#excited for 2 embers though!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kithtaehyung · 1 month ago

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minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤��‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far?

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy?

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand.

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs.

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table.

This man, though...

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams?

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.”

Fuck.

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question,

“Do you remember yours?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea.

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone.

He still remembers it, too.

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room.

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not?

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.”

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.”

Your eyes blink thrice.

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know?

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.”

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair.

“So tell me.”

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.”

“You can.”

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—”

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?”

Damn it.

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales.

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch.

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.”

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice?

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..”

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question.

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over.

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.”

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.”

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this.

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in.

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave—

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.”

Oh, shit.

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?”

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space.

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm.

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?”

It takes you a second to process.

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior.

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close?

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were.

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?”

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal.

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying,

“You really wanna know?”

Looking up, you nod.

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.”

“His.. What?”

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this?

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.”

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to…

How naive.

“His plan could’ve been solid.”

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone.

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.”

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself.

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter.

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.”

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?”

“Someone he royally pissed off.”

“Mm.”

“You’re not gonna punish him?”

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.”

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore.

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Great.

So much for being… Safe up… here…

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again.

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave?

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.”

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed.

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders,

“Can’t believe you used me.”

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.”

Fucking hell, he’s right.

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.”

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.”

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared.

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall.

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.”

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not.

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back.

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe.

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time.

“Tell me more. About grey zones.”

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react.

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets.

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh.

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely—

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth.

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs,

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.”

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.”

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.”

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly.

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing.

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans.

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze.

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy.

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.”

“Why only in certain ones?”

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.”

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.”

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain.

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.”

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.”

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.”

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place.

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you.

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along.

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things.

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle.

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis.

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment.

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.”

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.”

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.”

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer.

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him,

“But it’s helping.”

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold.

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.”

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I might.”

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.”

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?”

Yoongi turns to look at your lips.

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say.

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this.

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.”

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.”

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.”

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing.

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?”

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance.

“You tell me.”

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating.

You’ve never felt quite like this.

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be.

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before.

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying.

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over.

And yet.

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch.

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum.

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him.

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.”

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.”

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness.

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second?

“Since you what.”

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip.

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.”

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was.

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes.

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over.

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute.

There was something you never circled back to.

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered,

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?”

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.”

“Prove it.”

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire.

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets.

But because the motherfucker was right on the money.

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know?

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want.

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning?

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.”

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?”

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself.

And it’s perfect.

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.”

“Keep it.”

What?

“It’s yours.”

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence.

Who even is this man?

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.”

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.”

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?”

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.”

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.”

“You expect me to believe you?”

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.”

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.”

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.”

“But I want to.”

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.”

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod.

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds.

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started.

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over.

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city.

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?”

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.”

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.”

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.”

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.”

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else.

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.”

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.”

“You never bothered me.”

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?”

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.”

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.”

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.”

“Where’s he at now?”

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor.

“Yoongi?”

He turns.

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer.

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest.

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown.

“Not much to tell.”

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in.

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises.

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips.

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours.

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops.

Sounds muffle.

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side.

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door.

It’s a phone ringing.

A fucking. Telephone.

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him.

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved.

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room.

Shit.

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up.

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off.

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim.

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt.

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse?

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.”

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.”

“Nothing.”

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade.

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.”

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger?

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up.

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns.

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause.

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid.

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole.

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat.

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.”

“Yoongi—”

“Say it and it’s yours.”

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.”

“How.”

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…”

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking.

Tell him. Four words.

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter.

“So sensitive..”

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return.

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.”

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?”

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing?

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss.

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease.

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”

“But what if someone—”

“They won’t.”

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side.

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick.

Your very, very wet slick.

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices.

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.”

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth.

Sucking.

Licking.

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars.

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles.

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want.

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two.

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point.

“You good?”

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.”

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?”

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.”

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.”

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by.

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now.

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real?

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?”

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move.

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!”

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover.

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck!

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other.

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.”

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like.

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him.

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name.

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze.

“Move your fucking hand.”

Your eyes fling wide.

“I wanna hear you.”

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest.

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes.

“You’re gonna scream for me.”

“Or else what.”

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder.

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.”

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes.

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed.

Like a normal person.

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms.

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half.

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent.

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper,

“I wanna see you.”

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor.

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid.

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent.

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.”

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.”

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.”

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.”

…Huh?

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.”

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense.

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.”

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course.

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.”

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling.

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else.

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint.

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you.

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin.

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward.

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip.

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.”

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts.

Fucking hell, this feels good.

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off.

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right.

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.”

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next.

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.”

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning.

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare.

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton.

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.”

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat.

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall.

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.”

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out.

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?”

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.”

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with.

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.”

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.”

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied.

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.”

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.”

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?”

“Yes.”

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.”

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.”

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses.

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.”

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Wait, did he say again?

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move.

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs.

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.”

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank.

Your laugh only spurns him on.

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes.

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go.

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed.

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.”

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged.

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.”

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat.

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward.

“Just felt like calling you that.”

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.”

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it.

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.”

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.”

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!”

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest.

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He can’t say stuff like that.

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest.

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling.

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock.

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck.

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.”

“Show me more then.”

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours.

“Just like that. There you go.”

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you?

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad.

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.”

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home.

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise.

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears.

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.”

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell.

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives.

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good?

Both of you may feel the same.

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you.

It’s done.

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller.

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom.

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever.

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder.

Was it all worth it?

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have?

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for.

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp.

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum.

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.”

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.”

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself?

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion.

“What?”

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.”

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?”

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.”

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt.

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily.

And both of you groan so full.

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.”

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry.

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again?

Holy fuck, again?

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside.

Was it all worth it?

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case.

But it’s okay.

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for.

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling.

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away.

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper,

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.”

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer,

“S’ok.”

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin.

“Just stay on your side.”

Ah.

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night.

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals.

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows.

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference.

Don’t think too much about it. Do not.

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...”

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts.

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact.

“You’ll always hate me.”

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in.

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs.

Did last night really happen?

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so.

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is.

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one.

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home?

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean.

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over.

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes.

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..”

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants.

Yoongi isn’t here.

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts.

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door?

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths.

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds?

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder.

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do.

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture.

What the hell is going on?

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall.

And his hair is strikingly…

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!”

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question,

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?”

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?”

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist

#FINALLY FINALLY #5000 words in two days just wanted to say i love y'all #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #ryenwrites #minted #minted3 #*ryenfictalk #*latest

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stylesispunk · 8 months ago

Text

"You're the loss of my life" | part 2.

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

part one here

summary: you and Joel went from one kiss to getting married to becoming strangers. In the aftermath, some scars hadn't healed. w.c: 12,9k (longest piece of writing I've ever written) warning: some fluff, angst HEAVY angst, mentions of dead, mentions of blood. Some events of the game will be mentioned here but they are not the same. Please forgive any grammar mistakes, since this one is so long I didn't check on everything. Paragraphs in cursive contain flashbacks. a/n: Thank you so much for the amount of love you gave to part 1, I Swear I can't put into words how wonderful was to read all your comments and thoughts. This part ended up being totally different from what I started writing but is already here, please feel free to comment or share your thoughts with me, I'm really excited to read what you think! Happy reading p.s, there is a a/n at the end :)

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You hadn’t counted the hours, nor the seconds after it happened. The pictures of blood and yelp were the only things ringing in your ears as a solemn sound taunting your worst nightmares, which became real.

Your face was dry from the salty tears dripping from your eyes

“It’s done.” Tommy said, tone somber as they look on his eyes.

Neither you or Joel spoke. He was still, 5 ft away from you, his arms red from the blood drying on his skin.

Sarah’s blood.

Your painful sob broke the stillness that was suffocating you three in a moment where words were not enough to describe the pain. The feeling of being ripped out by life itself.

You tried to stand up, walking towards the tree where Tommy had buried her, but your legs shivered, making you fall on your knees on the grass. Tommy wrapped your arms around you

Your painful sob broke the stillness that suffocated the three of you, in a moment where words were not enough to describe the pain. The feeling of being ripped apart by life itself.

You tried to stand up, walking towards the tree where Tommy had buried her, but your legs shivered, making you fall to your knees on the grass. Tommy wrapped his arms around you, trying to offer some semblance of comfort in a world that had suddenly become so cruel and unforgiving.

Joel remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind seemingly a million miles away. The weight of his grief was a palpable thing, a dark cloud that hung over him, suffocating and relentless.

As Tommy held you, you looked over at Joel, searching for some sign that he was still there, that he was still the man you had loved and married. But all you saw was a broken shell, a man consumed by his own despair.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We need to be strong. For Sarah. For each other.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze never leaving the ground. The silence stretched on, a heavy, oppressive thing that threatened to crush you both.

Tommy tightened his grip around you, his own grief evident in the lines of his face. “We’ll get through this,” he said softly, though his voice lacked conviction. “We have to.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure you believed him. The world had become a dark and terrifying place, and you didn’t know how to find the light again.

But as you looked at Joel, you knew that you couldn’t give up. You couldn’t let Sarah’s death be the end of everything. You had to find a way to keep going, to find a reason to keep fighting.

For her. For Joel. For yourself.

And so, as you knelt there in the grass, your heart heavy with grief, you made a silent vow. You would survive. You would find a way to live in this new, terrifying world.

Because you had to. Because there was no other choice.

Another night had enveloped the sky, the darkness a heavy blanket that seemed to press down on you from all sides. You had fallen asleep—or at least that’s what Joel and Tommy thought—as you lay curled up under a thin blanket near the dying embers of the campfire. The exhaustion from the day’s events had left you physically drained, but your mind remained restless, haunted by the images of Sarah and the relentless march of time.

The quiet murmur of Joel and Tommy’s conversation floated over to you, their voices low and filled with an unspoken tension. You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to intrude, but unable to help listening in.

“I just don’t know how to move on,” Joel’s voice was a strained whisper, thick with pain. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I hear her voice.”

Tommy’s response was equally quiet, a comforting murmur in the darkness. “We’ll get through this, Joel. It’s hard, I know, but we’ll find a way.”

Joel’s voice cracked as he spoke again, the words tearing at your heart. “I should have saved her, Tommy. I should have done something.”

“You did everything you could,” Tommy insisted, his voice firm. “There was nothing more you could have done.”

Joel’s reply was almost inaudible, a broken confession that sent a chill down your spine. “If she hadn’t been there...if I hadn’t had to worry about her...maybe I could have saved Sarah.”

He was talking about you.

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of Joel’s words hanging heavily in the air. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as you lay there, paralyzed by the enormity of what you had just heard.

Tommy’s voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it, a protective anger that surprised you. “You don’t mean that, Joel. You can’t blame her for what happened. It’s not fair.”

Joel’s sigh was a long, drawn-out sound, filled with resignation and regret. “I know it’s not fair. But I can’t help it, Tommy. I look at her, and all I see is what I lost. All I feel is this...anger. And I hate myself for it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. The pain of Joel’s words was a sharp, physical ache, a knife twisting in your gut. The man you loved, the man you had always relied on, felt you were a burden, a reason for his greatest loss.

Tommy’s voice softened, a gentle plea. “You need to talk to her, Joel. You both need each other now more than ever. Don’t let this tear you apart.”

There was a long pause, and then Joel spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can, Tommy. I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”

The tears finally escaped, silent trails down your cheeks as you lay there, feeling more alone than you ever had. The love you had once shared with Joel felt like a distant memory, a fragile thing that had shattered under the weight of your loss.

The next morning dawned bleak and gray, the sky a canvas of muted clouds. You woke early, the remnants of Joel and Tommy's conversation from the night before echoing in your mind. The pain and betrayal still stung, a constant reminder of how much had changed in such a short time. You quietly gathered your things, making sure not to wake them as you slipped away from the camp.

You needed time alone, a chance to clear your head and process the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you. The forest surrounding the camp was thick and dark, a labyrinth of trees and shadows that offered a temporary escape from the crushing reality of your grief.

Hours passed as you wandered aimlessly, the solitude a bitter comfort. You tried to make sense of Joel's words, to understand the depth of his pain and the burden of his guilt. But the hurt was too fresh, too raw, and all you could feel was the aching void where your heart used to be.

When you finally returned to the camp, Joel was waiting for you, his expression a storm of worry and anger. "Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. "You can't just walk off like that!"

You stared at him, your own emotions swirling beneath the surface. But the words wouldn't come. You felt too empty, too drained to respond. The memory of his confession hung between you like a dark cloud, a silent reminder of the chasm that had opened up between you.

Joel's anger faltered as he looked at you, his eyes searching yours for some sign of understanding. He stepped closer, his voice softening. "Please, don't do that again. I can't... I can't lose you too."

Still, you remained silent, the words caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him how much his words had hurt, how deeply they had cut you. But the pain was too great, the wound too fresh.

Seeing your silence, Joel's face crumpled, the anger giving way to a deep, abiding sorrow. He reached out, wrapping his arms around you in a desperate embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

You stood there, enveloped in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But the sadness was a heavy weight in your chest, a barrier that kept you from fully returning his embrace. The words he had spoken the night before replayed in your mind, a constant reminder of the distance that now lay between you.

For the sake of your marriage, for the fragile hope that someday things might be different, you decided to pretend. To bury the hurt and the anger deep inside, to put on a brave face and move forward as best you could.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Joel with tear-filled eyes. "Let's just... let's just try to get through this," you said softly, your voice trembling. "One day at a time."

Joel nodded, his expression a mix of relief and regret. "One day at a time," he echoed, his grip tightening around you as if afraid to let go.

Four months had gone by in mere seconds. The story you and Joel carefully built waltzed into flames, and you didn’t look back after that house was set on fire. You had made your point clear, and you kept an oath in your words. You avoided Joel and forced yourself to pretend he didn’t exist. He became just a stranger you once shared your bare soul and body with.

It was not easy. Not for you, not for him. Your feelings were far from being buried, but in the midst of chaos, you couldn’t allow yourself to die from his words. A man falling out of love with you wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to you.

During the time your garden dried of thirst, a new arrival to Jackson caught your attention. A man. Dr. Matt Carter was a soft-spoken, kind-hearted man with a gentle demeanor and a wealth of medical knowledge. His arrival brought fresh air to the whole community. With his skills and charm, you found yourself drawn to his quiet compassion for others, as if this reeked world hadn’t corrupted him into becoming just a gosht of what he once was.

And you found yourself looking for that.

You and Matt had spent time together, sharing stories, sharing time, and the scars that had wounded both of your hearts. He lost his family during the first days of the outbreak, and you had lost yours somehow. His presence brought warmth to your soul; there was a tentative connection born from respect and understanding, hitting you like a wave.

And as if you were falling for another man, Joel watched from afar; his expression remained unreadable every time he had a glimpse of you in town. The sight of you smiling, genuinely smiling after everything he had put you through, stirred something within him—a mix of longing and regret that he had taken you for granted.

He had taken you for granted. He realized that now was far too late. His actions and choices had driven a wedge between you, and now he was paying the price. You had moved on; you had found someone who could offer you the warmth and kindness he had failed to provide. And he was left with the ashes of a life he had burned down with his own hands.

Ellie had become distant, her eyes reflecting a hurt and disappointment that cut Joel to the core. She no longer sought his guidance or comfort, retreating into her world, leaving him more isolated than ever. And Sophie... Oh god, Joel couldn't even bear to stomach her. The guilt and shame were too overwhelming, a constant reminder of his betrayal, but as he followed the figment of his worst intentions inside his head, he ended up in the same bed with her almost every night.

Every night, the guilt clawed at him as he sought solace in Sophie's arms, trying to escape the suffocating regret that consumed him. He hated himself for it, for betraying you even further, but he was trapped in a cycle of self-destruction that he couldn't seem to break free from.

One night, after another argument with Ellie that ended with her storming off, Joel found himself once again in Sophie's bed. The familiarity of her touch did nothing to ease the ache in his heart. Instead, it only deepened the chasm of regret and self-loathing that threatened to swallow him whole.

As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his choices pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep hurting you, hurting himself, and destroying everything that had once been good in his life.

He slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Sophie, and dressed quickly. He needed to clear his head to find some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of his emotions. He wandered the dark streets of Jackson, the cold night air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it.

His thoughts were a tangled mess of regret and longing, and he found himself standing outside your house, the warm glow of the lights inside casting a soft halo around the doorway. He could see you through the window, laughing with Matt, and the sight of your happiness was like a knife to his heart.

He turned away, unable to bear it, and walked aimlessly until he found himself at the edge of the community, where the world beyond Jackson's walls loomed dark and foreboding. He sat down on a bench, his head in his hands, and let the tears fall.

"Hey."

Joel looked up to see Tommy approaching, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern. "What are you doing out here, Joel?" Tommy asked, sitting down beside him.

Joel shook his head, unable to find the words to explain the turmoil inside him. "I can't keep doing this, Tommy," he finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "I can't keep hurting everyone."

Tommy placed a hand on Joel's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "You gotta find a way to make things right, Joel. For yourself and for them."

Joel nodded, but the path to redemption felt impossible to navigate. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted.

"Start by being honest," Tommy said gently. "With yourself and with them. It's the only way you're going to find any kind of peace."

Joel sighed, knowing Tommy was right, but the thought of facing you, of admitting everything, filled him with a deep sense of dread. Still, he knew he couldn't keep running from his mistakes. He had to face them head-on, no matter how painful it might be.

The morning air was crisp and cool as Joel and Tommy walked toward the communal dining hall. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden glow over the town of Jackson. Joel's mind was heavy with the conversation from the night before, but he knew Tommy was right. He had to start making things right, even if it felt impossible.

As they entered the dining hall, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a cooked breakfast greeted them. The room was filled with the chatter of early risers, everyone eager to start their day. Joel's eyes scanned the room, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw you.

You were standing by the serving area, helping with the morning tasks. Your smile was warm as you handed a plate to one of the residents, your laughter ringing out softly. It was a sound Joel hadn't heard in a long time, and it struck him with a bittersweet pang of nostalgia.

Tommy nudged Joel gently. "She's been helping out in the mornings," he explained quietly. "Trying to stay busy, I think."

Joel nodded, his gaze fixed on you. He hadn't seen you like this in months—so alive and vibrant—and it filled him with a mix of longing and regret. He wanted to go over to you to talk, but the weight of his mistakes held him back.

"Come on," Tommy said, leading him to an empty table. They sat down, and Tommy grabbed two mugs of coffee from a passing tray, handing one to Joel. "You should talk to her," he urged, his voice low and earnest. "It's not going to get any easier."

Joel watched as you handed out another plate, your smile lighting up the room. Just as he mustered the courage to stand up and walk over to you, Matt appeared at your side. The doctor wrapped his arm around you and kissed your temple, a gesture so intimate and familiar that it made Joel's heart ache.

He froze, his intentions crumbling. The warmth and ease between you and Matt were unmistakable, a stark contrast to the cold distance that had grown between you and Joel. Tommy, noticing the change in Joel's demeanor, followed his gaze and sighed.

Joel didn’t know, but your heart felt heavy at the sight of him, weighed down by a complicated mix of emotions. Seeing him standing there, so vulnerable and sincere, had stirred something inside you that you had tried to bury for months.

You tried to focus back on Matt, his kind eyes filled with spark. "Is everything okay?" he asked softly, his hand gently touching your arm.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah.”

Matt gave you a reassuring smile. "Take your time," he said. "I'm here if you need to talk."

You appreciated his support, but your thoughts were consumed by Joel. Despite everything that had happened, the sight of him standing there, so lost and full of regret, tugged at your heartstrings. You remembered the man he used to be man you had fallen in love with.

As you tried to focus on the tasks at hand, your gaze kept drifting back to Joel. He was sitting with Tommy, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. The sight of him like that broke your heart all over again. You could see the pain etched into his features, the remorse and longing that mirrored your own feelings.

The memories of your life together flooded back—moments of joy, field dreams, and quiet nights. It was hard to reconcile those memories with the man who had hurt you so deeply. Yet, despite everything, a part of you still cared for him and still wanted to believe that there was a chance for redemption.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Four more months passed; that meant you and Joel hadn’t spoken to each other in eight months, and that was everything you could think about. The silence between you had become a constant, oppressive presence in your life. Despite your best efforts to move on, Joel's absence was a gaping wound that refused to heal. During this time, your relationship with Matt has grown closer. He had become a steady presence in your life, offering you kindness and understanding in a world that often felt devoid of both.

So, as these months went by, doubts began to creep into your mind. Every time you were with Matt, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The shadow of your past with Joel loomed large, casting a pall over your attempts to forge a new chance.

Winter was fast approaching, and Jackson was bustling with preparations for the colder months. That night, the town had organized a party. The community gathered in the large hall, the warmth of the fire and the sound of music creating a temporary respite from the harsh reality outside.

You were with Matt, trying to enjoy the festivities, but the weight of your unresolved feelings made it difficult to fully immerse yourself in the celebration. You found yourself glancing around, half-expecting to see Joel in the crowd, even though you knew it was unlikely.

Matt noticed your distraction and leaned in closer, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but tinged with worry.

You forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, I'm just thinking about everything that's happened."

Matt's expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand. "I know it's been tough, but we're here now. Together."

"I appreciate you spending time with me," Matt said, his eyes warm and sincere. "It's been easy adjusting to everything here, but your company has made it even easier."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad we met, Matt. You've been a great help to all of us, and it's nice to have someone to talk to."

You squeezed his hand, appreciating his support, but the doubt still lingered. As the night wore on, you tried to push your feelings aside and focus on the present, but it was a losing battle.

Later in the evening, you and Matt found a quieter corner of the hall. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he began, his voice serious.

You nodded, bracing yourself for the conversation you knew was coming.

"I care about you a lot," Matt continued, "and I want to take this relationship to the next level. But I need to know if you're truly ready for that."

Your heart clenched at his words. You wanted to be ready to move forward and leave the past behind, but doubt gnawed at you. "Matt, I don't know if I can," you admitted, your voice trembling. "There's so much I haven't dealt with, and I don't want to hurt you."

Matt's expression hardened, and he pulled his hand away. "I can't keep waiting forever," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I've been patient, but it feels like you're still holding onto something—or someone."

The truth of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had been holding onto Joel, to the memories and the pain. You couldn't deny it any longer. "I'm sorry," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't ignore my feelings."

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I understand, but I can't keep doing this. I need someone who is all in, not someone who's still tied to their past, nor someone who wants to sleep with me."

Before you could respond, he stood up and walked away, leaving you alone in the corner of the hall. The weight of your unresolved feelings and the consequences of your indecision pressed down on you, and you felt more lost than ever.

You stood up, needing some fresh air, and walked out of the hall. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself and took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts.

The night was clear, the stars twinkling above you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the full weight of your emotions. You knew you couldn't keep running from the past, but facing it felt like an insurmountable task.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder where Joel was and if he was struggling with the same unresolved feelings that haunted you.

Because you thought he deserved it.

The dim light from the streetlamp outside your window casts long shadows across the room, its faint glow barely illuminating the small apartment. You had fallen into a restless sleep, your dreams plagued by memories of the past and fears of the future. The mattress beneath you was thin and uncomfortable, and the scratchy blanket offered little warmth against the cold reality of the world outside.

The sensation of an arm wrapping around your waist jolted you awake. Your heart raced, and for a moment, you were disoriented, caught between the remnants of a dream and the harshness of reality. You tensed, ready to defend yourself if necessary, but then you recognized the familiar touch and the scent that belonged to Joel.

"It's just me," he whispered, his voice rough and weary. The tension in your body eased slightly, but the unease remained.

"Where were you?" You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, the worry evident in your tone. "It's past 2 AM."

Joel sighed, his breath warm against the back of his neck. "Out scavenging," he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We needed more supplies, and I couldn't sleep."

You turned to face him, your eyes searching for his in the dim light. The lines of worry and fatigue etched into his face were more pronounced, a testament to the weight he carried on his shoulders. "You can't keep doing this, Joel," you said softly, your hand resting on his cheek. "You need to rest too."

"I know," he admitted, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. "I just... I can't stop thinking about everything. About Sarah, about you, about how we're going to survive."

Your heart ached at his words. The pain of loss and the burden of survival were constant companions in your lives. "We'll get through this," you said, your voice filled with a determination that belied your own fears. "Together."

Joel's eyes opened, and he looked at you with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "I don't deserve you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "But I'm so damn grateful you're here."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "We're in this together," you repeated, your voice firm. "No matter what."

You had never told him you had heard the words.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate intensity, as if he feared losing you too. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest; the shared rhythm was a reminder that, despite everything, you were still alive and still fighting.

As you lay there in the darkness, holding each other close, the world outside the tiny apartment seemed to fade away.

You stood there, staring up at the night sky, lost in your thoughts. The cold air nipped at your skin, but you welcomed the sharpness. It kept you grounded and reminded you that you were still here, still feeling, even if every emotion seemed to tear at you from the inside.

A voice broke through your reverie, soft but unmistakable. "It's a clear night, right?"

Startled, you turned to see Joel standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets. The lines on his face seemed deeper in the moonlight, and his eyes held a mixture of emotions that mirrored your own.

After eight months, you were there face-to-face.

"Joel," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. "I needed some air. I saw you out here. I thought maybe you could use some company."

You looked back up at the sky, trying to steady your breathing. "I'm not sure I can handle this conversation right now."

Joel took a step closer, his presence both comforting and suffocating at the same time. "I don't want to push you," he said softly. "I just felt like you might need someone to talk to."

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet night. "Talk? What is there to say, Joel? Everything's so messed up."

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I know. I never wanted things to end up like this. I messed up more than I can ever make right."

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears again. “You ruin everything.”

No more words came out of his mouth, and you closed your eyes, hoping he would leave you alone.

"How long?" Joel asked finally, his voice breaking the silence. "How long have you been with the doctor?”

You looked at him, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart ache. "We're just friends, Joel. He helps me cope with everything. But it's not what you think."

Joel's shoulders slumped, relief mingling with the guilt in his eyes. "I don't know what I think anymore," he admitted. "I just know that I can't keep pretending like this doesn't hurt. Seeing you with him reminds me of what I lost. What I threw away."

+++

The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the small window. You and Joel had finally found a place to rest in Jackson, a sanctuary after months of navigating through the states with Ellie. It felt surreal to be in a bed again, to have a roof over your heads and a semblance of normalcy.

You lay beside Joel, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The warmth of his body next to yours was a comfort you had almost forgotten. As you turned to face him, you saw his eyes were open, gazing at you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

"I can't believe we're here," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the night.

Joel reached out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Me neither," he replied softly. "Feels like a dream."

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "A good dream."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know it's been hard," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everything we've been through... but we're here now. And I want you to know that I love you. Always have, always will."

The words took your breath away. It had been so long since you had heard them, since you had felt the certainty of his love. Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out, cupping his face in your hands.

"I love you too, Joel," you whispered, your voice breaking. "More than anything."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. You buried your face in his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside might have been falling apart, but in that moment, you had each other, and that was enough.

Joel’s words cut through the night air like a blade. “Sophie is pregnant.”

You felt your breath catch, the weight of his revelation sinking in. Anger, hurt, and confusion are all mixed together in a tumultuous storm inside you. “What do you want me to do? To kill him?” you retorted, your voice sharp with sarcasm and pain.

Joel shook his head, his expression somber. “It isn’t mine.”

“Good,” you snapped. “I can't say what kind of mother Sophie will be, but that child doesn't deserve a father like you.”

Joel flinched at your words, the sting of them evident in his eyes.

“How do you know it’s not yours?” you asked.

“Because she is two months old,” Joel said, his voice steady but filled with a weary resignation. “And do you think I would have the strength to be with her after what happened?”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. The weight of the past, the betrayal, and the lingering feelings between you made it hard to breathe. “It’s not like you care about someone’s feelings,” you spat, your voice trembling with emotion.

“Come on,” Joel pleaded, his eyes filled with desperate earnestness. “You should stop being this unfair.”

“Unfair?” You echoed, your voice rising. “You think I’m being unfair? After everything you’ve done?”

Joel took a step closer, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you. But I never wanted things to turn out like this. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Then why?” you demanded, tears streaming down your face. “Why did you do it? Why did you throw everything away?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret etched into his features. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I was lost. I was hurting. And I made a terrible mistake. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

He never stopped loving you; he said those words.

You shook your head, and the pain in your chest was almost unbearable. “Loving me wasn’t enough, Joel. It wasn’t enough to keep you from hurting me. And now... now I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words crushing him. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. To earn your trust back. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You looked at him, the man you had once loved with all your heart, and felt a flicker of the old connection between you. The weight of unspoken words and lingering pain hung in the air between you, and you took a deep breath, needing to finally voice what had been haunting you for so long.

"After Sarah died..." you began, your voice trembling. "I know you spent weeks wishing it would have been me instead of her. Don’t try to deny it. I heard you the night after. You and Tommy were talking, and he was telling you not to push me away, and you said, "

"She was our daughter," Joel interrupted, his eyes glistening with tears as he realized how horrible he had been to you. "You know what it felt like to lose her."

"I know," you replied, your voice soft but steady. "It would make you feel better to know I did it too, but that's the difference between us. I would never wish that because you mean everything to me, and without Sarah, I needed you to keep going."

Joel's expression crumbled, the weight of your words breaking through the walls he had built around his heart. He took a step closer, his hands trembling as he reached out to you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I was so lost in my grief that I couldn't see how much you were hurting too. I pushed you away when I should have held you closer."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability and regret there. It was a glimpse of the man you had once loved—the man you had hoped he could be again.

"I needed you, Joel," you said, your voice breaking. "I needed you to be there for me, but you shut me out. And then... then you betrayed me in the worst possible way."

Joel nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I know. And I can't change what I've done. But I want to make things right, if you'll let me. I want to be the man you deserve—the man who can be there for you like I should have been. All over man”

You closed your eyes, the weight of his words settling over you.

Joel's gaze softened, his eyes searching yours with a mix of sorrow and understanding. "I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Scared of reopening old wounds, scared of facing my own guilt and grief, I thought if I buried it deep enough, it would eventually fade away. But I was wrong."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, the pain of years of unspoken grief rising to the surface. "I was scared too," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared of losing you, scared of facing the reality of what we had lost together."

As Joel's words hung heavy in the air, you felt a surge of anger and betrayal rising within you. "You're going to talk about her now?" You spat, your voice tinged with bitterness. "You never mentioned her because you felt it was better to pretend, she didn't exist?"

Joel recoiled at the accusation, his eyes filled with pain. "You don't get to tell me how I should feel," he protested, his voice shaking with emotion. "I loved her too, you know. Losing her was... it was the hardest thing I've ever been through. Because when I saved you, she died,"

"So, letting my baby die was your revenge?"

"It was my baby too," Joel insisted, his voice pleading. "I would have given anything to save him; you know that."

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. "You're..." you started, unable to find the words to express the depth of your pain and anger. "I fucking despise you, Joel," you finally spat, the words heavy with the weight of your broken heart. "Fuck you, fuck Sophie, fuck everything that..."

But before you could finish, Joel's voice cut through the chaos, soft and filled with longing. "I miss you," he whispered, his words echoing in the space between you.

"You have to," you replied bitterly, your heart aching with the rawness of your emotions. "When did you stop loving me?"

"I love you," Joel said, his voice filled with sincerity.

You sighed, the weight of his words crashing over you like a tidal wave. "When did you fall out of love with me?" you asked quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"I never did," Joel confessed, his eyes locking with yours. "You're the love of my life. I would marry you in all the universes."

"But?" you pressed, your heart clenching with the fear of his answer.

"But every time I look at you, I see my baby girl in your eyes,” Joel faltered, his voice trailing off.

"You could have told me,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I don't forgive you, Joel. I loved the old you, I was in love with that man. I had a beautiful girl with him, and they both died that night."

"Stop talking like I don't exist anymore," Joel pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion.

"You don't," you replied, your voice hollow with grief. "The Joel Miller I loved would never do what you did."

As the truth of your words settled over you both, you felt the weight of your shared grief and regret pressing down on your shoulders. But somewhere deep inside, you knew that the man you had loved still lived, intertwined with the veins of your soul, forever a part of you.

You walked away from him.

As the days passed by, the encounter with Joel lingered in your mind, stirring emotions you had tried to bury. The pain, anger, and lingering love for the man he once was weighed heavily on you, despite your attempts to move forward. You found yourself distracted, your thoughts often drifting back to that night and the raw honesty of his words.

Joel, too, was affected by the confrontation. He became more withdrawn, his guilt and regret casting a shadow over his every action. You could see the torment in his eyes whenever your paths crossed in Jackson, a silent acknowledgment of the wounds that had yet to heal.

One cold winter morning, you were busy with your usual tasks, trying to keep your mind occupied. The biting wind swept through the town, and you pulled your coat tighter around you as you made your way through the streets. As you approached the central square, you noticed a commotion near the gates.

Ellie had arrived, her face flushed with anger. She stormed through the gates, her eyes blazing with fury. Concerned, you approached her, hoping to understand what had happened.

"Ellie, what's wrong?" you asked gently, trying to catch her attention.

She glared at you; her anger palpable. "Fuck you," she snapped, her voice filled with a bitterness that cut through you.

Taken aback by her hostility, you stepped back, watching as she continued her march towards the center of Jackson. You followed her with your eyes, your concern growing. It was then that you saw Joel arriving from the opposite direction, his expression tense and troubled.

Joel's eyes found yours across the space, and in that moment, you realized that something she had found out the truth. The weight of his gaze and the anger in Ellie's demeanor pointed to a revelation that had shaken them both to the core.

The air felt fresh against the skin of your face, but for a reason you couldn’t kept going, you paralyzed as you saw Ellie’s back from behind as she kept making her way towards Jackson in complete silence.

You and Joel had sworn everything he had said was true. You had made a choice for her and th guilt began to creep within you.

Joel noticed your distress, and walk backwards until he was in front of you “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know if I can’t keep this secret” you told him.

Joel sighed, his shoulders slumping as he looked into your eyes. "I need you to be strong," he said softly. "For her. For us. We'll protect her from this, together. We can't ever tell her the truth," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "She can't know what really happened with the Fireflies."

You stood beside him, the enormity of his words settling over you. "I know," you replied, your voice heavy with resignation. "But it's going to be hard to keep it from her, Joel. She deserves to know the truth."

Joel turned to face you; his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Please," he said, his voice breaking. "I need you to promise me. For her sake. For all our sakes."

You met his gaze, seeing the anguish and fear in his eyes. You understood the stakes, the delicate balance that needed to be maintained to protect Ellie. With a heavy heart, you nodded.

"I promise," you said softly. "We'll keep the secret."

Joel exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you," he murmured. "I know it's not fair to ask this of you, but I couldn't bear to lose her. Not after everything."

You reached out and placed a hand on his arm, offering what comfort you could. "We'll protect her, Joel. Together."

Joel's expression softened. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

Ellie’s words stung, but your concern for her outweighed the hurt. Determined to understand what had set her off, you followed her through the bustling streets of Jackson. The winter air was crisp, and your breath was visible as you quickened your pace to keep up with her.

“Ellie, please,” you called after her, but she didn’t slow down. Her steps were fueled by anger and pain, and you knew something significant must have happened.

She finally stopped near the edge of the settlement, in a secluded spot away from prying eyes. You approached her cautiously, giving her space but making it clear you weren’t going anywhere.

“What happened?” You asked, your voice gentle but firm.

Ellie spun around to face you, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and betrayal. “You and Joel think you can just lie to me? About everything?”

Your heart sank. The truth had come out. “Ellie, I—”

“Don’t,” she cut you off, her voice trembling. “Don’t try to explain it away. I know what happened. I know what he did and what you both did.”

The weight of her accusation hung in the air, and you felt the full force of your guilt crashing down on you. “We were trying to protect you,” you said quietly. “We thought it was the only way.”

Ellie’s eyes filled with tears, but her anger didn’t waver. “You had no right to make that choice for me,” she spat. “I deserved to know the truth. I deserved to make my own decisions.”

You took a step closer, your own eyes misting with tears. “I’m sorry, Ellie. We thought we were doing the right thing. We thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”

Ellie shook her head, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You know, you both deserve each other,” she said, her voice breaking. “That baby you lost didn’t deserve a liar mother.”

Ellie’s words cut deeper than any blade. You felt your breath catch in your throat, the pain of her accusation mingling with the agony of your loss. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you struggled to find the words to respond.

“Ellie, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t say that.”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps behind you. Joel had followed, his face etched with worry and regret. “Ellie,” he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Save it, Joel,” she said, her voice cold. “I don’t want to hear any more lies.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, his eyes pleading as he looked at her. “Ellie, please. We did what we thought was best. We were trying to protect you.”

Ellie’s anger flared again, and she took a step back, as if physically recoiling from his words. ��Protect me? By lying to me? By taking away my choice.”

Joel’s expression crumbled, and he glanced at you, his eyes filled with desperation. “We were wrong,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “We were wrong to keep the truth from you. But we did it out of love. Out of fear of losing you.”

Ellie’s gaze flickered between you and Joel, her emotions a storm of betrayal and hurt. “I need time,” she said finally, her voice cracking. “I need to think.”

You couldn’t bear to look at Joel. The guilt and regret in his eyes were too much to bear. You took a step back, then another, putting distance between you and the man who had once been your anchor. The man who had become a stranger through a web of lies and broken promises.

“Wait!” Joel called out, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t go.”

But you couldn’t stay. Not now. Not with everything crashing down around you. You turned away, your heart heavy with grief and sorrow, and walked away from Joel, leaving him standing alone in the snow.

As you made your way through the town, the cold wind stinging your cheeks, you couldn’t help but replay the events in your mind. The pain in Ellie’s eyes, the desperation in Joel’s voice, and the unbearable weight of your own guilt. You had thought you were protecting her, but in doing so, you had shattered the trust that had once held you all together.

The night was cold, a sharp wind slicing through the darkness as the three of you huddled around the crackling fire. The journey to the hospital had been long and arduous, each day blurring into the next as you traversed through abandoned towns and treacherous terrain. But tonight, there was a strange sense of peace among you.

You rested your head on Joel's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours, a welcome contrast to the biting cold. Ellie sat across from you, poking at the fire with a stick, her face illuminated by the dancing flames.

"Ugh, you two are disgusting," Ellie joked, a playful smirk on her lips as she watched the two of you. "Get a room, seriously."

You chuckled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. Joel's arm tightened around you, a subtle yet comforting gesture. "Jealous much?" you teased back, meeting Ellie's eyes with a grin.

"Yeah, right," Ellie snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "As if I'd want to cuddle up to Joel."

"Hey now," Joel interjected, his voice carrying a mock tone of hurt. "I'm plenty cuddly."

Ellie laughed, the sound infectious and genuine, filling the night with a rare sense of normalcy. It was moments like these that made the hardships of your journey bearable, the little pockets of happiness that you all clung to.

As the laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled over the three of you. You closed your eyes, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of Joel's chest beneath your head, the steady beat of his heart a soothing lullaby.

"We're becoming a little family, aren't we?" you mused on Joel’s chest just for him to listen.

"Joel."

He turned back at the sound of your voice, the familiar timbre soothing his demons as only you could tame them. How could he have messed up all he had with you?

You hadn't wanted to talk to him in so long that he felt he could cry just from hearing his name slip from your lips.

"Hey," he stuttered.

"I-" you started, struggling to find the words to begin a conversation with the man you had once shared your bare soul and body with. Carefully, you stepped onto the porch of the house you had once shared, your legs trembling. "I....- knew... well. Ellie found out the truth," you said, standing next to him, barely touching his shoulder with yours.

"She hates me," Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"She doesn't," you declared firmly. "She's mad at me too, but she doesn't really hate you or me."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," he said, his voice tinged with hurt.

"I don't," you declared, your tone steady. "I don't feel anything for you, but I won't blame you for what you did."

Joel's shoulders slumped, and he turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the connection you once shared. "I don't know how to make things right," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You can’t.” You declared, “At least, not for now. You need to let her alone for a while.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of resignation and longing. "I know," he said softly. "I just... I want to fix things, but I don't know where to start."

You met his gaze, seeing the turmoil in his eyes mirrored in your own. "Sometimes, the best thing we can do is give each other space," you said, your voice gentle yet firm. "Let Ellie process everything in her own time. And in the meantime, we need to figure out how to move forward."

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't even know if she'll ever forgive me," he admitted, his voice heavy with doubt.

"You can't control how she feels," you reminded him, your words laced with empathy. "All you can do is show her that you're truly sorry and that you're willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Joel's gaze softened, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly, the weight of his words carrying the weight of his remorse. "For not giving up on me."

You gave him a small, sad smile.

Joel swore he could die just to repair what he had done to you, just for having you this close to him. If one thing had been different, what would it be like now?

The innocence of a first kiss doesn't compare to the stolen glances between two people who once knew everything about each other. And when you said so, you meant him.

He knew you; he drew a constellation in your arms, but he didn't allow you to catch a glimpse of himself in you.

You were a thing—a disposable one.

But he was everything, caring while being careless.

He was human; he loved you, but he was a man.

One who didn't know how to love after humanity had taken everything from him.

"Ellie." You said, looking at her sitting outside your house.

"Why the hell were you talking to him?" she asked, bitterness on her tongue.

"Because I knew you talked" you replied

"Yes, but I don't want you to talk to him"

"I was just checking on him" you defended yourself from her accusations.

"Why? Why do you care about him?

"Ellie-“

"No! He makes you cry every time he is near you, I don't want that.'

"I was part of the lie too and I'm sorry but if you would be here now, I wouldn’t be alive

"I don't hate you. I'm sad you did it, but you didn't make that choice for me. Joel did, he is the one to blame.

"Don't even defend him," Ellie snapped, her frustration boiling over. "I swear, I'll get mad at you for that."

You fell silent, the weight of Ellie's words settling over you like a heavy shroud. In that moment, you realized just how much pain and anger Joel's actions had caused, not just for Ellie, but for you too. And as you looked at her sitting outside your house, you knew that navigating this tangled web of emotions was going to be harder than you ever imagined.

As winter settled over Jackson, the town transformed into a snow-covered wonderland, blanketed in pristine white. The days grew shorter, the air colder, and the residents bundled up in layers of warm clothing as they went about their daily routines.

In the weeks that followed Ellie's revelation, tensions remained high among the residents. The fallout from the truth about the Fireflies cast a long shadow over the community, leaving everyone grappling with their own feelings of guilt and betrayal.

For you, the days passed in a blur of routine tasks and quiet contemplation. You found solace in the routine of daily life, throwing yourself into your work and trying to push aside the weight of your own guilt and regret.

As New Year's Eve approached, the town began to buzz with anticipation. Despite the somber mood that hung over Jackson, there was still a sense of hope and renewal in the air. The residents came together to celebrate the passing of another year, eager to leave the pain and heartache of the past behind them.

The streets were decorated with twinkling lights and festive decorations, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air.

The New Year's party was in full swing, with laughter and music filling the air. The community of Jackson was determined to celebrate and to find moments of joy despite the darkness that surrounded them. You were there, mingling and trying to put on a brave face, when suddenly you heard Ellie's voice rise above the din.

The room fell silent after that, all eyes turning towards the confrontation. Joel stood there, looking wounded and weary, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Ellie's words. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

You felt a pang of sympathy for Joel, despite everything that had happened between you. After a moment's hesitation, you followed him outside, needing to see if he was okay.

You found him on the porch of what was once the house you both shared, sitting on the steps with his guitar in his lap. His fingers plucked at the strings absently, creating a soft, melancholic tune. He looked up, startled, as you approached, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion.

"I didn't expect to come out here," you admitted, taking a seat beside him. "But I heard what happened inside. Are you okay?"

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his fingers stilling on the guitar strings. "Just another fight with Ellie," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "It seems like all we do lately is fight."

You nodded, understanding all too well the strain that grief and guilt could place on relationships. "It's hard," you said softly. "On all of us."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Any of you."

"I know," you said, your voice just as quiet. "But that doesn't change what happened."

Joel nodded; his expression hurt. "I don't know how to fix this," he admitted. "I don't know how to make things right."

For a moment, neither of you spoke; the only sound was the soft strumming of Joel's guitar. The tension between you was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the love and pain that still lingered between you.

"Maybe some things can't be fixed," you said finally, your voice trembling. "Maybe we just have to find a way to live with the pieces."

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with deep, abiding sorrow. "I'm willing to try," he said softly. "If you'll let me."

"I never thought I would see you with a guitar again," you said, ignoring his words and the way your heart constricted against your ribs at the reminiscence of the man you loved, back when Joel was full of life and hope.

Joel glanced down at the guitar in his lap, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I guess some habits die hard," he murmured, his fingers resuming their gentle strumming. The soft melody hung in the air, a haunting reminder of a time when things were simpler, when love and music filled your lives instead of pain and regret.

You watched him for a moment, the familiar chords stirring memories that you had tried so hard to bury. "Do you remember the first song you played for me?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel nodded, his eyes distant as he recalled the memory. "Of course I do. 'Can't Help Falling in Love.' You said it was your favorite."

"It still is," you admitted, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Even now."

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound being the soft strumming of Joel's guitar. The tension between you eased slightly, replaced by a shared sense of nostalgia and longing.

Joel finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I miss those days," he said quietly.

"So do I," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "But we can't go back, Joel. We can only move forward."

"I know," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "But I wish I could make things right between us."

You looked away, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your mind. "Some things can't be fixed, Joel," you said softly. "Some wounds are too deep."

Joel's fingers stilled on the guitar strings, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "For everything."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "I know you are," you said finally. "But sorry isn't enough to change what happened. It isn't enough to heal the hurt."

"I know," he said again, his voice filled with sorrow.

You smiled softly, a memory from the past momentarily lifting the weight on your heart. "Do you remember when I told you I was pregnant with Sarah back then?"

Joel's eyes softened, and he returned your smile, the sadness in his gaze briefly replaced by warmth. "How could I forget? You were glowing. It was the happiest I'd ever seen you."

You chuckled at the bittersweet sound. "You were so stunned, you just sat there for a minute, speechless. I thought you were upset."

Joel shook his head, his fingers stilling on the guitar strings. "I wasn't upset. I was overwhelmed. It was like everything I'd ever wanted was finally coming true."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the shared memory bridging the chasm that had grown between you. The night air was cool, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves nearby.

"I miss those days too," you admitted softly. "When life was simple, and our biggest worries were about making ends meet, not surviving day to day,"

Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful. "We can't go back to those days, but maybe... maybe we can find a way to move forward."

You looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes touching a chord within you. "It's going to take time, Joel. And a lot of effort."

"I know," he replied, his voice steady. "But I'm willing to try. For us, and for Ellie."

The mention of Ellie brought a fresh wave of emotion. "She's been through so much," you said, your voice thick with concern. "We need to be strong for her."

Joel's fingers resumed their gentle strumming, the soft melody filling the night air once more. "We will be.”

Your heart began to beat faster—a heavy, suffocating rhythm that filled your chest. For a moment, it felt as if the man you once knew, the man you had loved with all your heart, was sitting right there beside you. In that instant, there was no cheating, no dead baby, and no outbreak. Just you and Joel, the way it used to be.

He looked at you with those soft brown eyes of his, eyes that once held nothing but love and hope. The same eyes that had crinkled at the corners when he smiled had looked at you with such adoration and warmth.

Joel's fingers, calloused yet gentle, reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was so light and tender that you almost didn't feel it. But the gesture—the simple, familiar intimacy of it—made your breath catch in your throat.

"Do you ever think about what could have been?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment.

Joel's eyes held yours, and for a moment, you saw the depth of his sorrow and regret. "Every day," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I think about it every day."

The weight of his words settled over you, mingling with your own grief and longing. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap that had grown between you, but the wounds were still too raw, too fresh.

"I'm sorry for everything," he continued, his voice breaking. "For all the pain I've caused you."

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. "Stop saying that," you whispered. "I know you are."

For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the past had dissolved, leaving only the two of you, bound by the love you had once shared. The guitar's soft melody wrapped around you, a bittersweet echo of the happiness you had known.

But reality, harsh and unrelenting, lingered at the edges of your consciousness, reminding you of the chasm that still separated you. The pain, the betrayal, the loss—they were all still there, lurking in the shadows.

Joel's hand lingered on your cheek, his touch a gentle reminder of what you had once had, and what you had lost. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, even as your heart ached with the knowledge that it could never truly be the same.

Joel leaned in; his intentions clear in the way his eyes searched yours. But as his lips neared yours, you instinctively moved your head, redirecting his kiss to your cheek. His lips lingered there for a few seconds, warm and soft against your skin, a hesitant caress that spoke of longing and regret.

The unexpected intimacy of the moment sent a shiver down your spine, and for those few lingering seconds, you let yourself feel the connection, the love that still lingered between you despite everything that had happened.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

You looked at him, your own emotions a tangled mess. "I don't want to lose you either," you admitted, your voice trembling.

"Hey," Ellie said, her voice breaking the fragile silence. "Am I interrupting something?"

Joel pulled back slightly, his expression shifting from the raw vulnerability he'd shown to a more guarded demeanor. "No, Ellie," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "We were just talking."

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Talking, huh? It looked like more than just talking."

You stood up, brushing away the remnants of tears from your cheeks. "It's okay, Ellie," you said, trying to sound reassuring. "We were just... sorting things out."

Ellie crossed her arms, her gaze still flicking between the two of you. "Well, whatever. I just came out to get some fresh air. That party is too loud."

Joel gave her a small, understanding nod. "Yeah, I get that," he said. "Sometimes you need a break from all the noise."

Ellie looked at you, her expression softening slightly. "Are you okay?" she asked, her concern evident.

You managed a small smile, though it felt strained. "I'm getting there," you replied. "One step at a time."

Ellie nodded, seeming to accept your answer. “Can I talk to Joel?” she asked, looking for an answer

As you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. The tension between Ellie and Joel was palpable, and you couldn't help but worry about what their conversation might entail.

The knock on your door startled you awake, pulling you from the restless sleep that had plagued you for hours. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stumbled to the door, heart pounding with uncertainty.

When you opened it, Joel stood on the other side, his expression hesitant yet hopeful. His presence filled the doorway, casting a shadow over the threshold.

"Joel," you said, your voice a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

"Hey," he murmured, his gaze searching yours. "I... I couldn't sleep. Can we talk?"

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face him again after everything that had happened. But the sincerity in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings, and you found yourself nodding, stepping aside to let him in.

Joel's words trailed off as he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, stirring emotions you had tried to bury deep within.

Before you could protest or pull away, his lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a kiss filled with longing and regret, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

For a moment, you were lost in the sensation of his lips against yours, the familiarity of his touch washing over you like a wave. Memories of happier times flooded your mind, threatening to overwhelm you with their intensity.

But as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended, leaving you breathless and confused. You pulled away, staring at Joel in shock, searching for answers in the depths of his eyes.

"Joel, what are you doing?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of emotions.

Joel's expression was pained as he stepped back, his hand falling away from your face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what came over me."

You shook your head, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "We can't do this, Joel," you said firmly, though your heart ached at the words.

"I know," he replied, his voice heavy with regret. "I just... I needed to see you. To talk to you. To try to make things right."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It's too late for that," you said softly, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air between you.

Joel nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. I just had this feeling and I couldn’t sleep." Joel met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and resignation. "I just don't know if I can do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched at his words, the raw vulnerability in his voice stirring something deep within you. But you knew that giving in to him now would only lead to more heartache in the long run.

"I need space, Joel," you said, your voice firm but gentle. “Go to sleep, please”

Joel nodded, his shoulders slumping further in defeat. “Have a good night, and happy new year” he said, smiling.

“Happy new year.”

As the next day progressed,

you went about your tasks, trying to focus on the bustling activity in Jackson. The town seemed livelier than usual, with people coming and going, laughter filling the air. But something felt off, a nagging sense of unease that lingered at the edges of your consciousness.

Hours passed, and you realized you hadn't seen Joel, Tommy, or Ellie all day. At first, you brushed it off, thinking they might be busy with their own tasks or simply taking some time for themselves. But as the day wore on and the sun began to dip below the horizon, that nagging feeling grew stronger.

You tried to push aside your growing unease, focusing on your tasks with renewed determination. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

Finally, unable to ignore your instincts any longer, you set out to find out what had happened to Joel, Tommy, and Ellie. You searched the town, asking anyone you came across if they had seen them, but no one had any answers.

As the evening wore on and darkness descended upon Jackson, your anxiety reached a fever pitch. The streets grew quiet, the bustling activity of earlier replaced by an eerie stillness. And still, there was no sign of Joel, Tommy, or Ellie.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you realized that something had gone terribly wrong.

As you approached Ellie, Dina, Tommy, and the rest of the group, the gravity of the situation became painfully clear. Ellie was hurt, her face twisted with grief and anguish, while Dina followed closely behind, offering what comfort she could. Tommy and the others looked devastated, but it was Tommy's expression that caught your attention. When his eyes met yours, he broke down, the weight of his grief too much to bear.

"Ellie? What's wrong?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He's..." Ellie began, her voice choked with emotion.

"Tommy?" you turned to him, hoping for some clarity.

"Joel died," Tommy finally managed to say, his voice breaking with the weight of his words.

Your heart stopped, the world around you fading into a blur as the reality of his words sank in. Joel, the man you had loved and lost so many times over, was gone. The ghost of your Joel had died, and now you had lost him physically as well.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to process the enormity of the loss. Joel, who had been a constant presence in your life, was gone, leaving behind a void that could never be filled.

You reached out to Ellie, offering whatever comfort you could, but inside, you felt as though a part of you had died along with Joel.

Joel was gone, and with him, a piece of your heart had died too.

You stood in Joel's house, surrounded by the remnants of his life. Every corner held a memory, every object a reminder of the man he had been. It was both comforting and agonizing, a bittersweet symphony of grief and love.

With trembling hands, you began to search through his belongings, desperate to find something that would make you feel less worse, if only for a moment. You opened drawers and cabinets, sifted through papers and trinkets, but nothing seemed to ease the ache in your heart.

when you stepped inside his bedroom, his presence hit you like a wave, so inoffensive yet so violent, strong, with the force to make you fall on your bum and being trapped by its force.

You felt a lump, the air in your lungs hot stuck and you couldn't help but gasp. You sat on the unmade bed, looking around, caressing the sheets as if him would step for his door and say sorry for what he did.

The room smelled like him, a wooed incandescent essence you would never forget.

When you lifted your eyes to the bed table, there were two frames. A picture of him and Sarah, and your heart stopped for a moment, thinking they were together now. The second held a photo of the two of you, taken on your wedding day, your smiles bright and hopeful.

Tears filled your eyes as you gazed at the images, the pain of loss washing over you anew.

You turned to see Tommy standing in the doorway, his expression mirroring your own somber sadness.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. "I thought I'd find you here."

You nodded, unable to speak as the weight of grief pressed down on you.

Tommy stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the space with a mixture of reverence and sorrow. "It's hard to believe he's gone," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, trying to keep his composure.

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears as you struggled to find the words to express the depth of your loss. "Yeah," you managed, your voice hoarse with emotion. "It doesn't feel real."

Tommy wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer as you wept. His shoulder was a sturdy anchor, absorbing the weight of your sorrow.

"I know it feels like that," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to come to terms with the truth. "I just... I can't shake this feeling that I could have done something differently," you admitted, your voice choked with emotion.

Tommy gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You did everything you could," he said firmly. "Don't blame yourself for his mistakes."

You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his words. In that moment, you knew that no matter how much you mourned Joel's loss, you would always have Tommy by your side, a beacon of light in the darkness of your grief.

"you're the only one left I have from that life"

"You're mine." He smiled as his eyes glistened "you're my sister and the best one Joel brought home'

You chuckled, trying not to break down into pieces in front of him. "I-he was the love of my life'

Tommy's expression softened, his gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "I know," he said gently, his voice carrying the weight of shared loss.

All the memories you once braid alongside with Joel, engulfed in fire.

With Tommy's comforting presence beside you, you found the courage to speak the words that had been weighing heavily on your heart.

"It takes a lot of strength to do this, but... I forgive you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, as your gaze to the photograph of Joel, his image frozen in time, a reminder of the man you had loved and lost. The ache in your chest persisted, but alongside it was a sense of release, a small flicker of peace amidst the storm of emotions.

The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the bustling suburban neighborhood. Children playing in the streets, and the sound of cars and laughing filled the air.

As you walk down the sidewalk, you see a house that you recognize instantly. The house you and Joel shared, the place where so many memories were made. Your heart aches with a longing so intense it nearly takes your breath away.

Pushing open the front door, you step inside and are greeted by the comforting vanilla smell of home. You hear voices coming from the kitchen and follow the sound, your steps quickened with anticipation.

When you reached the kitchen, you saw Joel standing at the stove, cooking breakfast with a smile on his face. He looked younger, his hair missed the grey you got used to, and Sarah was sitting at the table, her eyes sparkling with joy as she was talking with Joel. The sight of them together, so alive and happy, brought tears to your eyes.

Joel looked up and saw you standing in the doorway. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice filled with warmth and love. "You're just in time for breakfast."

Sarah turns in her chair and grins at you. "Morning, Mom! Dad's making our favorite pancakes!"

The flood of emotions was overwhelming you couldn’t even breath. You took a step forward, tears streaming down your face as you struggle to find your voice. "Joel, Sarah," you whisper, your voice trembling.

Joel's smile faded the minute he saw the tears in your eyes. He stepped away from the stove and came to you, concern etched across his features. "What's wrong, honey?" he asks, his hands gently cupping your face. "Why are you crying?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You reached out and pull both Joel and Sarah into a tight embrace, holding them as if they might disappear at any moment. "I missed you so much," you sob, your heart breaking with the realization that this moment, as perfect as it is, can't last.

Joel looked at you, his brow furrowed with worry. "Missed us? What are you talking about? We're right here."

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, trying to memorize every detail of his face. "I know," you whispered.

Sarah wrapped her arms around your waist, her voice soft and soothing. "It's okay, Mom. We're here now."

+++

a/n: I know that you possibly waited for another ending, but my mind ended up in different places. So, just to clarify I could never forgive the words or actions Joel did in this story but since the story was tragic, I tried to portray what it was like for them to navigate a world that went into pieces after the outbreak and how they lost themselves in it, how the reader despise what he did but still had that love for him in her because sometimes, evern when we get hurt by someone we may have a bad habit to reach out that person, and finally, I thought the dream was a tragic way to end the story, with the reader having her moment with the Joel and Sarah since she knew that she and the Joel she was in love with died that night too. However, he would end up dead from beginning so, sorry. I also added the new year eve party because you know how the spirits are during those days, like the hope and renewal that joel was waiting for but the reader no. I don't know if I did a good job, but still, bye, thanks for coming here 💌

I tagged everyone who asked for part ii and some who read part one, sorry if I forgot someone, or if you want to be removed, you can tell me.

tags: @immyowndefender @persephone-girl @elliaze @ninasully @whirlwindrider29 @missladym1981 @negansbestie @hobiebrowns-wife @zpandaqueen @ilovetaquitosmmmm @midnightbabylon @southernbe @joeldjarin @hiroikegawa @nothingbutaspeckofdust

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mysticwinterkit · 1 year ago

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Etho's Phase 6 in Rusty visits:

"Rusty, I got this new card called Swagger. It's pretty swag."

****

"RUSTY! I got you your med kit, but Willie he didn't want you to have it. He really tried to put a stop to it. Here you go, buddy. I'll make sure your missus get's some coins here too, while your locked up."

****

"There you go, Rusty. I'm hurting a little bit, I could use any help I can get here. I appreciate it."

****

"Hey Rusty! The dungeon's been rough, man. Very close runs though, every time, but I don't know... I just gotta be a little more careful or something, a little quicker..."

****

on level 2

"I'm going to kind of just poke around here, see if I can get to Rusty... We gotta go. I made a mistake. I think I'm going back. I'm too scared... I've been failing too many runs. I'm sorry Rusty! I'm sorry."

****

"Rusty! Oh, I'm so happy to see you, man. I've been a nervous wreck in the dungeon these last few days. Scaredy cat! But seeing you, gives me strength. I appreciate you, Rusty. Thank you."

****

"My buddy! Biggest ember run yet! I am excited about this, and you're going to take it over the top, man. I want you to be a part of this run. Me and you, all the way to the end, my friend."

#hermitcraft #decked out 2 #ethoslab #who the hell is mrs. rusty???#etho loves rusty

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hellodarling1357 · 1 year ago

Text

Flames and Embers: Part 2 - Cassian x Vanserra!Reader (slow burn)

Thank you for all of the love on part one of Flames and Embers, it honestly means the world!

The next few parts will still have a bit of character set up, but I'm going off of this for everyone's (approx) ages because there will probably be a few different time line jumps throughout the chapters, at least until it's all caught up.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or if you've got any questions about this fic (or any of my others)!

I'm hoping to get a new chapter out every week. I've got a mass word doc already with so so so many ideas and little snippets that I'm so excited to properly write!

As always, requests are open!!

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 2.6k

~ 528 years earlier ~

“But Father, I don’t want to go.” You were seven years old and had just been escorted to the entrance hall after being stuffed into a gown, hair done up in twirls with a small tiara placed atop your head.

Beron fixed you with a cold look as he assessed your appearance, causing you to shift on the spot as your brothers snickered behind his back.

“What did you say?”

“I just said that I didn’t want to go…” You trailed off, too late in realising your mistake.

Rule one, don’t question your High Lord.

Rule two, don’t talk back.

It made no difference that he was your father, your loyalty and obedience to his throne always came first, and within the span of just a few seconds, you had already broken the rules that had been outlined for you since before you could talk.

“If I say you are going, then you are going,” The lack of emotion in his voice sent chills over you, making you stare down at your feet to escape his pressing glare. “The only good that comes from having you as a daughter, is the chance of marrying you off and receiving a handsome dowery– “

“But Father, surely she is too young–“ The slap to the face that Eris received had the room coming to a standstill, even the snickering of your other brothers was silenced at the impact.

“Obviously she’s not getting married tonight, stupid boy. No, we need to start making her presence known, so that when the time comes it will be an easy enough transaction.”

You quietly sniffled, trying to hold back your tears. All you wanted to do was to run back upstairs and hide in your room. Your father turned back to the fae males who had silently watched the scene with smug smirks, resuming their previous conversation as you waited to depart for the Spring Court Ball.

With wide, watery eyes, you turned to face Eris. He had tried to help you and had gotten hurt in the process, but now he was back to his cold, distant self. This happened a lot, you had begun to realise. He would be warm and loving towards you, would try to protect you, but as soon as the others were around or it became too noticeable, he would act as though you didn’t exist.

You didn’t know what you had done wrong to have the others treat you like this, but you didn’t want to disappoint your father or your brother’s any further, so you wiped away your tears and raised your chin, silently waiting for the order to leave; slipping into the role of the perfect, silent female as you pushed away you worries surrounding the night ahead.

*****

The fae male your father worked with sneered down at you when he was ordered to winnow you to the Spring Court, still, you wouldn’t mention it to your father in case it was further reason for him to be angry with you, in case the male’s reaction was because of something you had done – not realising it was purely because you were a female who existed within the Autumn Court.

You timidly trailed in behind your brothers, who were pushing each other around as they followed your father into the glowing ballroom. Your family was announced upon entrance, and they all quickly dispersed into the crowd, leaving you lingering in the doorway with no idea what you should be doing; whether you should stay out of sight or if you should be following their lead. It was too late now; you had already lost sight of them so resorted to making your way around the edge of the room where you tried to copy what the other fae females were doing. It was too bad that none of them were anywhere near your age or bothered to acknowledge you in anyway. With a sigh you retreated to one of the shadowed corners and slumped into the seat as you observed the ballroom with disdain.

“Who are you?” The sudden appearance of the boy made you jump out of your chair, edging around it to create some distance between the two of you.

“Who are you?”

“I asked you first,” You warily glared at him, taking in his dark hair and violet eyes; he had to have been around the same age as you. There was a beat of silence before he continued, “I’m Rhys. Or Rhysand. But only my father calls me that. I much prefer Rhys. Did you know that I’m going to be a High Lord one day?”

You stayed silent, glancing around the room for any sight of your own father or brothers. Regardless of who this boy said he was, or who he was going to be, you knew your father wouldn’t approve of you talking to him and that it would most likely result in a lecture about maintaining appearances and, depending on his mood after tonight, a potential beating at your disobedience.

Oblivious to your discomfort, the boy, Rhys, continued talking, “Are you from Autumn?”

Your eyes shot towards him, before quickly looking around “Why? Why do you say that?”

That was another of your father’s rules broken if Rhy had already figured out who you were.

“Your hair,” You gave him a look of confusion, “It’s red?” He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, it is. By why does that mean I’m from Autmn?” Maybe you could try to throw him off, after all, your father had always said not to trust anyone from the other courts.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t.” His face was a mixture of deep contemplation and intrigue. “But it’s a good guess. Look, that’s all the High Lord’s sons over there, and they all have red hair.”

You head whipped around so fast, fear widening your eyes but, thankfully, they weren’t paying any attention to you.

“Can I tell you a secret? But you have to promise not to tell anyone.” It seemed the future High Lord had already jumped onto his next trail of thought, no longer curious about which court you hailed from.

“I heard, and I wasn’t supposed to hear, but I did. I heard my father, he’s the Night Court High Lord, saying to the males he works with that the Autumn High Lord is,” He looked around, giving you a conspiratorial smile as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice to quote his father, “a real piece of work.”

Rhys looked at you, gauging your reaction to the scandalous piece of news. You froze, not sure how to respond, but then a giggle left you, followed by another and another. You tried to hide your smile behind your hand but the pleased look on Rhys’ face and his laugh that followed made you giggle even harder.

“Rhysand.” A stern voice bit through the air, halting you both mid laugh. “Come over here. Now.” You had frozen at the tone of the male’s voice, used to associating the coldness of it with some form of punishment. Rhys, however, didn’t seem too concerned as he merrily said, “See you later, Autumn.” and made his way over to where his father and a female, who you could only assume was his mother, stood.

*****

You shook your head as if to clear the memories that had begun to resurface after your encounter with Rhysand in the dungeon. A part of you yearned for the simplicity of your youth, however, you now knew that simplicity didn’t necessarily mean happiness. And that, in reality, the simplicity you had experienced was purely your own youthful ignorance to the world around you.

Weeks had passed since the bargain had been made and Rhysand was yet to properly utilise your side of the deal. Not that you were complaining. The only times he had even deigned to acknowledge you since that night always seemed to coincide with your visits to Feyre. You could now guarantee that within the hour of you return from the dungeons, his voice would infiltrate your mind; only ever asking how “Feyre Darling” seemed to be faring.

The night before Feyre’s final task had arrived all too quickly. The party was in full swing – the fae around you drank and lounged and danced, others stood around laughing and singing as though they had no care in the world.

You stood with Lucien against a wall, both of you had a drink in hand but that was as festive as you would allow yourself to appear, especially when considering what Feyre would be facing tomorrow.

Neither of you talked much in public, leaving the decades worth of missed conversations for when you managed to find some quiet in the privacy of your own rooms. Instead, you observed the partygoers together and kept an eye out for the rest of your brothers and your father. Your mother was a rare sight at events such as these, over the years she had become more and more reserved, now, however, you couldn’t blame her one bit. Especially when considering the sight you were forced to witness as two young fae females sat draped across the arms of the seat your father occupied; you turned away in disgust, a scoff from Lucien was the only acknowledgement that he had also noticed.

Lucien pulled you from your thoughts with an elbow nudged into your side, inclining his head towards where Tamlin had silently moved to stand next to Feyre. You smiled at the sight, knowing how much she had missed him. At the sight of Tamlin sauntering off and Feyre trying to casually follow after him, you and Lucien shared a knowing smirk. All too suddenly, that small flicker of joy was extinguished with a scrape across your mental shield.

“Eyes and ears. Y/N, dearest”.

He offered no further instruction, but you knew what, who, he was referring to. With a disgruntled sigh, you pushed off the wall, murmuring to your youngest brother that you would see him later, before making your way through the crowd and out the door that Feyre and Tamlin had disappeared through.

The scene before you in the long stretch of corridor had you hesitating as you quietly shut the door behind you. They were clearly too caught up in, well, one another to even realise they were no longer alone. Also, seemingly oblivious to the fact that anyone could have walked in on them; you didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if they had been caught by someone else.

“Is this what you were wanting?” You shot back at Rhys, showing him the sight before you.

“I appreciate your efficiency. Best to make yourself scarce.” He purred back. You were too tired to think about what his words meant.

Not wanting to head back to the party that was becoming more and more unruly as the night went on, you made your way up the stairs and headed to your room, careful not to disturb Feyre and Tamlin as you passed by, hoping to allow them even just a moment of peace. You knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, not with the thought of what was to come tomorrow, but at least you would have a bit of quiet before everything changed, whether that be for the worse or the better.

*****

“Well, you certainly maintained your knack for having perfect timing over the years.”

The drawl of Rhys’ voice and his sudden appearance by the small window in your room had you jumping back, heart beating furiously in your chest.

“What do you want?” You voice was a low snarl as you glared at the High Lord, too tired and too fed up with the situation at hand to feign even an ounce of respect.

“I’m hurt, I thought you were beginning to warm up to me, what with your recent little trips down memory lane,” He tapped a finger to the side of his head, making a snarl appear on your face at the implication. “Seems as though you’ve been thinking about a lot of people from our past lately.” This was the most either of you had ever acknowledged the friendship you had once shared; of the other life you were so close to having before it was so cruelly snatched out of your hands.

“Stay out of my head.” He simply chuckled in response as he leant against the wall, silently observing you as he absentmindedly picked at his dark dress shirt.

“Why did you have me do that? You couldn’t allow Feyre a moment of happiness before whatever she has planned for her tomorrow?” You quickly changed the subject before he decided to delve even deeper into those memories of the past, your voice spitting out the word in reference to Amarantha.

You were surprised at the scoff Rhys let out, a scowl of his own appearing on his face at the thought of what he had walked in on, what you had shown him.

“Utter fools,” he seemed to say to himself as he crossed the room and sat in one of the old armchairs. “You're honestly telling me you don't see what was wrong with that whole…situation?”

Honestly? No, you didn’t. But you weren’t going to offer up an ounce of conversation as he begun making himself at home.

“He had a chance. A chance to get Feyre out. But instead, he wastes the opportunity on a quick fuck,” Your eyebrows narrowed at his words. That was not what you were expecting him to say, but now that you thought about it… Rhys hurriedly continued, voice laced with irritation, “If you were even just a minute later with showing me what was happening, it would’ve been too late for me to intervene, and then Amarantha would have seen everything.”

“I don’t understand…”

“That bitch would have killed Feyre on the spot if she had seen the two of them together. And if Feyre is dead… well, then the rest of us are well and truly fucked because there will be no other chances of getting out of this mess.”

His candour had your head spinning in cartwheels, still trying to catch up on the implication of his words, his actions.

“So…,” You started, still piecing it all together, “you were trying to protect her? After everything you’ve done, you, what? Suddenly grow a conscience?”

He just gives you an incredulous look before standing up with a disappointed sounding sigh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.” The dark shadows start to gather around him but something in your stomach felt unsettled at his sudden departure.

“Wait, Rhys? What’s your end game here? What are you planning?” The shadows disappeared the moment the words were out, a smug grin appearing on his face.

“So, it’s back to being Rhys again, is it? Here I was thinking you preferred to call me Rhysand nowadays.”

Letting out a scoff you rolled your eyes. For a fleeing moment he had seemed so much like the male you had once known. Now, however, the new asshole version of him stood before you again; the epitome of arrogance and entitlement.

“Honestly, I would prefer to call you a prick, but it doesn’t seem overly appropriate, High Lord.” You offered a mocking curtsey.

A deep laugh escaped him as the darkness gathered around his shoulders again, leaving you with a final, “goodnight, Y/N.” then you were once again alone in your room, the dread of what tomorrow would bring curling itself around you.

*****

Thanks for reading 🥰

Tag List: @dr4g0ngirl @esposadomd @judig92 @hnyclover @sarawritestories @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @macimads @gorlillaglue25

#cassian x reader #vanserra!reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #acotar #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acowar #marley writes

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itstheinktank · 25 days ago

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It's been a whole year, let's see how we did!

Kuro's been grinding through the Ben 10 Breakdowns, covering over two seasons of Omniverse!

We put together FIVE episodes of 5 Years Later: The Motion Comic.

This batch was insane! Paul Eiding Returns, the "Remember - Ember" Cover, the debut of Future Fenton, and one hell of a cliff hanger! This series will be a big part of our legacy.

Remember when we struggled to get just one out each year? This time, we did THREE! With quality that's miles above Season 1. Lots of fun guest stars, too! We're very excited to wrap up the Zs'Skayr Arc next year.

"But, Ash!" It was a great year for The Drawing Matrix, as well. Ash finished ALL of the Prime Continuity aliens, with the final episode of Ultimates Overhauled dropping next week based on the 2016 Reboot!

Looking for laughs? Fro's new series gave us a fresh new take on what's possible with our content.

We had a few odds and ends kicking around, too. We made FOURTEEN videos on various topics, each done with unique love and care.

Kuro returned to regular streaming. You can catch him Tuesdays @ 2:00pm EST and commission him through the doc linked in the description of each stream!

Kellen & Kuro held TWO special streams jam-packed with phenomenal guests. It was a pleasure getting everyone together!

Ash has been blessing us with Shorts here and there, all edited by himself. Add that to his skillset!

We're blessed with hundreds of supporters on both Patreon & YouTube Membership, the latter which only launched this year for the first time. Your support goes a long way!

It's easy to forget we have a second channel, The Rust Bucket, though we try to mention it as much as we can. We still made time to throw some goodies on there!

We spread our wings across many videos - we did so many collabs, it's hard to count them all! You may see up pop up just about everywhere, and will continuity to play our part in keeping our community strong.

Happy Holidays!

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 4 months ago

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🥀 Unwary 🥀

After working on and off for MONTHS and staring at it a long time, here’s the Théodwyn story many of you have heard me agonizing over. I can’t look at it anymore, so we’re just hitting “post”!

It’s called Unwary, which is one of the few words Tolkien gives us to describe Théodwyn’s husband Éomund. He was a “hater of orcs” who often rode against them “in hot anger, unwarily and with few men.” That got him killed and, shortly thereafter, Théodwyn herself died of an illness. This story is my attempt to tie all that together.

Note that Théodwyn’s 3 (canonical but nameless) sisters are here; they came to help after Éomund’s death. You’ll see I gave 2 of them Gondorian names; more explanation of that at the bottom if you’re interested.

There is a fire inside Théodwyn that will not be doused.

It has smoldered for years, just waiting for the breath of air that would coax its glowing embers to life and send a wave of flame racing through her as though she were made not of bone and blood but of kindling and fuel. Now lit by Éomund’s inevitable death, the fire burns bigger and hotter each new day that dawns without him, and it laps at her heart, singeing and charring until there is nothing left but heat. Gone is anything soft and pliant, anything tender or understanding, replaced instead by blistering fury.

She stalks the plains outside of Aldburg in the dark, crunching heavily over glittering, frost encrusted grass. She is trying to outrun that fury, though a fortnight of this new nightly ritual has achieved no such thing so far. But if she cannot leave her anger behind, maybe she can still exhaust it, tire it enough that it can be wrestled into submission and leave her in peace. Deep down, she suspects the effort is in vain, but she has no better plan. She is bereft of ideas, just as she is now bereft of laughter and sympathy and hope. Her husband is just one of many things suddenly missing from her life, and he is not the one she most wants back.

Sweat soaks into both her dress and cloak, and large red blooms form on her cheeks. Each gale of frigid wind catches the dampness at the small of her back or along her hairline beneath her hood, and sends a wave of wracking chills across her heated skin. But her pace never falters despite the passing of long hours and long miles. Over the sound of her boots grinding delicate ice into so many shattered crystals, she mutters her mantra again and again, hissing out the words in time with the rhythm of her steps.

I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.

The night is her time to let this anger out, far away from Éomer and Éowyn, both much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that their dead father was a reckless fool. Someone who couldn’t control his own impetuous need to act and, worse, refused to accept a cautioning hand even from one he professed to honor and cherish. She had begged him not to go, to delay for even a single hour until more men could be gathered to join his small party of riders. But he had been blind, as ever, to anything but his own rash impulses and instincts. He had scoffed at her fears, swept aside her concerns, given bold assurances that weren’t in his power to make. And now he was being hailed as a fallen hero while she was left alone with the consequences of his folly, to manage a tragic loss that she knew to be entirely of his own making.

She hadn’t always felt this way about him. There was a time when she found his passion and spontaneity exciting. Stirring. Romantic. To be the object of his attentions, to be the desire that he would overturn the world to sate, was a special brand of intoxicant, and she drank it in willingly. His quickness to action and his unfailing courage set him apart from other men, and he gained much by risking more than others could stomach. She felt his every gain as her own, and they ran heedless together through the world, two free souls as yet unchecked by the realities of life.

But what felt brave and thrilling and decisive when they were twenty had begun to look much different on the doorstep of forty, when he had already gained more than most men could dream of and only stood now to lose what had been so daringly won. Slowly, creepingly, she began to see his whims as childish, his zealotry as self indulgent. It surprised her every bit as much as him, but somewhere along the way, with age and responsibility and perspective, she became the person who would check him as life never had. The person to ask questions, to say no, to thwart his boldest ambitions and disappoint his most absurd hopes.

Whenever she did, he would look at her as though he looked upon a stranger, an unrecognizable drudge that had stolen the body of his daring and passionate wife. He would look at her as though she had broken faith with him, betraying their bond by choosing to accept that they lived in a world of constraints and limitations. And then she would hate herself, and him, too.

A dull, thudding pain hammers away in the space right behind her eyes, and her muscles and joints ache with every wearied step, calling out for rest. To sit or lay quietly for a while might ease the strain that has increasingly weighed on her body these last few days, the strain of too little sleep, too little food, too little protection from the harsh bite of winter. But she no longer cares for physical ease or comfort. She can endure without them; it has always been the way of the Rohirrim to bear such things without complaint. What she cannot bear is the seething in her mind during moments of stillness, those times of lonely silence while others sleep and she can only gnaw on the bones of her grievances and look with contempt at her memories now tainted by abandonment. And so she stomps through the cold desolation instead, the frozen cloud of her breath drifting along in the wake of a body indulging in the only escape available.

She knows she should be at home in case her children need her, and she knows that her sisters disapprove of how she has been acting. You’ll catch your death out there, says Edlenniel each night as she walks out the door. You need to start taking better care of yourself, clucks Théopryte, a critical eye cast over her increasingly bony figure, her unkempt hair. And this, too, makes her angry, the insistence of her elder sisters on treating her as though she is still a child even now. Nothing she does is ever good enough in their eyes – her home is too untidy, her language too profane, her daughter too much at liberty to run wild rather than learning the ways of respectable girlhood. And now she cannot even grieve correctly.

In truth, she had not expected to mourn this way. The day Éomund rode off, she had imagined her own reaction to the eventual return of his meager company without him. Sorrow, longing, despair, regret – these had been anticipated despite her frustrations. But when Éothain knocked at her door with the news, watery eyes rimmed with red and a battered horse-tailed helmet in hand, she felt none of those things. They vanished in an instant, disappeared from her heart and mind, perhaps never to return. Instead, she became like the cicadas that come to Rohan every dozen years and litter the ground with their delicate molted shells, perfectly formed images of themselves that have been deserted, no longer fit for use and liable to shatter under the slightest of pressures.

Now every interaction, every well-meaning friend or suffering relative, is at risk of being the next target of the dull blade of her anger, always at the ready to hack and slice ineffectually at those who draw her attention and, thus, her scorn. The neighbors who look at her pityingly as they pass by. The men of Éomund’s company who expect her to join them in their grief. Even her sweet son, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, works an inflamed nerve as he swings a sword much too big for him, vowing to protect their house now in his father’s absence. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, not the other way around, she says to the thin frame and slight shoulders that are not yet grown enough to bear his own charge. You have years left just to be a boy, safe under my care. But it is said through gritted teeth, her tone emotionless, and he doesn’t believe her.

She has enough awareness still to see what she’s become, and though she cannot change it, she knows to try to hide it. She labors each day to be the mother her children need, sitting with them as they cry and holding her tongue when they paint Éomund in their remembrances as a valiant hero, a man to rival all the greatest legends of song. But they know that something isn’t right within her; some voice inside their childlike minds warns them of peril in the one place where they were trained never to expect it. Éomer has stopped asking why she doesn’t cry, and Éowyn now clearly prefers to seek her comfort from Tadiel, whose soft arms, doughy middle and doting indulgence provide what Théodwyn’s sharp, angular body and brittle bearing simply can’t or won’t.

As it inches toward sunrise, she reluctantly turns toward home again, where soon the rest of the household will begin to stir and her absence will be noted, frowned about and tsked over. The judgment of her sisters is no real concern, but she doesn’t want to add to the worries of her children. For them, she will fight to maintain even the barest pretense of normalcy. For her children, she will sit in that house among the remains of Éomund’s life – his belongings, his clothes, his scent – and she will struggle to breathe through the poisonous resentment that is trapped in her throat because she cannot allow it to pass her lips. For her children, she will choke.

The gate comes into view and, beyond it, the garden that she once loved and nurtured into glory, now gone dormant for the winter. She stumbles on the rise to the path, and a knee drives into the frozen ground. She rights herself with difficulty, grunting in the effort, and she curses at this clumsiness. Weakness of body has never been a challenge of hers, and she cannot understand the heavy, dragging feeling that follows her to the door. For the first time, she considers whether everything – the throbbing head, the sweating skin, the screaming joints – is not just a product of exertion but something more serious. Something brought on by the refusal to rest, to eat, to stay warm, to accept comfort and support. It is an unsettling thought, and she tries to push it from her mind as she slips quietly inside.

The frozen sting in her fingertips and toes is a strange counterpoint to the burning heat of her forehead and cheeks, and she collapses into a chair by the fire, waiting out the gradual thaw of her frost-dulled limbs and the eventual return of her body to how it is supposed to feel. But though her fingers slowly lose their bluish tinge and sensation tentatively returns to her feet, the heat in her face and the exhaustion in her muscles only grow. Time ticks by, innumerable minutes that seem like hours, and she can feel it all continue to worsen. What little energy she had now spills from her body like the blood of the stags that Éomund used to hunt, their carcasses sliced open and left to drain. A shiver runs through her, once and then again and again and again, every time stronger until the shivers are full-body spasms that clack her teeth together, threatening to catch her tongue in each jolt. A low, groaning noise fills the room, and she discovers with surprise that it is coming from her own throat.

Good gods, Théodwyn. What have you done to yourself? Edlenniel is in the doorway, and the horrified alarm in her voice is enough to smother the instinct to snap in response. What has she done? She tries to stand, but her legs don’t respond. A strange distance has crept in and inserted itself between the intentions of her mind and the obedience of her body. She wills herself up again and lurches forward with great effort. Is she standing now? She cannot be, not with the cool, smooth stone of the floor somehow pressed to her flushed cheek. She would lift her head to check, but the exhaustion is so heavy that it pins her down, the turning of a screw that secures her, motionless, to wherever she has landed.

Her mind becomes slow and hazy, her sight flickering in and out as though she is passing quickly between rooms that are brightly lit and others that are in total darkness. Théopryte is there and then not. Calls for help are relayed down the hall, and more people rush in. Tadiel pulls Éomer from the doorway, a hand over his eyes as though the sight of his mother is too frightful for him even to look upon. Clamoring, urgent voices echo around inside Théodwyn’s head until they are no longer intelligible to her, just a whirling churn of volumes and tones. She floats, alone and disconnected, in a sea of others’ panic.

A man’s face appears in her field of vision, lifting her up and carrying her to a nearby couch. Théodred? It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and the face shakes its head. No, of course not. Her beloved nephew doesn’t live in Aldburg and never has. A neighbor, then? Or servant? She loses interest before she can unravel the mystery, distracted by a painful new sensation that prickles across the surface of her skin like a thousand small needles. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to exhale the pain with her every labored breath.

Uncounted hours pass, and she is now in her own bed, though she cannot recall being brought there. It takes all her effort just to keep her eyes open, and each time she blinks, it feels like scraping her eyelids over sand. She drifts in and out of lucidity, bobbing in a current of confused thought like a small boat tied up at the edge of a running river. When she’s lost, she is certain she can see Éomund in the corner, watching her in grave silence. When she’s present, she hears bits and snatches of hushed conversation, all in the voices of her sisters. The healer says there is nothing more to be done, says one. Such an awful waste, sniffles another. I knew this would happen, sighs the third. But who could stop her from running herself into the ground this way? She’s always done just what she wanted, no matter how rash or irresponsible.

Amidst all her pains, these words hit her like a blow, and an immediate, convulsive heaving in her stomach has others running for the healer again to manage this fresh symptom of her malady. But she knows it for what it really is: the retching out of unwelcome truth, her body’s rejection of this simple distillation of her fate. Recovery is not coming. She will die here in this bed, and her death will be needless. Pointless. And all the more shameful because she should have known better. She could have heeded the cautions and warnings of others.

Edlenniel leans her over a bowl as she empties herself of what little she’s eaten in the last day, and the bitter taste in her mouth lingers even after she has swirled and spat out many mouthfuls of water. It lingers as she collapses back into the sweat-soaked sheets that cling to every inch of exposed skin. It lingers as her addled mind struggles to reckon with the weight and cost of her mistake, this tragedy of her own making. It will always linger, for all the minutes she has left in the world and for the eternity that stretches out into the boundless, unknown future beyond it.

Her head lolls weakly to one side, and she can see Éomund in the corner still watching, silent and attentive. His face is not impassive, but calm. He accepts what has happened, is happening, will happen, and she must accept it, too. He dissolves into a vague blur as hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks, and whether they are tears for him or for herself, she isn’t sure. When she blinks her eyes clear again, he has moved closer to the bedside. He smiles softly, the wistful look of one who knows what it is to carry the burden of self-blame past any hope of remedy, and he reaches toward her with an open hand. A hand of consolation and invitation.

She will take it, but not yet.

Bring the children, she rasps out.

There is a moment’s debate in the room, furious whispers that drift to her ears. Not something a child should witness, she hears. There may not be time to wait, is the response. She repeats her request, louder this time, and the debate intensifies, rising in pitch and strength. But before the argument can resolve itself, Éomer has pushed in from the hallway, towing little Éowyn by the hand. Her words have reached them on their own.

She struggles to bring her son and daughter into focus, just as they struggle to see the outlines of their strong, capable mother in this frail, spiritless form. She craves nothing more than rest, but she knows she cannot; if she rests now, she will not wake again. She takes each one by the hand, their skin cold and dry against her own clammy fingers and palms, and presses those hands to her lips.

Be good for your uncle, she tells them. Your cousin will love you as a brother.

Éomer, quicker to understand, begins to cry, and his tears trigger Éowyn’s. Soon all three are crying together, for both the first and last time.

You deserve better than this, she should say. I have failed you, she wants to say. But would it give them any comfort to know that she belatedly understands her own mistakes? That left to do it all again, she would guarantee that they would never be without their mother? What can she tell them now that will help and not hurt, that will be a gift and not a hindrance? She swallows hard, and it is like swallowing gravel. Your father and I did the best we could, she whispers. The two of you will do better, and we will be proud.

She drops back to the pillow, exhausted beyond measure, and someone bundles the children back out into the hall again. Éomund smiles at her, and she nods. Her eyes drift closed as his hand wraps around hers, and the burning in her heart and skin slowly fades, the fire extinguished at last.

A note on the sisters of Théoden: Their father, Thengel, ran away to Gondor as a young man and lived there for a huge chunk of his life. He married Morwen, a Gondorian woman, and Tolkien tells us he only went back to Rohan “unwillingly” to take up the throne after his own father died. 2 of his daughters and his son were born in Gondor before that happened, and my HC is that all 3 of them had Gondorian names because, at the time, Thengel never had any intention of ever going back. So that gives us Edlenniel (“daughter of the exile,” since that’s how he saw himself) and Tadiel (“second daughter,” so overshadowed by her siblings that Thengel couldn’t be bothered to even give her an interesting name).

Théoden himself had a Gondorian name as well (Arnhereg, “royal blood”) but he changed it to something Rohirric (Théoden means “leader of the people”) when the family went back to Rohan both because he wanted to fit in better and because it seemed only appropriate that the future king of Rohan have a Rohirric name. Then when the other two sisters were born in Rohan, they were given Rohirric names as well (Théopryte, “pride of the people,” who was extremely beautiful; and Théodwyn, “joy of the people,” who was full of spirit).

3 of the 4 sisters were dead by the time of the War of the Ring (Edlenniel from old age, Théopryte from an accident, and Théodwyn as described here), and Tadiel had gone back to Gondor. Edlenniel never had any children and Tadiel and Théopryte had only daughters, which is why we don’t hear anything about other cousins that might have competed with Éomer for the throne after Théodred’s death. I’ve made a backstory for each of the sisters, but no use putting that all here since I’ve already gone on too long!

(Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit !)

#cw canonical deaths; despair; illness #théodwyn #éomund #éomer #éowyn #it’ll be nice to be done thinking about this one!#obscure canonical characters #rohirrim #lotr

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leaf-in-a-flower-garden · 6 months ago

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I haven't really had a chance to hyper analyse the Two Embers trailer from the steam launch so I'm doing that

(Cutting cause it's a bit long lolol)

1. The Children

All of the children are wearing shades of brown and yellow, except the main child who wears a bright blue cloak.

We can assume from here on that this child is The One/Alef.

The One's mask is indented and is spiked at the sides and the top, I assume this is a nod towards The One's concept mask, a usually four spoked star with power stone (?) in the middle.

The One is wearing a gold broach with a deep blue gem in it, it's clear this child was seen as an important person/a person of interest. This could also be gotten from how the child is sitting closest to the Ancestor in charge, but this may be a stretch.

The general 'vibes' of this scene may imply that this is a kind of school trip scenario, they are going to see the Elder of the Isle or just the Temple. I could see this being a coming of age ceremony, except there seems to be multiple age groups on the boat, excluding that theory.

(Edit to add) The One/Dawn Ember is referred to as an orphan, so it's possible that the boat is filled with fellow orphans that are going to the Isle Elder's Temple to learn things/ be taken care of. This is backed up by some concept/OG lore we have on the Isle Elder, in which they teach basic skills to kids, helping them find their potential, and are comparable to a kindergarten teacher. (Credit to Vivsky for this theory, wanted to add it cause it was interesting)

2. The Authority Figures

The clothing is very distinct with these characters, pure white cloak with a head covering, adorned with a dark pink shoulder scarf. It isn't clear on the other two Ancestors, but the one in charge of keeping the children in line has a broach with a symbol on it keeping their scarf in place.

Only the Strict Ancestor has a Crowned Mask, whereas the others do not, this explains why the Chatting Ancestors are not taking control of the children or doing any work, compared to the Strict Ancestor.

Less important, but the use of clanging sticks together to keep the children inline when they got excited was something, it could be a universal form of discipline in all the realms, or it could be specific to the region.

The use of stone tablets and simple cloth bags tells us about what kind of technology they had access to at the time of the Young One.

Despite their 'limited' technology, they are capable of having massive boats in the air, using multiple stone 'wings', and possibly magic, to get in the sky. It's also something to note that there is a kind of guide directing the boat with a stick, the guide being very clearly skinny, it could imply the skies being different to ours, or the Guide Ancestor was using Cyan Magic, aka wind magic that the Valley Elders use.

3. The Manta

This part is very short, but this image alone shows how the Greater/Elder Manta we are used to are nowhere as colossal as the Manta from the Old World. Look at the tiny ants compared to it, absolutely wild.

The heads of the Manta differ from grey to gold, depending on the evolved set of wings the Manta has -> Feathered Wings have grey heads, Smooth Wings have gold heads.

4. The Temple and Surrounding Structures

We can see lots of boats heading into the upper island, aka the Temple. Not all boats are directly heading towards it however, it seems as though the Temple is a kind of waypoint for travellers, similar to a lighthouse, guiding people on their way to new land (strengthened by the light coming through the Bell at the top of the temple).

The Temple is much brighter and has dark blue painted patterns that are a contrast to the lighter stone. The doorway is a bright red, probably a cloth covering the doorway to create a sense of privacy, it is a sacred (?) Temple after all.

The area around the Temple is a lot less bustling and full of life then the main Isle, maybe people don't have a reason to be there or the Elder doesn't like people loitering in sacred land (as far as I remember, Isle Elder was described as spiritual or 'traditional' so this could very well be possible imo)

There is a lot of land that has been covered up by clouds, now visible, it's almost anticlimactic that it is simply a glade, but somehow extremely fitting for the Isle of Dawn.

Once again, the proportions are different than in-game, the Temple looks massive compared to the boat.

There are triangular banners (forgot the name lol) coming from the spokes of the Temple, this is shared by the Prairie Temple, and could have some prevalence. I like to think it's just to make the Temple more welcoming to guests however.

There are two other structures in these shots, a small building, one story probably, off to the side of the Temple, and a tall bell tower.

Going off the previous point, the small building could have multiple purposes. It could be a communal area for travellers, similarly it could be a kind of station for merchants or others to manage resources when traveling in the Isle Region. In a different direction, it could be a place of religion, a prayer building of sorts? We know that there was prominent religious belief before the Power/Technological Era so I wouldn't think it would be too far of a stretch to assume it's something of the sort. The building, assuming the Temple's interior is consistent with the in-game design, could also be where the Isle Elder resides, as there aren't many other visible places in the Temple, unless they're a bat or something.

There isn't much to think about around the Bell Tower. It's definitely interesting that it exists at all considering there is a bell at the top of the Isle Temple but it could have significance that just isn't shown in the trailer. It could also serve as a Lighthouse as the Temple does, there is a bit of distance between the two so it's likely that the Bell Tower is for those travelling into the Isle. It could also serve as a watchtower, keeping a lookout for wandering manta or storms.

Anyways, that's pretty much all I have to say and I've already said a lot so I'll shut my yap for now lolol. In all seriousness, I can't wait for Two Embers to come out and finally learn about the Old World and its people, apparently it's supposed to be coming out in 2024? I read somewhere that it was supposed to but idk if it actually will. Garghhhh I'm so autistic for this silly friendship game.

#sky cotl #skyblr #sky children of the light #sky: cotl #text post #that sky game #sky the children of light #sky cotl screenshots #sky theory #uhhh i still dunno how to tag lolol #two embers

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stargirlfeyre · 6 months ago

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My thoughts on the theory that the Nesta book is about Nesta (this is kinda long).

*Though I’m not a Nesta fan this isn’t coming from a place of hatred towards her but just what’s logical for me*

I’ve been seeing people say that the next book is going to be another Nesta + Cassian Pov but that doesn’t make sense if we take into account how the original trilogy worked, the current plot of the books, and Sjm’s own words.

Firstly, when Feyre was getting multiple books it was made pretty clear throughout the series. Until Acowar none of her books had a finale like ending. Acotar ended after she’d just been through months of torture and was entering arguably the lowest point in her life, Acomaf ended a damn mess to say the least, and finally Acowar signified the end of the original trilogy. Feyre wasn’t fully healed by healing and at peace. She was on the right path and surrounded by her loved ones

Feyre’s Acowar ending heavily mirrors Nesta’s Acosf ending. Nesta’s happy. She has a found family, has her mate, and is healing her relationship with her sisters. There’s not really an open ending like how Acotar and Acomaf was for Feyre. Don’t you think that if Sjm planned on giving Nesta multiple books she would have shown it in Acotar? I don’t take the few chapters that she’s in in Hofas as foreshadowing that she’ll get more books because why would you use another series to foreshadow a character getting more books in a separate series?

If Nesta was getting more books in the Acotar series then that would have been foreshadowed in the Acotar series. No, Ember telling Nesta that she’ll find her way is not enough evidence for me I’m sorry.

Secondly, things just won’t be balanced out. There are two more full books in the Acotar series. If Nesta gets the other one that would be that Elain gets the last one. Feyre gets 3 books, Nesta gets 2, and Elain’s gets…1? What sense does that make? Let’s just say that each sister is getting a duo-logy, that would mean that there’s 3 more books in this series plus a novella or two. Not only does that directly go against Sjm’s own words that each sister is only getting one book, but there’s just not enough plot for that to happen. We can already tell that this series is dragging and Sjm is trying to create new conflicts and that’s heavily impacting the quality of her writing, there’s not enough material for this series to drag on for over 3 books and still make sense.

I saw someone say that Nesta is getting a trilogy like Feyre and Elain will also get one and there will be a novella in between. But again that just makes no sense. Sjm signed a deal for 7 more books. If what y’all are saying is true then that means all seven books are for the Acotar series. All of them. Now we know this isn’t true because she has said herself that the Crescent City series will have more books and she’s also visiting a new world that she’s excited to write for.

Elain is getting that next book. We all just need to accept this and move on. Feyre got a trilogy for a reason and her sisters are getting one book spin-offs for a reason. Now does this mean that Nesta will never have a pov or play a major role in the Acotar books again? Absolutely not. Nessian will probably still get a bonus chapter in the next book like Feysand got in Acosf, Nesta will likely still use the troves, and she’ll likely still wield Ataraxia and be a warrior like she’s training to be.

What’s she’s not going to do is leave Cassian for Eris. What’s she’s not going to do is leave the Night Court which she’s already called her home. What she’s not going to do is revive a court that already belongs to Rhys and become High Lady or High Queen. Nesta’s path is already set in stone. She’s still walking that path sure but we know where her story is going. I’m going to touch your hand when I say this…Sjm did not write an 800 page books of Nesta gaining friends, family, and love in the Night Court and breaking out of the mindset that her mother and grandmother beat into her just for her to leave the Night Court and follow the path that here abusive family laid for her.

It’s just not going to happen.

#nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #archeron sisters #pro feyre #pro elain #house of flame and shadow #cc3 spoilers #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #elriel #elain x azriel #pro elriel

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captain-mj · 2 years ago

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Dragon 2/3

There is going to be a third part

Ghost felt so heavy. His limbs were weighed down by the heavy chains. They chose to use iron and it burned his skin. It didn’t feel like his flames. The flames he loved. More like chemical burns. They wrapped around his wrists, ankles and his wings. He didn’t raise his head when someone came in. He stayed as a deadweight as he was dragged forward.

Roba stepped in front of him, his shoes in his line of sight. “A young King just turned 25. How exciting, yes?”

Ghost stared at him. Silent. Annoying.

“I apologize, dear friend. I searched everywhere, but it seems you’re alone. No more dragons anywhere.”

Ghost stared at him. Impassive. Horrid.

“Which means you’re going to be my gift to him. I’ve heard he doesn’t find comfort in women, so I can’t give him that. Giving him a few men would be seen as shameful, understand? It’s best to give him you. A dragon. They consider you religious. Do you think yourself divine?”

Ghost did not. He felt painfully solid. His wings were thin from disuse, though his body still had plenty of muscle.

Roba dug his heel into a weak point of his wing and Ghost bit his tongue. “Words, Ghost.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Get him cleaned up.”

They used cold water. It tingled. So cold against his already cold body. Dragons were not supposed to be this cold. But the burning feeling in Ghost’s chest had faded to an ember. Only kept up by a stubborn need to live even when Ghost was accepting he’d much rather die.

Alone. The word rattled in his brain. No one else? No others? How unfortunate. How sad. Ghost certainly felt alone here. But that was not a new feeling.

They scrubbed his skin, blood dripping from wounds they opened with how careless they were. It felt good. In a weird way. Finally being clean was a huge plus too. They took his chains off carefully. Always keeping just enough on that he couldn’t escape. As if he would.

One of the servants kissed his cheek. Gently. A mockery of love. “Good luck.”

How would they deliver him? Whole? In pieces? Maybe they were cleaning him so they could dismember him and deliver him on a platter?

Ghost wouldn’t mind. Dying. He only hoped when the King was done, he’d get rid of his body. Burn it. Most likely, he’d be hung up like a trophy. At least, his wings would.

Ghost fell asleep in the carriage. They had been keeping him awake lately and now he knew why. No matter how hard he tried, he just passed right out.

Until his head was being dunked in ice water. How Roba even managed that was beyond him. He had been dressed while asleep. Simple loose pants. His chest was bare. More iron around his wrists and along his throat.

“Don’t embarrass me. You understand. You’re a gift. Act like it.”

Ghost nodded absentmindedly. His eyes already glazing over. He had gotten used to the patterns in Roba’s cruelty. How would this new king be?

“His name is Soap. It’s his coronation and 25th birthday. They did a joint celebration.”

Soap.

Soap….

What a weird name.

Ghost had his hair cut slightly, just enough to make it look nice again. It curled and kinked up and the person trying to make it stay down was getting upset. He ignored them and they gave up eventually.

When Roba had taken him from the farm house, he had yelled for Johnny. No one had known who that was. He had screamed until his voice went hoarse. They said no prince in the area had the name Johnny. Did the human lie to him? Why? Being royalty meant nothing to Ghost. Him being a prince meant nothing.

“Put your wings up. Need him to know you’re a dragon.” One of them hit him lightly and made him hold his wings up.

They were heavy. They had never been heavy before. But right now, they just ached something fierce. Ghost felt them start to drag and one of them quickly corrected them.

“Either hold them up or we cut parts of them off.”

Ghost found the least uncomfortable way to hold up his wings. He tried not to let his eyelids droop. Exhaustion was getting to him.

Then, he was marched into a room. Full of people. All of who looked at… at him.

Why were they looking at him?

“King MacTavish! I hope I’m not late.” Roba walked forward and Ghost trailed behind him, feeling like he was being set on fire and not in a good way. “I brought you something?”

Ghost felt like the room was spinning. Was it spinning?

A thick accent. One he swore he heard before. It was talking but the room was spinning too had. His wings were drooping. They hurt. He was heavy.

Someone was screaming. It was loud. High pitched. Maybe it was him.

Roba’s voice. Full of pride.

“The Last Dragon.”

Ghost knew he wasn’t the one screaming. He was on the floor. A blade. There was a blade.

More screaming. It was so loud.

Ghost fell asleep.

He missed Soap’s hate filled berating of Roba. The way he pulled out a weapon and threatened to cut him from throat to belly button. If he saw it, he’d be proud.

Ghost only knew that when he woke up, there was not a single chain on him. That the ground beneath him felt soft. A blanket draped over his body. And he had been scrubbed clean in his sleep. He could tell because his skin tingled and smelled floral.

Soap, his King, paced at the foot of the bed. Angry, violent footsteps.

Ghost had displeased him. Most likely by passing out.

He didn’t move an inch. Simply waited. Maybe he’d calm down.

Soap stopped moving. The deafening silence followed.

Ghost bit his tongue as he felt him approach. Felt soft fingertips along his back. Along the bulk of his wings.

“Simon.”

Ghost felt him saying that name like a stab wound. “Ghost.”

“Ghost.”

Hands through his hair. Gentle. A mockery of love.

“Oh, Ghost. What did they do to you?” Soap asked him softly.

Ghost’s eyes fluttered. “Johnny?”

“Hi.”

Oh. He was a Prince.

Ghost didn’t want to move. He felt tight. Like he’d break open if he moved too fast.

Soap gently brushed his hair out of his face. “Look at you. Still so bonnie.”

His accent had gotten thicker. Ghost still flinched when he came too close to his face.

He moved to instead stroke Ghost’s hair. He scratched his scalp gently and it felt so nice Ghost almost moaned. Instead, he went slack, letting Soap manipulate him how he wanted.

Incredibly careful hands touched his body. Inspecting the cuts. The bruises. The now harsh scars that would never leave.

Then came the kisses. A simple press of the lips over every one. Until Ghost felt so wound up, he was afraid he’d break apart. Shatter into a thousand tiny little pieces. A sob passed his lips and Soap pressed into him.

“You’re okay. You’re alright.”

It was too much.

“Please.”

Soap pressed closer. His skin impossibly too hot and too cold. “What do you need? How can I help?”

“Stop touching me.” It was a risky move.

Soap yanked back. “O-of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean.”

Ghost pressed his face into the pillows. “If you want something from me, just take it and go.”

“No. I’ll do nothing of the sort.” Soap said quickly. Ghost shuddered, wondering what he was planning.

Was he still mad Ghost left all those years ago? Yes, it wasn’t on purpose, but that meant nothing to human. Or maybe he wanted to finish what he started all those years ago.

The idea of Soap, or Johnny he supposed, pinning him down. Taking advantage of his weakness to fulfill his human desires.

Wouldn’t be the first time. Soap was softer though. Weaker than your average human. Maybe he’d at least take it slow. That would drag it out though.

“Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep a long time.”

Ghost tried to piece together how long exactly he had been asleep. He was hungry. So fucking hungry.

“I’ll take that as a yes you are.” Soap rang a bell and someone brought them food. He started to situate the pillows, making them into a weird pile.

Ghost watched him pat the pile multiple times before realizing he was supposed to sit there. He slowly moved and sat in front of him. Soap pushed him into it and… it was comfy. Really comfy.

Ghost slowly melted into it, head tilting back. Soft underbelly exposed.

Stab him. Cut him open. Bleed him dry.

Soap did no such thing. He took the plate from them and knelt in front of him on the bed. “Just eat, yes?” There wasn’t much room for arguing. His hand was cupping Ghost’s jaw with the other holding bread, making it impossible to escape.

Ghost opened his mouth slowly and he could see Soap counting his teeth. Some had been filed or broken, but his body would just make more. He’d have to remove some of them before he could replace them, but it would be fine. Ghost ate from his hand slowly, feeling intense shame from the act but an understanding that he wouldn’t be fed otherwise. It wasn’t the most degrading thing he had to do for food.

Soap kept stroking his face. His chin, his cheeks, under his eyes.

“Beautiful.”

Ghost was confused what he found attractive about his scar riddled body, but if he had his fetishes, he had them. He finished eating, starting to feel sick despite only getting a few mouthfuls down.

Soap cupped his face fully, taking him in.

“I missed you.”

Ghost didn’t look at him.

“That’s okay. I’m so glad you’re alive. That I can see you again.”

Ghost closed his eyes slowly.

Soap was feral. A bit like a puppy. He kept touching Ghost. His fingertips running over his wings. Presence all around him. He smelled so strongly of different things. Nice things, don’t get him wrong. Just overwhelming.

Ghost opened his mouth but before he could even get words out, Soap was jumping up and down.

“Need a drink? You must be thirsty.” Soap fixed him a glass of tea and brought it to him. He still had his crown on. And his coronation outfit. It was funny, seeing someone that looked so royal care for him.

Soap’s red coat hit the ground, gorgeous against his white shirt. Ghost could see the intricate gold coloring and it took him a minute, but he realized it emulated his own gold scarring. The designs on the coat jumbled on the back, giving the appearance of wings.

Did Johnny miss him that much?

Ghost hated himself for leaving.

Soap hesitated. There were mere inches between them. It felt like nothing to Ghost and too far to Soap. Ghost felt smothered. Unused to such affections.

Soap wanted to swallow him whole.

#johnny soap mactavish #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii

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spockiguess · 7 months ago

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The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 2 - Another Meeting

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 1

Summary: The reader returns to Kreizler's Institute, but the meeting does not go as planned.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Mentions of Religious Grooming, Arguments, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Laszlo is depicted as an asshole in this because, well, he is one! I love him a lot, but he needs to work on some things...

The days that followed after your confounding encounter with the blunt Dr. Kreizler were slow and uneventful, which you came to realize over the years was a small blessing in your line of duty. Excitement in an orphanage wasn’t always positive, and it was better for the children if they were able to predict–and follow–a safe routine. It provided much-needed structure in their lives.

Nevertheless, you found your mind wandering in the few moments of solace throughout the day. Cleaning dishes was paired with meditations on the complex interactions you and the Good Doctor had shared, whereas changing sheets brought on vivid memories of his piercing eyes and scathing words. The wires within you became more fraught with each passing second you spent in your cramped bed. In those twilight hours, you would focus on one of the candles that dotted your equally diminutive room, absently watching the ember flame dance in the breeze that flowed from your open window. The fire provided the serenity your head needed to think about how the time you spent with Dr. Kreizler had forced you to question everything you knew while inspiring a searing heat to spark in the depths of your core.

This warmth that spread deeper and farther than any hearth might cause was wholly new to you. Not once had you experienced something like this, but due to the newfound sensitivity between your legs, you knew that it was something to vehemently detest. Mother Superior Ida had been encouraged on many occasions by St. Vincent’s Abess to violently discipline your peers if need be, with you only escaping by mere hairs. Watching the older nuns of the convent be flogged for “inappropriate behavior” around the men of the Church who happened to visit from time to time kept you dutiful on your path of pureness. You never touched yourself, let your thoughts stray, or even looked at your most private areas unless absolutely necessary. After that day, though, your discipline waned.

Dr. Kreizler was challenging, utterly unafraid of your position, and according to the stories you heard, cold towards most. The man countered your faith at every turn, intent on proving you wrong. He wasn’t the type of man you thought you would find yourself attracted to, if you could even act on those desires. No, Dr. Kreizler was difficult. He had a tendency to provoke people, much like he did to you that day, and ignore one’s feelings. And yet, Kreizler regarded children with a familiarity that was uncommon for men of his status. In the few hours you spent at his Institute, the alienist’s care for the wellbeing of his patients was made plain. Dr. Kreizler, at his heart, was a gentle man, and that is perhaps what drew you to him so much in the first place–his defiance of your expectations.

This all culminated in a flurry of emotion that pushed you to leave St. Vincent’s Orphanage on one of your off-days and make the trek to the Kreizler Institute once again. Without the fear that urged you to take this path originally, you were able to mull over your actions, causing you to stumble into strangers on the sidewalk and nearly pass the Institute altogether. Once you righted yourself faced the creme-colored steps of his facility, a wave of hot shame flooded your senses: what were you doing? To allow any sort of attraction in the first place was already an ample mistake, but to seek the object of your attraction out like this was deplorable. You were already wed to Him, any other being should pale in comparison. Despite this, you still had questions that needed to be answered.

Just as you began to make your way up the steps, one of the enormous wooden doors to the Institute swung open, a tiny woman appearing just behind it.

“Oh! You must be Nunny!” she proclaimed in a mousy English accent.

Pausing, your brows knit together in a tight line as you stammered, “I’m sorry, you’re one of the staff here, correct?”

The woman was wearing the garb you found common amongst the staff who worked behind those doors, and she swung her head down to look at the uniform, too, “Yes. I apologize, Sister. Dr. Kreizler said that’s a nickname the children often refer to you as.”

Another type of embarrassment painted your features, and you huffed indignantly as you drew your scapular up again, “It’s alright, the children find it easier to remember.” You weren’t sure if Kreizler using the name to describe you was supposed to be demeaning, or if he genuinely didn’t remember your name, but it stung, nonetheless.

The woman who stood behind the entrance pushed the heavy door further, waving a hand to welcome you in, “Would you prefer I call you something else?”

Now indifferent to the title, you relented, “No, Nunny is fine,” and continued into the building.

Unlike the previous time, there weren’t any children to be found playing inside, nor did you see any staff surveying the space. It felt oddly empty, and you shuddered at the silence.

“Where are the children?” you asked hesitantly.

The woman who was currently leading you down one of the main paths to Dr. Kreizler’s office pointed down a branching hall you passed, “Everyone’s gone outside to play, Sister. They’re happily enjoying their weekend activities.” You sighed a breath of relief before resuming your route.

Eventually, you were met with Dr. Kreizler’s office door, the opulent gold plaque freshly lacquered since your last visit. The woman knocked twice before twisting the similarly gold handle, leaving you to confer with the alienist who waited inside.

Kreizler sat at his desk, furiously scribbling in one of the many notebooks that cluttered the surface, “Is something the matter, Lottie?”

Unsure of how to respond, you waited until Dr. Kreizler glanced upwards, taking pause at your unexpected presence.

“Have you just arrived?” Dr. Kreizler queried.

Nervously running one hand over the other, you explained, “Yes. I was already at the entrance when one of your staff greeted me.”

The man squinted his eyes, something you now figured a tic, “How convenient. I had just sent Lottie to retrieve you.”

You swallowed, stepping back a pace, “I’m assuming Mona requested a visit?”

“Indeed. She’s in the courtyard with the rest of her peers,” Dr. Kreizler waited a breath, “You came here for a different reason?” The air in the room began to still, and part of you wished to leave in that very instance.

“I apologize. I know you’ve only allowed my presence for visits with Mona, or if I need help with another child,” you paused as well, this time for different reasons, “I’m not here to preach gospel, Doctor.”

This only further intrigued Kreizler, his diligent fingers pensively stroking his beard as he pressed for more information, “Then I must ask the same question as I did before: what is the purpose of your visit?”

You were cornered, literally and figuratively. The lining of your throat dried uncomfortably while you struggled to form a coherent response, “I’m not sure how to classify this visit, Dr. Kreizler.”

Kreizler beckoned you to sit with a single hand, “Indulge me, Sister.”

That single sentence reignited the flame you had been feeling ever since you left the Institute before, and without much thought, your feet carried you to one of the velvet chairs opposite his desk.

Carefully sitting down, you adjusted your tunic to retain as much modesty as possible, despite the vulnerability you felt in this moment. All the while, Dr. Kreizler raptly studied you like one of his patients, the very act feeling immodest itself.

“So, why did you seek me out, if not for Mona?” The question came from him easily, as if there wasn’t a double meaning to his words.

You didn’t dare meet his gaze, instead picking at the skin that surrounded your nails, “I do not know where else to go,” Dr. Kreizler waited as you collected your thoughts, “You have inspired questions that I do not know how to answer, which has only brought about more questions.”

Kreizler’s voice was an octave lower as he leaned back in his chair, resting a hand on one of the armrests, “You can’t consult your superiors?”

“They would punish me, Doctor,” you admitted shamefully.

A deep hum resonated from Dr. Kreisler's chest, “That must be the reason behind your change in demeanor today. I remember a quite brazen young woman from our last visit.”

A tense silence permeated the room, suffocating you under its weight. Dr. Kreizler was right, which added to the immense guilt you burdened yourself with. You've come all this way from St. Vincent’s to satisfy a foolish infatuation and seek guidance over something he despised with his entire being. How could a self-proclaimed atheist possibly help you reconfigure your relationship with God?

“I should have waited for Lottie,” you said to yourself, voice trembling.

Kreizler clicked his tongue in annoyance and stood without warning, quickly making way to the door behind you, signaling for you to leave, “Then you are wasting my time, Sister. If you have nothing of note to share with me, please wait with one of the staff for Ms. Walker.”

You were confused, how could he turn from addressing you with some modicum of kindness to treating you like a disturbance. Overwhelmed, salty teardrops began to fall into the open palms of your hands. Feeling lost again and in desperate need of understanding, you looked up and out of the shimmering window that sat behind the doctor’s desk as you questioned, “Did I really choose this life for myself?”

Another pregnant silence followed before you heard the door abruptly close. Soon, Dr. Kreizler was behind his desk and waiting for your next confession like the men of the cloth you had run to previously. Perhaps Kreizler’s unique disposition might be what you need in this moment, rather than the absolution the men on the other side of the confessional booth urged you to seek.

“You were right. I had never questioned His teachings. I hadn't thought that possible. But when you exposed such a blindspot in my beliefs, it led me to doing that very thing,” you avoided Dr. Kreizler’s stare, too raw to face it now.

“Now, I am unsure if my choice to take the vows was entirely my own, or just a symptom of being raised by the very women I have become.” A weight lifted from your shoulders and the bind suffocating your heart eased with the admittance. Even voicing your doubts to someone who wouldn't punish you for doing so was relieving.

Ever serious, Dr. Kreizler spoke evenly, “You must not have had many choices, Sister.”

The title of Sister was blistering now, and you recoiled at the sound, “When I began my teachings, it was with the motivation that once I was of age, my health and safety would be guaranteed. I had no other skills to depend on.” The rosary that laid beneath your tunic began to burn your skin, the cloth which covered you only intensified the feeling.

“You acted out of survival, then? Not out of an innate devotion to God?” Kreizler asked.

Tears blinded your vision, “I think so.”

“What would you have done if your needs were satisfied?”

You stayed silent, only speaking when you were certain enough you wouldn't burst into pathetic sobs, “I would have liked to work in an orphanage, just as I am now. I've always loved children.”

Dr. Kreizler tilted his head slightly, his eyes regarding you with the utmost pity, “And to think your life wouldn't have been so different had you picked a different path.”

Swallowing a hard lump, you blinked the remaining tears away and swiped the evidence of your pain from your hands, “Perhaps, but there is nothing I can do about it now. As much as anyone else, I am still burdened with the duties of my service, and it would be selfish of me to abandon them.”

The alienist leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, “Would you leave your convent, had you the opportunity?”

Color drained from your face and you clenched at your stomach, praying for the visceral sickness that boiled there to go away. You would be shunned by your Sisters, the only family you’ve ever known. You wouldn’t be able to continue your work at St. Vincent’s, where so many children are in desperate need of your help. The Lord would rebuke you as His wife and cast you to Hell once your life creeped towards the inevitable.

Startled, you fought back, a distinct sadness plaguing your voice, “I can’t do that.”

Kreizler, a man not ashamed of his ability to inflame, pestered, “”You can’t, or you won’t?”

“My Lord would abandon me, just as I would do to him if I entertained that prospect. I’d be a disgrace to the people I serve,” you argued, clinging to what you’ve been taught over the years.

“The only thing that restricts you from living the life you want is shame? You criticized others for using religion to justify their own despicable behavior, now you are doing the same!” Kreizler’s voice began to rise, the conversation flipping on a dime as his own frustration became evident.

“How am I the same, Doctor?” You asked indignantly, offended at the accusation.

Dr. Kreizler stood up, perching a hand on his desk to loom over you, “You are living a life of shame for a God you don’t even love–that is pathetic! You are no different from a starved animal clawing to survive.” His words dripped with bitter venom, and it stung against your flesh.

“I did what I had to do! I help people, Doctor! That is my freedom!” You stood, too, stepping closer to the edge of Kreizler’s finely carved desk.

“And what freedom is that, Sister? I help people, as well, do I not?” Kreizler’s accent thickened with menace.

You snarled, closing the gap between you and the Good Doctor even more, “You have always had the means to do such a thing! No matter what, you have been afforded protections that people like me are forced to live without–how we choose to live our lives is none of your business!”

Kreizler ignored your rebuttal, “These are fickle excuses and you are smart enough to know it, Sister. Do you want to live this life?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said in an instant.

“I will ask again, do you want to live this life?”

“Of course not!” You yelled, inches away from Kreizler’s face.

An eerie silence followed before you found the confidence to speak again, voice broken, “I have given up so much, Doctor. I have lost the future I always dreamed about–and while I would help people in any lifetime–I want a family. That is the life I want to live.”

Kreizler, still maintaining the short distance between you, spoke gently, “Then why not go after it?”

Backing away somewhat, you issued a deep sigh, “I do not know how I would do that, and I am too much of a coward to face the wrath of my superiors, should I make a mistake.”

“So you will do nothing?” His words were foreboding, like thunderclouds reigning above crashing waves, eager to swallow you whole.

You didn’t allow yourself to speak on the subject anymore, having already said far too much, “I’m going to wait for Mona, Doctor. Thank you for your time.” In a second, you were out of the office and retracing your steps to the hall Lottie pointed down earlier, your smile bittersweet once the courtyard came into sight.

Soon, you were reunited with Mona, who was thrilled to see you. Already, she looked livelier than before, the hollows of her cheeks beginning to round out. The two of you spent most of your visit playing all of Mona’s newly-favorite games, most of which included some theming around horses, and you couldn’t have been luckier. Keeping your attention on the girl brought you back to your usual, joyful self, and you were able to momentarily ignore the humiliating spat you shared with the Institute’s resident alienist.

Eventually, Mona led you back to the dormitory she now inhabited, her bed occupied by a certain furry friend while her chest brimmed with clothes and toys. She urged you to sit on the edge of the mattress while she went through each toy she’s received, finally making way to the plush rabbit that rested against her pillow.

“And this is Nunny. She’s my favorite one,” Mona said through a big grin, holding the rabbit out to you.

Your heart clenched and you took the stuffed animal in your hands, brushing its floppy ears from its face, “You named it after me?”

Mona bobbed her head, holding her hands behind her back in the cutest way possible, “She’s a bunny, and bunny rhymes with Nunny.”

Gobsmacked, you sat the bunny to the side and brought the girl up to place on your bouncing leg, “It rhymes? You must have learned a lot since being here, sweet girl.”

Mona giggled, “Uh huh, he’s been teaching me himself!” In the farthest reaches of your hearing, you picked up on the sound of a doorknob twisting ever so delicately, followed by a soft creak. You reckoned it was a door just outside of the room, ignoring it for now.

With a knowing hum, you questioned the girl, “Dr. Kreizler?” Mona nodded again, situating herself closer to lay on your chest.

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s a very caring individual–I knew he would look after you,” you didn’t entirely know why you were speaking the man’s praises, but you couldn’t help it, even with what transgressed earlier today.

Dr. Kreizler might be hard on you and most others, but he had a painfully obvious soft-spot for children, no matter the guise he might put on.

“He even plays with me. A lot of my friends say he doesn’t do that often,” Mona’s voice began to get quieter, and sneaking a glance downwards, you could see her eyelids become droopy, no doubt a warning your visit was coming to an end.

“Well, you’ll have to thank him for me, Mona. I’m extremely lucky to have gone to him when I had the chance.” Mona didn’t respond, and you could only guess she had fallen fast asleep.

Leaving her there for a moment, you glanced around the room, intently studying the crude drawings that lined the walls. When your gaze fell on the door, you noticed it was left ajar, and you faintly wondered if you had forgotten to close it before you came in.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #female reader #daniel brühl

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black-suns-rim · 2 months ago

Text

The Trials: Part 1

This is part 3 of the Ethereal Star AU story. You can find the other parts here:

Part 1 - The prophecy // part 2 - The child

Content warning: Violence, blood, injury

Word count: 18,608

“You are just as nervous as all of us… if not more.” The water prophet held a pendant in her hands, rubbing it with her fingers. All four of the prophets and the overseer were sitting around a campfire.

“I am… very nervous. I fear for them.” Anubis was staring into the fire.

“We have taught and prepared them the best we've could.” The earth prophet tried to comfort Anubis's worries.

“Yes, I know. I am more worried about their spiritual rebirth. What they will go through, I don't know how it will affect them in that way since they are so young…” He took a deep breath in and sighed.

The fire prophet placed a hand on Anubis's shoulder, “They will be changed when they go through the trials… that's for sure. Everyone is changed when they go through. Their ember may not be aged, but the worst outcome that you are thinking of… it most likely won't happen.”

“We must keep a positive attitude about this. The young embers will sense our negativity if we bring It tomorrow. We don't want that affecting their performance in the water trial.” The air prophet gave a weak smile, trying to encourage everyone else.

“Yes… hmmm…” Anubis stood up, having an idea pop into his mind. He grabbed his handmade drum, “Grab your instruments. The young embers would probably love some music before bed. We will play our song to them.”

“Our song? We haven't played it in years… I don't know if I remember all of it.” The fire prophet got up and followed Anubis's lead.

“Oh, the young embers will love some music.” The water prophet cooed.

“We will play the music in front of the large fire pit in the center of camp.” The overseer said as he exited the tent. The other prophets nodded.

“I’ll light the pit.” The fire prophet quickly made his way to the center of the camp.

The other prophets grabbed what they needed and headed over to the large tent where the children and the young adults had been eating their evening meal. They seemed a little surprised to see the prophets and overseer.

“Young embers, join us outside of the tent for some music! Bring your meals with you and circle around the large campfire.” Anubis was holding his drum under his arm as he spoke. There was a strap that was connected to his drum that he used to sling over his shoulder, making it easier for him to hold the large drum. The kid’s faces lit up when he announced the music. They quickly grabbed their bowls and trailed out of the tent after the overseer. The young adults didn’t seem as excited as the kids, but they followed anyway.

As Anubis led them to the center of the camp, he patted his drum softly, trying to recall how to play some songs. The more he started to remember, the louder he played his drum until it was loud enough for the children to hear. The other prophets tried to quietly practice as well when they had noticed Anubis was. Once they arrived at the large fire pit, he directed the kids and young adults to sit around it. The fire prophet wasn’t at the campfire, so they waited for him to return. Anubis saw him jogging to their tent - he assumed to grab his instrument. When he returned, he was slightly out of breath.

Anubis gestured for the prophets to come near him, “We play our song first, then we should let the kids request songs, alright?” The other prophets nodded in agreement. They spread out and faced the children. Anubis began to pat his drum, setting the rhythm of the song. The song started off with a few mess-ups, which the prophets were a bit embarrassed about, but the kids found it entertaining. The rest of the song, they played without mistakes. Though their song didn’t have any lyrics previously, Anubis decided to free-style some on the spot in the middle of the song:

Who are we?

We are the future, we are embers.

We are our parent’s children, we are embers.

Our light shines the brightest at our core, our cores are who we are.

We are embers.

We are the descendants of the stars, we are the light in the darkest time.

Who are we to this world?

We are the future.

We are our parent’s children.

We are of the stars.

We are pure.

We are embers of light.

Once the song was over, the kids clapped and cheered. The water prophet was baffled, “This whole time we’ve known each other, I didn’t know you could sing so well.”

“Yeah, why have you never told us you could sing?” The earth prophet chimed in.

Anubis chuckled, “I guess it never came up.”

“Well, it should come up more. You have a really smooth voice.” The fire prophet complimented. Anubis became a little flustered with the compliments from the other prophets.

He then turned his attention to the kids, “What song should we play next?” The kids started to shout out different songs all at once.

“Whoa, whoa, raise your hands.”

The kids quieted down and raised their hands. One kid was waving their hand high up in the air, really wanting to be picked. Anubis called on them and they suggested that they play a traditional song from the forest region where they came from. Anubis nodded at the request, approving it. He turned to the prophets so they could discuss which song from the forest region they should play. They were quick to choose since the water prophet originated from the forest and knew many songs.

By the end of the night, the kids, the prophets and the overseer forgot the stresses and worries of the trials for the days ahead. And since the children had begun to dance and run around by the third song, they were very tired when it was time for them to sleep. A few of the kids had even fallen asleep around the campfire. The prophets and the young adults had to carry the sleeping children to the tents they were to sleep in. Once all the kids were settled down for sleep, the prophets went back to their own tent.

“The music was such a good idea. The young embers definitely seemed more happy.” The water prophet smiled at remembering their cheerful dancing as she changed into her night clothes.

“This should become a tradition before the trials.” The earth prophet suggested. The other prophets agreed.

“Yes, this should. I honestly do feel better now.” Anubis said as he took off his mask, placing it down by the pillow of his sleeping mat.

“I even saw the older embers dance and sing along to the music.” The fire prophet chuckled, “As edgy and cool as they want to seem, they couldn’t resist breaking that fake persona.”

“Did you guys see that one ember start to break dance? Oh great star mother, I wanted to laugh so bad. It looked so funny.” The air prophet shook their head with a smile.

“Oh, I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one who saw it!” The earth prophet mimicked what the ember had done and the two started laughing. Anubis smiled at his friend’s silly behavior, “We should settle down now and rest.”

“Right, right, the old man needs his sleep.” The earth prophet teased as they sat down on their sleeping mat. Anubis raised his eyebrows at the playful banter.

“Good night guys.” The water prophet said as she pulled a blanket over herself.

“Good night.” The other prophets replied. The rest of them settled down for sleep.

𓆩✧𓆪

“Three years have passed, and no child has come close to completing all four trials.” Anubis wore a black thick fur cloak that covered the majority of his body. The mask he was wearing wasn’t his ceremonial mask, instead, it was a basic mask that had some painted markings on it. He held his hands behind his back while looking out at the scenery, “But since you are here, the time for the child’s arrival must be close I assume?” He turned to Lamed.

“I’ve had no other visions about the child king, but I sense the time is near, yes.” She wasn't in her ceremonial clothing either. She was dressed in all white, long robes. Her hair was still covered and her face had a white veil over it. “Over the past three years, I’ve been doing research on how to teach a child. I also thought I would come to you for advice for my research.”

He smiled under his mask, “You are nervous about teaching our future ruler?”

“No… I mean… well… yes. I’ve never been a teacher before, let alone one for such an important role.” She held her hands together in front of herself.

“You’ve always been the one to overthink. And I see you haven’t changed. Just prepare the best you can and don’t stress about it. Children will be children. If you haven’t already, you should do research on child development rather than how to teach a child. Lessons are important, but the health of the child, whether it be mentally, physically or spiritually, it’s more important than lessons. A stressed child will never perform better under pressure.” He opened his arms and Lamed leaned in for a hug after hesitating.

She let out a sigh of stress, trying to let it go through her breath, “Thank you.” She uttered quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

She let go of him, “so, how long do you think you’ll be visiting on unofficial terms?” He asked out of curiosity.

“I’m not sure. I was just beginning to feel restless being in the vault. Rare, I know. But the other scholars know what to do without me, so I don’t doubt anything will go wrong in my absence. Maybe I can observe your trials once more while I am here?”

“I wouldn’t mind that. As long as you don’t mind waiting. We have a week of rest after the ceremonies and you just happen to come right at the beginning of our rest week.”

“Oh. Well, it gives me time to catch up with all my old teachers then.” She smiled.

“Yes... You are welcome to join us for dinner tonight. The prophets and I decided it would be great for us to leave the camp for once and dine out in the village nearby. Not in our ceremonial garments of course.” Anubis sat on the ground and so did Lamed.

“That would be nice. I’d like to join.”

𓆩✧𓆪

Alef laid in the long grass, looking up at the clouds. Veluboga and Kizuna laid on either side of him. The warm sun beamed down on them and a gentle breeze cooled off their skin.

“That cloud over there looks like a pot with butterflies coming out of it.” Vel pointed to a cloud off to the left of them.

“It does. Ooo, and that one over there looks like a candle.” Kiz gestured to the right.

Alef’s gaze went from cloud to cloud as his two best friends pointed at them. He had many thoughts going on in his head and he has been getting stressed out about Daleth suggesting to him to go through the ceremonial trials along with his friends wanting to do them together. He zoned out from their conversation and dozed off until their peaceful cloud watching was interrupted by rocks suddenly being thrown at them. They got up and shielded themselves. Kizuna began yelling after seeing who was throwing the rocks.

“Leave us alone Olali!” Kiz barked.

“The grass fields are mine! You have your own in your stupid tiny village!” He yelled back.

“The grass fields don’t belong to you or your friends!” Kizuna grabbed a rock that had been thrown at them and she threw it back. She clocked one of Olali’s friends in the head with the rock and they began to cry. Olali growled and ran at the three, ready to fight them. Alef, Kizuna and Veluboga bolted.

“You will pay for this! If you come to our grass fields again, it’s over!” Olali screamed as the three got away.

“They’re not yours, you pile of manta dung!” Kizuna yelled.

Once the three of them were in a safe place, they sat down.

“Ugh! I hate him.” Veluboga huffed.

“Me too. He acts like he owns everything that isn’t the village.” Kizuna growled, “I swear, if he ends up being in the trials with us, I’m gonna knock him out before he can do anything.”

Alef sighed, “or you can try to make peace with him-“

“Never! He’s always been a jerk to us! Do you remember what he did to you a couple weeks ago?!” Kiz crossed her arms.

“I do remember, but Daleth says we don’t know what could be going on with Olali to make him so mean. He says we should be nice to him.” Alef tried to reason.

“I’m not being nice to a jerk. I’m sorry Alef, but my momma says if he tries to fight us, we should fight back.” She rubbed her arm that had been hit by one of the rocks that was thrown at them.

“And my papa says the same.” Vel agreed with Kiz.

Alef frowned under his mask, “I think I’m gonna go home. I’ll meet up with you guys tomorrow at our spot.” He said with a saddened tone as he left. Once he arrived home to the small hut, he sat on the small living room’s couch. Daleth was in the kitchen preparing dinner when he saw Alef come in.

“You’re back home early.” He expressed with a bit of surprise in his tone.

“Olali chased us off of the grass fields by throwing rocks at us. Kiz and Vel won’t listen to me about what you told me.” He grabbed one of the pillows on the couch and held it as he laid down on his side.

“Oh dear- were any of you hurt?” Daleth stopped what he was doing and came to sit right by Alef.

“I think Kiz was hit on the arm by a rock… she managed to throw a rock at one of Olali’s friend’s head. I’m pretty sure no one else was hurt.”

Daleth shook his head in disapproval, “reacting to violence with more violence will always lead to both sides ending up hurt. Nothing good comes from it. As long as you didn’t throw any rocks-“

“I didn’t. It was just Kizuna.”

Daleth could tell Alef was really upset, “would you like to help me make dinner? I’m preparing one of our favorites.”

Alef sat up while still holding the pillow, “I’m not hungry.”

“What? How could you not be hungry for sweet buns, sticky rice and fish?”

Alef looked up at Daleth, “you’re making sweet buns?”

“Yes. And I need someone strong to knead the dough.” He said with a smile.

“Maybe I am hungry.” He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. Daleth let out a soft chuckle as he slowly got up from the couch. He handed a bowl that was holding the dough over to Alef. As he worked on the dough, Daleth continued to chop up the fish, putting the small pieces into a bowl. The rice was already in a boiling pot.

After helping with preparing dinner, Alef took a quick bath as Daleth served the warm food. Halfway into their meal, Alef brought up the ceremonial trials.

“Kiz and Vel want to do the trials next week and they want me to join them, but I don’t feel like I’m ready to do them.” He said as he finished up eating the fried fish.

“There will be many things in life we will feel as if we aren’t ready for. But we will never truly know if we are ready until we just do it. You are probably more educated about what the trials are than your friends, which could be the reason for your hesitation.”

Alef nodded, “they just seem more excited about them than I do.”

“Very true… but look at it this way; would you rather go through this new experience with your friends, or all alone when you feel as if you’re ready?”

Alef thought for a while, “I guess with my friends. I don’t wanna do it alone…” he paused, “Daleth?”

“Yes?”

“How were the trials like when you went through them?” Alef took one of the sweet buns that were placed in the center of the small table.

Daleth thought for a bit, trying to remember, “Well, that was a very long time ago. They might’ve changed since then… but I do recall a lot of training before going into the actual trials. Believe it or not, I was really close to completing all four, but I became really cocky during the last trial. My pride was what made me fail.”

“What were in the trials?”

“I honestly don’t remember… I don’t believe anyone remembers what exactly is in the trials after they go through them. All I do remember, though, is the four trials are based on the four core elements of magic.” Daleth finished his food.

“I know that already.” Alef sighed, “why doesn’t anyone remember though?”

“I have no clue. I just always accepted the fact I couldn’t remember.” Daleth took his plate and stood up from the table, heading over to the sink to rinse off the dish. Alef finished up his food as well and helped put away the leftover food.

𓆩✧𓆪

Cool night air flowed through the small diner of the village, though cold, it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it felt relieving after the hot weather of the day. Lanterns overhead lit up the diner with a soft warm glow that was comforting and inviting. All the tables of the diner had been cleaned down for the night, except for one large table that held six seats.

Food was spread out across the table, drinks were empty or half full, and the occupants were reminiscing on good memories of their days as young children.

“I remember when Golden City was just a small village. The trouble I got into in that village was scandalous and I'm surprised my guardian didn't punish me a lot more! There were just too many things I did to just pick one!” The overseer laughed, “Though I did have a lot of energy and they were old. I was such a naughty child. I'm glad I didn’t turn out to be a smuggler or thief.”

“Well, you did turn out to be lazy.” The fire prophet took a playful jab at Anubis's ego.

“Lazy? Me? Talk to me again once you get your students in line.” He jabbed back. The other prophets laughed, one even playfully slapped the fire prophet's arm in amusement.

“I had never gotten in trouble for anything I think. I always obeyed my parents.” The water prophet paused, “well actually, I did get in trouble for forgetting to let anyone know where I was heading to. I had just decided to go on a walk late at night and it slipped my mind.”

“Ah yeah, of course the worst thing you got in trouble for was that.” The fire prophet teased, “You were always well-behaved. And quiet. And shy.”

“Jealous?” She teased back. The other prophets chuckled.

“Now you have to tell us what was the worst thing you got in trouble for.” The air prophet gestured to the fire prophet.

“No, no… you guys don't wanna know.” He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

“Well now I'm interested.” The earth prophet leaned forward, placing their arms down on the table.

“Yeah, you got to tell us now.” The air prophet grinned.

The fire prophet sighed, “fine… but don't say I didn't warn you guys. So when I was really young, I was really into learning the anatomy of creatures. Outside and inside. I really don't know what sparked that interest, especially wanting to know what the inside of creatures looked like-”

The earth prophet cut him off, “Oh great star mother. Don't tell me you-”

“I did. I found a dead creature and ended up cutting it open. I didn't know that was wrong. I got yelled at and disciplined for it. But I think that's what also ended my strange obsession. Thankfully.”

“You could've ended up being a murderer.” The earth prophet was a little creeped out.

“Hey, I warned you.” The fire prophet got a little defensive.

“Alright, alright. We don't need any negativity tonight.” Anubis lifted up his hand to get their attention, “Why don't we move on?” The prophets nodded in agreement.

Lamed was listening to the prophets and overseer talk as she ate. She studied the outfits and personal styles of each prophet. She noticed that their non-ceremonial garments seemed to be more relaxed. The air prophet, earth prophet and water prophet all wore loose and layered robes while the overseer and fire prophet wore kimonos. They all had taken their cloaks off upon entering the diner.

Their masks were simple. All of them had the basic mask but paint and decor separated the sameness of the mask shape. The way the paint was applied to the mask made it clear to her what element they were a prophet of.

She began to zone out of their conversation, in thought of something that has been gnawing at her for the past three years… The sickened creatures… She's only had one other vision about them, but she has yet to make any sense of it. The two visions have left her with many questions and even more concerns. Anubis noticed how Lamed was zoned out.

“Lamed. Are you doing ok?” He interrupted the conversation to check on her. She snapped out from her deep thoughts and looked at Anubis.

“Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking about something I had a vision of.” She gave a fake and nervous smile. He could tell something was bothering her, but he figured it would be best to talk to her later in private about it.

“I see. Well, I hope you are enjoying the food. This village has always served the best bread I've ever tasted along with its other desserts.”

“Yeah, the food is really good.” She complimented.

The other prophets continued to chatter and eat. Once their bellies were stuffed, they decided it was time to leave. Anubis paid for all of the food and the group headed out of the diner.

“Are you guys tired yet?” Anubis had something in mind. It was already very late into the night. The prophets shook their heads.

“Lamed?” He looked down at her.

“Hm?” Her mind was elsewhere again.

“Are you tired yet?” Anubis repeated the question.

“No.”

“I have a proposal.” He said as he walked in front of the group, turning to face them and stopped.

“Listening.” The earth prophet crossed their arms.

“We head to the grass fields and watch the fireflies.” He said with enthusiasm. The other prophets liked the proposal and agreed.

The grass fields were a mile walk from where they currently were. The ground was uneven with a lot of hills. It was lightwork to them. Lamed, on the other hand, she lacked the physical endurance they had and became tired quickly. She was starting to fall behind and the fire prophet noticed.

“Are you alright?” He slowed his walking pace to match her's.

“Oh, yeah. I'm just not used to… this.” She lightly panted.

“Do you need us to slow down?” He asked with concern.

“No. I'll catch up eventually.”

“You sure? We still have a ways to go until we reach the grass fields. Don't want you to get completely left behind- oh, I could carry you for a while if you need so you don't fall behind.” He offered.

“Well… hmmm…” She thought about his offer for a few seconds, “Sure. If it's not too much of a burden for you.”

“It won't be.” He knelt down and she stood in front of him. The fire prophet picked her up off of her feet with ease, carrying her bridal style. He caught up with the other prophets quickly. They glanced his way, taking notice he was carrying Lamed.

A while later, they arrived at the grass fields. The fireflies glittered throughout the giant fields. The fire prophet placed Lamed onto her feet. Lamed was amazed by the sight.

“This… it's so beautiful.” She uttered.

“It is.” Anubis began to run down the hill they were standing on top of, letting his inner child take over. The fire prophet followed. The air, earth and water prophets chuckled as the two ran down into the large field.

“Boys.” The water prophet rolled her eyes with a playful grin on her face. Lamed felt a smile creep onto her face. She was so used to the elemental prophets and overseer acting so professional, she almost forgot they had their own personalities. They eventually caught up with Anubis and the fire prophet who were laying down in the dewy grass, watching the fireflies flicker above them. The three ladies and earth prophet decided to sit instead of lay.

Lamed took in her surroundings while watching the fireflies. She was almost mesmerized by how they gracefully danced in the air. Besides just the hills, grass and fireflies, there were also large rocks protruding from the ground. These rocks, from what she could tell, were rounded and worn down. As she was studying the very few large rocks, she noticed something at the base of one of them.

“Guys… I think there's someone by the rock over there.” She pointed and they looked.

“You're right… I'll go check to see if they are okay. To my knowledge, no one lives out here.” Anubis got up and headed to where Lamed had pointed. The closer he approached, he realized this wasn't just a person, but a child. A young one. They were sleeping with this back against the rock, sitting up. Anubis knelt down a couple feet away from the child.

“Young ember?” He spoke with a gentle tone, concerned. The child was easily awoken and spooked by his presence, jumping up to their feet.

“Whoa, whoa, it's alright. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just worried.” Anubis spoke calmly, trying to ease them. He noticed how dirty they were. Their clothes were tattered and ripped and their hair was matted.

“Do you have any parents or guardians, young ember?..”

The child stared at Anubis for a while before answering, “No…”

He thought for a bit before speaking again, “I'm called Anubis. I'm the overseer for the ritual elemental trials. My friends over there, they are prophets of the elements.” He gestured to them. He thought talking would help calm the child down from their anxious state.

The child took a while to take in the information before responding, “I'm Olali.”

𓆩✧𓆪

By the end of the week, many excited students from across the realms arrived at the elemental trials’ camp for either fulfilling the prophecy or to go through the rituals for the sake of their sacred traditional rite of passage into adulthood.

Daleth walked with Alef as they made their way to the trials camp. Alef was holding a bag that carried a change of clothes inside and a couple of snacks. He still didn't feel ready for the trials, but he had promised his friends he would go with them earlier that week after Daleth's advice. Besides making sure Alef got to the camp safely, Daleth wanted to socialize with the prophets before leaving him for the two weeks.

Alef found his friends and ran to them. They too had small bags with them and they seemed rather ecstatic to be at the camp officially. The three of them talked for a bit before joining the other kids who were in the camp. Everyone was directed to place their belongings inside of the sleeping tents right next to a mat of their choice. The children had a separate tent from the young adults. When Alef, Kizuna and Veluboga chose their sleeping mats and placed down their stuff, they lingered in the tent for a while.

“This is gonna be so fun! I'm so excited!” Kizuna clapped her hands together.

“We are gonna be having a sleepover with the other kids for two weeks. I hope we get to play fun games while here.” Veluboga had a big smile on her face.

“You know we are gonna be training for most of the time, right? I doubt that they are gonna have games for us-”

“Don't be such a party pooper, Alef.” Kiz interrupted.

“I'm just being realistic.” He shrugged. They walked out of the tent and saw that the other children were playing a game of sky ball, so they joined in. From a distance, the prophets were watching everyone settle.

“It's always such a pleasant sight watching the young embers play with one another…” Anubis had a soft smile on his face, “Olali, why don't you join the others and get to know your fellow classmates?” He turned his attention to him. Olali was playing a board game with the fire prophet.

“I don't do well with other kids.” he had a bitter tone, “No one likes me, so I don't like anyone.”

“The vast majority of the young embers here are from across the realms. Surely you will find some who like your company.” The fire prophet said as he moved a couple of pieces on the board game.

“No.” He stared at the board for a while before moving a few pieces to counter the fire prophet's moves, “Even the friends I did have ended up hating me.”

The overseer sighed at Olali's negative mindset. But from what little he's shared about his past, Anubis couldn't blame the kid for being so negative.

“Eventually, you will interact with them. Teamwork is a part of the trials.” Anubis sat down right next to the fire prophet and watched as they played the game. Olali loudly sighed, showing frustration with the conversation. Anubis decided he wouldn't push any further. The fire prophet put their hand to his chin, thinking how to move next on the board.

Anubis examined the board, “Are you losing to someone centuries younger than you?” He teased. The fire prophet smacked Anubis in the arm, “Quiet, I'm not losing.”

Anubis chuckled, “I thought you were the master of this game.” He teased more.

“Hush! Away, go. You're going to break my concentration.”

Anubis laughed and got up, amused how quickly Olali became good at the board game within the week he's been playing it with the fire prophet. As soon as he stood, Daleth approached him. Anubis recognized him as the village leader right away.

Daleth bowed, “Good morning.”

Anubis bowed as well, “Morning to you. What brings the village leader here?”

“I came to drop off the young ember that has been in my care for the past three years.” Daleth found a small mat to sit on and Anubis sat in front of him.

“Oh, and who might that be?”

“Alef.”

“Alef?.. I believe I've heard that name before… Ah yes, I remember now. Him and his friends snuck into my trial caves once during training years back.” Anubis was recollecting how they got into the cave and smiled at how eager they had become to learn from him after their fear of him had worn off.

“Oh! Really? I had no idea they did that. I apologize.” Daleth was shocked and a bit embarrassed.

“It's fine. It was years ago, plus they were respectful of my request of not returning until it was their time. At least to my knowledge.” He chuckled.

Daleth nodded and paused to think before speaking again, “When are the trial ceremonies held?”

“Week two, on the fifth day of the week. For three days we hold the ceremonies and celebrations. Would you like to see the general schedule?” Anubis offered.

“Yes, I would appreciate that very much.” Daleth said in a cheerful tone.

“Alright, I'll fetch the schedule.” Anubis got up and walked off to one of the tents. As Daleth waited, he glanced over at Olali and the fire prophet. He recognized the board game they were playing, but it has been a long time ever since he's played it for himself.

“Who's winning?” Daleth turned his body to face the two.

“I hate to admit it, but the young ember is winning.” The fire prophet almost sounded embarrassed, “He's picked up on this game very quickly. I regret teaching him.” He gave a small chuckle to try and deflect his embarrassment.

“Ah yes, young embers do pick up on things quickly. What are your names?”

“Well, during the training week and the trials, I'm known as The Prophet of Fire. On my off week, you can ask me for my real name then.” He moved a single piece on the board. Olali stayed quiet, not really wanting to talk to Daleth.

“What about you, young ember?”

Olali moved a couple of pieces on the board, ignoring the elder. The fire prophet saw his silence as slightly disrespectful, “He's Olali.” The prophet answered for him. Daleth knew that name… He hoped for the sake of Alef's friends it wasn't the Olali that they knew.

“What a beautiful name. Do you know the meaning of the name?” Daleth tried to get him talking. Olali only looked over at him, now acknowledging him, but he still didn't talk.

“It means ‘one who brings love.’”

Olali rolled his eyes and then turned his attention to the board again. Right as Daleth was going to say something else, Anubis sat down in front of him and handed him a paper copy of the schedule, “I was lucky enough to find this. The only other copies we have are on stone.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” Daleth looked over the schedule. Once he was satisfied, he slowly got up, using his staff to aid him. Anubis was quick to get up onto his feet so he could help Daleth up.

“Thank you.” Daleth tucked the paper away in the small bag he had at his side.

“You're welcome.” Anubis nodded.

Daleth began his journey back to the small village, leaving Alef in the care of the prophets and overseer. As the day continued, all the students were served lunch and dinner, being allowed to settle down in between meals as the last of them arrived at the camp. It took a while for the children to settle down after dinner, but they all were eventually able to go to sleep.

𓆩✧𓆪

As the sun was rising, the prophets were the first to leave their tent. Today was the first day of training. The children and the young adults were separated so that the lessons would go smoother. The young adults and the children were split up into two large groups, making four groups in total, that would be switched in between the prophets so all groups can get the same lessons throughout the week. The lessons were less about the elemental trials, but more about the techniques that they all would need to know before entering any of the trials.

Alef was grouped up with his friends and many other children he recognized from the village as well as from the prairie light temple - his classmates. The prophet they had as their teacher for the day was the prophet of water and the location of their training was the sandy shores a ways away from the camp. It was far enough that they had to take a flying boat to the location, otherwise it would take half of the day to travel to the location by foot. When they reached the sandy shores, the children were quick to start playing as the water prophet set up the mats. Unlike the other kids, one decided to refrain from playing and helped the prophet set up instead. Alef, Kizuna and Veluboga sat in the sand by the water, making things out of the sand.

Alef was more so watching Kiz and Vel as well as observing the other kids. He didn’t feel in the mood to play since he was feeling anxious. As his gaze trailed from child to child, Alef noticed the one child helping the water prophet. For some reason, they seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t figure out why. His thoughts were distracted by sand suddenly being flung at him.

“Hey!” He instinctively shouted.

Vel was digging in the sand like a dog and had her back turned to Alef. She turned to look at him once he shouted, “Whoops, sorry.”

Alef brushed the sand off of himself, “Watch where you fling that stuff next time.” He sounded a bit irritated.

“Lighten up, she didn’t mean it.” Kiz was building a manta from the sand. Alef sighed.

Once the water prophet was done setting up the mats and a few other objects, she called all the children over. Most of them quickly flocked to her, excited and full of energy. Others were sluggish and still sleepy. She directed that each of them find a mat to sit on. They chatted with each other like a noisy flock of birds but quieted down once the prophet began to speak.

“Good morning young embers! As mentioned earlier before we came here, this group is the group you will train with for the rest of the week. Let’s take a moment to share our names and remember each other’s faces before we get started.” She pointed to the child in the front at the very left, “Introduce yourself to the group.”

Each child took a turn telling their name. Alef, Kiz and Vel sat in the middle of the group. All the children’s eyes followed who spoke and who was next to speak. As the second to last child said their name, all their attention turned to the last child. They were looking at the sand, drawing patterns in it with their finger. When they hadn’t noticed it was their turn, the child next to them nudged them. They looked up and stared off before remembering what everyone was instructed to do. They sighed and quietly mumbled, “I’m Olali…”

Kizuna’s eyes widened as she recognized him. She suddenly stood up, “HIM?! I DON'T WANNA BE IN A GROUP WITH HIM!”

Olali immediately realized who said that, “I DON'T WANNA BE IN A GROUP WITH YOU EITHER, BUT HERE WE ARE!” He yelled defensively and in sudden anger.

Alef felt embarrassed, “Kiz, sit down.” He said quietly as he tugged on her hand.

The water prophet took a deep breath in and then spoke, “Sit down.” Her tone was very stern. Alef tugged on Kiz’s hand more. She kept standing for a while before sitting back down. She crossed her arms, “You’re not making me do anything with him!”

The water prophet could already tell that this was going to be a problem, but this was something that was going to have to be worked out between the two. Once groups were assigned, there was no trading or switching allowed. The other kids could feel the tension and it made them a little nervous. The prophet of water wanted to deflect their nerves.

“The lesson for today will involve controlled breathing techniques that will help ease any anxieties you have and ground your mind,” She began, “you will be able to use these techniques in all the elemental trials, or any time in your life when you feel overwhelmed.”

The children listened intently. The prophet took her time explaining the techniques and having the children practice alongside her after showing them examples. When she noticed how the children became restless after two hours of sitting, she decided it was a good time to let them have a break to go play. The children broke out into small groups and scattered. Alef and Vel were being dragged by Kiz, who wanted to get as far away from Olali as she could.

“I can't believe he's here. Ugh!” Kiz sat down on a decently flat rock and let go of her friend's hands.

“Yeah… and in our group.” Vel sat in the sand.

Alef sighed. He stayed standing and looked back, noticing how Olali was on his own, still sitting on the mat. He didn't know why, but he felt bad for him. Olali just looked depressed.

“It's not the end of the world if he's here.” Alef glanced at kizuna.

“You don't understand, Alef!” Kiz snapped.

“Then explain to me! He's done things to all of us, but you act like he's only done things to you!” Alef yelled at her, which left Kiz speechless. In the three years they've known each other, Alef has never yelled or raised his voice other than in excitement.

“I-... He-...” Kizuna wanted to explain, but she couldn't find the words.

“If you can't explain, then stop complaining. I don't want these two weeks to be dragged out with your negativity. You're always so negative, it's irritating.” All of the inner thoughts Alef has been holding back for weeks finally came out. He's had enough.

Kizuna's eyes began to fill with tears and she started to whimper. Alef realized he was too harsh, “Kiz-”

“I DON'T WANNA BE FRIENDS WITH YOU ANYMORE!” She cut him off, getting up from the rock she was sitting on and grabbed Vel's hand. Vel didn't know what to do, so she went with Kizuna as she ran off.

Those words stung Alef and made his heart break. He wanted to follow her, but he just felt too hurt - though, he couldn’t get himself to cry. He sat down, pulling his knees to his chest and buried his face. He didn't know how long he stayed like that but he heard someone walked up to him, their feet shuffling in the sand.

“Young ember, are you alright?” The water prophet kneeled down and placed a hand on his shoulder. Alef looked up to her. He shook his head.

“What's wrong?” Her voice turned tender and soft.

“My friend doesn't want to be friends with me anymore…” He mumbled.

“Aw… I'm sorry to hear that. Would you be okay with sharing why?” She moved to sit in front of him.

“I said something a little too mean to her… I wanted to be honest, but it came out wrong.” He admitted quietly.

“I see… Well, she might need some time to calm down. She probably didn't entirely mean it. In the meantime, why don't you go make friends with the other kids to help get your mind off of it for now?” She patted his back and stood up.

“Alright..” He stood up as well. He looked around to see if he could spot Vel or Kiz, but he had no luck spotting them. Olali was still sitting at the mat. He thought for a while and decided he would go over to him. Sitting down right next to him, Alef didn't say a word.

Olali glanced at him, “What are you doing here?” He asked somewhat aggressively.

“My friends don't want to hang out with me.” Alef saw no reason in making something up.

“Not my problem.” He rudely stated. Alef ignored the rude comment and stayed silent. Olali felt uncomfortable how he was just sitting right next to him, not speaking. Not doing anything. He pushed Alef, “Get away from me you freak!” He growled. Alef didn't react, he just stared at Olali, which made him further uncomfortable.

“Ugh!” He stood up and walked off. Alef sighed. About 30 minutes later, the water prophet called over all of the children to continue the lessons for the day. When Alef tried to go over to Kizuna to apologize to her, she ignored him and kept her distance. So, Alef just sat by himself. Veluboga was looking at him, wanting to have them all sit together, but she felt like she couldn't do anything with Kizuna still feeling upset and resentful.

The water prophet stood in front of the group once they all had settled down, “During the trials, you will need to have control over your mind, body, and spirit. Your mood can affect your body and those around you. Keeping a calm mind in the middle of hard times will help you and those in your group. Now, let's practice those breathing techniques again.” This time, she had the kids stand up and mirror her movement.

By mid day, the children became hungry. The water prophet gathered up the kids and they all headed back to the camp for lunch. They were a bit early since the other groups weren't at the camp yet. The water prophet let the kids go play around camp until the other groups arrived.

A couple of camp workers - hired from the village after the influx of participants in the trials - were preparing lunch. Olali watched as they worked. He sat on a large pot in the tent they were working in. The workers of the camp had become acquainted with him after Anubis brought him back to the camp the week before. The water prophet entered the tent and plucked some fruit from a pot, eating it.

“Hey.” Olali took notice.

The water prophet looked at him, “You don't see anything.” She chuckled, “How are you doing today?”

Olali shrugged. The water prophet sat on another large pot right next to him, “Half of the training with me is over, are you excited?” Olali shrugged again. She patted his shoulder before leaving the tent. He watched as she left. His eyes ended up on Alef, who was by himself. He was doing something that caught his attention. He couldn't figure out what Alef was doing, but he was intrigued. Hesitantly, he went over to Alef. Alef was quick to notice Olali's presence, but he didn't pay any attention to him as he practiced some light magic.

Alef was sitting on the ground, moving his hands back and forth, influencing the way a few embers were fluttering around. Olali watched this for a while before breaking the silence, “How are you doing that?”

His concentration broke, letting the embers flutter away. Alef sighed and then looked at Olali, “Light magic.”

“Didn't look like that.” Olali watched the embers disperse.

“Well, it's more like the influence of light magic than actual light magic…” Alef stood up which made Olali slightly flinch back. They both stood there in awkward silence for a while, both not knowing what to say. When Alef was about to say something, a loud horn blew. The sound came from the center of the camp, which both Olali and Alef turned their attention to. The horn blew two more times before a thunderous voice began to speak.

Alef couldn’t make out what the voice was saying, so he quickly made his way to the center of the camp. Olali trailed far behind Alef, not following too close. The other members of the camp gathered at the center as well.

“Lunch is almost ready! But before you go rushing to the dining tents, I have a few announcements to make.” The fire prophet was standing on top of a large boulder as they spoke at an unnatural volume.

“First, a reminder that the group you are in, is the group you will stay in until the trials begin. If there are people in your group you don't like, tough luck. Second, you should not have any reason to leave the camp unless you are with your group or if you have been given permission from me, the overseer or the other prophets. Third, you will sustain injuries during the trials and during some training. If you are paying attention to what you need to do, you are less likely to get injured.”

The fire prophet looked over to the other prophets who were in the crowd. He was waiting for their approval. They nodded at him, “Alright! You may head to the dining tents!”

The children rushed to be first in line while the older kids were slower to arrive at the tents. Alef spotted Kizuna and Veluboga, running up to them. Kizuna completely ignored Alef, she was still mad at him. Vel on the other hand, she couldn't stand to be silent towards Alef. She had enough of Kiz's grudge.

“I can't wait to eat! I'm so hungry.” Vel walked right next to Alef.

He gave a weak smile under his mask, “Yeah. I can smell the food from here. It all smells so good. I wonder what they even have…?” He was still hurt about Kizuna.

“Hmmm…” Vel took in a large sniff of the air, “Smells like vegetable soup, fresh bread and…” She took another sniff, “Something smoked over a fire.”

“I still don't understand how you're able to do that.” He chuckled.

Veluboga was right; as they entered the dining tent, large pots full of soup laid on stone tables. Loaves of pre-cut bread were right next to each pot. Further back in the tent, there were different smoked meats. Alef's stomach rumbled as he grabbed a bowl. Once they got what they wanted, Alef and Veluboga headed over to the floor tables. Kizuna stayed quiet as she followed Vel. Vel and Alef spoke as they ate.

Alef periodically looked over at Kizuna, who was somehow always glaring at him every time. He didn't know if she was staring at him the whole time or if she just happened to catch his eyes.

“Kizuna, I'm sorry for what I said.” He attempted to apologize to her, but she turned her back to him. Alef sighed. Vel didn't like how Kizuna held grudges so easily, and she especially didn't like how she was treating Alef. Once all three of them were done eating, they went outside of the tents to play as they waited for everyone else to finish up eating.

𓆩✧𓆪

The last hours of the day's training went by quickly. Before the children knew it, it was time for dinner. The Overseer decided to socialize with the young embers to see how they were feeling after the first day of training. The other prophets ate in their tent, away from the kids. Though some of the children were frightened by his intimidating stature at first, they were quick to warm up to him after they heard his soft voice and saw his gentle mannerisms. The last thing he wanted was for the young embers to fear him.

Alef, Vel and Kiz sat in a circle in front of Anubis and listened to the conversations he was having with the other kids.

“How old are you?” A slim child asked, not knowing the question is rude.

“Very old. Much older than your parents and guardians for sure.” He didn't want to give out his exact age.

“You don't look old.” Another child spoke up.

“I eat very healthy.” Anubis chuckled.

“Do you have a favorite color?”

“Do you have any pets?”

“What's your name?”

Some of the kids bombarded him with questions as other children sat down in the circle. It was starting to get hot and crowded. Anubis did his best to keep up with the questions.

“Purple. No. And you can call me the Overseer.”

“Overseer isn't a name.” One stubby child sassed.

“It is my title, and it is what you will know me as. Just as you know the prophets for their titles.”

Alef didn't know why the prophets and overseer were so secreative with their real names. What was so important about their names being hidden? Alef nudged Vel, “You almost done with your food?”

“Almost, and then we can go to the campfire outside. Right Kiz?”

“Yeah.” Kizuna had already finished her food. Throughout the day, she had slowly started to warm up to Alef again. But Alef still felt that tension from her even though she had started to talk to him once more.

“It's getting hot in here, so hurry if you can.” Alef pinched the front of his shirt and tugged at it to let cool air through. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his back and chest. The air flow felt nice on the sweat. He finished up his bread and then turned his attention back to the Overseer.

He was showing off some simple light magic tricks. Alef watched as he tried to mirror him. The Overseer noticed what Alef was doing, “Interested in these tricks, young ember?”

It took Alef a second to realize he was talking to him. With the other children's eyes looking at him, Alef sheepishly answered, “Uh… yeah… I- I have been studying…”

“A student of light? How far into your studies are you?” Anubis kept the light in his hands, manipulating it back and forth.

“Uh… light manipulation, but not direct light magic.” His voice was quiet. He felt so embarrassed with all the eyes looking at him.

“I see… then you've had practice with what I'm doing now I assume?”

Alef nodded.

“Catch the embers.” Anubis gently thrusted his hands forward, palms facing out to Alef. He quickly held out his hands, slightly panicking at the lack of preparation he was given. The majority of the embers dispersed, but he was able to catch about a fourth of them.

As Alef tried to keep the ones in his grasp from dispersing, the Overseer observed, “Keep your palms tilted inward, shoulders relaxed.” Alef did as he said, slowly noticing those small changes helped him to keep better control of the embers.

“Good.” Anubis waved his arms, collecting the embers that Alef wasn't able to catch, “You need to be less tense. The flow of light follows your mind and body. Both must be at ease.”

Alef noticed how almost everyone was staring at him, which distracted his concentration. The embers dispersed and Alef's face grew hot from embarrassment. Anubis collected the embers, “You have a natural gift for the light. Keep practicing, young ember.”

Alef got up and walked out of the tent. He was too hot to stay in there any longer, plus he hated how everyone was staring at him. The night air was much cooler than the muggy air in the tent. It hit him like a wave and it felt very refreshing. Shortly after, Kiz and Vel followed him out. They walked to the camp fire in the center of the camp, only to find someone else at the fire. They stood up when they saw the three. Kizuna immediately recognized who it was.

“Why do you always have to ruin the good spots?” She antagonized Olali.

“Why do you always have to ruin everything good? I was here first, so go somewhere else.” He already sounded irritated.

“How about you go somewhere else so me and my friends can enjoy the fire? It's not like you have anyone to share the fire with anyway.” Kizuna said with an acid tongue.

This offended Olali, “Bitch!” He yelled and grabbed a rock nearby, throwing it right at her. Instead of hitting her, it hit Vel right in the face, knocking her to her feet. Vel started to cry as she placed her hands over the spot the rock hit her. Kizuna yelled and then lunged at him after seeing the rock connect with Vel's face. Alef immediately kneeled down to check on Vel. She was bleeding. He panicked as he saw the blood pouring down from her face.

Kizuna and Olali started to physically fight with each other, both throwing punches, grabbing shirts and screaming. Olali punched Kizuna right in the face, knocking her to the ground. He sat on top of her torso, pinning her, and began to throw punches directly at her face while screaming profanities at her. She put an arm over her face while she used the other arm to punch Olali right in the throat. He gasped and gagged for air as Kizuna pushed him off of her. Her lip was busted open and she could taste blood in her mouth. She grabbed Olali by the hair while he was still gasping and threw as hard punches to his face as she could. The first of her assaults got him in his right eye.

The commotion brought out the prophets and Overseer from the tents. When Anubis saw the fight, he bolted towards them. The fire prophet was the first to the scene and he immediately broke up the fight, holding each child under his bulky arms. Kizuna and Olali screamed at each other, still trying to hit one another even though they couldn't reach each other.

Anubis ran over to Vel who was bleeding profusely and crying. Alef was trying to calm her down. She was still holding her hands up to her face. Anubis tried to move her hands out of the way to see the injury, “Let go young ember, let me see.” He spoke gently but in a slight panic. She moved her hands as she continued to cry. She was bleeding from the bridge of her nose and out of her nose.

“Shit.” He uttered to himself, letting the word escape his mouth. He solemnly swore since he didn't like profanities, but this was a serious injury. The Overseer picked up Vel and ran to the medical tent with her in his arms. Alef followed. The four prophets took care of Kizuna and Olali as Anubis rushed Vel to get medical attention.

The other children had peaked out from the dining tents to watch the prophets break up the fight.

Anubis sat Vel down on a stone examination table and pulled out gauze. He placed it over the wound, “Hold this, sweetie.” Anubis always referred to the children as young embers for professionalism, but he let that word slip out of his mouth. Vel held the gauze to her face. Anubis quickly grabbed some herbs from different pouches and placed them into a stone bowl, adding a bit of water to it. He quickly ground up the herbs into a paste. He then grabbed a new piece of gauze and applied the paste to it.

He switched it out with the other gauze that was now soaked in blood, “This will slow the bleeding and ease the pain.”

Alef climbed up onto the examination table and sat right next to Vel. He rubbed her shoulder to try and comfort her. Outside of the medical tent, Olali and Kizuna were still screeching at each other.

“GO DIE SO YOUR EMBER CAN BE USED FOR SOMETHING GOOD FOR ONCE!” Kizuna shrieked.

“YOU'RE A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING PILE OF MANTA SHIT!” Olali shrieked back.

“LANGUAGE! BOTH OF YOU, SILENCE!” The fire prophet's low voice rumbled like thunder which frightened the both of them to silence, but they were still enraged. The fire prophet handed off Kizuna to the earth prophet.

“Who started this?” The fire prophet sounded angry. Both Kizuna and Olali tried to speak over one another.

“One at a time! Young ember, you tell me first.” He spoke to Kizuna.

“He started it!” She hissed.

“Not true! She started it!” Olali interrupted.

The fire prophet growled, he didn’t have the patience to deal with children, “Olali! Let her speak.”

“He threw a rock at my friend’s face! She’s hurt because of him!” Kizuna glared harshly at Olali.

“That rock was meant to hit you in your buck-toothed gangly face, not her!”

“That’s enough! You threw the rock though, yes?” The fire prophet looked down at Olali.

Olali looked away from the prophet in shame, “Yeah… But she came at me and started hitting me.”

The fire prophet sighed, “Both of you will be punished-“

“What?! But he’s the one that hurt my friend!” Kiz interrupted.

“BOTH OF YOU INFLICTED HARM! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE OF THIS!” The fire prophet was beginning to get agitated. Kizuna fell silent.

“The Overseer will decide your punishments. For now, you will be confined to the sleeping tent.” After dealing with them, the fire prophet went to the medical tent to check up on the child that was hurt and to report to Anubis.

Veluboga was no longer crying since the herbs relieved her pain. Anubis was using his healing magic to help close up the wound enough to where it would stop bleeding completely. Some blood was still dripping out of her nose though. Alef looked at the fire prophet as he entered the tent.

“How is the young ember?” The fire prophet crossed his arms and leaned up against the exam table.

“Well, I’m pretty sure her nose is broken. Did you find out what happened?” Anubis got the bleeding to stop. He grabbed a cloth and some water. He wiped the blood from her face and then he tried to get some of it off of her shirt.

“Olali threw a rock at this ember’s face. The other ember attacked him out of defense for her.”

“Olali did this?” Alef was slightly confused on how they knew Olali and he noticed how the Overseer sounded disappointed. He spoke up, “Olali and Kizuna are enemies. I don’t remember how it started, but they can’t get along. They always fight and we get in the crossfire.”

“I see…” Once Anubis got Vel cleaned up, he began to clean off the blood from himself.

“I confined the two in the sleeping tent. They will be waiting for your punishment. Is there anything you need me, or the others, to do?” The fire prophet stopped leaning on the exam table and switched his weight to his other leg.

“Thank you. And yes. Concoct a paste to help with the swelling for her while I talk to those embers.” The overseer dumped out the water he had been using to clean up the blood.

“Yes sir.”

The Overseer left the tent and the fire prophet did as he said. He saw how Kizuna was bleeding from her mouth and uttered something the both of them couldn't quite hear. He pulled out a cloth from one of his pockets and handed it to Kizuna.

𓆩✧𓆪

Overnight, Veluboga was monitored to insure her injury wouldn't cause her any problems. Olali and Kizuna were punished with chores; cleaning dirty dishes, filling the water containers, and other tasks the camp staff would need help with. Of course, they'd have to do the chores after their training.

Alef's group was training with the earth prophet today. The earth prophet was very different from the other prophets - they had four arms. Alef found it really strange, and he wanted to ask about the arms, but he didn't want to be rude, so he kept it to himself. The earth prophet gathered the children for a walk to the grassy fields a mile away from the camp. The children noticed how the earth prophet didn't carry any supplies like the water prophet did when they had her as a teacher yesterday.

Once they arrived at the grassy fields, the earth prophet immediately got to training with them, “In my trial, the earth trial, you will need to learn how to be resilient. There will be many obstacles, much jumping and much balance. We will start with some warm up exercises to get your muscles ready.”

The earth prophet led them in stretches. Unlike the water prophet, they didn't have much to lecture about. Once they were all warmed up, the earth prophet started the lessons. They first started with balance. Alef had been working on his balance over the years and he had improved greatly. He no longer wobbled when he attempted to balance. Veluboga on the other hand, her balance hadn't improved much. When a child would fall over, the earth prophet would give them tips on what to do better on, though it seemed more like a scolding rather than a helpful pointer.

By mid day, the children were already exhausted from the vigorous exercises. But at least these ones gave the children and idea on what to expect in the trials. Vel and Alef sat together while they ate lunch back at the camp.

Kizuna had to help clean up the kitchen before she could join them - as the punishment she was given. Her lip was tender from the night before and slightly swollen, but she wasn't in too much pain. She did have a few tender bruises here and there as well. Olali on the other hand, his eye was swollen shut and bruised over from Kizuna’s ruthless punches.

“How's your nose?” Alef had noticed how Vel kept periodically touching it.

“It hurts, but it also feels weird… It feels hot.” She touched her nose again.

He also noticed how it was swollen, “Maybe you shouldn't keep touching it, so it can heal.”

“Right-” Vel took a bite of her food. After a while of waiting, Kizuna showed up with a full plate of food. She sat down right next to them.

“They gave me a hard candy for my work, but I don't like this kind. Would you guys like it?” Kiz held out a wrapped candy.

“I do!” Vel immediately grabbed it, not letting Alef even see it. He didn't mind though.

After lunch, they had more vigorous training with the Earth prophet. By dinner, all the kids were sore, tired and ready for bed.

𓆩✧𓆪

The third day of training… Alef laid on his mat, stiff and groggy. He really didn't want to get up or move. All his muscles screamed at him, stung and pinched from the earth prophet's training. The air in the tent was cold and under his thin blanket was a warmth that he didn't want to leave. He heard someone rustling beside him, not paying attention to it. He assumed it was either Kiz or Vel getting up. There was a pause.

“Alef..?” Vel whispered.

“Mmh?..” Alef kept his face buried in his pillow.

“Where's Kizuna?” She sounded a bit worried. He sighed as he forced himself to slowly sit up. He rubbed his eyes and then looked around the sleeping tent. Kizuna's mat was empty and so were a few other mats.

“Uh…” He couldn’t think of an explanation. He got up and peaked outside of the tent. There were no signs of anyone awake yet. The camp was dead silent and lifeless. It almost felt unnatural. He turned back to face Veluboga and shrugged.

Vel looked around the tent again, scanning it with her eyes. Then she noticed something she didn't before, “I don't see Olali either… what if-”

“Shh!” Alef heard a sudden faint noise. He listened carefully, holding his breath to see if he could hear it again. He heard the faint noise once more. It sounded like yelling. Alef ran out of the tent and Vel stumbled to get up as she tried to follow him. He hoped it wasn't what he was thinking. The yelling came from the grass fields not too far from the camp. As Alef got closer, he was baffled by what he saw. He slowed down, panting, and just stared. Veluboga caught up with him, panting as well. The two were standing on a small hill, looking down at the scene.

The Overseer was watching over about five kids. Olali and Kizuna were among these kids. As Alef watched, he realized the Overseer was instructing them to hit, punch and kick some kind of sack. He couldn't make out what the Overseer was saying to them…

“What are they doing?” Vel was just as stumped as Alef.

“How would I know?...” He sighed, “I'm gonna go back to sleep.”

“You're not gonna watch?” Vel sat down.

“No. Kiz will probably talk to us about whatever this is later.”

“Oh.. alright.” Vel turned her full attention to the small group of kids as Alef made his way back to camp and back into his still warm sleeping mat.

A while later, the other kids inside of the tent began to slowly wake. As for Alef, he was completely knocked out, unbothered by the commotion around himself. It wasn't until Kizuna herself shook Alef that made him wake up.

“We are gonna be late for breakfast if you don't get up!” She was patting his back playfully now.

“Ugh…” He groaned as he rolled over to his side.

Kizuna stood over him, “C'mon Alef! Food!” She grabbed his arm, impatiently pulling him up to his feet. He stumbled as she dragged him out of the tent. When they got to the dining tent, Alef's eyes started to blur with tears as he yawned. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes. Kizuna shoved another empty plate into his hands. Veluboga was standing right next to him all of a sudden… or had she already been there the whole time?

The three of them filled their plates with hot food and went to sit at the campfire at the center of the camp. Other trial students came to sit at the warm fire as well. Alef noticed this morning was much colder than it had been compared to the other mornings.

“So, what were you doing out in the grass fields this morning?” Vel asked before shoveling food into her mouth.

“The Jackal teacher was making us take out our frustrations.. I thought it was stupid that he woke us up for that.” She began to inhale her food as if she hadn't eaten for days.

Alef thought, “You probably needed that… So you don't start anything again.” He wanted to say that to her face, but he knew she would get upset. He noticed, though, that she's been the aggressor towards Olali ever since they arrived at the trial camp. What changed?...

Unlike Vel and Kiz, Alef took his time eating. He was still half asleep anyway. Right as they got done eating, it was time for the groups to gather up for the daily training. The Air prophet was their teacher today… She took the group to one of the boats and loaded the children up onto it. Once everyone was seated, she nodded at the ferryman, signaling that they were ready for the short journey. The boat took off to the clouds.

“By the time you get to the trial of air, half of you will have made it,” She stood in the center of the boat, “And the other half will have gone through your spiritual rebirth.”

Spiritual rebirth? This is the first time Alef has heard of this. What was that and what did it mean?

“In the air, you may think you have control, but you do not. You are merely guiding yourself to your destination in the air. Once you let go of the illusion of control, you will know the air and it will know you.” She began to slowly pace back and forth on the boat. She glanced at the students as if she was getting ready to decide on something…

“Some of you may obtain light capes in your current lives. In your next life you may, or in your past life you have…” She spotted a child who was talking to their friend rather than paying attention.

“Kiklo! why don't you come here?” The prophet's voice sounded like a parent’s scolding. The child was baffled when she spoke their name, immediately turning their attention to her. The prophet pointed to a spot where she wanted them to stand. The child begrudgingly got up from their seat and stood where she had pointed.

“Today, I will teach you how to glide in the air.” The air prophet pulled out a round bottle and pulled out the cork that kept the liquid inside. With some quick hand movements the prophet turned the liquid into a mist and it spewed out of the bottle like a fountain. The mist was thick and it touched everyone in the boat. Suddenly, Alef noticed how his body felt lighter. Once the mist dissipated, the prophet spoke once more.

“Kiklo, you will go first.” The prophet led the child to the edge of the boat. They looked down to see endless clouds. They became very nervous when they were placed near the edge.

“The potion I just applied to everyone will allow you all to fly above the clouds. You may have a sense of lightness through your body. If so, then you are feeling the effects of the potion.” The air prophet held their hand up, signaling for the ferryman to stop the boat.

“All you need to do is jump. Once you reach the clouds, open out your arms as if you're going to hug someone. Let the air guide you, don't force it to take you.” The prophet stood on the rim of the boat with a cockiness in her steps.

The child hesitated, “But… What if I fall through them?...” They seemed scared.

The Air prophet held out her hand towards the child, “You won't.” Her tone changed to be more soft and reassuring. The child took her hand. The air prophet jumped off of the boat, diving into the clouds below, taking Kiklo with her. Kiklo screamed as they plummeted down. All the children in the boat scrambled to the edge to watch what might happen next.

For a couple of seconds, the air prophet and the child disappeared into the clouds. Each child unknowingly held their breath in suspense as they waited for any signs of movement below. Suddenly, the air prophet and Kiklo sprung out from the clouds. The children gasped in amazement as they watched them hover above the white endless hills. The air prophet glided effortlessly over the clouds. She let go of Kiklo's hand to let them practice gliding for themself.

Kiklo struggled to maneuver. They looked like a drunk fly trying to move in a straight line. The air prophet yelled a couple of things to Kiklo, but they were too far away for the other kids to hear. Alef looked over to Vel and Kiz who looked way too excited.

“This is so cool!” Kiz suddenly grabbed Alef's arm, pulling him close to the edge of the boat, “Just look at the air prophet! She's so cool!” Alef pulled his arm away from her and stepped back from the edge, “yeah… She is. But just don't do that again.” Alef didn't want to be that close to the edge of the boat.

“I wanna go next!” Vel ran up right next to Kiz as they watched the air prophet and Kiklo. A couple of minutes passed by and the air prophet flew back into the boat with Kiklo once they got the hang of gliding.

“Alright, two at a time. Pair up with someone and they will be your gliding buddy.” The air prophet stretched her arms and legs. Kizuna, Vel and Alef looked at each other, a bit sad.

“You two can be paired up. I can find someone else to be my buddy.” Alef offered.

“Are you sure?” Vel wanted to make sure it was okay with him.

“Yeah.” Alef sat down as he watched every other kid pair up with someone. He noticed one other kid wasn't paired up with anyone, but he hesitated… The air prophet noticed how Alef and the last child weren't paired with anyone.

“You two, you will be buddies.” She said as she pointed at the both of them. Kizuna looked over to see who the air prophet had pointed to, and she didn't like who it was. Olali sighed and sat near Alef. His arms were crossed and he seemed like he didn't want to be on the boat. Overall, he just seemed in a grumpy mood. The first of the children to practice were Vel and Kiz. Both of them got the hang of gliding pretty quickly, Kizuna even dared to try and do a couple of tricks for fun.

Some kids were quick to catch on, while it took others a while. Two by two, they all took turns in the clouds, until it was Alef and Olali's turn. They were the last to go. Alef stood up from his seat, but Olali stayed where he was. The prophet walked up to him, “You need to get up and practice.”

“Do I have to?” He asked in an agitated tone.

“Yes.” She motioned for him to get up which he replied with a dramatic and grumpy sigh. Standing up, he walked to the edge of the boat. Alef was more hesitant to get near the edge. The prophet noticed Alef's hesitancy.

“It's alright.” She tried to reassure him. Olali raised his eyebrows, seeing how Alef was afraid. He stood on the edge of the boat and faced Alef, “See you in the clouds, coward.” He held out his arms and fell back, dropping into the white hills. Alef took slight offense to what Olali called him.

“I'm not a coward.” He uttered. Alef took a couple of steps back from the edge. He ran and then leapt off of the boat. As he fell, the wind pushed against his clothes making them cling to his body. He had his eyes closed as he fell, waiting and hoping to feel anything but the ground. He then remembered to hold out his arms. Suddenly, he felt the tiny needles of water vapor pierce his arms, neck and legs. Then it was as if something pushed him away from the clouds. He still kept his eyes closed, trying to get the feel of how to move about.

“You have your eyes closed? Are you really that scared?” Olali mocked Alef. His voice sounded like it came from in front of Alef. Alef decided not to respond to Olali. He kept his eyes shut as he only focused on how everything felt. Though, he couldn’t keep himself from flopping around like a fish out of water. How did everyone get the hang of this so quickly? Many minutes must've passed by as he tried to get the hang of gliding, because the next thing he knew, his hand was being grabbed. For the first time, ever since he jumped from the boat, he opened his eyes just to see the air prophet taking hold of him. He had drifted pretty far from the boat without realizing it. How could he have known? His eyes were closed.

“I was wondering why you were going so far off.” The air prophet chuckled. Alef became embarrassed. She glided her way back to the boat, gracefully diving down and shooting up to land perfectly on the edge of the boat. Once Alef sat right next to his friends, the prophet spoke, “All of you did good today. Remember who your buddy was. After lunch, we will practice again.”

“You're not a coward, don't listen to that pile of poop.” Vel nudged Alef, “I think you did good.”

“Thanks…”

Back at the camp, Alef had grown quite the appetite after smelling the food. He usually didn't eat much, but this time, he ate as much as he could fit onto his plate. When it came time to practice again, Alef still couldn't get himself to open his eyes while in the clouds. But what he couldn’t see, it amplified his attention to everything he felt. He noticed that moving his arms wasn't enough to feel a change in the direction he was going, he needed to move his whole body… Once more, right as he was getting the hang of turning, he felt someone grab his hand.

“Your eyes, young ember, you need to open them.” The air prophet guided him back to the boat. By the time everyone was done practicing, the sun was beginning to set.

𓆩✧𓆪

The fourth day of training… Alef was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling of the sleeping tent. He had woken up before the sun even rose and he couldn’t fall back asleep. He felt restless, so he decided he would wander the camp even though he knew he shouldn’t. He just needed to get up, he needed to move. He brought his thin blanket with him since it was freezing outside of the tent. Alef wrapped the blanket over himself, clinging onto it tightly as he walked to the center of the camp. He noticed there was someone at the large stone near the extinguished bonfire.

Slowly, he approached them only to realize it was the Overseer. He was meditating and his back was turned to Alef. As he got closer, he noticed there was a second person. Someone he didn't recognize. They were dressed in all white intricate robes and they had a veil over their face along with a khimar. They too were meditating and they faced the Overseer. Alef now remembers about hearing rumors of this mysterious white figure roaming around the camp, but he'd never believed those rumors until now. He also was surprised to see that the Overseer only had a sleeveless shirt on and harem pants. Wasn't he cold at all?

The figure dressed in white opened their eyes to see Alef after hearing him shuffle in the sand. Alef stopped once he noticed they were looking at him. They motioned for him to come over to them, but Alef was hesitant. Anubis opened his eyes when he heard the white figure moving. He turned himself to see what they were looking at, seeing Alef.

“What are you doing up at this hour, young ember?”

“I can't sleep…” Alef shyly replied.

“Come here then, join us.” The Overseer moved over a bit and patted a spot on the stone for him to sit at. He stood there for a while before joining them. He made sure his blanket was under himself so the cold rock wouldn't touch his warm skin.

“How long have you been out here in the cold?..” Alef asked in a quiet tone.

The Overseer looked to the sky. It seemed he was looking at the moon and comparing it to where it was when he first came out, “Hmm… I'd say about an hour and a half.”

“Aren't you freezing?” Alef wrapped his blanket more tightly around his body.

“No. I'm used to how cold it gets around here. It feels nice to me as well.”

“What about you?” Alef turned his attention to the white figure, asking quietly, still a little shy.

“Oh, I'm freezing. It's why I have so many layers on.” They chuckled.

Their voice sounded so familiar to Alef… it was a feminine voice he swears he's heard once before.

“Why are you out here meditating?”

The Overseer began to stretch his arms, “We couldn't sleep either. Meditation can be just as restful as sleeping. Though, it doesn't replace sleep.” He stood up and stretched out his legs as well before sitting back down.

“Who do you have as a teacher today, young ember?”

“The fire prophet.”

The overseer nodded, “I see. Hopefully your group isn't rowdy then, the fire prophet has a temper when it comes to disobedience. But he's nothing to be afraid of. The roar of his voice is mightier than his swift hand.” He chuckled.

Alef couldn't stop glancing at the figure in white and the Overseer took notice, “This is Lamed, if you were wondering.”

“Lamed…” Alef quietly echoed. The name seemed very familiar to him, but he can't remember why.

“I think I have frozen long enough out here. I am going to prepare myself breakfast and get warmed up.” Lamed stood, “It was nice seeing you, young one.” She made her way to the prophet's tent. Anubis waved as she left.

“Who is she?” Alef couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity.

“She was a former apprentice of mine. She’s come to visit and watch over these coming trials.” The Overseer stood to his feet and looked down at Alef. He wasn’t satisfied with the Overseer’s answer.

“But, WHO is she?” Alef stood as well.

“If the name Lamed doesn’t connect to any title with you, perhaps that’s the best for now.”

Alef grew frustrated with his illusive answer. As he was about to say something, his stomach growled loudly and he placed his hands over it, slightly embarrassed.

“I guess it is time that you get some breakfast as well.” Anubis chuckled, “The sun is almost over the clouds, so the cooks will have some things already prepared by now. Come, I’ll take you for breakfast early.” He gestured for Alef to follow him. Alef adjusted his blanket and trailed behind Anubis as they made their way to the dining tent.

“Good morning crew!” The Overseer greeted the workers. They all waved to him as he entered. The Overseer grabbed a bowl and handed it to Alef, “Go, get what you please.” The workers eyed Anubis. He was known for letting some children in early, which they didn’t mind but it interrupted their work flow. But they couldn’t say anything about it since he was their boss and they were already being paid generously for working around the clock to prepare meals for the many mouths of the camp.

Alef tried to not get in the way of some of the workers as he grabbed what was appetizing and appealing to him. Once he was done, he quietly thanked the workers and walked over to the Overseer, who was eating one of the fresh fruits he plucked from a bowl. He looked down at Alef and his bowl, “Good choices I see… Your name is Alef - am I remembering correctly?”

Alef was a little caught off-guard by the question, “uh.. Yes.” He replied sheepishly.

“You and another student are pretty similar. I think you two would get along… I believe he’s in your group too. Does the name Olali sound familiar?”

Alef sighed at the name, “Yeah… But my friends don’t like him.”

The Overseer suddenly remembered how his friend and Olali fought the other night. Sometimes, it was hard for him to keep up on which child had drama with who, “But what do you think of him?” The Overseer gestured for Alef to follow him to the mats on the floor. They sat.

“I think he’s mean…” Alef began to eat what was in his bowl.

“Just mean?”

“That’s all he’s ever been. To me, and to my friends. But I can’t find it in me to hate him like they do. Especially Kizuna… She hates him a lot.”

“I see… What if I told you, you both have a natural gift for the magics? The other young embers, there are none I have seen with any inclination for it like you and him. Maybe, that’s something you two can bond over? That is if you are willing to give a friendship with him a chance, seeing as your other friends have negative feelings towards him.”

“He has a talent for magic?” This surprised Alef.

“Yes. But unlike you, he’s never had lessons. I’ve seen how you handle the sacred embers.”

Alef thought for a long while… Was he suggesting he teach Olali?

“Does he know anything?”

“He knows nothing but the very basics us prophets taught him when he arrived here in camp before the other trial students came.” Anubis finished eating the fruit and discarded the core, “It is up to you, though. I do not want to make you feel as if you have to be his friend based on your inclination for the magics.”

Alef nodded. He thought as he ate. Before he knew it, the other trial students of the camp started to come in for breakfast. He finished his breakfast as the first of them sat down to eat. What he didn’t notice was that the Overseer had left the tent when he watched the others come in. For someone as large as he was, Alef noticed he was very silent and almost sneaky.

“You were up before us!” Kizuna sat down right next to Alef, “And you got breakfast early? You should’ve woken us up.” Veluboga sat right next to Kiz.

“I was up before the sun.”

“Oh, never mind then. I don’t like getting up before the sun.” Kizuna shoved food into her mouth.

“You guys remember the rumors about the person in white robes being in the camp?” Alef stretched his legs from the crossed position he had them in. Both Kizuna and Vel nodded.

“They are real. I saw them this morning with the Jackel teacher. Their name…” Alef paused as he had an epiphany - he finally remembered who she was. It was a big deal that she was here the last time… if she’s here, why isn’t it now?…

“Their name-?” Kizuna waved her hand in front of his face since he had zoned out.

“Oh right… Their name is Lamed. Does that sound familiar to you guys?”

Both of them shrugged at Alef’s question. The two were more focused on their breakfast. He sighed. He also wanted to bring up what the Overseer had said about Olali, but he decided to keep quiet about it.

𓆩✧𓆪

The fire prophet led Alef’s group through the trial caves. They were heading into one of the many caverns, “Stay close, young embers. And don’t wander off. The last time someone wandered off… they were on the brink of death when we found them.”

Kizuna and Veluboga both clung to Alef with either of their arms locked onto his. The group huddled close together as the fire prophet led the way. Unlike the main part of the cave, this part wasn’t lit up. The fire prophet kept a flame in front of him as he walked. Alef’s skin crawled as he felt the breath of the other kid’s on his neck. He had a tightness in his chest when they all decided to squish together. Once the cavern opened up into a large room, the fire prophet lit a huge pit, lighting up the entire room.

“Courage is not something you have when you aren’t afraid. Courage is doing something even though you are scared. To have courage in the face of something you fear is to have bravery.” The fire prophet sat down in front of the fire pit and the others sat as well.

“The absence of light is darkness. And the darkness holds many things. Just as the light. It’s not the fact that it’s dark that makes someone afraid, but it’s what they cannot see and what they do not know that may lay in front of them. Who of you are afraid of what you cannot see?”

The majority of the children raised their hands. Alef took notice of Olali’s hesitation. He was sitting the farthest from the group. Outcast… that was the word that popped into his head when he realized that Olali had kept his distance from the group this whole time. Every lesson, he’d keep to himself. Never did Alef see him with any of the other kids…

“Though I’m not supposed to say what’s in my trial directly, I will say that the light will be your friend and your friends will be your light. Not many will make it to my trial, but I have had surprises in the past. Now, let’s get to the exercise.” The fire prophet dimmed the fire’s light, almost reducing it to glowing embers.

“Your enemy will be your friend in a time of need. If one of you perishes, then you both will. Relying on the light of your enemy will save the both of you.” The fire prophet stood up and retreated into the darkness. The children scooted close together as their anxiety rose.

“The sacred light of the white candle, it will aid you in your journey.” The fire prophet’s voice came from behind them. The children turned their heads to his voice, “But it won’t save you.” He paused for a while, which made everyone tense.

“Pair up in two’s.”

The children were quick to scramble for a partner. Alef let Vel and Kiz pair up as usual. Alef looked around, squinting in the darkened room, trying to see who wasn’t partnered up. Then he noticed from the corner of his eye someone standing up against the wall. He walked up to them before realizing who they were. He asked hesitantly, “Do you… need a partner?”

Olali growled, “Don’t talk to me!” His back was up against the wall along with the palms of his hands.

Alef stood right next to him, pressing his back up against the wall as well. Olali stared at him, “Get away from me.” He hissed.

Alef scooted a foot away from him. He could hear Olali breathing heavily and with a shaky breath. He was terrified… But he also heard him quietly vocalizing… The fire prophet began to hand out white candles, that were lit, to the pairs of children. When he got to Alef and Olali, he handed Alef the candle.

“With these sacred candles, your way will be lit… in this room, I want your pairs to find the altars. There are twenty of them and there are many halls that come back to this room. The twelve of you will return the candles to me once you come back from the hall you choose to go through. Stick together and keep close.”

Once he was done speaking, six halls lit up that split off from the main room. The light was only bright enough to illuminate the entrances. Alef could barely make out the form of the fire prophet standing in front of the entrance they came from to get into the room. As the other kids split up with their pair, Alef stayed where Olali was.

“Would you like to hold the candle?” He offered.

Olali glanced at Alef and then at the white candle. He took the candle from Alef's hands, holding onto it with a tight grip. His hands were shaking. He realized Alef was staring at him and he responded to that by walking past him, shoving his shoulder into Alef's aggressively, “What are you staring at, coward?” He growled. Alef followed right behind him as he chose a hallway to go into.

As they walked through the narrow hallway, they came across smaller candles on the floor. Olali lit them along the way. The silence between them was making Alef uncomfortable, especially since he could hear the groaning of the wind through the hall. It was loud and eerie.

“So… how's your eye doing?”

Olali stopped walking and turned to look at Alef, “Don't act like you care about me. You hate me, your friends hate me. So stop trying to be nice to me.”

“I don't hate you.”

“Liar.”

“I'm not lying. I dislike you, but I don't hate you.”

Olali stared at Alef in distrust. He hit Alef in the arm, “Everyone hates me!” He kept walking forward.

He rubbed his arm, “Ow…”

They walked for what seemed like forever, trying to navigate in the vast darkness of the carved out hallways. The loud eerie growling of the wind suddenly roared past them. Olali stopped suddenly, causing Alef to run into him. Alef walked to the side of him, “Why'd you stop?” He looked around but saw nothing that would make him pause. He looked back at Olali, seeing how hard his hands were shaking.

“Olali?”

“SHUT UP!” He bursted out, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” He put his back up against the wall, threw the white candle and repeatedly hit his head with the palms of his hands. Alef quickly fetched the white candle, making sure the flame wouldn't go out. Then he turned his attention back to Olali. Placing the candle on the floor, he grabbed Olali's hands so he would stop hitting himself. Olali was whimpering, breathing heavily and groaning.

“Remember what the Water Prophet taught us? Breathe in through our nose and out our mouth.” Alef tried to help him to calm down. The whole time, Olali was groaning, trying to soothe his anxiety, and it became quieter the more he calmed down. The groaning turned into vocalizing and his heavy breathing subsided. Alef grabbed the white candle and held it towards Olali, “Are you… okay?” Olali sat on the ground and Alef did the same.

He stopped vocalizing to speak, “Yeah…”

“You don’t like the dark, do you?...”

Olali grabbed the white candle from his hands, “Shut up.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I don’t like the dark that much either, if I’m being honest with you.” He scooted right next to him, “Something that always helps me when I get scared is to imagine someone I love right next to me, telling me everything will be alright.”

Olali looked saddened, “I don’t love anyone.”

“No one? Not your mom or dad?”

“I don’t have a mom or dad!” he growled, “and I don’t have friends or family either!”

Alef frowned. He leaned in to hug him, feeling bad for him, but Olali pushed him away, “Don’t touch me!”

“Sorry…” Alef got up, “Do you wanna keep going? I’m starting to get really cold.”

Olali got up, sighing. He started to vocalize again, but very quietly. Why was he doing that? After what seemed like forever, they finally reached the main room. Everyone else was sitting around the large fire in the center of the room, talking, laughing and playing. The fire prophet must’ve lit the pit up again once everyone had gone into the carved halls. Olali fell quiet after seeing the room lit up. He walked over to the Fire Prophet and handed him the white candle. Alef went over to Kiz and Vel, sitting with them.

“What took you so long?” Kiz pulled him into a hug.

Alef looked at Olali, then he turned his attention to Kiz, “The hall we chose was long I guess.”

“Oh… and who was your partner anyway?”

“Um… Olali.”

“Really? Ugh, why do you keep getting paired up with him?” She rolled her eyes. Alef shrugged.

The Fire Prophet counted up the children, satisfied they were all here. He placed the last of the white candles in a bag and slung the strap of it over his shoulder, “Alright, the first exercise has been completed. Let’s go get lunch.”

𓆩✧𓆪

The second half of training with the Fire Prophet wasn’t much training. Rather, it was more so games, which caught Alef by surprise. The other prophets didn't have games with their lessons. The games were held in the central part of the cave. Skyball, freeze tag, hide-and-seek, and a few other activities.

Olali watched from a ledge as the other kids played with each other. He was holding a smooth rock in his hand, rubbing his fingers against it. The Fire Prophet sat right next to him, “How are you holding up, bud?”

He shrugged, “Fine, I guess.”

“Don't you wanna go join the other kids?”

“No.”

“Alright.” The prophet got up, “Just remember not to isolate yourself.” He walked over to the kids playing skyball, joining in with them. Olali sighed and tossed the rock he was holding. He jumped down from the ledge and kicked the sand.

“Pass me the ball!” Kizuna waved her hands, trying to get Alef's attention. He dodged a kid who tried to steal the ball from his feet. He kicked the ball to Kizuna who caught it in between her feet. She then ran with it to the small goal post. Suddenly, it was knocked out from under her, the ball was sent flying to the rival team. She growled as the culprit laughed and ran for the ball. It was passed to the Fire Prophet, of which he passed it on to someone else. The ball ended up back into the grasp of Alef's team and they scored their last goal, winning the round. Alef, Kizuna and Veluboga were out of breath. They sat down for a break.

“What do you think we'll do tomorrow?” Vel was breathing heavier than Alef and Kiz.

“Don't know. I did overhear the other kids talking about a possible lesson with the Jackal teacher though.” Kizuna laid on her back.

“A fifth day of lessons?” Alef sighed, “I was hoping to get a day of rest after all of what they have been teaching us.”

“Well, that's just what I heard.” She took her mask off and rubbed her face. Veluboga did the same.

“Your nose healed, Veluboga.”

Kizuna immediately sat up in a defensive mode when she heard that voice. She stared at Olali with a snarl, “Get away from us.”

Alef looked at Olali. His eye had started to heal, but it was still somewhat closed. Alef placed a hand on Kizuna’s arm, “Hey, maybe we can be nice to him for once?” Kizuna responded to his suggestion with an angry sigh, “Why should we?”

Alef looked at Olali, then at Kizuna. He took a deep breath in and let out a sigh. He wanted to be honest with her, “Why should we continue to be mean to him? He’s started almost nothing the whole time we’ve been here. You’ve started everything by being mean to him.”

Vel spoke up, “Yeah, you’ve been the only one to start things.”

“Don't you remember when he called you a coward? Huh? Don't you remember what he did to you, Vel? To me?” Kiz hissed.

Alef sassed, “Don’t you remember what you did to him?” Alef gestured to Olali’s eye, “We’ve done enough. We’ve all hurt each other. So why bother continuing this hate? Daleth told me to be nice, even when people are mean. You hold grudges and hate so easily, and it gets tiring.” Alef stood up, “I don’t like being like that, Kizuna.”

Veluboga also stood up, “I also don’t like it… My papa only said to fight back if someone fights me, but he never said to be mean…” She now recalls.

Kizuna stood up, “You guys suck!” She stormed off. Olali was still standing near them, awkwardly. Alef looked over at Olali, “Are you tired of being mean, too?”

𓆩✧𓆪

During dinner, Kizuna kept away from Alef and Veluboga. She sat with some other kids she had made friends with during the four days they have been at the camp. Olali was sitting far from Alef and Vel even though he had been invited to sit with them.

“Now I know how you felt on the first day…” Vel referred to Kizuna’s stubborn grudge.

“Yeah… but, she might come around again.” Alef held his bowl to his face and sipped the soup from it, “Your nose does look better. How's it feeling?”

“Doesn't feel weird anymore, but it's still sensitive.” She gently touched the bridge of her nose.

“That's good.” He yawned and drank the last bit of his soup, “I think I'm gonna sleep early tonight. I'm too tired to stay up.”

“Okay. I'll see you a little later.”

Alef got up, placed his bowl where the other dirty dishes were and left the tent. He rubbed his eyes before putting his mask back on. As he was walking to the sleeping tent, he noticed a large manta with a saddle laying on the ground right next to the prophets’ tent. The saddle on the manta was decorated like nothing he'd ever seen before. Curiously, he went over to the tent and manta. The manta was sleeping, so Alef gave it a couple of pets before realizing people were in the prophets’ tent. He stayed quiet to listen in on what they were talking about. He recognized all voices but one; this voice sounded really old, stern, and raspy.

“Don't you feel it, child? This is not the way. I've seen the future, and it is a dark one!” The voice warned.

“I… I don't know. My visions are never faulty, and I have not seen what you claim.” A familiar voice spoke. Lamed.

Alef leaned closer to the tent, trying to hear better. Their voices were muffled somewhat due to the thick fabric of the tent.

“No warnings? No bad omens? Nothing that concerns you? With as powerful of visions as we have, we always have its complement. There is no good vision without it's bad and no bad vision without it's good. Lamed, you must tell us now, have you seen anything that is concerning, even the slightest to you?” The voice sounded almost anxious.

The manta woke up from its nap and decided to nip Alef's heel. He let out a yelp. The voices in the tent fell silent. When he realized they all stopped talking, Alef ran to the sleeping tent right as the Overseer came out. He made it to the sleeping tent before the Overseer spotted him. He hid under his blanket on his mat as he panted from how hard and fast he bolted.

“What were they talking about?” He thought to himself.

𓆩✧𓆪

Alef jolted awake, sweating. He sat up as he breathed heavily. Looking around the tent, he saw all the other kids asleep around him. He rubbed his face, wiping away all the beads of sweat that had formed. Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes, but he tried to blink them away.

“Bad dream?”

Alef turned his head to where the voice came from, wiping his eyes as well to be able to see who spoke. Olali sat up and stared at Alef.

“Yeah…” He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself, “What are you doing up?..” He asked quietly, not wanting to wake anyone.

“Can’t sleep.” Olali got up and grabbed his pillow. He sat down right by Alef, “We should raid the dining tent.”

“What? N-no-”

“No one’s in the dining tent at this hour. Plus… food helps me after bad dreams.”

Was he trying to be nice? Why is he being friendly all of a sudden?

Olali stood once more and gestured to the tent’s exit. He began to head out.

“Wait-!” Alef got up to follow after him, holding onto his blanket. When exiting the tent, he was hit with frigid cold air. He shivered as the slight breeze chilled his sweat. He caught up to Olali, “What if we get in trouble?”

“I've snuck food from the tent before, and I haven’t gotten in trouble.” He pulled back the flap of the dining tent and entered. He was quick to start rummaging through the food that had been packed away for the night. He grabbed a couple of buns along with some fruit. He handed Alef a bun.

“I’m not hungry-”

“Take it.” Olali bit into one of the buns he grabbed. Alef sighed, feeling this was somewhat wrong.

“You’re still a coward.” He sat on one of the counters.

“I’m not.” Alef shoved the bun in his mouth.

“You are. You hide behind Kizuna. Same with Velobuga. You can’t fight, you just run.”

“Why are you being mean?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Olali shrugged, “I’m just telling you what I see. How is that being mean?”

Alef sighed, “I’m going back to the sleeping tent.” He ate the rest of the bun and walked out. Olali sat on the counter for a while after he left and thought…

𓆩✧𓆪

After breakfast the following morning, all the trial students were gathered to the center of the camp around the large bonfire. Alef assumed it was for some kind of announcement. Vel was sticking right by his side as he sat down in the sand. The older students, he noticed, all seemed more tired.

The Overseer walked to the bonfire along with the other prophets following behind him. The Prophet of Fire blew into a horn to get everyone's attention. Once everyone was looking, the Overseer spoke, “Good morning everyone! I'm happy to say that your training is almost complete. There are a few more lessons that must be taught before you all are fully prepared to go into the sacred trials.”

Some of the kids groaned and sighed.

“These lessons won't be as intense compared to the ones you have gone through, I assure you.”

As the Overseer continued to speak, Alef zoned him out. His gaze wandered around the crowd of the other students at the bonfire. He spotted Olali, who was only a couple feet away from him, repeatedly covering his ears with his hands and then removing them. Alef's brows furrowed. He held up his hands and then put them to his ears, copying what Olali was doing. The auditory sensation felt weird to his ears - from going to muffled sound to clear audio. He stopped after doing it a couple of times. Alef then turned his attention back to the Overseer who was still speaking.

“-And with that being said, we all will head to the central cave.”

Everyone began to stand up. Alef quickly stood, “What was he talking about? I didn't pay attention.”

“We're going to the big cave for our last lessons.” Veluboga headed towards the cave along with the other students. Alef followed.

These lessons didn't stand out to Alef as anything significant. They were more of a repeat of what the other prophets taught throughout this week. But, there was something that came up that caught Alef's attention. Spiritual rebirth… He kept hearing about it, but it hasn't been explained to him or the other students. When the Overseer let the children take a break from the lessons, Alef went up to him.

“What's spiritual rebirth?”

“Hm?” The Overseer looked down at him.

“Spiritual rebirth? You guys keep mentioning it. What is it?”

“It is a process… and a product of going through the trials. It's nothing to fear, though.”

“But, WHAT is it?”

“It is better to learn what it is by experiencing it, rather than me explaining what it is.”

Alef huffed. He made his way over to Veluboga as she was playing with a hacky sack on her own. She was trying to get the hang of it ever since one of the other students showed her the other day.

“Do you wanna play with me?” She asked as she tried to balance the sack on her foot.

“Mhh… sure.”

They both attempted to play for a while. The last bit of the Overseer’s lessons went by quickly. Before they knew it, it was time for lunch. Alef and Vel were talking about one of their adventures, but they stopped when Olali walked up to them. The three stared at each other in silence before Alef spoke up, “Do you wanna sit with us?”

Olali sat down right next to them without saying anything. Vel and Alef continued their conversation and Olali listened in. For the rest of the afternoon, all the students had the time off to relax. And for the last two days of the week, the prophets organized recreational activities before it came time for the sacred trials the following week…

𓆩✧𓆪

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