyes vacant. It’s probably just a side effect of his being ripped away from the Ceaseless Watcher, Martin tells himself. Probably.

“We created monsters,” Jon says at last, “and then I set them loose on the whole universe.” He stops walking and hunches his shoulders. “What does that make me?”

Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “Jonathan Sims, you are not a monster.”

Beside him, Jon’s breathing goes shaky. “But I told you—”

“That I wouldn’t want to see what was left of you?” Martin interrupts. He hasn’t forgotten the desperate look on Jon’s face in that moment, when he’d first refused to leave him. “I’m looking at you right now, Jon, and you know what I see?”

Illogically, he’s almost angry at him; that’s how frustrated he is that the man he loves cannot seem to stop blaming himself for everything. “I see someone who has given everything to make things right. Who chose kindness, even though he’d been marked and manipulated. Even though he kept getting kidnapped and hunted and hurt and — and used.”

Jon is staring at him now, wide-eyed. Martin thinks about the way he’d looked in what he thought were their last moments together. Beautiful and beatific. He touches two fingers to Jon’s chin, tilting it up. “It’s not monstrous to protect the people you love,” he says. “It’s human.”

With his free hand, Jon swipes at a tear that’s running down his cheek.

“Okay?” Martin presses, but gently.

Jon sniffs. “Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “that your pep talks can be rather aggressive?”

He’s deflecting, but Martin decides to let him get away with it. He’s pushed hard enough for now. In any case, he thinks his words have hit home, at least to some extent. There’s still guilt in Jon’s eyes, but although it runs deep, Martin thinks it looks a little less sharp.

Pulling back and turning to resume their walk, he says, “They have to be, to get through your thick head.”

A corner of Jon’s lips quirks up. “That sounds like something Basira would say.”

“Is she alright, do you think? And Georgie and Melanie?”

Jon waves a hand. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably putting the world back together already.”

“Probably make it better,” Martin muses. He sighs. “They’ll have their work cut out for them.”

A beat. “And what about us?” Jon asks quietly. “What do we do now?”

They fall silent, each contemplating the question. 

If they’ve ended up in the same world as the entities, Martin figures, at some point they’ll probably have to start seeking out organisations like the Magnus Institute, working out who the next Archivist is. And if they somehow stop the apocalypse from happening, it’ll only be for a while. There will always be another attempt to foil. 

By some miracle, they’ve made it here. Maybe they’ll be able to build a life together, and enjoy it for a while. But mostly, the future Martin sees stretching ahead of them is just full of more danger and guilt and sacrifice. 

Jon must be thinking along the same lines, because he sighs and says, “Do you know what this reminds me of? It’s like I thought the play was over, but it turns out it’s only the intermission.”

“What did you want it to be?”

For the space of several breaths, Jon is silent. “A good epilogue,” he says at last. “I’d like to think we deserve that much.”

Martin swallows past a sudden lump in his throat. There isn’t really anything he can say to that, so instead he gives Jon a little nudge, and keeps walking.

When he next looks up, his eye snags on a shape on the shoreline ahead of them. It’s the first thing they’ve come across since they woke up here and started walking. In tacit agreement, they both wander over to get a closer look. 

It’s a small boat, complete with a set of oars. The wood has only the faintest suggestion of brown. It’s been bleached to a light grey, though how long that would have taken, Martin can’t guess. 

He clears his throat. “Is anything about all this just a little bit on the nose to you?”

“What?” Jon asks, still peering at the boat. Then: “Oh.”

This looks more like an ocean than a river, Styx or otherwise, but Martin can’t deny that there’s something ethereal about this place. Interstitial. Plus, there’s the otherwise inexplicable fact that Jon’s wound is gone. Honestly, he should have put it together sooner.

He notices Jon watching him then, his head canted and his expression fond. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jon says. “You’re just... taking the possibility that you’re dead very well.”

“So are you,” Martin points out.

Jon shrugs. “I’ve had time to get used to the idea. Besides, you’re here.”

His smile, at that moment, is a brittle thing. Martin finds he has to look away from it.

They never seem to get enough time, do they? The cottage in Scotland. That week at Upton House. And now this. Part of Martin is tempted to try and stay here, in this final pocket of respite. He knows that’s irrational, though. 

Maybe this is just a very dramatic-looking beach, and they’ll feel very silly when they wash ashore. Or maybe they’re right. Maybe they’ll get in that boat and... pass on, head towards the light — any one of the phrases people have invented to give shape to the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.

Either way, Martin realises, they have to find out. And at least they’ll find out together. Subconsciously, he tightens his grip on Jon’s hand.

“What are you thinking?” Jon asks softly.

Martin looks at him for a long moment. “I did want to take you rowing.” Such light words for the weight of what they imply.

“Where you go,” Jon says, “I go.”

Martin smiles. “That’s the deal.”

It takes them a while to get a rhythm going after they push off from the shore. Martin rows, and after a while, to his mild delight, Jon starts singing a sea shanty under his breath, keeping time to the beat of the oars. 

And as the shore disappears behind the fog, Martin is surprised to find that colours start to filter back into the world. Pinks and yellows, the likes of which the sky above his head hasn’t contained in so long.

He looks at Jon, who looks back at him and nods. 

They meet the sunrise. They leave the world behind.

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

[celosiaa]

Short sickfic/whump prompt: based on the brief instances when I've heard him sing, I know for a fact that Alex J Newall has quite a good singing voice (+ a really pretty vibrato 😍), and lately I've been thinking a lot about Martin singing to Jon as a way of calming and comforting him when he's ill or upset. So, a hurt/comfort scene involving singing, perhaps? ♥️

I loved this prompt!!! Thank you so much!  Here is a short-ish fic about the transition between the Corruption and the Stranger, and the domains having an impact on Jon’s wellbeing. 

The song in this fic is “Your Song” by Elton John, which you should definitely give a listen while you read!  Please enjoy <3

Just a little longer.

Just hold on a bit, and he’ll be fine.

We’ll be fine.

Sniffling into his sleeve, Martin watches Jon sleep from where he’s curled up with his back against the tree, trying his best not to shiver in the cold he knows is not really there.  After they’d left the sick village, Jon had grown weaker and weaker as they approached the next domain—his steps stumbling, his breathing ragged and worn—until Martin had at last forced them to stop.  Jon had begun rambling, the words so badly slurred together he couldn’t make any of them out, and the ashen tone of his complexion was enough to convince Martin he was on the verge of blacking out.  The way Jon was shaking…he couldn’t help but settle him beneath their blanket, head pillowed on a small pile of their hopelessly wrinkled clothes, though he knows for a fact a steadily climbing fever is wracking his body.

He swipes at his own brow, nose wrinkling against the sweat he finds there, before tipping his head back against the tree in an effort to stem the flow of this sudden congestion.  Best he can figure, Jon had been overwhelmed with…well, whatever goes on inside his head these days, and with him weakened, it left both of them vulnerable to the effects of the Corruption.  What else could possibly explain this illness out of nowhere, and the heat rolling off the man next to him in billows?

Jon shifts a little beneath the blanket, muttering feverishly with furrowed brows—the sight bringing hot, stinging tears into Martin’s eyes at once.

Damned fever, always making me weepy.

He swipes at his eyes in frustration, the buzzing in his sinuses building to a peak as he does—forcing him to turn away to stifle a few miserable sneezes into his sleeve.  It seems his efforts to be quiet were unsuccessful, however—as Jon begins to move about in earnest, letting out a low moan that turns quickly into exhausted coughing.

“Sorry, Jon, I’m sorry,” Martin mutters, letting his knees fall toward him as he reaches for his forehead.

God, that’s horrendous.

He can’t help but wince at the heat he finds there—burning even against his own feverish palm.  The coughing hasn’t stopped either, growing deeper by the moment, enough that it’s starting to sound a bit concerning.

“You alright?” Martin asks against the scratching of his own throat, lightly resting a hand on Jon’s chest.

It seems as though Jon did not hear him, merely continuing to cough wetly until his lungs at last settle down.  When he finishes, he leans back against the makeshift pillow, breathing as deeply as he can, the dampness crackling through his lungs even as he does.

“You okay?” Martin repeats, running a hand up and down Jon’s clammy forearm.

Still, Jon does not reply, merely closing his eyes and muttering—statements, Martin’s sinking heart tells him, all jumbled together in miles and miles of words of pain, of suffering, of sorrow.  It kills him to see Jon carry it all, and know he can do nothing.

Please please wake up

“Jon, can you hear me?” he asks, turning away for a moment to cough into his elbow.  “I’m right here, sweetheart—come back to me if you can.”

Grasping his hand tightly, Martin bends down to press a kiss on Jon’s forehead, willing him to return, to say something, anything—

When he pulls back, the muttering has stopped—though only in voice, for Jon’s lips still move erratically around whatever words the Eye is pouring into his mind.

And now tears have begun to slip down his face.

“Oh, darling,” Martin sighs worriedly, cupping Jon’s face in his hands and brushing the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

To his dismay, Jon takes a gasping inhale beneath his hands, eyes blown wide and wild, before wrenching forward into devastating, guttural sobs.

“Oh god, oh Jon, come here—”

Martin pulls Jon up into his arms, keeping a gentle hold around his trembling frame, hands wrapping around his torso and resting at the nape of his neck.  In desperation, Jon clutches at Martin’s back, hands fisting into the folds of his jacket as his breaths pick up both shallowness and speed.

“Shh, shh—I’ve got you, darling, just hush now,” Martin soothes shakily, rocking him ever so softly back and forth, one hand reaching up to massage his scalp in a way he knows Jon usually finds relaxing.

But it’s all for naught, as he only continues to sob harder into his shoulder, hands clenching and unclenching in distress.  It dismal, it’s horrid, it’s gut-wrenching—and Martin has no idea how to make it stop.

I’ve got to calm him.

There’s got to be something.

All at once, he is flooded with a memory of the two of them back at the safehouse—Martin in his boxers, Jon in his flannel pyjamas—in the kitchen, laughing and dancing to—

Martin clears his throat, and begins to sing.

It's a little bit funny, this feelin' inside

I'm not one of those who can easily hide

The hands clutching at his jacket begin to loosen, and Martin cannot help but smile.

I don't have much money, but boy, if I did

I'd buy a big house where we both could live

And it’s so clear in his mind’s eye now, that for a moment, he’s sure that Jon is letting him See—the two of them in a proper house, with a dog and a garden and grey in their hair.  It’s the loveliest thing Martin has ever longed for.

So excuse me forgettin', but these things I do

You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue

Jon has fully relaxed in his arms now, his breathing slowing down with every line of the song that Martin knows he’s mixed up the words for. Taking a pause for just a moment, he plants a kiss on the top of Jon’s head, swaying him side to side with the rhythm.

Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

At first, he thought he’d imagined it—but Jon’s chest moves in a small shudder of a laugh, face still pressed into Martin’s shoulder.

“They really are, you know,” Martin whispers with a grin, and Jon shakes his head—before his shoulders follow, and Martin can feel the tears dampening his shirt beneath him.

“Oh, darling.” Martin sighs, heart breaking at the little gasps coming from beneath the mess of hair.  “Shh, hush now, I’m right here.”

They spend a few moments like this before Martin continues, rocking him back and forth and praying to whatever gods there are that his voice will hold out for just a bit longer.

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world

At last, at long last, Jon picks up his head from Martin’s shoulder—just barely long enough to peck him on the cheek—before he flops back down again.  The joy and relief that washes over Martin now is like nothing he’s ever felt—just grateful that maybe, for now, the worst has passed, and maybe Jon will be able to get some proper rest.

“Here, love—why don’t you lie down, okay?  Just lie down on my lap here, you’ll be alright,” he encourages, gently guiding Jon to do just that.  

For a moment, they remain silent—Martin stroking a hand through Jon’s fever-soaked curls, before he opens his eyes at last. Though green and glowing and so very strange now—they’re still endlessly deep, and so searching, and so very, very Jon.

God, I love you.

Even as he thinks this, Jon grabs his hand, bring it down to rest against his chest without looking away.

“One more time,” he says, voice whittled away into nothing.  “Need you to see.”

“See…?”

“Please.”

And Martin cannot help but comply, as Jon’s eyes fall closed once more.

And you can tell everybody this is your song

All at once, he’s caught up in a vision—and he knows for certain Jon is feeding it to him, letting him in for just a moment—all for the purpose of showing him memories.  Memories of them together.  

Jon’s arm looped through his as they walk through a blustering Scottish afternoon—

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

Endless cups of tea set on Jon’s desk, before they melt into shared cups, shared tea, Jon making it in their kitchen, Martin teasing him about it not being right—

I hope you don't mind

Lying in bed together—

I hope you don't mind

Their lips joined together in an affront to the dark—

That I put down in words

The vision fades, and Martin is left with what’s in front of him—his love, his love, and nothing else.

I love you I love you I love you

Leaning over him with a blushing grin, Martin sings the last words, certain that he’s never sung them with such force of meaning as in this moment.

How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Jon opens his eyes again at last, and—though ill and drained and exhausted beyond all measure—allows his face to melt into a smile, which Martin finds it impossible not to kiss.

“I love you too,” he whispers, before pressing another into his hair.  “Now go to sleep.”

At once, Jon does his best to comply, and Martin is soon to follow—a moment of peace in the growing dark.

[sideblog-666-thousand]

Samoth and Tyr (ex-Borknagar) Interview, 1999. Ft. Samoth being a massive cunt. Part Two.

Here’s the sequel to «Samoth and Tyr (ex-Borknagar) Interview, 1999. Ft. Samoth being a massive cunt. Part One».

I like to start these usually with some background information on the source, but any background information I could possibly offer was already inserted into the first part, you know? It doesn’t feel right to just copy-paste, or transcribe, something of someone else’s and post it online, even though I do it for free, and mostly for myself*. I still want to do something kind of creative with it. The proposed drinking game was probably about as creative as I could get with this though...

Okay, so! I actually saw Emperor live. I got to see them front row, in fact. It was a really good show— I’d love to see them play again.

Any possible commentary is in (parenthesis) and bold. Asterisks below and optional.

Without further ado:

I: Can you tell us anything concerning Thou Shalt Suffer? [Death metal band Thou Shalt Suffer can be seen as the predecessor to Emperor, having both Samoth (Samot) and Ishahn (Ygg) in its line-up. After the band split up, Ihsahn kept the name for his clasically inspired synthesizer project]

S: Yeah, well Ihsahn is still working on it and I mean it seems like an endless project. I don't know when he's actually going to finish it. He's been saying every year, like: "This year I'm going to finish it.", but it's still not finished. I have already heard a little bit, but he's always like, skipping material and making new songs, I really don't.... I'm just gonna check out the album when it's coming out, if ever*...

I: What about the former members, like Ildjarn? Is he still working on his own project, Ildjarn?

S: Well Ildjarn is... I see him now and then. He has a new band - it's a keyboard kind of thing - more atmospheric music, but I don't see him that much. He's a pretty weird guy. And our old drummer [Thorbjørn - ed] is actually our sound engineer for our latest album.

I: For a while you were in many different bands, for a short while - will you do that sort of thing again? Did you leave Emperor to join Burzum in '92?

S: I don't have the time anymore. At that point we had no drummer with Emperor and everything went really slow. So I just had to play something and I joined Satyricon and I played with Gorgoroth and stuff like that. It was just because things was going really slow with my main band. I've never left Emperor. All I did with Burzum was being in the studio for a few hours to do the bass and do drums.

I: About Arcturus - what do you think about their musical development? [Samoth used to play guitars in Arcturus a well. He recorded the legendary "Constellation" demo with this band, which was originally issued in 500 copies on MCD through NAP - later there was also issued a vinyl edition with three bonus tracks, namely the "My Angel" 7-inch and a re-recorded version of "Morax" - Samoth does not appear on these bonus-tracks]

S: I think it's excellent, especially... they made a remix album now a well of the previous album. there's a lot of weird beats and drum and bass samples on it. It's coming out in April, on Garm's label Jester, the same as Ulver.

I: I had heard that they had split up - is that correct?

S: Yeah, I think so, but I think they have been discussing about doing a new album, I mean, I don't know.. these guys are a bit slow...

I: In the "Reverence" video there is a line, "Honour commanded no longer as virtue*", it's part of the lyrics, but it's shown in words on the screen. Why? It seems like an unobvious statement for Emperor. You used to state that honour was really important.

S: It is important to have honour in what you do and it's important to honour and respect the people you ...respect.

I: Then it would be a virtue, wouldn't it?

S: Well... what was the line again? But it is Ihsahn's lyrics, so it would be better for him to explain it in a bigger complex, but I think it has to do with people not putting pride and honour in what they do anymore. People just don't care about nothing.

I: OK...In some earlier interviews you've shown a strong anti-christian attitude...

S: I still have an anti-christian attitude, but it's not something I think that much about these days, anymore. I don't really bother that much about Christians, they're not a big problem for me in my personal life. But to me it's just as normal as eating breakfast to be anti-christian, so I am*.

I: There have been times that you had more radical views, for example what did you want to achieve with the church burnings?

S: Well, I didn't want to achieve anything really. It was just like an extreme statement, I would think. I didn't think it would make any difference in society. It was a destructive act, both for me and everybody else in a way. Probably more for myself...

I: How did the jail sentence influence you as a person and as a musician?

S: Well, I had a lot of time to be for myself for once... But I think of the whole thing as a good experience. I think actually for a lot of people it could do good to be in prison for a while. It kind of puts your life into the good perspective and it's kind of interesting to see life from a different perspective. To be in prison it was totally meaningless - that's the whole point of being in prison: to take away the joy of life and lock you in for a time.

T: You made the instrumental (below) in prison.

S: Yeah, "The Wanderer" from "Anthems...", that was made in prison. And that's completely different from what I usually write.

I: You had a guitar in prison?

S: Yeah, sure.

I: I thought they weren't allowed, because you could hang yourself...

S: No, it was not that extreme...

I: So we might expect more Dissection material as well - as Jon Nödveidt is allowed to have a guitar in prison. What do you think about this whole case?

S: I think it was really stupid actually, because Dissection really had something going. They even had the studio booked and the material finished... and he just had to do this...

I: Do you feel any remorse about the churches and stuff?

S: No.

I: Do you feel any remorse at all about things you do in life?

S: I mean, I do have feelings of course, but I don't see any point to regret the things I did. I'd rather see it as an experience and learn from an experience rather than "Oh, why did I do that - if I would have done differently..." there's no point. (In other words: no.)

I: It's not some code of honour not to feel remorse?

S: No. It's just a waste of time to feel remorse. I see no point in it to regret the things I've done. I mean you just bring yourself down by feeling too much remorse. What happens, happens - you can't change the past, so.

I: In an interview you made this statement that "you have to be a ruler and think for yourself" and in an interview with your wife Nebelhexe*, she made this statement that the Count had had this big influence on you and that he had got you involved in the church burnings - how do these statements match?

S: Back in '91 and '92 all the people in the so called Black Metal Circle or whatever, were pretty young, so we all were pretty easily influenced. And Vikernes was also very influenced by Euronymous, in the first place. So I think a lot of the stuff that happened back then.. it was like: everybody had extreme ideas and everybody just wanted to be more and more extreme and we all got influenced by each other. And of course Vikernes, he has a very strong personality and he was the one who started with all the extremes, like actually going out and doing it in practice, so I guess he was influential to a lot of peolpe.

I: Was it an important reason to join Burzum - because you were looking up to him?

S: Well I mean, I respected Burzum and I saw this like an honour to join something I respected, but it was not: Wow, I'm playing with Varg Vikernes or something.

I: Are you still in touch with Mortiis? His departure from Emperor wasn't completely 'as friends'...

S: Yeah, he's been living in Sweden for many years, actually. I don't see him often, but his parents are just living a few blocks away. We phone now and then, and the whole is coming along just fine. Concerning his departure, he had a bit of an attitude back the, I guess. And he and Faust also didn't get along that well so it was best thet he would leave and for a while it was maybe a bit touchy, but now it's completely good.

I: What about your future plans?

S: Well the most immediate future plans is to finish this tour and we have a gig in Norway in May and hopefully we're going to do some more Scandinavian shows in Sweden and Finland...We have an offer for the Dynamo-festival in Holland as well, but I mean so far... I would like to - I wanna play a lot more live, but I mean, not everybody in the band is too keen on playing live, so we have to make comprimises. So we are probably going to do an American tour in the summer for three weeks with Dimmu Borgir - that should be a good experience I think. We' re starting to do pretty well in America as well now.

I: Comparing your first gig in Holland in 'de Baroeg' in Rotterdam and the one tonight, I think you have really improved a lot. What do you think yourself?

S: Well that's good to hear. We can still improve a lot I think. I mean when I watch these guys of Morbid Angel, I go: 'Wow, these guys are really good.' I just hope we get the opportunity to play more live and I don't know, improve our live act.

I: Goals for the future?

S: That's difficult. With Emperor we usually make the material for one album and we don't think too much ahead. The latest album has been doing well like all albums and better than expected. In the beginning I guess and we try to support the album by playing live and get more professional. So for the new album we have no new material, really nothing... and Ihsahn is also pretty busy with Peccatum and Thou Shalt Suffer. Peccatum will start working on their 2nd album when the tour is finished.

I: What do you think of Peccatum?

S: I think it's a good album, but I mean it's not an album I wanna play myself on. I think it could have been a lot better with a much stronger production. The production is weak.

T: I think it's... the drum copmuter, I prefer the live drummer feel.

S: Limbonic Art is a band in which I like the use of a drum computer. They do it in a special way. They don't pretend, like... they don't to try to get it to sound like a real drums, they just use the opportunities they have with a drum machine.

T: ...[about Peccatum again] but I still like their live performances. The theatrical style...

S: Yeah, I think Peccatum is actually better live than on CD*.

T: Better singing... more powerful.

I: They have this session guitarist. Didn't Ihsahn consider you to play the guitar for Peccatum?

S: No.

I: You wouldn't want to do it?

S: Well, I'm not sure if I could do it. I mean some of the stuff is pretty like... technical. I am not adepted to all this technical stuff. I think Peccatum is more technical than Emperor actually.

I: There have been a number of books coming out lately about the years 92-93, like for example "The Lords of Chaos" - is there basically any truth in these books?

S: Well I mean, "The Lords of Chaos" there is some truth in it of course, but I think that book emphasizes a lot on right-wing side of the whole thing - there is a lot of Varg Vikernes in there and also the author [Michael Monian], he is very interested in the political thing. I think he made the black metal thing look much more political then it ever was. Yeah, I can understand that to the outside world, it nearly sounds like mythology, of course - for a young teenager who gets this book it's like: "Wow, this is amazing..", but to me it's like no big deal. I don't think that much about it. People expect me to wake up in the morning and think about this stuff all the time, but I mean it happened many, many years ago...

I: But you wouldn't want the whole scene to turn back again to like it was back then?

S: No, I mean the whole scene has changed and I think people think more individually these days and just do what they feel like and are more honest about themselves and I think that's a good progression. I think it's a bit stupid to think that, "now we are grown up and are descent guys" - that'd seem silly in a way, but I mean back then we were very young and it was kind of obvious that we would have to change. You don't stay eighteen forever. But I am totally respectful to Darkthrone who still represent the essence of true Norwegian black metal, I guess.

I: What is Darkthrone doing these days then? Isn't Fenriz to busy with his other activities - I heard his deejay-ing in some club?

S: I think they actually are getting back together and doing an album this spring. They even have booked a studio and anything. It's true, he's deejay-ing, but he's changing all the time so all of a sudden is like: "OK, we're doing a Darkthrone album now and that's what I do."

I: What is it with all the cover albums you're participating on? Is it just good fun?

S: Well, we get so many offers. So we say like: OK. We have plenty more offers as well, so we just thought like.. when we were in the studio for the new album we recorded a Mayhem one, we did the Thorns vs Emperor, we did a Darkthrone one, so when we are in the studio it's no big deal to just do a cover as well.

I: I also heard you tried out the new studio by recording over tracks. Was the Hellhammer track the first to be recorded there?

S: Yeah it was kind of like that in a way to check out the studio and make sure it was good enough. No, the Hellhammer song wasn't recorded there. It was recorded in our old rehearsing room, just on a four track recorder. We just did that on an evening, we didn't even have a drummer at the time - we just had a guy from Gehenna [Dirge Rep, ed], coming down for a weekend and we said, OK let's do a cover, now and we just did it and they put it out.

I: What do you think of the fact that bands from Italy and France are using Norwegian lyrics?

S: Well. I think it's pretty comical.

I: Do they make sense?

S: Well most of the time they don't make sense. A lot of these countries have quite interesting mythology themselves, so why not use those?

I: Any small bands you could recommend us?

S: There is one called the Myrkskog - they've just signed to Candlelight now actually and they are a pretty good band. [Their guitarist was playing live as a session member with Peccatum, ed]

I: Is there anything you would like to add before closing off?

S: Not really... these carrots are good, that's my final comment! (God, this is so cute but I don’t know why)

T: Not really, no - Just that I love to be on tour and stuff like that... Before I joined with Emperor I had just played out for five times, or something...

  That’s all! :)

*I do it because I’ve noticed how many great interviews I’ve lost over the years, due to websites being taken down, or something. Whilst some interviews have been re-shared over numerous platforms and accounts, I like to have my own copy because I know nothing will happen to it. The reason I share it is because I might as well, since I have nothing better to do.

*The mythical ‘Thou Shalt Suffer’ album was released— a year later, in fact. Ihsahn had been talking about it in interviews all the way back in ‘96 too. It’s called ‘Somnium’. It’s not my thing, to be honest. However, I think it’s nice that Samoth let Ihsahn keep the name. ‘Into The Woods of Belial’ was cool though.

*This is such a ridiculous question. It’s very obvious what Ihsahn meant and I feel as though Samoth must’ve been distracted if he was unable to answer it. It’s the latter half of the lyrics that stands to be questioned. 3:17 for lyric, though you’ve likely heard it before: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4FYwz2-_G_4

*I have this strange mental image of Samoth just casually eating cereal with milk that he dyed red with food colouring......

*Funny enough, they divorced a little after this interview too— around the next two years or so, I don’t know exactly when. Samoth later goes on to marry his girlfriend, who was a photographer whilst he was touring with Zyklon back in 2001. In an interview (which no longer exists, unfortunately) Nebelhexe goes on to make a few comments that make it sound like a certain somebody may have had his fingers in a few too many pots....

*The thing about some bands sounding better live than on CD is really true! I once saw this band, ‘Havok’, live (I was at a metal music festival) and I thought they were incredible, but when I listened to their studio releases, I thought it was very weak and boring.

Legal disclaimer: I am not, in anyway shape or form, claiming that Samoth literally cheated on his wife. What I am, however, saying, is that it’s very sus from my very narrow field of vision. This is just a bit of comedy. However, if you are Samoth, or a representative of Samoth, feel to sue me regardless. Please, daddy, it’s all I’ve ever wanted since I was fifteen. I’ll do anything, daddy, ruin my fucking life— take a chainsaw and literally RIP MY FUCKING GUTS— okay, I’ll stop now before anybody thinks I’m being serious.

[kibybun]

I think about barbaric tribe chief Bakugou alot, he and his mem take over darling 's small village, they kill everyone and take all the food, but darling catches his eyes so he keeps her to himself, she fights him and doesn't accept him so he often gets rough with her, she even stabs him at a certain time and he punishes the hell out of her.... Something like that, idk lol

This... I like this idea lots. It just plays out so well, I hope you like it!

Barbaric Tribe Chief Bakugo x Reader

Tw: Yandere, murder, non-con/rape, nsfw

Enjoy!

🧡Chief Bakugo, The most feared and merciless man known across all the land. Only those in his tride know what he looks like due to him killing whoever comes into his path.

🧡You were the exception.

🧡Your small village was just starting to make a name for itself due to the abundance of crops the small area was able to produce. It started bringing in merchants that brought money that bought supplies to expand and advance the architecture.

🧡You were one of the people that proposed the idea of monopolizing the abundance of crops and building up the town more. You were quite proud of all your small town had accomplished, until it caught the attention of a certain tribe.

🧡Bakugo only wanted to attack your village for the food. If he managed to take most of it that would feed his tribe for about a month. He would be foolish not to go and take it.

🧡His tribe moved in the darkness, loving the element of surprise. They took joy from watching the chaos, death, and pain take place.

🧡When they reach your village everyone was softly sleeping. Bakugo had the honor of starting the chaos while part of his tribe collects their goal. Bakugo starts the small flame on the dry house that spred.

🧡Screams came from the houses with people trapped inside while others begin to panic and run like panicked rodents.

🧡The rest of his tride takes the opportunity to grab the people darting around an have their way with them. Plain killing, slow torture, brutal raping, all in the harsh glow of the fire raging on.

🧡You tried to think rationally while trying to avoid capture. You had few ties to people in the village and they weren't the strongest so you had nothing tying here. You could easily run away and live but you need something to help sustain you.

🧡Creeping through the shadows, you made it to the crops. You were disappointed to see the remaining crops trampled but glad some were left.

🧡You tried your best to collect as much as you could but you were harshly interrupted by the harsh pulling of your hair.

🧡You were found.

🧡Spikey blonde hair, strong arms, deep red eyes, bare chest decorated with battle scars and blood of your fellow villagers. Handsome, yes but you couldn't be caught in this siren song of a man.

🧡You thrash and curse him, desperate to escape while he let's out a deep chuckle at your pitiful attempt. It was cute how you tried so hard... you were quite good looking too...

🧡He throws you over his shoulder with ease, not caring for your threats. He liked how fierce you are and your looks were definitely a deciding factor. He looked forward to seeing how you would fight him.

🧡Bakugo carries you to his tribe, gaining very confused looks along the way. He responds with a very aggressive "What the hell are you looking at!?" before tieing your hands and feet too and setting off.

🧡Along the way your talking grew tiresome so he tied your mouth shut with a piece of cloth. It helped silence your anger as Bakugo fondled and smacks your rear.

🧡Everyone was jealous that Bakugo took a plaything with him. They all had sadistic fantasies they had the simply couldn't be acted out within the short time they were allowed to, so why did he get to take you?

🧡His firsthand man walks beside him, hands reaching out with lust. He thought being second in command gave him the right to touch Bakugo's captive.

🧡In a swift movement his head was exploded by the hand of Bakugo.

🧡Everyone froze, terrified and confused. Bakugo looked at his followers and told them if they dare lay a finger on you they'd suffer.

🧡You were terrified and pleased. Not only did you have protection against all these barbarians, you could potentially have the opportunity to bend things to your will with the fear this man already invoked. Downside he could have his way with you and no one would stop him.

🧡By the time you arrive at their base you had severe rope burn on your legs, arms, and mouth. When Bakugo threw you onto his bed and took off your restraints all you could do was slowly move. The pain of the air hitting your raw skin paralyzed you.

🧡You barely noticed how Bakugo watched to, scanned your every move before simply walking off.

🧡You growl in annoyance and yell at him for thinking he could just leave you. Not only did he kill everyone you knew and kidnapped you he was about to leave you while you were in pain. If you were a hostage atleast it a nice experience!

🧡He smirks and creeps towards you like a predator to prey. He asks who exactly do you think you are. You stayed silent as you sent him death glares.

🧡You are his. Simple as that.

🧡He inspects your injuries with great interest before walking over to the far side of the room. Within a few minutes he's back at your side with a rag and a medicinal smelling goop.

🧡He puts the rag in your mouth and starts to care for the burns. It was smart to that rag in your mouth because if not the whole tribe would've heard you howl in pain. He wasn't the most gentle and the goop stung.

🧡By the end of it you had tears running down your face whether you wanted them or not.

🧡Bakugo takes the rag from your mouth and wipes his hands off before sitting next to you. He pets your hair in a way that bordered mocking and sweet as he wiped you tears. He said no pet of his should show weakness.

🧡You scoff and try to scoot away from him but before you could get far your he pushes your head down into the bed. Oh, how the soft whimpers you made excited him.

🧡He growls into your ear about how you are his and he will do whatever he wants with you.

🧡You lay there once he leaves, trying your hardest to make a successful plan of escape.

🧡You managed to fall asleep somehow but what shocked you more was how Bakugo woke you up. It was shocking gentle with the offering of food.

🧡Due to your arms being injured and not wanting to eat Bakugo takes it upon himself to force feed you. While he's doing this he explains how annoying you are for making him feed you. You retort with asking for someone else to feed you.

🧡He didn't like that.

🧡He quickly shoves the rest of the food into your mouth, nearly choking you, before threatening the lives of his tribe and then yours. He was very against anyone interacting with you.

🧡Later that night he traps you with his bear arms. Comforting, yes but you didn't want to be held by him. You squirm, careful not to hurt yourself, but he only pulls you closer and tighter.

🧡As a last resort you bite down hard on his shoulder, only to get a low and rumbling laugh from him. You couldn't understand why he was laughing, you could taste his blood!

🧡You suddenly feel his hot breath on your neck, asking if that was supposed to hurt, before you feel his teeth sink into the crook of you neck.

🧡You bite your lip to hide the pain. If he could take it so could you.

🧡Unhappy with that reaction Bakugo continues to bite your neck and shoulders, harder with every bite.

🧡You somehow manage to keep all noises to yourself. You were proud and delirious considering the pain was now starting to turn into pleasure. It was short lived though since you passed out from the exhaustion and possibly blood loss.

🧡When you wake up you were all bandaged with food waiting for you beside the the bed. Cute but you weren't falling for a sadistic kidnapper.

🧡Thus, a cycle was born.

🧡For the most part you spend most of the day within his room, occasionally walking around the base with Bakugo at your side. He's gone most mornings and afternoons but is sure to bring you the respective meals. He always eats with you for dinner. The most interesting parts of you day happen when he's cuddling you, besides the killing of someone who accidentally brushed against you.

🧡At night Bakugo always starts something or returns whatever you do to him, like the biting. Most everything he does involves physical pain that fades into pleasure but by then you pass out.

🧡You were over this.

🧡That night you had managed to sneak a dagger into the room without him knowing.

🧡Once he got close enough you tried to stab him but he caught you hand. He chuckles with a dangerous glint in his eyes as he tells you this is the reason he likes you.

🧡He shoves you down and shreds your clothes, leaving you exposed and angry. You were quickly gagged with the remains of your clothes as he began gently trailing the dagger across your skin.

🧡He calls you a slut and a dirty little brat that didn't deserve his dick in you. He also begins to cut a tiny bit deeper, gently breaking the skin and leaving droplets of blood in its wake.

🧡Oh how you hated how much you enjoyed this.

🧡Skin pressed against skin, names carved into you, hot breath trailing up your thighs, pleasure and pain mixed in perfect harmony.

🧡Climax after climax and you were on the verge of passing out when you hear him threaten not being as nice next time.

🧡You suddenly lost interest in escaping.

Kiby~💚

[nastybuckybarnes]

By the Fire

Pairing: Geralt X Reader

Summary: A hunt goes wrong and Geralt finds himself in a most precarious situation. Until a surprising hero saves his life.

Warnings: Smut, Language, Injuries, Violence, Minor Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3.1K

A/n: A little something while I ponder Bad Dreams. I hope you are all doing well and staying safe!

~*~

Geralt knew. He knew instantly that he was in over his head. He knew this day would come, he just never expected it to be so soon. But as the ghouls grow in numbers, their shrieks echoing louder and louder in his ears, he knows he can't fight them all.

His eyes are pure black, senses amplified tenfold as he fights off the ghouls that keep throwing themselves out of the dark forest. Sword swinging, blood splattering, he knows he's killing most of them, but for every ghoul that goes down, two more take its place.

Their brittle jaws snap at him, trying to puncture his skin and get a taste of his flesh. His heart starts beating faster, faster than he's felt it beat in a long time. As he throws two ghouls off of his back, a third finds it's way to his leg, claws digging into his thigh. He curses and kicks the pasty monster off of his leg, only to be tackled to the ground by three more. One of them locks its jaws around his bicep while the others focus more on his head, trying -unsuccessfully- to take a bite of him.

He manages to get all three off of him, but the shrieks coming from only a few feet away aren't promising. Grabbing his sword with one hand, he pushes himself to his feet.

"Come on!" He yells, not going down without a bigger fight.

He swings his sword almost carelessly, the venom from the bite seeping into his bloodstream.

He gets taken down again and this time he's fighting weaker, less intensely.

He struggles hard as the ghouls swarm around him, his black eyes squinting with the effort of fighting them off.

Just as he's about ready to give up, his muscles burning and straining, two ghouls collapse away from him.

Something, or rather someone, has grabbed the attention of the monsters, which gives Geralt newfound energy. He snaps the neck of the ghoul on top of him and stumbles to his feet, grabbing his sword and getting into a slightly wobbly fighting stance.

He only has to cut down a few ghouls, all the others distracted by something in the distance. Something that's shooting them down two to three at a time.

He squints in the dark as the last of the ghouls fall to the ground, the forest falling silent. He can hear the wind moving past the lithe body of something in the trees, but before he can figure out what it is he's falling to his knees, the venom taking hold of his consciousness and dragging him to blackness.

~*~

The fire in front of you crackles softly, the flames burning auburn, small flecks of gold spiralling upwards to the stars then fizzling out softly.

The heat of it warms your face as you clean the tips of your arrows, having retrieved them from the many dead ghouls.

The Witcher behind you groans from his spot on the ground. Initially, you'd tried moving him, but his large frame was too much of a challenge so instead, you set up camp around him.

You look over at him, frowning at how slowly the herbs are working to fight against the venom. You crawl over to him and sigh heavily as you see the darkness creeping through his veins.

If his heart wasn't so damn slow he'd be dead by now.

You remove the bandage from his arms and replace the venom-stained leaves with some new fresh ones, ignoring his hiss of pain as the mixture burns his wound.

You take the bowl of leaves and move back to your place in front of the fire, salvaging what you can from your arrows and making new ones with the old parts.

The Witcher groans again, this time sucking in a sharp breath. You don't move, far too focused on the task at hand.

"Who are you?" He asks, his voice hoarse and deep.

"Don't move. You'll only make your injury worse," you whisper, not answering his question.

"Why did you help me?" You set the arrows down and rummage through your pack until you find your small bag of herbs. Taking out the long plant, you bring the roots to your mouth and chew them up while squeezing any and all liquid out of the stems and into the small bowl in front of you. You spit the stems out into the bowl then add a few powders before mashing it all together.

"You were dying. Struggling. Why let the monsters kill you? What purpose would that serve?" You place the long leaves into the bowl then set it aside.

"You're an elf, aren't you?" You glance over at him for the first time, his Amber eyes stare at you, squinting slightly.

"You need to rest. The venom nearly spread to your heart. It will take a day at least to get out of your system. Even with your... enhancements." He pushes himself into a seated position then curses softly. You roll your eyes and turn back to the fire.

"Moving will only slow down the process," you mumble, knowing he probably won't care.

"Where's my sword? And my horse?" You sigh and stand up, walking over a nearby tree to grab his sword.

"Your beloved sword is here. And your horse is with mine in a small village just through the woods." You grab a small leather canteen and scoop the bowl off of the ground then kneel down by his side. He stares at you, taking in your features in the dim light of the fire.

You're pretty. Beautiful, even. Your skin is smooth and soft looking, your eyes filled with hidden emotion and depth beyond comprehension. There's an airy-lightness to your presence that makes Geralt feel surprisingly at ease.

"You've halted the healing," you whisper, gentle fingers removing the fresh leaves so you can inspect his wound.

It still looks awful. Black and blue and absolutely horrendous. But it's better than before.

You apply the new leaves, making sure to wrap the long cloth bandage around his bicep a few times, tying it tightly.

He watches in slight confusion and a little bit of awe as you treat him so gently.

His eyes analyze you, zeroing in on some nasty scarring on your left ear.

You glance up at him and his eyes flash down to yours.

"You're an elf," he repeats, looking pointedly at your ear. You push a lock of hair back and sigh.

"Yes. Or, I was. There's not much left of the elves anymore. Humans made sure of that." He's quite as you hand him the canteen.

"Did they take them?" You shake your head and show him your other ear, perfectly pointed.

"Just the tip of this one. I didn't let them get far with it though." Your eyes glaze over for a moment as the painful memories slam into you.

"That must've been hard." You shrug, standing up and walking over to the fire.

"What's your story, Witcher? How does one find himself battling a swarm of Ghouls in the middle of the night? And where's your Bard? You two are never apart from each other." He rolls his eyes at your comment.

"I was doing what Witcher's do."

"Well, surely you knew it was suicide to be here with all those bodies. You must've known that the ghouls would be coming." He sighs and shrugs then winces.

"I didn't plan on being attacked by so many." You hum, staring into the flame as you think about what this means.

"Is it true?" You suddenly ask, not turning to face him. "Is what true?"

"Your... encounter with Filavandrel." He sighs again. "No. Not the way the Bard sings it. Filavandrel wanted to kill the both of us but... he decided letting us go would be the 'lesser evil'." You nod slowly, fighting memories.

"My brother was always one who could negotiate." Geralt raises his eyebrows.

"You must be (Y/n)." You nod, looking over your shoulder at him. "Do I live up to the tales they tell of me?"

He huffs out a breath and cocks his head to the side. "The lost Elven princess. Many think you to be dead. The others... they think you've strayed so far into the woods that you've become a monster." You scoff and shake your head. "They thought I was a monster before they chased me out of my home. The humans are so barbaric. I don't know how you can stand to live with them." He shrugs and scoots closer to the fire, closer to you.

"They fear me. That fear protects them from me and silences rooms. So I have few headaches when the Bard isn't around." You chuckle softly and sit down beside him, rummaging through your pack until you find some of the food wrapped tightly. You hand him some bread, watching as he takes a bite of it.

"Why continue helping me? Why not leave me here and go on your way?" You shrug, looking down at the dirt smeared on your hand. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't lonely. I suppose I like having someone to talk to. Someone who responds." He furrows his brows.

"And... why not join Filavandrel?" You look down. "My brother and I don't always see eye to eye. I'm sure he thinks me to be dead. I'd like that it stayed that way. To him, I'm probably as good as dead anyway."

"Why? What could have possibly happened that was awful enough to destroy the bond between family?" Geralt knows there are many things that could sever family bonds, but the bonds that elves share with their kin? Not easily destroyed.

"Our parents. They were killed and my brother and I had different ideas on what we should do. We fought and... I left. And look at us now. He cowers, hides away and spends his days having his food brought to him while his people suffer. And I hide away in the trees, free to roam, but always by myself. Thought to have been killed. A shunned princess with no kingdom and no people. I have no place in the world."

It's silent for a few minutes as Geralt ponders your words; the soft sounds of the crackling fire, insects, and small forest-dwellers keeping it from being deafening.

"You don't need a place in the world," he finally says. You look over at him in shock. "Take it from someone who has never had a place in the world, you don't need one, and you'll never find one. The world is cruel and full of evil, and hate, but that doesn't mean that you can't seek out joy, or peace. Even in small things." The words surprise the both of you and Geralt turns back to the fire, shutting his mouth.

"I've always been told that Witchers were heartless. Monsters who could never feel emotions. Of course, I've learned a lot about monsters and I must say, you are not one." He hums and nods at you. "I could say the same about you." You smile a soft half-smile and Geralt loves the way it looks.

"How long have you been alone?" He asks after another stretch of silence, his eyes lingering on your lips for a moment. You huff out a breath and shake your head. "Decades? I stopped keeping track. Since shortly after 'The Great Cleansing'." He stares at you, amber eyes full of wonder.

"Alone, for all those years?" You nod, looking down for a moment. "I've gotten used to it. Although there are some things I can't help but miss."

He hums, urging you to continue.

"I miss waking up in a bed, bathing in a tub, instead of a stream. I miss the warmth of freshly baked bread. I miss..." you bite your bottom lip, not wanting to overstep but so desperately wanting to.

"What?" He asks softly, watching intently as you lick your lips.

"I miss the warmth... of another person. The feel of a man. The touch of a lover." You look up at him through your lashes, licking your lips as he swallows hard.

"Fuck," he whispers, looking down for a moment.

"You couldn't understand. The women in the taverns and brothels are more than willing to let you in, so long as there's coin involved. I... I'm never so lucky." You're beyond surprised when his warm fingers interlace yours.

"I'm not always so lucky. I find that I... know quite well the feeling you're talking about." You look up at him, eyes begging him to do something. He licks his lips and leans forward, using one hand to push your hair over your shoulder.

"No one should have to endure such a feeling," he murmurs, his warm breath fanning out across your cheek. You let out a shaky exhale and close your eyes as he lowers his head, lips dusting over your clavicle.

"Help me feel again, Geralt. Please." The words are no more than a breath on the wind but he hears them, and it's all the permission he needs to start pressing kisses to your neck.

He kisses all the way up to your face then holds your chin in his hand, waiting until you open your eyes to do anything more. When you finally open your eyes, a small pout on your lips, Geralt is looking at you in a way you haven't been looked at in decades.

He looks into your eyes, a warmth spreading through you as his pupils dilate. He leans down and captures your lips in a searing hot kiss, all teeth and tongue and passion. You turn to face him, hands finding his shoulders and pulling yourself closer to him until your front is pressed against his. He drops his hand to your waist and grabs at the fabric covering your body, tugging on it gently.

You pull away for a moment, lips tingling and warm. He watches as you shed your cloak, then your shirt and trousers, leaving you bare in front of him. He strokes your skin gently, lip pulled between his teeth. You feel no shame in your nakedness, however, you quickly get impatient with the way he's taking his time.

You push his shirt up and over his head and he tosses it somewhere behind himself. The way his skin glows in the light of the dying fire makes your mouth water. You push him to lie on his back and he groans softly, hands coming to rest on your thighs as you straddle his thick waist.

He traces his thumbs over different scars and bruises, wondering about the stories behind them.

You untie his trousers and pull his hardening cock out, a gasp leaving your lips at the impressive size of him.

He's long and thick, easily the biggest you've ever seen. He stares up at you with hungry eyes and you bite your bottom lip. You place him between your folds and slowly rock your hips, moaning as he bumps against your clit.

Geralt grinds his teeth together beneath you, wanting to take control and pound into you, but the way you look on top of him... it's bliss. Pert nipples hard in the cool night of the air, hands pressing against his chest as you rock your hips, and when he raises his head to look to where the two of you are most intimately connected, the view of your wet pussy sliding along his hard cock, soaking his trousers... it's enough to keep him on his back beneath you. For now.

The scent of your slick is tangy and mixes with the smoke of the fire only a few feet from you. He inhales deeply and you do the same, enhanced senses making the smell so much more erotic. His hands come up to your waist, fingers pressing hard against the supple skin of your waist, and he flips the two of you over effortlessly, not bothered in the slightest by his injury.

You gasp, looking up into his eyes as he holds himself on top of you, kicking his trousers down. to his ankles. Your left leg raises up and hikes over his waist, pulling him closer to you as you buck your hips. He grinds against you, his cock pressing hard against your clit, and you throw your head back in pleasure. A gentle moan leaves your lips and Geralt basks in the sound for a moment before lining his cock up to your slick entrance.

He pushes in slowly, grunting hard as your walls clench around him. You wriggle beneath him as he stops moving, his hips flush against your body.

You've never felt so full in your life. So complete. You look up into his eyes, mouth agape as he starts thrusting. He's gentle with you, tender, his thrusts long and slow, making you feel every inch of his cock. Your hands come up and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head down so you can kiss him again.

He groans against your mouth and starts thrusting faster, pressing against your g-spot with each thrust. You moan loudly, gripping his hair tight in your hands and throwing your head back while your back arches, your nipples pressing against his warm chest.

"Fuck," he whispers, teeth dragging across your bottom lip as his thrusts get hard. You whine and bring your other leg over his hip, urging him deeper. He fucks you deep and hard, teeth biting into your neck while you pull his hair, the coil in your belly tightening.

He pulls your left nipple into his mouth, teasing the bud with his teeth, and that's all it takes to send you flying over the edge, the coil in your stomach snapping as you cum.

The way your pussy squeezes him so tightly has him cumming not long after, shooting warm bursts deep into your body.

The two of you pant together, coming down from your highs slowly but not breaking apart from each other. He lies on your chest, supporting most of his weight to save you from being crushed while you massage his scalp gently.

He slowly pulls his soft cock out of you, groaning at the way you squeeze him one final time. You push yourself into a seated position as he cleans himself up beside you, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your body tries to pull you to sleep. You watch as Geralt gets dressed, graciously taking your clothes from him and covering yourself up. He lies back down next to you and sighs heavily, his eyelids falling closed.

You lie down, scooting closer to him than before and you can't help but smile when he wraps an arm around your waist.

You fall asleep, Geralt's strong frame keeping you warm as the fire dies out, leaving the two of you in the darkness.

[one-last-puku]

So like I said before, I've been reading quite a bit of webcomics lately, but I'm definitely noticing some trends. Not only do a lot of them seem to just kinda piggyback on each other's ideas and rehash a lot of similarly structured stories, but the absolute lack of slow burn is wild to me.

Like, I'm not about to trash anything, drawing is hard, but it's like... these stories have the convenience and guilty pleasure of an amature fanfiction, with really quite nice art... and people are killing for it. Even me.

At first, I think it was just because it's been a hot few years since I read a really captivating story, but the more I'm read them, the more amature the writing seems to me. Or just...

I guess I'm alone in missing the days of old where authors would slowly torture their characters, so when they finally got something that brings joy, it would feel all the more satisfying. But nooo, how twisted to torture your characters and put them through hardship, how horrible you must be to do that. Give them everything, give them the world, let them not have to suffer. My god, I realized I really stepped in the shit this time. I didn't realized I'd be making mental comparisons of modern storytelling to how people except life to treat them and what is inherently deserved of people, so because of that, I will stop that tangent right here, like a spew of blood... tmi, me, it's time to stop!

Anyway, back to the point I was originally trying to make.

These comics be like "oh he's attractive, let's be obvious and come onto him." Oh he is mutually attracted to the other person. It's fucking time! Then, they fuck a lot until some weak-sause villain does barely anything for a few chapters, then more fucking. The end. Maybe I'm just choosing the wrong stories, but if it's a romance, it's almost always smooth sailing. Like nearly no turbulence, but it's like, then the constant affection just gets a bit mildly stale. I'm gonna just try to find comedy or drama stories I guess.

It's like... I don't belong in this era of story telling. People don't tend to much like my own writings these days, so my writing style must be outdated? I mean, even the fact that both parties usually know they're attracted from the beginning... it just get boring after a while. Holy moly, is this how it goes for regular-sexual/romantic? As a demi, I just can't relate. Lol

I dunno, I guess I just felt like ranting for no reason.

[write-it-good-imagines]

Poison (M) - Park Jinyoung

So I did a little something...although you might say I am a coward for not finishing it it’s because I really am. Ugh. I just wanted to provide means of exploiting your own imagination. That cursed poison mcountdown stage ended me.

enjoy. I have nothing else to say

~2.7k words, very suggestive content

Parties organized by companies were all consisting of the same things, people traversing a mutual field from all sorts of backgrounds, looking for a stable partnership with a trusting team that was all aiming to the same goal. Drinks and sophisticated dishes were, partly, the main attraction of such events, along with the small chat one would make with the other, up to the point of discussing business.

The cosmopolitan lobby of the hotel your company chose for the aforementioned party was radiating an air of importance through the exquisite paintings hanging on the walls, and the imposing candelabra emanating a refined light. It was a crucial gathering for your company that wanted to consolidate one of their biggest projects up to date and it was compulsory for those who helped shape it to participate at that night’s party.

It was undoubtedly difficult to maintain a stoic, yet amiable face throughout the night, delivering the same polished speech to everyone who came looking for it. You indulged yourself with a martini and accompanied one of your colleagues at first, easing each other’s silent suffering. No matter how often you’d check the time on the glowing screen of your phone, your plus one simply refused to appear.

The captivating jazz tunes graced your ears with melodies, some of which you knew all too well, and you almost lost trace of the words spoken to you.

“It is, indeed, impressive that someone as young as yourself participated in such a grand project,” the older official complimented you, his wife following his example, “The business world requires fresh talents, miss. We were more than glad to accept the offer after listening to your speech during the meeting!”

You offered a polite smile, dipping your head in a bow. “I am grateful for your kind words. My seniors helped me throughout the process. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

A series of low gasps could be heard in the humming of the background and you examined the older woman’s pleased expression as she nudged her husband. “Oh dear, he is a handsome man, but I don’t think I recognize him.” She turned to you. “Do you, miss?”

You had to turn your body towards the point of concern, given that your back was turned to him, and you had to take a moment to take a breath yourself. Despite being completely familiar with the person, his perfect appearance took you by surprise.

Park Jinyoung, your faithful plus one, was boldly dashing.

Of course, his handsome genes were flagrantly undeniable, something that you had witnessed in either plain daylight, or other suggestive environments. Even so, the black tuxedo embracing his toned body, the burning red handkerchief adorning the chest pocket, and the equally matching tie made it seem like something entirely unfamiliar to you. But exceptionally endearing.

Endearing enough that it instantly poisoned you with unspeakable thoughts.

You took a sip from your martini as you watched his agonizing slow steps through the admiring crowd. He made it look like the world suddenly gravitated around him. As dignified as you hoped you’d remain, it was impossible not to imagine how filthy Jinyoung could make you with as much as a snap of his fingers. Especially in that ethereal fitting.

When he finally reached you and your companions, he rested his hand on the small of your bare back and dipped his head to the older couple.

“My apologies, might I have interrupted something of great importance?”

Jinyoung’s polished words had a positive impact on your company’s partners, the woman instantly captured by his charms. You ran a hand through your sleek hair, styled in a poised wet look, and it tickled the bare skin of your back. The white backless dress you chose was only sustained on your body by a ribbon tied loosely around your neck that fell gracefully on either side of your spine.

No one noticed that, yet Jinyoung did not bother to hide his desirous look from you, albeit a tad irritated. You had a vague idea of why.

“Ah, we were just discussing how fortunate we are to work with miss L/n! But we were also intrigued by your charming presence, mister…?”

“Park Jinyoung, Mrs. I have heard quite a lot of good things about Y/n’s partners. She always mentions how she is the lucky one.”

The delighted smiles on their faces secured the ideal first impression anyone could make. You were impressed with his smooth words and the major positive impact they had on your relationship with the business partners. As soon as they left, you couldn’t contain a fascinated smile.

“Smooth talker Park Jinyoung at my service, huh?”

Jinyoung tilted his head to look at you, his height matching yours evenly thanks to the gladiator sandals you wore. “I had to make a good entrance.”

He captured your eyes with his and you were surprised to find the previous glint nestling in his orbs. No, he wanted to make sure you saw it and remembered it well. Jinyoung mildly brought you closer to him, his fingertips leaving blistering sensations into your skin.

“But however much I love that my girlfriend is a walking goddess, you are practically naked.”

The origin of Jinyoung’s irritation was the one you suspected. The fact that he pointed it out so blatantly left a smirk curling on your lips. You knew that if he saw you like that, you would walk straight into his stare and it was, after all, a mission you set for yourself. The two of you met after some time apart and you wanted to wear your best clothes for the occasion. Or, according to Jinyoung, wear almost none at all.

“Exaggeration,” you breathed and lifted your eyes, testing the waters. Acting professional was a protocol you were determined to follow throughout the night; that did not mean you were not as skilled as your boyfriend was with his words, “I think it is appropriate attire for the occasion. A woman has to shine whenever given the opportunity.”

Jinyoung chuckled and his gaze lingered on you for a brief moment. “You are blinding, Y/n. That does not mean I am happy with it.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Park. Likewise, you look dashing, but may I ask why my looks bring you so much distress?”

Jinyoung leaned over, his lips whispering a subtle warning into your ear. “I don’t like it when these men are so shamelessly staring at my woman.”

He pulled back to look at you with a sheepish expression imprinted on his face and a slight shrug of his shoulders, but the effect he desired was already done. The smug look he wore after indicated the fact that he knew he succeeded. If he told you his fingers felt the shiver traversing your spine, you might have believed him. You clicked your tongue and took a sip from your cocktail.

Jinyoung teased and took the glass in his hand, unconsciously admiring the lipstick stain on the rim. “You look a little pale, Miss Y/n. Are you okay?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mister Park.” You saw the director of your company coming in your direction and decided to play your card, even if it meant playing with fire. “I wonder if you’re all talk. Someone who claims something like that takes responsibility.”

Jinyoung did not have time to react verbally to your offensive statement. He successfully masked the displeasure and greeted the director with an imposing stance, shaking his hand firmly. One would easily say Jinyoung was fully immersed in the formal chat carried between the three of you; however, you challenged him to assume responsibility. And he was a very competitive individual.

You felt his hand shifting slightly from your lower back, ascending to a small, sensitive spot that had you shuddering instantly. His fingers traced a dangerous trail in your skin that made it increasingly harder for you to concentrate on the discussion and divert your attention to restraining your reactions instead. It was incredible how unbothered he looked by your faithful response to his actions, and yet kept on asserting his dominance on your entire being.

“I can see how much of a support you are for her, Jinyoung,” your director said happily, clueless to the battle you were carrying within. “You two are a good match.”

You opened your mouth to reply but soon had to bite into the plush of your inner cheek to suppress an indecent sound as Jinyoung’s butterfly touch made the blood whirl in your veins and your lower abdomen bathe in a burning sensation. He caught your silent struggle with the corner of his eye and responded, offensively calm.

“Thank you, sir. She is a handful sometimes but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The director laughed heartily and extended his hand to pat Jinyoung’s shoulder. You almost burst out in sheer joy when he left and turned abruptly to Jinyoung. You found the same agonizing, innocent look on his face, but you knew better.

“Is there anything you’d like to say?”

You scoffed at his question. It took a lot of audacity to act so faultlessly.

“Oh, I do have some things to say.”

“Why won’t you let me say something first?”

Jinyoung undressed of the jacket and threw it over your shoulders. On the one hand, the public perceived his actions as a simple display of gentlemanly affection. On the other hand, his aphrodisiac eyes, the tacit greed of his gaze, and the way his hands grabbed at the collar of his jacket to imperceptibly pull you closer, those were all meant torture you.

It was inevitable you’d eventually break. Underestimating Park Jinyoung was a sin you loved committing.

“It’s such a pity you’re wearing red lipstick tonight.”

You did not mind giving in, you never did when it came to him. Jinyoung learned all there was to know about you by heart, so much that he was able to incite every desire you nurtured with his words alone. He took great pride in the capacity to understand and satisfy you. There was no one else who could ignite your skin without actively doing so. There was no one else who could brutally thrash your insides and rearrange them so they would fit their own puzzle.

All without any single touch to your skin.

Your hand grabbed his tie, your eyes glowing a wicked appetite for him. You missed him, and hearing his tantalizing words only emphasized the desperate urgency to have him. “I need you.”

Hurried moments later, you were caged between the elevator wall and Jinyoung’s robust body, one of his hands gripping underneath your thigh, the other pressed into your lower back. The immoral intensity of his eyes stripped you naked with a gaze that betrayed that delicious imagination of his going astray. Jinyoung was inhumanely close that you did not know whose air you were breathing.

Jinyoung’s coarse voice was pure music to your ears. “I have been thinking about you a lot lately.”

“Did you miss me?” you sighed and his hand guided your leg around his waist as he inched closer.

“Let me show you how much.”

His lips sealed against yours in an erotic kiss that pulsed into your stomach. You threw your arms around his neck, pressing your lower body into his pelvis. Fingertips were etching small circles into your back, reviving the sensation you previously tried to repress, now forcing a gasp to come out from your throat.

Jinyoung did not allow you to breathe, for he slid his profane tongue in your mouth to engage yours mercilessly in a filthy dance. You were kissing him so desperately that your whole body was curved into his. Jinyoung sucked every last molecule of air out of your system through his kiss, thus leaving you helpless and weak. He only detached himself from you when he felt the fingers tangled in his locks weakening their grip.

You drew a breath in sharply, feeling lightheaded and much paler underneath the make-up. Jinyoung pressed his forehead to yours apologetically. “How much time do we have before they need you back in the lobby?”

“I…I think probably half an hour… forty minutes.” You murmured among the heavy gasps in the failed attempt to even the rhythm of your breathing. Jinyoung’s aura was getting poisonous, leaving no possible window for escape. Your mission was to get drunk on it.

“Then that’s more than enough time.”

The elevator signaled the arrival at the highest floor of the hotel and Jinyoung took your hand in his to drag you out, laughing mischievously under his breath. You followed his adamant steps to the empty terrace spreading into the vast night, in the shelter of the stars. His jacket fell helplessly somewhere on the concrete after having fulfilled its role to shield you from the savage stares of other men.

“What are you laughing at?” you questioned as Jinyoung turned his body, a couple of steps apart from you.

“Your lipstick is smeared all over your face!”

You could not find it in you to tell him that his own lips were colored with the same shade of red, ruined by the eager assault launched on you. He probably knew that anyway and found a sadistic pleasure in pointing out he would ruin you indisputably.

“Whose fault do you think that is?”

Your steps carried you to the high railing where Jinyoung was patiently waiting for you. He admired the sloppy work of art that you were, the smirk imprinted on his visage awoke a carnal appetite in your ribcage. You were anxious to experience the unholy plans he had for you.

He cupped your face with both hands and crashed his lips against yours once again, guiding your body against the cold metal in a swift motion. The sudden icy contact extracted a loud moan from your lungs and Jinyoung momentarily pulled away to marvel at the divine creature in front of him.

“Let’s make sure we remember whose fault it is.”

The split second he paused to look at you also offered you precious insights into his blazing emotions. It gave you all the assurance you needed and more. You bit your lip at his words, a familiar tingle throbbing in your core. He got you burning with anticipation.

Jinyoung loosened his tie before launching himself into your neck. His tongue traced a stubborn vein piercing your skin and encircled a sensitive spot under your ear lobe. Your hand flew instantly to his hair and your head thrashed back, accompanied by a strong moan slashing through the air. You felt Jinyoung smirk against sensitive skin, hot breath electrifying your senses.

“I wonder if I can make you moan so loud all the others down there would hear you.”

Jinyoung untangled your hand from his hair and pulled them together behind your back to obstruct any further motion you might want to pursue. His teeth grazed your ear, chewing on the softness of the lobe. He let out a carnal whisper in your ear, warning you that he would have his way regardless of your preferences. “Should I?”

He guided your chin down with his free hand, the index tracing your jaw at a delayed pace. There was no use denying him anymore; he knew he was in complete control and he knew how hungry you were for his touch. You had a love-hate relationship with that side of Jinyoung’s because he never did anything on his own volition.

No matter how much he desired you, beating around the bush was something he did not like.

“Fucking devour me, Park Jinyoung.” You let out a sultry moan, instructing him on everything he needed to hear.

Jinyoung bit his lower lip, maintain eye contact with you as he lowered his body. “Watch me, princess.”

He tossed the unnecessary material of your dress to the side and ran a hand down your thigh to guide your leg over his shoulder. His eyes followed you closely as he pressed an airy kiss to your clothed womanhood. The last thing you could see was his starved expression; the moment his tongue invaded your privacy, all hopes of staying sane vanished in the passionate night.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 3)  Goddess Nótt

.-.-.

When Ivar woke up, his chest felt heavy and a string of harsh coughs made his body wither in pain. The breaths he took were too fast and shallow, but he couldn’t get his breath under control, sucking it in and out rapidly. He rang his tongue over his teeth; checking for possible damage. The inside of his mouth felt the same though, no fragments or shards of teeth. No gaping holes, unlike that Giant’s rotting mouth. Ivar recalled that blackened smile indulging in his suffering; watching Ivar squirm and grimace in the back of the cart.

If this violation had occurred in Kattegat, Ivar would have the man quartered; allow his brothers to use the man’s decapitated torso for target practice. Oh, he’d be patient and wait how over time little insects would feast off the man’s flesh and ravens would peck out the bastard’s eyes.   

But Ivar was kingdoms away from that safe haven; from home. And realising that, left him overwhelmed; his laboured breathing hitched and a low moan escaped his busted lips. 

Eager to examine his face, Ivar carefully moved his right hand. Although his wrists had been freed, the dreadful ride had been long; which left his sockets overstretched and his arm muscles aching. 

Cautiously, he brought his right hand up to his face. Blood warmed the tips of his frozen fingers, the bumps, swelling and bruises a painful reminder of his previous beatings. His face felt alien and another moan escaped the back of his throat as he tried to open his right eye. The swelling was so severe it was impossible; the socket was the size of a chicken's egg.

By Odin, what had he’d done to deserve this?

Another rattle caused his chest to heave up and he coughed his throat raw. As he gasped and inhaled, the damp smell of ammonia and hay filled his nostrils. It smelled like home, like the Great Hall where the fire always burned bright. Melancholy swept through him and claimed every inch of his chest. Squeezing his good eye shut, Ivar casted out every sliver of emotion.

Survival mode eventually took over and Ivar set his mind to finding out more of his current whereabouts. 

He lay inside a makeshift stable, in an empty box filled with hay and animal feces. Door hinges creaked softly, a cold wind whipped through gasps in the planks. Combined with the sounds of small cattle, Ivar allowed his tense bearing to ease. There was no indication of danger, at least not for the moment.  

Although his wrists had been freed, Ivar wasn’t going to get very far. Both his ankles were in shackles. The chains rattled as he adjusted himself into a sitting position; alerting the animals of his conscious state. A flock of chicken guardians tottered around the corner to see if the strange newcomer had food in store. 

The first chicken brave enough to come near Ivar, quickly learned that this newcomer wasn’t keen on being pecked in the feet.

Ivar lunged his stiff legs at the chicken, which scurried back with fright. The rest of her flock followed her example and left the unwelcome newcomer alone.

There was more life inside the stable, less animalistic than cattle, but not as human as Ivar expected. Soft, cautious footsteps stopped near his box and large eyes, dark as night sky, took in his poor state with curiosity and awe.

Ivar did vice versa; the creature in front of him reminded him of the Goddess Nótt. The maiden's skin was the color of earth dug from deep within the ground. It was darker than Ivar had ever seen. Even the men who’d caught adrift at sea; scored for days by the sun, did not come close to the dark pigment of the young woman. She must have crawled through the soils of the earth to earn such an unique complexion; night personified.

Her dark eyes narrowed as her fingers gripped firmly around the wooden beam of his box, revealing more of herself she took a mere step aside to move into an active position; if he’d make any sudden move she’d flee. Ivar recognised that gaze in her eyes, he’d seen it before many times. During the hunt, moments before he’d drive his arrow through the skull of a doe.

She must be a slave, the layers of the rags she wore were tattered, worn and dirty. Her hair was hidden away behind a bandana; the fabric in the same poor state as the rest of her clothes. Intrigued by her overall alien appearance, Ivar gawked at her through his one good eye.

Still the center of her focus, the slave slowly sank to her knees and picked up a small rock. With swiftness, she swung the rock in Ivar’s direction. The lack of food caused absence in strength and reflexes, resulting in being hit right between the eyes. 

Ivar cried out and squeezed his good eye shut, bringing his hand to his throbbing face. When he reopened his eye, the savage bitch was holding up another small rock. Extracting her arm back to repeat her previous attack, Ivar turned from prey into predator. 

Dashing forwards, like an arrow shot from a bow, he came at her like a malicious dog, snarling and spitting. 

The absence of food and overgrowth of rage, clearly cluttered his brain and the malicious dog quickly found out he was on a very short leash. His attack stopped abruptly as the chains rattled and forbade him to bash in her teeth with the damned rock. As his fingers ached to get a good grip around her ankles, the slave girl took a step back and used her heel to draw a line in the mixture of sand and hay.

“Dirty bitch, you did that on purpose!” Ivar snarled frustrated, stretching his arms out in a last fruitless attempt to grab her. The aggressive flinging of his upper limbs made her retreat a few more hasty steps, but as their distance grew her cautiousness lessened. Sitting down Indian-styled, she continued to observe him with great curiosity. And by the Gods her lips twitched up humoured by Ivar’s unflattering attempts to maul her. Picking up a straw of hay, she placed it between her front teeth and tsked as she watched him wither on the floor. His outburst was riding on the last bit of his adrenaline and started to take its toll on his beaten body.

Struggling to push and pull himself back into a sitting position against the boarded wall, Ivar drew his amused observer a dark glare. She did not seem bothered by it, still chewing on the straw.

“If I’d have a knife on me I’d pick your eyes out for staring at me like that,” Ivar promised her with a grunt, “you have no idea what I’m saying,” he then stated when his threat did not strike any kind of reaction. 

Ivar sighed as deeply as his ribs would allow it and closed his good eye. It hit him hard; he was a captive in an unknown country, unable to properly speak with its inhabitants. He had no resources, no leverage, here his royal name would cause him more harm than good. He’d always been a cripple, but now he was just an insignificant slave with a handicap. 

He must have drifted back into sleep, because when he woke up his unwanted companion had moved to the left, munching on a piece of bread. Two dark eyes still registered every move he made, but he no longer was her centre of attention; her meager meal was. Besides, as long as she stayed behind her makeshift line, she had nothing to fear.

“I’d split your skull into two pieces,” Ivar informed her, “and drink mead out of it as I’d watch how the pigs fed off your filthy bones. I bet you’re black all the way through your core. If I’d had an axe, I’d be eager to find out!” Ivar’s words were nothing more than a cold hiss. Although she could not possibly understand any of his threats, it gave Ivar joy to at least throw them at her feet.

His death threats, however, had the opposite reaction; her lips momentarily tweaked into a humble grin of amusement and she barked at him like a dog.

“You’re lucky I’m in shackles, else I’d cut you a smile from ear to ear!” Ivar promised her. It only caused him more mockery and doglike sounds. Ivar’s frustration was at this point radiating off of him.

“I’ll kill you!” He shouted, a cough immediately tickling the back of his throat. Ivar tried to suppress the urge, due to the pain in his ribs and the rest of his body. But it was impossible, a coughing fit tore his body apart. In a slow, torturous degree the coughs eventually eased, leaving his chest ten times more heavy and on fire. 

“Yallah,”The dark skinned slave had repositioned herself on her knees, one arm coaching him to come closer, the other one extracted, holding a wooden ladle.

Water, Ivar’s burning aches suddenly seemed completely irrelevant as his good eye stared at the content. Thirst makes a beggar out of kings and in Ivar’s case; out of a prince. Like an infant he made himself crawl forwards, still lacking strength due to his previous outburst. The maiden had the audacity to make cooing noises, as if he was a startled little animal.

Pure and utter loathing must have been readable from his good eye, because she stopped abruptly when he flashed her a glare. Restricting herself to the safe side of the line, the wooden handle crossed their imaginary border between safety and harm. 

With slow, pain plagued motions, Ivar dragged his body closer. Leaning on his elbow, he craned his head up and allowed the wooden rim to be pressed against his dry, cracked lips. It was degrading, but being deprived from all primary necessities, Ivar drank. Greedily, he consumed every drip the maiden had to offer. It caused him to cough, but he choked through it.

“More,” he half ordered, half begged while water dripped down his chin. Dutifully, she complied and held out another spoon full of water. And Ivar drank again, water drizzling from both sides of his mouth. The act repeated itself until Ivar’s stomach was full and his head felt empty. Lacking the strength and care, he sank onto his elbows and allowed his head to rest on the hay covered flooring.

Everything felt scalding, his lungs seemed to be punctured by a thousand little needles. Without meaning to, his body curled up, tensing with every little cough and whimper. His lips must have split open while he drank from the wooden spoon, because he tasted blood. The coppery sensation was a small reminder of the pathetic physical state he was in. His mental state was one to match. Ivar sensed blackness taking over him and like a cold heavy blanket, unconsciousness weighed him down and soon Ivar drifted back into sleep.

.-.-.

A/N: Something about never biting the hand that feeds you… as the writer of this fiction, I feel the need to once again address that Ivar is a thick-headed asshole who’s not kind to, well, pretty much anyone. In this case, to the slave-girl, if you feel offended, fear not, I’m not done with beating some common sense into him. It’s going to take long, but heck, I sure do like a challenge!

Sidenote: as a fact-freak I just want to add that Nótt is an actual Viking Goddess, she’s the grandmother of Thor.  

Xoxox Nukyster 

The tagged ones:  @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 11

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Nothing bad, actually. A/N: I may have to slow my postings down the coming weeks as I’m picking up extra shifts at the ER to assist on the COVID-19 diagnosis and care. I’ll do my best to update on the WiP/master list as well as posting. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

11 – Between you and me

...   Years ago, in Beauclair   ...

As the right hand of the vassal, the young seigneur and his lady lacked nothing. Enjoying the easy life at the vassal’s court in Beauclair kept them away from the intrigues (including the harm thereof) while still granting influence and luxury. As such, it seemed their happiness was guaranteed when the lady became with child.

Though the laws required the monarch of Nilfheim to be of the male sex, there were no such restrictions for the heirs of the lesser lords, meaning that the birth of a healthy girl was as much cause for celebration as a boy would have been. Yes, the seigneur and his wife were truly blessed by the Prophet.

Or so it seemed.

As the little girl grew, so did the numbers of strange incidents in the household. Lamps flickered and flared, the hearths would roar as by a sudden gust of wind. For a while, the parents would amuse themselves by imagining the flames danced according to their precious daughter’s mood...but the laughter was lessened when a servant got severely burned after angering the child and later there were no smiles left as a wave of her hand caused the fire to leap towards a guest.

Money and favours owed bought the silence of the witnesses, but everyone knew it would only be a matter of time: the sorceresses of Aretuza would come for the child if she survived past the first ten years – a prospect that scared the parents. The mother was distraught, remembering the loss of a childhood friend who was taken to train with magic yet never seen again; the father became grim and silent, growing more secluded as time passed. Neither, however, stopped loving the girl or were willing to give up on her.

When the child was six years of age, a Witcher happened to visit the court of Beauclair and though his quest was another, he agreed to listen to the seigneur after promising not to tell a soul. Curious, he went to see the child. Vesemir, the Witcher, witnessed how the girl played with the flames effortlessly.

“Yes,” he confided to the parents, “Aretuza will come for the girl...but not to train her. To kill her.” He explained of the balance of nature and how the use of magic had a cost to maintain that order. “[Y/N] does not appear to pay the due. Magic without a price’s unthinkable and the very existence’s the greatest threat to the world of the sorceresses and mages.”

“But what can we do?”

Vesemir took pity on the little family, quietly thinking to himself that he had been going soft ever since he took in his charge. Working ardently, the Witcher found a way to cloak the girl, obscure the mark of magic with a sign from those who would seek it, before helping the family leave the city under disguise.

...   Present day, Reader   ...

“You saw him again?”

A short nod. “Yeah. He...visited the summer after they passed.” Pointing to the knife, you add: “Wanted t’make sure I knew ‘bout that.”

It is tangible, the path of Geralt’s gaze as it reevaluates everything he has learned about your body to remember seeing a mark. You lift and part your hair after turning the back to him because there, at the base of the skull, is a finely lined symbol. You do not recall ever seeing it with your own eyes though the memory of getting it done is clear.

“Hm.” The Witcher sounds surprised. “Here I thought he only cared ‘bout swords.”

Jaskier has also been leaning in to get a good look at the small tattoo, clearly less impressed despite undoubtedly having understood the implications. “I once new this fellow who OUCH!”

The scowl you send the silver-haired man is only enough to make him shrug. Clearly, remorse is still not one of his traits – at least not when it comes to slapping the bard in the back of the head. Witchers. He is the second one you have met and while he is the only you have gotten to know this well, it seems there may be a pattern in their personalities: few of words, practical, confident. Consuming. Passionate. The memories of both night and day mingle, interchanging what the bright sun had shown you with the shadows of the past night. Still a bit sore, your core reawakens, stirred by echoes from the lovemaking Geralt had worshipped you by.

“Fire...” you sigh, “I can’t create it out of nothing.”

“No one can do anything unless they’ve been taught,” he challenges with an arched brow.

Of course, you take the bait. Maybe to ensure some things remain unchanged? “S’pose you’re gonna teach me, huh?”

“Hmm.” His smile broadens to reveal teeth and his eyes gleam like gold in the sun. “I’ll teach you a lot more...but not that.”

Shy a response, you are saved by Jaskier finally losing his patience and demanding to know the relevance and how any attempts to kill the vampires are going to result in anything but certain death...especially if the wyverns have indeed been domesticated. Truth be told, the bard is being reasonable. We only need evidence, a desperate thought shouts in your mind, enough to convince the villagers to flee and the vassal to send the soldiers.

Beauclair is hundreds of miles from the last village at the foot of the mountains and the vassal and his court will be safe for a long time while the rest of Toussaint suffers – it has always been that way whether through harsh winters or violent attacks. Those with power do not lower themselves to bother with the problems of the common folk. Your parents had always known this and tried to help in what ways they could without catching the suspicions of their fellows in the court because Toussaint, well, all of Nilfheim, follows a simple rule: kill or be killed. If someone shows signs of weakness, they are certain to be ousted. If lucky. No, the only reason for any ruler, local or not, to lift a finger would be if they were the targets.

“Domesticated wyverns...” you ponder, unknowingly out loud, “domest-...dom-...vampires are intelligent?”

Under your fixed stare, Geralt nods. “Some.”

“Then maybe...no...” Intelligent or not, they’re still monsters.

“What? What is it?” There is desperation in Jaskier’s voice. “Any idea’s gotta be better than hack ‘n slash.”

Suddenly, your throat is dry and the hem of the tunic is fascinating, captivating your attention and preventing a good argument from rolling off your tongue. “Well...if they’re smart enough to get t’gether and tame the wyvers...they’ve got some sorta plan. Right? Would they be willing to listen to logic?” A dark eyebrow rises, underlining the contrast against the silvered hair of the owner. “I mean...can they be...argued with or-or swayed to...y’know...”

Stammering and hesitant, you explain a fool’s hope of convincing the enemy to head directly for the king and his many advisors and admirals rather than preying on the innocents.

“Your idea was to walk up there, waltz into their midst and beg them not to kill the common folk?”

“Well...yeah?”

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [14]

masterlist

Words: 7.1k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: none (maybe just a brief violent description)

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: Reminder that I am moving to a biweekly posting schedule due to classes and work starting up again! Hope you all engoy the chapter! 💙

He remembered the cold landscape invading his body, starting at his fingertips and creeping over his skin until it enwrapped his heart. Turning him empty and barren.

He remembered the black smoke clogging his lungs. The scattered remains of his home burnt to the ground just like his soul. Turning him bitter and savage.

He remembered the glint of moonlight on metal. The yelps and cries of dying wolves. The lack of mercy. Turning him hateful and deadly.

The beginning of his descent into the harsh reality of the world.

His cruel awakening.

Amarok reminisced the euphoria he felt the first time he and his three wolves ransacked a lonely village in the night. The screams of pain and gushing of blood that embraced him and encouraged him to continue. The snapping of his wolves’ jaws. The tearing of flesh. The slicing of muscle and sinew. The squelch of his blade entering warm bodies. The destruction. The chaos.

All for Uzjuk.

He recalled gathering more to serve the cause appointed to him. Bringing in those who had felt the world’s suffering and had a desire to inflict it upon others. Those who knew of Illai’s unfairness. Those who hated the goddess just as he did.

Amarok leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he thought of the army he curated for his master. The people willing to expend their lives for the rise of anarchy. The people willing to kill and be killed without hesitation or remorse. The draikensu.

It was dark in his tent, save for two candles lit on a small table in the corner. The bare trace of flickering light being just enough to see the vague outline of the contents within the temporary room.

As he reclined in his seat, the male felt a claw rake against his mind as the darkness around him began to grow murky and curl toward him in wisps. A disturbing, chill-inducing feeling that crept to the very edges of his being. But he no longer shivered at it. Not anymore. It was now a familiar and welcomed sensation that signaled the arrival of his master.

Leaning his head back, Amarok closed his eyes and relished in the darkness coiling around and inside of him.

“What is taking so long?” The deep, guttural voice of his master croaked out.

Amarok sighed, knowing his master would not like his answer. “There have been… complications.”

A searing pain swiftly drilled into Amarok’s mind, causing him to groan and clutch his head. It felt like a heated knife was dragging through the contents of his brain, severing and cutting and cauterizing.  His fingers dug into his skull, trying to add pressure to relieve the pain.

“I do not like complications.” His master hissed.

Gasping, Amarok apologized, telling his master that two large groups of draikensu had been sent after the key. The second being a reserve in case the first failed their mission.

The agony bestowed on Amarok’s mind lessened just a smidge as his master contemplated his words. Another minute of painful suffering went by, with the male gritting his teeth and containing his whimpers so as to not appear weak in front of his master. Then, finally, it gradually dissipated until Amarok’s mind was free from the burning, imaginary knife. Letting out a slightly shaky breath, he removed his hands from where they had been clawing at the arm rests of his chair.

“Prepare the rest of the subordinates anyway,” his master uttered throatily, his voice rough and frigid. “If those two little groups of yours do not succeed, then you will personally deal with the boy. The key within the bloodline must be killed. Understood?”

Amarok grinned, a sickening and unsettling thing as his eyes darkened with delight at the thought of being the one to carve out the key’s heart.

The male shut his eyes, envisioning himself thrusting his sword deep into the key’s chest so that he was speared to the earth. “The boy will die soon… I can assure you of that.”

“He better.”

The eldest of the kiela sat down on the ground next to the leader, sighing and leaning his head against a tree while they both observed the mess before them.

Jimin and Jiae were sitting so close their noses were basically touching. Both of them were squishing each other’s cheeks with adoring smiles plastered to their faces.

Mingi was on his back, rolling side to side like an overturned beetle while his eyes darted around frantically.

You were still wrapped in Jungkook’s arms, your back to his chest and his chin on your shoulder. He hummed softly in your ear as he rocked the two of you back and forth in a comforting manner.

Then, there was Tae. The grey-haired Saeni was continuously crawling around; whining that nobody would cuddle with him.

You would have smooshed him to your chest if you weren’t already snatched up in someone else’s arms. Shifting slightly on the ground, you exhaled and lifted your gaze to the swirling mass of treetops above you. You smiled at the whirlpool of stars and leaves and night. Shivered at the contact of Jungkook’s lips brushing against your neck. You kept looking up, you didn’t know exactly how long, but long enough for your head to start spinning with the sky. With a content sigh, you lowered your eyes back down and turned your attention to the two males that seemed different from the rest of the group. You wondered what they were so serious and why they looked so tired.

Maybe their neighbor was throwing a party all night long so they couldn’t sleep…

“Is there really nothing we can do except sit here and wait?” Jin asked the male beside him.

As the raven-haired male continued ogling at the pandemonium, he noticed your eyes on him and sent you a weird, questioning look. In return, you wiggled your fingers at him while your eyes went in and out of focus.

“Not really… unless you would like to pile everyone on your shoulders and carry them back,” Namjoon responded.

You suddenly perked up with a gasp, jolting Jungkook in the process. “You could do it Jin! You know why!? ‘Cuz you got the Better Ingredients. Better Shoulders. Papa Jin’s!”

You fell back into Jungkook as a fit of giggles overtook your body. Though Jin and Namjoon just stared at you in complete befuddlement.

“WAIT. IS THERE PIZZA!?” Jimin screamed at you in excitement, which caused everyone to fall quiet and gawk at the half-Saeni.

Well, everyone except for you. Instead, you pouted and shook your head; giggles fading into silent disappointment.

Jimin’s shoulders slumped with yours, but he still replied in a hopeful tone, “Can we order some, though?”

You went to nod, but your expression quickly morphed into a full frown as you realized that there was no way for you to order it. The Saeni didn’t have cell phones, so you couldn’t call in the order. And even if they did, you doubted they could deliver this far out into the forest. You sniffled at the thought of your delectable yet unattainable pizza pie.

I just want some greasy cheese.

Jungkook, hearing the tiny noise escape past your lips, nuzzled into your neck while murmuring that although he had no idea what you were talking about, he would get you one later. His promising words caused a new grin to appear on your face… but you weren’t sure if it was from Jungkook’s statement or just Jungkook himself. Regardless of the reason, you just leaned further into the male behind you and held onto the arms that protectively caged you in.

“Ugh, how much longer until the toxin is out of their bloodstreams?” You heard Jin ask.

“It should be soon… hopefully.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tae collapse on top of Mingi and order the guard to cuddle him. You tilted your head so it rested on Jungkook’s shoulder as you watched Mingi lay motionless underneath the male the clung to his long body. He stayed that way for several moments until he finally gave in and embraced the Saeni on top of him, causing Tae to squirm and cheer in joy.

“Oh my goddess, please let it be soon.” Jin released a deep, overworked sigh.

Smiling to yourself, you closed your eyes and adjusted so you could lean your head back onto Jungkook’s solid chest. The male resumed his soft humming and the low, pleasant sound vibrated from his body into yours. It felt soothing and comforting. It was so relaxing. Without meaning to, your breaths started to slow… slow… slow down until you slipped into an easy sleep.

You were jostled awake by someone gently shaking you. As your mind was forced to return to reality, you moaned lightly and tried to squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’m sorry…” You heard a voice you recognized whisper in your ear.

The voice said something else, but you were still too groggy to comprehend what it was.

Why does this seem familiar…?

The voice whispered another apology in your ear and gave you another shake.

Familiar. Why is this so familiar? And why do I feel so light like a balloon?

Lips that must be attached to the voice grazed your skin and you felt the ghost of a hand caress your face.

All of the sudden, you remembered, and your eyes snapped open. You remembered the lump forming in your throat, the smoke pulsating toward you, the earth swallowing you whole, his face breaking apart.

You shoved him off you while simultaneously turning around and bracing your hands on the dirt behind you. Jungkook stared at you with worried eyes and confused eyebrows drawn together. He reached a hand out to you, but you lurched backwards with sluggish limbs and a fuzzy mind. You wanted to get away from him before he cracked and became twisted and wrong… but you also wanted to hold him and ward off the smoky darkness. You didn’t know what to do. The world seemed to weave and spin around you, and you looked at the concerned burgundy head with panicking eyes.

You flinched as he tried reaching out to you again, but you didn’t move away. “Is your face gonna sh-shatter again?”

In the moonlight, you saw his green eyes narrow at you as he stopped his hand. You heard the wind blow through the leaves and the wildlife chirp around you. You heard him gently say you name, but all you could focus on was the black expanse behind Jungkook’s head. You just stared at it.

Waiting for it to start.

Terrified it would.

You began to rapidly suck in air as your eyes bore into the darkness. You felt a pain in your heart as all you felt you could do was wait for the black to begin growing and curling around his form. For it to ruin him and infiltrate you.

“Sweetheart…” Jungkook hesitantly said but continued when you didn’t shy away. “You’re okay… you’re just still feeling the effects of the lillaf toxin.”

You cocked your head to the side and brought your eyes back to the male’s face. Why isn’t he crumbling like a Nature Valley bar? And why is talking about leaf toxin? What he should be talking about is Toxic by Britney, bitch.

Before you knew it, he was by your side and was tenderly helping you to your feet. With a small smile, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and took your hand in his. The action made the corners of your mouth upturn ever so slightly. Then, he slowly began leading you toward a group of Saeni you hadn’t realized was there. Your unfocused eyes made it difficult to see where you were placing your feet and your body wavered side to side as you made your way forward. You let out a small laugh and other random noises with each slip of your feet, but thankfully, Jungkook’s grip helped keep yourself upright and somewhat stable.

“Why is she still like that?” You heard a voice you would know anywhere say.

Your eyes brightened as you took in his apricot head and then the rest of the group. You listened as Jungkook explained that it must be because you were human… whatever that meant. You giggled as their puzzled expressions almost instantaneously transformed into those of understanding while a gust of wind danced through the trees. The cool air caused you to shiver and shuffle closer to Jungkook and the warmth emitting from his strong body.

“Aw, is my little scorja cold? Come here, you!” Tae cooed and tried to gather you in his arms.

But he did not succeed because of one Jeon Jungkook.

The maknae tugged you closer to him, expelling a laugh that didn’t sound like his normal one before turning to Namjoon and JIn. “Time to go, right hyungs?”

The two Saeni just rolled their eyes and nodded; turning around and starting to walk away while muttering about how lucky Yoongi and Chungha were to not have to deal with this.

I wonder what issue they’re dealing with? Everything seems fine to me! It’s all gumdrops and rainbows and stars.

The others began to trail after them, albeit at a much slower pace as they groaned about headaches and queasy stomachs.

“Why do they look so poopy?” You asked the male beside you with a teeny tiny smile at your word choice, but it fell when you noticed him wince and wrap an arm around his torso. “A-Are you okay?”

He flashed you a smile with tired, green eyes and reassured you that he was fine. Then, he gave you a small nudge to signal it was time to start following everyone.

You walked, or more accurately stumbled, after the other Saeni for several minutes. Veering side to side, Jungkook kept having to tug you back to him when you would meander a little too far away and risk pulling your hand out of his. But it was just so hard to keep your path straight and your head up. You could barely keep your eyes open, and when you did, the world was a mass of blurred lines and swirls. Your legs felt heavy and you kept tripping over things since your feet basically dragged along the forest floor.

“You good there, sweetheart?”

“Mhmm. Just… really snoozy…” You whined back almost incoherently. “I want… cuddles.”

You were so drowsy you almost couldn’t move your lips to form words. Everything just felt too cumbersome.

Where’s my cuddle buddy? Where’s my TaeTae?

You practically tumbled over some sort of obstacle on the ground, but Jungkook was quick to catch you. You mumbled a thank you with a sleepy sigh and went to move again but he stopped you.

“Want to get on my back?”

You paused, body tilting and swaying with the trees, but ultimately, you stuck out your bottom lip a bit and slowly nodded. The green-eyed male smiled and asked if you would be able to jump up on his back on your own, which made you rear back and release a tiny scoff.

He doubts my abilities? Who does this cute, handsome, tall glass of water think he is!?

With his eyebrows raised skeptically, he turned around to present you his back and you thumped your hands down on his shoulders to steady yourself. You counted to three out loud before launching yourself at him. He grunted from the sheer, unrestrained force of your jump and scrambled to place his hands underneath your thighs. Once he had a safe and secure grip on you, he bounced you once, twice, and a third time to make sure you were fully hoisted.

“See?” You wrapped your arms around him and interlocked your hands over his chest. “I can do it.”

Jungkook just snorted and began hiking through the trees again.

You settled against him, careful not to bump into the swords strapped to his back as you pressed your cheek to his neck. “You’re warm and comfy. And you smell good.”

Like earth and iron and steel, but also fresh rain and flowers and sunshine.

He chuckled lightly, the sound singing in your ears. “Just go to sleep.”

“M’kay… thank you… Kookie…”

You felt your lids finally droop closed and your muscles completely relax.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he whispered back.

That was the last thing you heard before you drifted off.

When you woke up later that morning, it wasn’t because of someone shaking you or a hand tracing against your skin or a body squishing you flat. It was actually because of a sharp, bright ray of morning light beaming straight down into your face. With your eyes still closed, you deeply inhaled and stretched your arms above your head, enjoying the warmth cascading around you. Once you finished your morning cat stretch, you went to open your eyes but immediately recoiled and brought the blanket over your head.

Fucking hell, that’s bright.

Bracing yourself, you gingerly lowered the blanket and let your eyes adjust to golden rays of late morning through squinted lids.

Hold up… it’s already light out which means… SHIT I’M LATE FOR TRAINING, COCO IS GONNA KILL ME.

You threw the blanket off and sat up quickly, but the abrupt movement caused a wave of nausea to erupt in your stomach. Clutching your tummy, you stumbled to your feet with a moan and began digging through your backpack. As you rifled through the contents for your daily petals, a pounding headache began to steadily build in your noggin.

Great. Just fucking fantastic. That’s exactly what I need right now.

You began muttering to yourself. “Why didn’t anybody wake me up!? Oh bloody hell, training is going to be an absolute bitch now. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Where are they!?”

You paused your search to look around you, finally noting through your panic and headache that you were completely alone. The other Saeni’s belongings were neatly packed and leaning against various trees and rocks, but the owners were nowhere to be found. The bonfire from last night was dead; the remnants still smoking but only in small, tiny wisps.

“Wait. Where is everyone?” You cocked your head to the side for a second before returning to your backpack. “Argh! Why can’t I find these damn motherfucking pe-Yes!”

You snatched up the objects and shoved them into your mouth to let them dissolve. Your body trembled from the magic and it made your headache pulsate even harder. Wincing, you located your bottle of aspirin and popped two pills into your mouth while the galaxies and comforting sense dimmed and disappeared. You swallowed the pills dry, wrinkling your nose a bit when you did so due to the bitter taste.

Not looking up, you swept the ground with your eyes until you spotted your bow a few feet away. You quickly shuffled over to it on your knees while talking to yourself about how you felt like utter crap and how you knew Jungkook wouldn’t show you a hint of mercy because you were late.

As you picked up the bow, you let out a pathetic wail. “I don’t even know where he is! What the heck am I supposed to do!?”

You suddenly heard a snicker from behind you and your entire body froze before slowly turning around. There was the entire kiela, plus Jiae and Mingi, all looking at you in amusement. Chungha, on the other hand, seemed completely disinterested as she picked at her nails. You blinked at them and opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

How did they…? Where did they come from?

Seeing your helplessly confused expression, Hobi laughed. “We’ve been here the whole time, little scorja.”

“It’s later than you usually get up, so yesterday’s petals were expired,” Tae added.

“So, you couldn’t see us because of the glamour,” Namjoon finished.

You crumpled to the ground in sheer embarrassment as your face grew hot. As you did so, another wave of nausea rippled through you and you released a groan.

Resting a hand on your abdomen in hopes the extra body heat would help alleviate some of the pain, you cried out. “Why do I feel like shit?”

Jin walked over to your folded body and offered you an apple with a sweet smile. “That would be your body dealing with the last bits of toxin still in your system.”

Brief memories from last night flashed across your mind. Walking. Screaming. Little red devils. More screaming. Swirling skies. Softness against your fingers. Tears. Humming. Warmth. Sleep.

You sat yourself back up and narrowed you eyes at the Saeni you were with last night. “Why am I the only one feeling, and I’m sure looking, like I was run over by a truck.”

Laboriously, you reached out and grabbed the apple before holding it against your mouth to try to muster the energy to bite into it.

Jungkook shrugged, his peridot eyes glittering in bemusement. “Maybe because you’re human? Chim hyung took longer to snap out of it too, but not as long as you.”

You massaged your temples, grumbling about dumb heightened sense and abilities which apparently included flushing out toxins.

Jungkook continued, his tone almost proud. “Which is why I didn’t wake you up for training. I knew you needed to rest as much as possible.”

Rolling your eyes, you bit into the crunchy apple, and spoke with your mouth full. “Wow, someone give him an award for being considerate.”

Mingi snorted, causing Jungkook to glare at the guard as everyone went back to doing whatever they had been before you roused from your slumber. Jimin came over and helped you to your feet. You munched on the fruit, enjoying the refreshing taste, but not being particularly pleased at how each chew made your head pound even more.

“You look even worse than after that Halloween party that one ye-”

You poked the apricot head in the chest. “We do not speak of that day.”

Your best friend laughed and held his hands up in surrender before running one of them through his hair. He proceeded to tell you that after he sobered up last night, he started feeling another pull toward a draeva. Jiae confirmed this morning that it wasn’t his own connection flaring up either… it was an entirely new feeling.

“It’s different this time. I think it’s my father’s.”

You nodded and took another bite of your fruity breakfast.

Back to GPS Slim Jim, I guess.

You and he talked for a few more minutes about what the pull felt like and how far away he thought it was coming from. Then, after giving your hair a ruffle, he left to go back to Jiae. Once he was gone, you sat down on the ground heavily, praying the aspirin would kick in soon. Moaning a bit at your hurting body, you began to roll your blanket up and gather your belongings to leave.

Hours later, you were strolling next to Yoongi and speaking in a hushed tone as you tried your best to coach him on fixing his flirting. Thankfully, you finally felt normal… no more headache or aching tummy. You were able to enjoy the cool, sunshiny day and give the mint-haired Saeni your full attention.

You skipped around a mass of broken tree limbs that littered the ground. “He said you’ve been acting weird so… I don’t know. Stop that.”

You still never referred to his crush by name, even though he most definitely knew that you knew who it was. But you didn’t want Yoongi to become embarrassed and cease coming to you for help, so you just continued using “him” so the male would feel more comfortable.

His pink eyes swiveled to you and he scowled before whisper-shouting back. “I have not been weird! I’ve been totally and fully calm and collected.”

You met his eyes and raised a single brow as you stepped up and over a half-rotten and moss-covered log.

The Saeni dropped his gaze and tapped his fingers together, causing tiny sparks of blue. “O-okay, so maybe I’ve been muttering a lot and, uh, sort of running away if he touches me.”

Your body slightly spasmed as you pursed your lips and resisted the urge to flick his forehead. “Yeah… you need to stop that. Like immediately.”

He let out a long puff of air, head slumping to look at the ground as he described how he couldn’t help it. He just got so flustered and overthought things every time he was near the other. He ultimately thought it was better to leave than make a fool of himself.

You touched his arm lightly with your fingertips. “But doing that might make him think you’re mad at him.”

His head darted up in panic. “But I’m not!”

You nodded understandingly, but told him that while you knew that, he didn’t.

As you jumped onto a large rock that was basking in the sun, a burst of shouts and giggles to your right caused you to peer through the maze of trees. Through the greenery, you saw Jungkook and Tae holding branches and using them as weapons in a mock sword fight. They rushed through the forest, chasing and attacking each other. You smiled warmly at the duo before hopping down and returning your eyes to the magic user..

You watched as the mint-haired Saeni moved his hands and made little tendrils of blue light grow and fade. He sighed and shook his head while ducking below a bundle of leaves, and you saw his bone earrings shake with the movement.

“This is too much for me to handle. Between you helping me with this and me helping Kook wi-” He suddenly cut off his words so fast you heard his teeth clack together.

You looked at him in confusion as he whipped his head to his youngest brother briefly before bringing his wide eyes to you.

“I-I mean with-nothing… I’m not helping anyone,” he stuttered.

Wait. But didn’t he…?

You pushed your lips forward and raised a palm in question. “I thought Jungkook said you helped him realize why we fight a lot?”

Yoongi sputtered, pressing his hands together. “Oh… oh! You mean that! Yeah, you’re right. I, uh, told him to explain shit to you. That’s it, though. Nothing else.”

“Right… okay…” You slowly nodded and regarded him with squinted eyes.

Brushing some leaves out of the way, Yoongi replied, “Ha ha. Yeah… so, anyways! Um, what should I do besides just ‘stop that?’”

Lifting the same leafy branch out of your way, you said, “Maybe try sitting close to him at dinner. Not like on top of him, you know, but closer than usual.”

The Saeni agreed and proceeded to ask you more questions and inquire what he should do about this and that. You continued trying to answer to the best of your abilities, keeping what you knew about both Yoongi and Hobi in mind as you did. Every once in a while, though, you couldn’t help but look over to the right. To where your dear sweet angel of a friend and your aggravating, but passionate and uplifting… friend… were still playing.

A little while later, Namjoon called for a short break when you broke through the trees and entered a small clearing. You slumped to the ground in a sunlight patch, rubbing your sore and tired legs before stretching them out. Most of the other Saeni were doing the same, although Jungkook and Tae yanked Hobi and Jimin to their feet and pulled them into a game of aggressive tackle tag. You chuckled and shook your head at them, in disbelief that they didn’t want to rest for even a second. As you swept your eyes over the relaxing Saeni, you stopped your gaze on the one person you have yet to hold a substantial conversation with.

Chungha.

Maybe since Mingi and I are cool now, she’ll want to be friends too…

Grunting from your protesting leg muscles, you stood and trekked over to the female guard. She had an expressionless face as she surveyed the area and surrounding environment. Turning to you as you approached, her face morphed into something that looked almost… unimpressed?

Oookay, not a good start.

“Um, hey, Chungha! How, uh, how are you today?”

Her eyes flickered to yours briefly before looking away. “Fine.”

Alright, so that’s strike one for you, Y/N.

“Oh, good! That’s… good.” You forced a laugh and tucked some hair behind your ears. “So, how long have you been a guard?”

The girl let out a bored exhale and flipped her dark green hair over her shoulder. “Longer than Mingi but not as long as Suho had been.”

You bit your lip and nodded. That’s probably strike two.

“Okay, cool! Cool cool cool cool cool. Um, so how-”

“Are we done?” She didn’t say it harshly, just extremely disinterested.

You snapped your jaw closed before rapidly nodding and walking away to leave her be.

Strike three, you’re out. No new friends for you.

You shrugged to yourself as you retreated, not really upset about it. You couldn’t be friends with everyone, so oh well. You did your part and tried at least.

“Don’t take it personally, she’s like that with basically everyone.”

You looked up to see Mingi standing in front of you. His arms were crossed over his chest and his hazel eyes were soft. You smiled and told him you didn’t, and that it was fine. Then, you began laughing uncontrollably as you recalled the events from the previous night. He gave you a questioning look as you tried to calm down.

“It’s just… you didn’t even want to go on a walk last night and then we all got bitten and… and…” You lost yourself in laughter, folding over and wrapping your arms around your middle.

The guard groaned while cracking a smile. “Just… let’s not ever mention that incident to the king. I don’t think he would be happy to hear I wasn’t doing a good job protecting his daughter.”

You sent him a wink. “My lips are sealed, but Tae though…” You tsked. “He tends to be a bit of a blabber mouth so…”

Mingi’s smile fell while his body froze, and you couldn’t contain your serious façade. Smiling again, you fake punched him on the shoulder and said you were just joking… maybe.

The male rolled his hazel eyes and went to say something else but stopped when a certain Saeni appeared out of nowhere and began tugging on your arm.

“Come play with us!” Jungkook pleaded.

You jumped at his sudden proximity before turning your eyes on him. The burgundy male was breathing heavily and repeatedly pulling on your arm, trying to get you to come with him. You heard another voice yelling out, coming closer with each passing second. Looking beyond Jungkook, you saw Hobi barreling toward you as he targeted the green-eyed male beside you. Following your gaze, Jungkook cursed when he saw the kiela’s spy charging after him and he renewed his efforts of persuading you.

“Come on, sweetheart. Please?” He sent you a smile that made you melt while stepping closer to you.

“Uh… okay, yeah, sure,” you said as you stared at the eager boy with the dashing face that was just so close to you.

With a satisfied grunt, Jungkook slid his hand down to yours and took off in the direction away from an arriving Hobi. Which meant you were dragged after him with a yelp.

As you tried to keep up with Jungkook’s strides, you screamed back, “Sorry Mingi! Talk to you later!”

The green-eyed Saeni looked behind him and smiled at you before sending a smirk over your head and gripping your hand tighter.

You, Jungkook, Hobi, and Tae continued your game of tag even after Namjoon told everyone it was time to start moving again. Jimin, unfortunately, was called back up to the front of the group to resume his job as the GPS.

The boys were being generous enough to not body slam you into trees or onto the ground like they would each other. And whenever they would tag you, it was usually just a big smack to your back that caused you to stumble forward, but not lose your footing entirely. Then, they were nice enough to run a bit slower when you were “it” so you would actually have a chance at tagging one of them.

Currently, you were hiding behind a large trunk that provided substantial cover for your entire body. The rest of the group was maybe a good seventy yards ahead of you, but you kept your eyes peeled and ears alert for Jungkook, who was “it.” You were breathing deeply, and your body screamed at you for the unnecessary exertion. But you sent a nice fat mental middle finger to the sore pain thrumming through you because you were really enjoying yourself and having fun.

Peeking around the trunk, you flinched as you heard Tae shriek in the nearby distance, but you didn’t see a single flash of burgundy against the greenery of the forest. Letting out a sigh in relief, you began jogging forward as quietly as you could. You made it about thirty yards when a blur ran past you screeching.

“RUN, LITTLE SCORJA!”

Tae.

You whipped your head in the direction he had come from and saw Jungkook sprinting after him.

Shit!

You pivoted on your feet, gearing to run after Tae and away from the extremely competitive maknae, but it was too late. He’d already noticed you. Smirking, Jungkook changed course, forgetting about his previous target. You watched, sort of like a deer in headlights and almost in awe, as his metal earrings glinted in the sunlight and his muscles flexed with each stride he took toward you.

Toward me? Oh fuck, run you dumb bitch!

You took off, pumping your legs and weaving around trees and vaulting over fallen timber. Obviously, you weren’t faster than he was, and it was only a matter of seconds before he caught you. A small part of you did hope that maybe Hobi or Tae would show up and save you, though.

You sucked air into your lungs and briefly peeked over your shoulder, expecting to see the boy right on your heels.

But he wasn’t there.

You put on the brakes, breathing heavily as you slowed to a stop. Turning your body in a circle numerous times, you tried to find where he went.

A twig snapping you made you still before letting out a defeated sigh. Hesitantly, you swiveled to see Jungkook step out from behind a tree and begin to jog to you with a shit eating grin on his face.

You closed your eyes tightly as you accepted your loss. Feeling his presence come closer and closer, you prepared yourself to be rammed into. You held your breath, waiting for impact.

Your body jolted when you felt something touch your waist, but a slamming force never came. Instead, the weight on your waist began to gently press into you, making you move backwards. Relaxing your face and opening your eyes, you saw Jungkook staring at you with smug, green eyes and a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“H-Hi.”

He kept moving you backwards until your back softly connected with a tree, but he didn’t let you go. Rather, he pressed even further into you so that your chests were flush, and your faces were only centimeters apart. You looked at him with wide eyes as your hands gripped his forearms. He tilted his head to the side and leaned in so that his lips were teasing the shell of your ear. You suddenly had difficulty breathing normally as you waited for him to move or do something.

He let his hot breath fan over you for several heartbeats until he murmured, “You’re it.”

Leaning back, he displayed a cocky smile at your surprised face before letting go of your waist and taking several steps back. Then, he sent you a wink… a bloody wink!... before turning around and striding away. You shook your head and glued your eyes to his back.

Oh, you’re gonna get it!

Quickly, you called after him in the breathiest tone you could muster and moved your feet forward. The male’s steps faltered, and he looked over his shoulder just as you jumped on him and sent both of your bodies tumbling to the ground. As you descended, he twisted so that he landed on his back, not his face. He hit the forest floor with a thud, slightly grunting from the impact. He glared up at you as you sent him a smirk of your own, pleased with yourself. You were straddling his lean waist, one hand braced on the leaves and twigs beside his head and the other resting against his chest. Pushing against him and the dirt, you raised your top half and allowed your hands to move so they settled on his torso.

You raised an eyebrow as you laughed mockingly since you knew it would rile him up. “No, Coco. You’re still it.”

You gave his body a couple pats before going to stand up and run away. Though as you went to move, he narrowed his eyes at you and promptly sat up. Grabbing you, he flipped you down to the ground and rolled on top of you.

He held your wrists firmly above your head. “No. You’re it.”

You shivered involuntarily at the low tone of his voice and awkwardly laughed to hide the heat beginning to rise to your cheeks. The position you were in was not helping you succeed, though. You looked away from his serious eyes and focused on a nearby rock that now seemed extremely fascinating.

“O-Okay. Now please get off.”

He squeezed our wrists a little more. “Not until I hear you say it.”

You rolled your eyes at the rock. He was such a little shit sometimes.

“I’m it. Happy? Okay, now get off.”

You saw him smile in your peripherals before nodding once. “That’s a good girl.”

Oh. You sucked in a breath and fought with yourself to not release it unevenly.

“Alright, up we go.” You heard him say in a soft, yet teasing voice that made your body go limp and gooey.

Geez. What is he doing to me?

Suddenly, something clicked inside of you and it caused you to gasp quietly. Your eyes widened in incredulity as your heart swelled in realization.

Oh, fuck. This can’t be happening.

Then, you were pulled to your feet and you blinked at the male. He laughed, scrunching his nose in such an adorable way, and gave you a solid pat on the head before sprinting away, leaving you in an unmoving, flustered daze.

This can’t be happening.

The days following were a mess. You hadn’t run into any draikensu. Nobody had gotten hurt or sick. Nobody was brewing drama. No, it was none of those things.

It was because of a much more mundane matter. Something that plagued your mind and made you overthink every single detail during the days and nights. Something that both excited you and wrecked you. Something you still weren’t ready to face or accept… for many reasons.

Calm down, Y/N. It is not that. You’re just… sexually frustrated or something.

But as you glanced at a certain Saeni and a warm feeling bubbled up and spread throughout your body, you knew you were fucked. It had been like this since you played that stupid game of tag. You didn’t know why, but after that everything just felt… different. You had always thought he was insanely attractive and… even cute at times… but this was something else. Every time he looked in your direction you felt yourself automatically smiling. Every time he touched you in passing or even merely corrected your form during training, goosebumps raised along your skin and your breath hitched. You always found yourself looking his way and being drawn to his voice.

You chewed on your lip as you walked next to Tae, debating whether you should tell your friend about your recent revelation. You didn’t want him to freak out and start screaming. Not when you knew there wasn’t a chance for anything to happen between you and him. Not when you knew how he felt about you.

Why do I always put myself through this?

You sighed dejectedly and kicked a branch on the ground.

“You okay, little scorja?”

You looked up from the branch and into sharp blue eyes.

Forcing a tiny, half-assed smile, you replied, “Yeah, just thinking about some stuff.”

The grey-haired Saeni frowned and peered at your face. “No, you’re not, but whenever you’re ready to talk just come find me. You know I’m always here for you.”

You pulled the Saeni into an abrupt embrace, squeezing him tightly as he wrapped his arms around you and did the same. “I know. Thank you, TaeTae. I really don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

Tae smacked a big kiss to your cheek and grabbed your hand to make you start walking again. You smiled at him before sweeping your eyes over your surroundings. Mingi and Hobi were joking with each other, though the spy kept sneaking glances to his left where Yoongi was. The mint-haired Saeni was strolling with Jin and Namjoon. The latter two were speaking loudly, but Yoongi ignored them in favor of watching the trees and occasionally letting his eyes linger to his right. Behind them, Chungha walked alone, enjoying her solitude. And behind her, Jungkook was animatedly talking to Jimin and Jiae. The burgundy head was using grand gestures to highlight whatever story he was telling, making the others laugh. Without realizing it, you found that the corners of your mouth had upturned as you watched him. You couldn’t help it. Hastily, you wiped the tiny grin off your face by reminding yourself that he had no feelings for you. The thought made you sigh once more and clutch Tae’s hand tigher.

Don’t think of him like that. Don’t think of him like that. Don’t think of him like that. He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like you. HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU SO STOP THINKING OF HIM LIKE THAT.

You looked at the laughing boy, taking in the way his burgundy hair gleamed in the sunlight, showing off those pink highlights while his peridot eyes glittered with excitement. The way he radiated protection and power and happiness. The way he was so strong yet so caring and tender when he wanted to be.

Before you knew it, you were smiling once more.

Groaning to yourself, you banged the heel of your palm against your forehead. I am so utterly fucked.

previous [13] — next [15]

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for Pentecost Sunday (EF)

Acts 2:1-11; John 14:23-31

“Without your Spirit, there is nothing in man, nothing that is not harmful.” These words from the beautiful Pentecost Sequence hymn, Veni Sancte Spiritus, recited before the Gospel today remind us that without God we can do nothing good, and even the good we start to do can become harmful if it’s not sustained by the grace of God. So, the absence of good, of light, of peace shows us that our actions have turned from God, that even what began well can be corrupted by our inclination to sin, and so, end badly.

The chaos flaring up in various parts of the world, seemingly initiated by a desire for justice, which is a good thing, can, as we have seen day after day, go badly astray because we cannot be sustained in the good without the Spirit of God. Humble prayer, therefore, is the foundation of all good, but we have become activists who often react without thinking let alone praying. But it is a diabolical lie to think that we can restore the good, or build a just society, or create a civilisation of love simply by our political will, or merely through outraged tweeting, or just by sharing memes and videos on our social media accounts. These often create much heat but shed very little light if any at all. If we desire to right the wrong, to overwhelm the evil with good, and restore justice, then we must first return to God. As the Sequence of Pentecost says: “Come, father of the poor, come, giver of gifts, come, light of the heart.”

But do we know our fundamental poverty of spirit? Do we desire the gifts of the Holy Spirit? Do we seek the light of God? This year, with the whole world still suffering the effects of a pandemic – even if the crowds on the beaches, parks, and streets might behave with wishful thinking as if the virus has just dissipated with the summer heat – and now, moreover, with the spread of violence, rioting, desecrations of churches, looting, destruction of property, and hatred, these are signs and reminders that both the natural order and our human nature, disfigured by sin, are in clear need of God. We need the Holy Spirit to free us from the prince of this world, that is, the devil, who through sin and lies and false promises leads us as individuals and as a society only towards division, destruction, death, and hell.

Pray with me, then, these words from the Sequence of Pentecost: “Come, Holy Spirit, send forth the heavenly radiance of your light… O most blessed light, fill the inmost heart of your faithful… In labour, rest, in heat, temperance, in tears, solace… Cleanse that which is unclean, water that which is dry, heal that which is wounded. Bend that which is inflexible, fire up that which is chilled, correct what goes astray.”

As fires from riots and violent protests flare up in different parts of the world, and as the fire of anger and hatred flares up in numerous hearts, we behold today a different kind of fire. The Holy Spirit who descends on the apostles on Pentecost Sunday is seen as a visible light, as tongues of flame, but this divine fire, alights on their head without burning. Like the fire of the burning bush beheld by Moses, which shed a radiant brilliance without consuming it, so the Holy Spirit sheds light without destructive heat.

Such is the light of grace, which enlightens the darkness of the human mind. Original sin has darkened the intellect, leaving Man to fumble his way forward in the dark, his reasoning hindered by emotion, passions, and sinful desires. So, the Spirit of God comes, we pray, with the light of truth to guide our reasoning minds. The Spirit of God comes to “correct what goes astray”, he comes to heal our wills, our appetites, our desires. This is the light, the divine fire of Love, which burns without destroying. Rather, it purifies, it refines, it transforms. For our human nature, healed of the wounds of sin by the Holy Spirit, is then elevated by grace so that we now reflect the glory of God, we become divinised by grace, we now shine with God’s love.

The love of God, as St Paul reminds us, is “patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.” (1 Cor 13:4-6) Therefore, it is not love if we seek to avenge a wrong by doing still more wrong, by speaking without charity nor kindness nor even courtesy, no matter how right one’s cause might be. Instead, this kind of fire and passion, burning hot and fast, will consume us and we will be burnt out. The fire of divine love, as we see in the Scriptures, is a slow burn but it thus transforms and improves, softens and changes things - anyone who has cooked will understand this. Hence the flames that burn above the apostles’ heads do not catch fire to their hair, but instead, God’s Spirit illumines their minds; he gives them knowledge of things human and divine; and he gives them gifts. Thus they miraculously speak languages they had not learnt; they preach the divine truths of salvation with boldness; and they become witnesses of the Resurrection and the freedom given to us by Christ. Their lives, therefore, are utterly changed, and they see things from God’s perspective. Hence the Sequence of Pentecost prays: “Give to your faithful, those who trust in you, the sevenfold gifts. Grant the reward of virtue, grant the deliverance of salvation, grant eternal joy.”

Pentecost is, as the name suggests, the fiftieth day after Easter. And this number, 50, is Biblically significant. In the book of Leviticus the fiftieth year was a jubilee year, a time of rest, of relief from debt and hard labour, a sign of God’s forgiveness and redemption. Pentecost points to the jubilee, therefore, and it is significant that on the fiftieth day after Easter comes the public proclamation of deliverance from the bondage of sin and vice and even death. The Spirit of God, his merciful love, comes to free us from the debt of sin. God comes to free us from slavery to our limited human ideas, and our wild emotions and unbridled passions. The Spirit of God is present to forgive us, and to redeem us, and to sanctify us. Thus, the Holy Spirit is, as we said in the Sequence hymn, our “greatest comforter, [the] sweet guest of the soul, [and] sweet consolation.”

In the midst of a land, and even among Church communities, who seem lost in chaos and darkness and turmoil, the Holy Spirit comes to us today. And he comes not only as a gentle brilliant flame but also as a powerful rushing wind. For there is much debris and detritus from our old sinful lives that needs to be cleared out; the dust and nonsense fills the air and keeps us from seeing the Truth clearly. So the psalmist says: “Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered; let those who hate him flee before him! As smoke is driven away, so drive them away; as wax melts before fire, let the wicked perish before God!” (Ps 68:1-2) Yes, let the Holy Spirit come and drive away the enemies of God, all that opposes the good and the true; all those infernal beings who would deceive and lead astray. We human beings have been called to friendship with God, and the Holy Spirit is the Advocate and Guide who comes to make us friends of God. Therefore, he comes first to drive away the Enemy who stirs up rebellion and prideful disobedience; who corrupts the good we begin; and who whispers suspicion and conspiracy in our ears. Thus the 9th-century hymn to the Holy Spirit, Veni Creator Spiritus, prays:  “Drive far away our wily Foe, and Thine abiding peace bestow; if Thou be our protecting Guide,  no evil can our steps betide.” The Holy Spirit, therefore, comes to bring peace to the soul, peace to the community, peace to the world, for he restores sinners to true justice that comes only from God. Thus Jesus says in the Gospel today: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (Jn 14:27)

The frustrations of our time: frustration with politicians and their works; frustration with the Media and corporations who control our knowledge and information; frustration with our fellow men and with our leadership – even within the Church, sadly – these frustrations will overheat and boil over because there is much heat and little light in these situations. It is evident that we, today, are in dire need of the Holy Spirit, and, in our anger and quarrels, our communities are disintegrating into nothingness. For “without your Spirit, there is nothing in man, nothing that is not harmful.”

What, then, are we to do? Where does the Holy Spirit lead us? Jesus says the Spirit will “teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” (Jn 14:26) Therefore, the Holy Spirit leads us, first of all, into prayer. Pray, read the Scriptures prayerfully, and pray again. The apostles had been gathered with Mary in prayer before the Holy Spirit came to illumine their minds and their hearts. And this is what our world, our Church, and each of us need every day: prayer. Only then, with persistent prayer that is insistent on God and on his love, shall we find light, joy, and peace.

If I may make a suggestion: pray the Rosary daily for peace. These were the words of Our Lady of the Rosary at Fatima. She, our Mother, and the humble Spouse of the Holy Spirit, promises us peace if we pray the Rosary. Start now: join us today at 5pm after this Mass. I will end this Livestream, and start a new one, Live on this Facebook page, at 5pm.

[hotdogsandpopcorn]

Inner Child

It’s a bit confusing, Taehyung thinks dazedly. Not the bad kind, though. It feels a certain kind of aesthetic and ambient in itself if only he knows what ‘it’ is supposed to be. There’s a sense of déjà vu lingering somewhere within him, as he digs deep into his mind and tries to bring out whatever memory makes him feel this way. 

He doesn’t know what happened, not really.

The air feels crisp—and again, a tiny bit reminiscent of something—, the smell of summer and a light rain strong enough for him to just close his eyes and not feel an impending sense of doom at how utterly lost he is. Taehyung breathes in; almost there, almost there. He puts his hands in his pockets, clinging onto the fabric of his pants tightly, and walks a step forward. And it hits him, slowly, gently, and then, all at once.

He has no idea why he’s here; he doesn’t care.

“Oh,” Taehyung says out loud, letting out a small, delirious laugh at the memory that skates through his mind’s eye.

He’s here.

Then he’s walking even faster, with purpose now, looking up at the half-glittering, half-hidden stars and the greyness they shed their pinpricks of light on. Nothing else makes sense.

He’s back here.

Time is an incredibly fickle thing. Taehyung has no idea why it saw fit to bring him here. But he doesn’t have to understand. And isn’t that the beauty in everything? Of not understanding, but feeling it—feeling it now—, all the same.

His feet bring him to where he needs to be, and Taehyung pauses with a hand poised to knock over the door. 

I’m here, he says to himself. I’m here for me.

He raps on the door with two fingers, quickly and quietly. He knows this day, knows who is behind the door, knows that he’s alone and young and dreaming of a world of eternal rainbows and black nights full of stars. He knows him. Taehyung’s got this.

Wind rushes past with a small whoosh as the door swings open, and Taehyung remembers the fact that he has to look down.

“Hello!”

Oh God, he can do this, he can do this, he can do this.

Taehyung closes his eyes and drops to the floor, breathing in deeply. The little one in front of him doesn’t even seem surprised that random strangers are kneeling on his doorstep. The thought brings a pang to his chest. It’s almost as though Taehyung doesn’t even see him as him. As though, he isn’t him anymore.

“Hello,” he says quietly, head bowed and eyes unwilling to look—at himself.

A small, tentative hand reaches out, unable to help itself, and Taehyung sees the smaller version of familiar fingers running over the lapels of his Gucci blazer. Ah, yes, I loved suits a lot. Still do.

 He feels the hurt lessen. A smile grows. Feeling encouraged, the boy puts another hand on him and begins feeling up the smooth salmon cloth with more enthusiasm.

Almost with no conscious thought, Taehyung brings up his own hands, watching with increasingly blurry eyes. Thin, veined hands enclose over young ones. Hands which haven’t seen hurt yet. Hands which still hope bright, love free and yearn with no guilt of being too much or too less for the world. Hands that are—were— his.

A tiny gasp tears out of his throat and tears begin to flow. 

Taehyung doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know.

“Oh,” he hears the little boy—him—say. “Your hands are beautiful.” He takes away one of his hands, reaching up to Taehyung’s face and catching a stray tear that clings to his eyelash. “Your eyes too.” Of course, I love contact lenses at all phases of my life.

He looks up, finally, his heart trembling and daring to hope. 

And he sees himself, a small reflection, a memory of so long ago, a picture of who he used to be, some part that remains buried and shows itself when worries melt away. He sees him.

“You’re beautiful too,” he says quietly.

 The boy—Little Taehyung—grins mirthfully as if it is an inside joke, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Taehyung thinks briefly that it is probably not recommended for a child, home alone, to open the door for strangers—and weeping strangers, no less. How does his younger self not find him even a bit creepy?

Maybe he knows too.

Taehyung drops to the floor right there, the wind swirling behind his back and then coming to a stop. Little Taehyung sits beside him, now taking to the belt slung loosely around his waist with curiosity. He picks at a thread, pulling and twirling it around his finger.

Taehyung hesitates for a second before placing a hand over the other’s cheek—still round and rosy, just as his grandmother likes it. The thought doesn’t hurt as it usually does; his heart fills to the brim with fond memories and sad happiness, even as it twists with a twinge of pain.

A paradox, Namjoon Hyung would say if he was here.

He leans down, innocent eyes lifting to meet his.

“I’m here for you,” Taehyung says softly, the meaning much heavier and harder than he thinks his little self can comprehend. 

I’m here for me.

“You are, aren’t you?” the little boy says wondrously, taking advantage of Taehyung’s lowered height to run a hand through his hair. He looks at the blue locks in awe, fingers exploring and discovering, as he touches the edges of his own un-dyed black hair.

He’s comparing, Taehyung realises. He knows. I know.

They stay like that, quiet and content to learn new and old things about themselves.

Taehyung feels it in himself—the deep, raw realisation that the two of them sitting here share a single soul. He finds that it is surprisingly an easy concept to discern.

Maybe, time is slowing down. Maybe, time has paused altogether. He hasn’t a clue what’s happening. But that’s okay.

“You’re sad?” Little Taehyung inquires, sidling closer.

“I’m happy,” Taehyung corrects gently, putting an arm around the child. “We’re happy.”

“Happy always?” he asks, looking up with huge, hopeful eyes that Taehyung knows will see many a suffering and many a pain from then on—all part of growing up, everybody says. Bullshit, he would love to say to all of them. But these eyes are also going to see many a beautiful soul and many a wonder.

Taehyung sighs, neither one of grief nor one of annoyance. Just a little huff of breath as tries to get himself to tell the truth. 

“Happy now,” he clarifies. “When it’s always… I’m—we’re—happy and sad.” He then points to little him and himself. “Like we’re young and old.”

The boy giggles, nodding. “You aren’t old,” he says. “Just older.”

“Older you.” Taehyung had to remind.

The carefree joy quickly morphs to a lost expression that looks highly out of place on the boy’s face. “What—what changed? I can’t see—me… you’re not—”

“Not you?” 

Little Taehyung makes a small, distressed sound, and for the first time, he looks confused; he looks afraid of being confused. “You’re more you than me. I’m me. You’re—not. You’re more.” He gesticulates wildly, desperate to make him understand.

Taehyung doesn’t know what to say. I know seems wrong. I’m not more sounds wrong too.

The boy blinks up at him, smiling despite himself, as he waits for an answer. Taehyung holds out an open hand. “We’re going to change to more.” He takes in a long, staggering breath of cool air. “We always do.”

“We change?”

Taehyung feels the dread his younger self has at having to give up something for something else. But he shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t.

“It’s okay,” he finds himself saying. “We’re okay.” 

We can have everything—and it’s okay.

Little Taehyung’s eyes shine and he quickly ducks his head. His small hand finds its way to Taehyung’s.

‘Can you feel it?’ it asks, afraid to dream. ‘Can I?’

Taehyung squeezes gently, bringing their fingers—the then and the now, the dream and the story—together, and lacing them. He nudges the other’s forehead with his own, prompting him to look up and offering a smile.

‘I feel it.’ And it’s okay.

“Look,” he says, turning to lean against the side of the doorway. He brings his free hand to point up. Stars—which definitely weren’t showing themselves before—wink back at them, clustered and many, a reflection of the myriad of countless highs and lows that their lives are intertwined with.

There’s a disbelieving gasp behind him. Still holding their hands together, Little Taehyung shuffles forward and settles comfortably into his lap.

“Galaxies,” Taehyung breathes, holding his young soul close to him.

“I’ve never seen so many before,” the boy confesses. His eyes are pools of pure happiness, glowing and twinkling with the light that burns millions of miles away. “I’d given up hope of ever seeing them.”

Taehyung presses a kiss to the soft black hair under his chin; it doesn’t feel weird at all, as he’d feared. “They’re always there, you know?” he says quietly. “Even when you and I change, they’re always there for us.”

Little Taehyung turns his head to the side, hesitating. “Always?”

Taehyung thinks it a little odd that the fact he is protective of his soul feels entirely natural and not selfish at all.

He hums his affirmation into the hair. “Always and forever.”

Little Taehyung turns further, squinting at him. “I can see,” he says. “I—I can see you. There’re stars in your eyes.”

“Oh.”

“You have stars, don’t you? You have so many stars.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and his lips part in surprise. Numerous loved memories settle like a drizzling raincloud into his chest—memories that the boy before him doesn’t have or doesn’t know the weight of yet. “We have stars.”

The boy turns back, content, and resumes watching the sky above. “We do.”

“You see the moon?” Taehyung points a finger upwards. A nod. “There’s a bunny there.”

“I know. That’s my bunny.”

Taehyung grins in satisfaction.

Time calls to him again, bringing with it a breeze that ruffles over the top of their heads. Wisps of clouds begin to float lazily across the sky.

Little Taehyung realises it too. He curls a little into himself, holding onto their intertwined hands tightly.

“Don’t leave,” he says, voice breaking at the end. “I—you can’t. I don’t want to forget. I’m—”

“I’m here,” Taehyung murmurs, pressing his hand reassuringly against the boy’s. “You’re my boy. I’m always here.”

“You said that you change. You said that I change.”

“And the world changes with you.” The wind blows more strongly now, more real. “But look up, they don’t ever change, do they?”

“I—”

“You’re okay.”

There is a silence that stretches between them, taut and heavy, until with a heaving breath and a determined, shaky voice, it’s broken: “I’m okay.”

Taehyung holds out his pinkie, getting up on one knee and kneeling with the other. He smiles.

Little Taehyung looks up at him, apprehensive and scared and shining. He links the pinkie with his own.

“We’re gonna change.”

“We’re gonna change,” the boy repeats, beginning to hope for it all when the words feel just like any other. He’s gonna change; he’s okay. He’ll be okay.

The wind carries everything away, bringing the now and the before apart and together.

And they change.

~~~~~~~|•••|~~~~~~~

I know I’m late. I’m so sorry.

Happy Birthday to wonderful winter bear who loves whole and smiles warm for us all. You give me hope everyday. I purple you with my entire heart, Kim Taehyung. Take care and stay gold.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜🌈

[rosedavid]

Nowhere I’d Rather Be

Check out my other fics here!

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since Andi’s party, three weeks since TJ and Cyrus subtly confessed their feelings for one another, and three weeks since they interlaced their fingers together with exhilarated grins. In that moment, TJ remembers how all his jumbled, never-ending thoughts and worries about the future got momentarily pushed to the side so he could focus on one single thing: the boy holding his hand. Cyrus.

Three weeks later, and the giddy feeling that blossoms inside TJ’ s chest when he thinks about Cyrus still hasn’t faded. He supposes that’s a good sign, as the feeling continues to prove how crazy he is about the boy. There’s also a significant downside to TJ’s constant racing heart, sweaty palms, and flushed cheeks; he’s terrified. Relationships in general are new to TJ, let alone a relationship with a boy who also happens to be one of his best friends. He doesn’t want to screw this up because not only does he really likes Cyrus, but because he knows that Cyrus deserves the world and more. TJ doesn’t want to be a disappointment. 

Despite all of Cyrus’s reassurances, TJ still feels guilty about taking their relationship so slow. They haven’t done much besides occasionally hold hands in private, linger longer than usual during hugs, and send soft smiles at each other. Even though it seems like it’s enough for Cyrus, TJ notices the longing look he gets while watching Buffy and Marty be all coupley together in public. And the worst part is that TJ wants nothing more than to be just like that. He wants to be able to lock hands in the halls. He wants to drape an arm casually around Cyrus during lunch. He wants to kiss him goodbye at the end of the day. 

But then the fear drops in. Sometimes, it arrives because he spots Kira wandering through the halls one day. Other days, it might be an offhanded comment he hears. A lot of days, though, TJ has no idea where this terror originates from, and that’s what scares him the most. 

Today, TJ is determined. He’s going to take Cyrus out on a proper date. No staying in watching movies. TJ wants to give Cyrus the most memorable date of his life. He wants to see Cyrus’s nose scrunch up when he gets really excited and his hands flail about at an even faster pace. He wants to hold Cyrus’s hand the entire time and never let go. 

He has the perfect date planned. He’s going to take Cyrus to a reptile sanctuary, where Cyrus can see all of his favorite lizards he always rambles on about as well as know that they will be released later because he knows how much Cyrus hates seeing animals in cages. 

So, this brings them to the car. TJ sits with Cyrus in the backseat while his mother drives. Cyrus can’t sit still. He constantly shifts his legs and taps his fingers on the armrests with a curious expression on his face. 

“Is it The Spoon?” Cyrus wonders.

TJ shakes his head, “We always go there!”

“The movies?”

“Nope.”

“A football game?”

TJ stares at him incredulously. “You really think I’d make you suffer through an entire football game?”

“I hoped not, but I had to make sure!” Cyrus defends.

Laughing, TJ almost reaches over to grab his hand but decides against it last minute. His mother may know that he’s gay now, but she doesn’t officially know he’s dating Cyrus (although she definitely suspects it). Not only does TJ want to avoid outing Cyrus to his mother, but he also worries about Cyrus’s reaction. What if he doesn’t want to hold TJ’s hand? What if he thinks it’s super gross that TJ’s hand is so sweaty? 

What if’s have always been TJ’s enemy, but they’ve been especially detrimental to him recently. He just wants to be able to be Cyrus’s boyfriend without worrying about what others may think. He wants to be able to give Cyrus everything he deserves but worries that he’ll never be able to do that. He worries that he’s holding Cyrus back from happiness. 

But he has to make today different. He has to push those worries aside again and take a risk, just like that night on the bench with their hands inching closer while he held his breath. 

When they arrive at the reptile sanctuary, a beam lights up Cyrus’s entire face. His joy is contagious, causing TJ to smile himself. Cyrus looks at him in hopeful confirmation.

“A reptile sanctuary?” Cyrus squeals. “I didn’t even know they had one this close by!”

“So you like it then?” TJ asks, ducking his head. 

“I love it!”

With a promise of picking them up in an hour and half, TJ’s mother drives off and leaves them alone. They walk up toward the entrance to pay the donation fee before getting inside. The instant they head in and Cyrus spots the first reptile, he practically runs over to get a closer look. Even though TJ is honestly kind of terrified of reptiles, dealing with seeing them is worth it as long as he can see the excitement on Cyrus’s face. 

He looks adorable standing on his tiptoes to get a better look into the large, open area. Flecks of gold sparkle in his dark eyes every so often. He spews out the most random facts, yet TJ has never found something so interesting. Of course, if he occasionally zones out to focus on Cyrus’s lips, could anyone blame him?

As they walk through different areas of the sanctuary, TJ becomes hyperaware of how close together their hands are to touching. If he just adjusted his position a little, he could strategically brush his hand with Cyrus’s--

“Cyrus?!” A feminine voice calls out in surprise. 

“Iris!”

TJ yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. At his side, a flash of disappointment crosses Cyrus’s face, but it’s gone as soon is it arrives. 

In front of them, a girl with short brown hair and a cheery smile waves enthusasitcally. Cyrus waves back, sporting a similar face. She comes over to them, giving Cyrus a quick hug. 

“It’s been so long!” Iris comments, looking up at him. “You’ve gotten so tall!”

“And you cut your hair. It looks great!” Cyrus notices. 

“Thanks! Fancy seeing you here, fellow lizard lover!”

“I know, this place is amazing! I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

Abruptly, TJ clears his throat, catching both of their attention. Iris smiles politely at him. 

“Oh, this is TJ!” Cyrus introduces. “TJ, Iris. TJ is my bo--best friend. My best friend. He’s actually the one who discovered this place.”

Man, does that correction hurt to hear. TJ feels awful. Cyrus has to lie to his friends about them just because TJ is scared. He hates this. 

“Nice to meet you TJ.”

He nods, “You too. So how do you two know each other?”

Despite the hot sun blaring down on them, Cyrus visibly pales. Iris doesn’t seem quite as taken aback, but she tucks her hair behind her ear before stammering out an awkward explanation. 

“We used to date,” Iris says. 

Of course Cyrus has dated someone. How could he not have? After all, not only is he adorable, but he has a great personality and a kind heart. And this girl seems super great, as far as TJ can tell. Cyrus deserves someone who is actually willing to admit how they feel about each other. 

“But that was a long time ago,” Cyrus adds on hurridly, sneaking a glance at TJ. 

TJ supposes he should be jealous of Iris. Maybe at first he is, but afterwards just comes a sense of guilt and regret. He doesn’t want to make Cyrus feel like he’s being put in an awkward position. Just the other day, Cyrus’s mom (who he’s also out to) asked Cyrus if he’s dating anyone. Again, Cyrus was forced to lie on TJ’s behalf. 

“Oh,” TJ replies, not sure what else to say. 

“Well, I think Teej and I are gonna finish up here. It was great seeing you again, though!”

Iris smiles, “You too! We’ll have to catch up some time.”

“For sure.”

When she walks away, Cyrus turns toward him, concern knitting his brow. TJ sighs, dropping his shoulders. 

“TJ? Are you alright?” he wonders. “I know that was probably super awkward for you.”

“No, it’s fine,” TJ promises. “She seemed really cool. I just...I feel bad.”

Cyrus tugs him over to a nearby bench, and TJ almost laughs out loud at the irony. They sit together, knees knocking against one another. The position they’re in reminds TJ so much of that night that he has to swallow back his emotions to keep himself in check. 

“Why do you feel bad?” Cyrus asks in a whisper. 

TJ shrugs. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s something that’s affecting you negatively.”

TJ picks at a string on his shirt, avoiding eye contact. 

“I feel like I’m holding you back.”

“Why would you think that, Teej?”

He glances up to see Cyrus reach for his hand. Before he can, though, a shadow of a family walks past, and Cyrus tugs his hand back. 

“See, that’s why!” TJ explains. “I want to be open with our relationship so badly. I want to hold hands in public and hug and kiss, but I just can’t. I’m so scared, Cyrus. But I can tell that you’re ready, and I’m just not, and I hate it because you deserve much better-”

“Hey,” Cyrus shushes. “It’s okay. I’m okay with this. I don’t care if we’re taking things slow. I care about you being comfortable, and if you’re not ready to be public or to kiss, then I’m not either.”

“But-”

“Thelonious Jagger Kippen, you are not holding me back. I like you, and I’m going to stay with you, even if we go public for another year.”

TJ feels his eyes begin to water. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. I’ll always be here for you, I promise.”

He holds out a pinky, causing TJ to smirk. There’s many reasons he likes Cyrus, but quirks such as these just make him fall harder. He intertwines his pinky with Cyrus’s, shaking them once. 

“That’s legally binding,” Cyrus declares, “so now you’re stuck with me.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”