#i will survive the violence thrust upon me.

[ladyimaginarium]

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (II)

SYNOPSIS: Forced into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, you must now consummate the union. A night of unsparing obscenity. His grip on you is deadly, perhaps worsening when you seek to escape him.

WARNINGS (R18+): dub-con, first time, biting, marking, sexual content, breeding, mentions of choking, power play, violence, weapons, cannibalism

Word count: 2.6k

PART 1

The night seemed excruciatingly long, your body overwhelmed by the sensations ruptured by your husband: pain, pleasure, pure agony.

Feyd-Rautha was transfixed on the way your hair sprawled out on the bedsheets, creating a halo around your body. You had found it to be a strange request when you were informed to keep your hair long for the wedding. Now you knew exactly who had made the order each time your husband pulled, scrunched, and ran his calloused hands through your locks.

“Please – ah – slower!” you gasped underneath him.

What a mistake to beg or plead. His pace seemed to only quicken with every whimper you released. It had been hours, he was entirely relentless in his pursuit of unraveling you. Every time you felt as though you’d die, he’d slow and make you wet once more.

You hated the way you would arch for him, your physical body betraying your moral dignity. You hated how he would smirk every time, calling you ‘pet’. Most profoundly, you hated the mirror above his bed exposing the shamefulness of every position he took you in and the wanton expression you wore during them.

Feyd-Rautha was a skilled lover, but he was greedy in chasing his own release – which seemed to never end.

Your mother couldn’t prepare you for this, the Bene Gesserit had very little information on the na-Baron’s likes and weaknesses aside from rumors. He had killed the previous Sister sent to seduce him and broken the neck of another Sister who attempted to plant a trigger word in his mind.

Perhaps it would be a miracle if you survived your wedding night.

It was almost animalistic the way he pounded into you with limitless stamina. His seed was still dripping down your legs as he flipped you over like a hound. Your cheeks flushed at this positioning, he was treating you like a beast in heat.

“Cry for me, pet,” he’d sneer every time tears stung your eyes.

“I-I’m not your pet,” you’d pant trying to adjust to his speed. Your defiance and spirit would only set him off further into lunacy.

You’d never forget the raptorial look in his eyes when you first bled. He had prepared you well with his fingers and tongue, but his extraordinary size still pierced your hymen painfully. Feyd-Rautha arrogantly reveled in the fact that he was the first man to claim your maidenhood – and subsequently subjected you to every single one of his primal desires.

His bites on your body ached initially, followed by thorough licks of every reddened wound with his hot tongue. During the brief intermissions, he traced the bruises marked on your hips and thighs smugly. Your husband was a paradox, torment and pleasure wrapped into one.

The experiences he gave you differed wildly from anything you had read upon the marital bed. Though you were disappointed in the lack of romance, you did enjoy his physicality. His allure was striking with chiseled facial features, piercing eyes, and a toned body.

You didn’t fail to notice the flex of his muscles with every thrust into you or how his voice would drop several octaves when he was close to release.

His hands were rough, but his fingers were beautiful – the masterful way they would tease your breasts and sadistically wrap around your throat. You’d shiver when he licked your ears and nipped at your swollen lips.

Feyd-Rautha didn’t kiss you often, but when he did it could only be described as an unearthly procession of dominance. He was aggressive and vicious in the way he forced his tongue down your throat, exploring every inch of your mouth while his large hand locked your face in place. You couldn’t deny that your body was in complete submission of his depravity.

He smirked each time you moaned and mewled into his kiss, flattering his ego. The way he overpowered you so easily made your head spin.

“No more…” you groaned as you gripped the sheets beneath you, already wet with sweat and cum.

He’d sneer and scoff as he denied you, further burrowing himself into your hair and savoring your scent. You couldn’t oppose this predatory creature on top of you, not when he held your entire being in the palm of his hand.

“You belong to me, we stop when I say so,” he growled every time you tried to turn away. He held your wrists down with both arms, caging you beneath him like prey.

The last thing you remember from your wedding night were the rays of sunlight pouring through the curtains when you finally lost consciousness.

-------------------------------------------------------

The morning light filtered through gaps in the velvet curtains, casting a gentle glow over the chamber. You stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep, your body still tingling from the intensity of the night before. Memories flooded back, mingling with sensations of arousal and embarrassment.

The bed was cold. Instead of your husband, you found a silver tray placed next to the nightstand with delectable plates of food.

‘Eat.’ was elegantly scripted on an adjacent card. You rolled your eyes at his overbearing personality but couldn’t deny the pangs of hunger.

After breakfast, you decided to take a bath. As you placed both feet on the ground to walk, your legs wobbled terribly. Sitting back down on the bed with a long sigh, you decided to wait for servants to eventually come fetch you.

Hours passed and no one came. When the sun rose high enough to be early noon, the doors burst open.

Your husband strode in, his presence commanding the entire room. His eyes, still burning with yesterday’s fire, swept over you. He took in your disheveled appearance with a hint of amusement.

"Good, you’re alive," he remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction.

"Apologies for the disappointment, but I don’t die so easily,” you retorted, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.

He ignored your comment, crossing the room in long strides until he stood before you, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers trailing along the marks on your chest in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate.

"You fainted,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I hope you’ve regained your strength.”

"Don’t touch me,” you shot back, unable to suppress the surge of defiance.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You are my possession. Mine to use, mine to break if necessary,” he reminded you, his voice a low growl. "And you will open your legs for me. If not, then I’ll have to use your pretty little mouth."

You bristled at his words, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else— fear, perhaps, or maybe something more primal, a recognition of the power he held over you and a heat forming in your lower core.

For a moment, you were tempted to push him away, to fight or defy him once more. Not all battles were won in a day, you thought to yourself.

Thus you didn’t protest when he ripped the sheet exposing your naked form, and you stubbornly ignored the fact that you came three times underneath him that afternoon.

-------------------------------------------------------

On the fourth day of your marriage, you become suspicious of why you never see servants. Every day you awake, and everything is remarkably already prepared.

“Why do I not have any servants to attend me,” you questioned.

“You do. Only, no one is allowed to enter my chambers without prior permission,” he replied flatly.

“Well then, I’d like to leave for my own chambers.” You weren’t confident if you even had chambers, but you guessed they must be storing your clothes and belongings somewhere.

“You will leave when I no longer require you here,” his voice boomed. “Aren’t you enjoying our honeymoon, pet?” he mocked.

“Do not call me pet, Feyd-Rautha. I am your wife, not an animal you can cage and entertain on a whim.”

“Right,” he drawled. “If you had been an animal, I would’ve already broken you a thousand times over,” his eyes glinted with interest. “Especially one that doesn’t know when to shut its barking, wife.”

As Feyd-Rautha's words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence enveloped the room. You could feel the weight of his brutal nature pressing down on you, suffocating any resistance that simmered to rise within you. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, refusing to cower before him.

"I demand to know why I'm being kept prisoner in this room," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.

Feyd-Rautha's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening with anger. "Prisoner?" he scoffed.

"You are performing your marital duties, na-Baroness. Do not sour my mood. Lest you’ve forgotten the purpose of this union, I need to fuck you until your womb swells with my seed,” he gritted his teeth, “It’s been pleasurable so far, hasn’t it? You moan like a whore under me each night."

Speechless, your mouth gaped at his profanity.

"It would be a mistake to disobey me."

A surge of frustration bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over. "And if I refuse?" you challenged, daring to meet his gaze head-on.

His lips curled into a cruel smirk, a glint of malice dancing in his eyes. "Then you will suffer the consequences – which you would not be able to bear, little one" he replied, his voice dripping with menace. “Do you want me to show you?”

Before you could respond, he clapped his hands twice. The doors to the chamber burst open, entering a group of armed guards standing at attention. Feyd-Rautha's expression turned into a dark leer.

"Escort my wife to her personal chambers," he commanded, his tone deceptively calm. "And make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without a guard. From now on, she is not to enter nor stay in my rooms."

As the Harkonnens moved to seize you, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were truly trapped in this gilded cage, at the mercy of a man whose cruelty you had yet to understand.

-------------------------------------------------------

Deep within you, a flicker of rebellion still burned bright, a willful resolve to reclaim your freedom and dignity, no matter the cost.

Your room, surprisingly luxurious, boasted a large balcony that offered an overhead view of the training grounds. It seemed purposeful, chosen to serve as a stark reminder of the life you had been thrust into: perpetual violence.

You weren’t alone in your room; servants flitted about, attending to your needs with a silent efficiency that bordered on eerie. They all looked the same, simple white garbs and shaven heads. Attendants moved like shadows, their presence barely felt and never acknowledged. It was as if they were part of the furniture, existing solely to serve.

As na-Baroness, you only had a few measly duties assigned to you: organize balls and events of state. This was laughable as events on Giedi Prime occurred only a few times per year, mostly none with consequence or importance.

There were two ways you could see your husband: on the training grounds or when he came to fuck you.

Feyd-Rautha was a formidable warrior with carefully honed skills and keen senses. However, he often flaunted his prowess to the point of showmanship. Having nothing else to do, you watched his sparring sessions sometimes.

Under the black sun of Giedi Prime, it all seemed like a colorless nightmare that you’d hallucinated. Blood, violence, and the never-ending screams haunted you even as you closed the balcony doors. This was no nightmare, it was reality.

Your husband was a disciplined man who adhered to a tight routine; training early each morning, proceeded by visits your room.

After your confrontation, he hardened towards you. There would be no conversation, Feyd-Rautha had the mind to only satisfy himself and left quickly afterwards. He always slept in his own his chambers.

His anger did not ever seem to dissipate, only replaced with lust temporarily.

The monotonous days left you feeling isolated and adrift in a sea of strangers. The only reprieve came in the form of letters you sent to your family. They’d ask you how you were faring and you’d carefully craft missives that painted a picture of marital contentment while concealing the ugly truth. Of course you couldn’t tell them, not when everything hinged upon the success of this union and the delivery of an heir.

On some lonely nights, as you lay by yourself in the large bed, you regretted asking to leave his side. After all, your golden cage hadn’t expanded and you still exercised no authority.

Four weeks later, you felt relieved that your blood came. True it was your purpose to bear a child, but there was a part of you that feared your husband would simply leave you alone for good once he confirmed a pregnancy.

That afternoon, you gently denied him access to your body. “My courses have come,” you explained, crawling off his lap.

He was shocked for a moment, but then slowly released his grasp on you. He left the room without a word.

Later in the evening, feeling brave or perhaps missing his touch – which you’d never outwardly admit – you decided to break one of the rules by visiting his chamber.

You thought of things to say to him.

I’d like to spend more time together as husband and wife.

I think it would help our marriage to get to know one another.

I want to explore the estate and Giedi Prime.

Your musings were interrupted by the synchrony of female voices and laughter coming out of your husband’s room.

In a momentary fit of shock and fury, you ignored the guards and pushed open the doors.

He was polishing his dagger leisurely with three naked Harkonnen women laying across his bed.

“How dare you enter my chambers without permission,” he hissed. You didn’t miss the way he angled the tip of the dagger towards you.

“Who are they?” you demanded, voice unable to conceal your disturbance and a hint of jealousy.

“My pets, they require special attention,” he replied coolly, at which the harpies giggled in unison.

You understood that they were pleasure slaves. It was common for noblemen to have concubines; you just hadn’t expected your husband would as well. Did he spend the night with them? Is that what he did after leaving your bedroom every day?

You stood frozen in place, humiliated at your naivete. You meant nothing to him, another whore but adorned with an empty title. A guard swiftly followed you inside the chamber, roughly grabbing your arm and beginning to drag you out.

“Na-Baroness, you do not have permission to be in here–”, the rest of his sentence could not be heard as Feyd-Rautha slit his throat and sliced his arm. The man fell where he stood.

“Perfect timing,” he growled. “My darling pets were getting hungry,” he squinted his eyes at the dead guard as though he was lowlier than filth.

None of the other guards dared to touch you after that display.

Monster. Traitor. Killer. 

When the three women ran down to divvy up the bits of his body, you had to fight the urge to puke. You stare at their markings, soulless ebony eyes, and sharp black teeth as they devour the man’s limbs, you’ve never felt more disgust or fear in your life.

Harkonnen. Monster. Traitor. Killer. 

Feyd-Rautha approaches you, expressionless and without any hint of remorse. “Go,” he commands. “Get out unless you want to become fodder for them as well.”

As you turned to walk away, tears fell like raindrops, marking the path of your departure with silent rage and hatred.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi,

I am very much not american so I must admit that my first impulse when seeing all the rap/racism discourse was something like "do I really need to consume more american culture, it's fucking everywhere already". Idk but to me it feels like american/english-speaking culture absolutely dominates a lot of the world, sometimes at the cost of out own cultures and languages, if something is in English it is "good", if it is in own own languages it is "bad". Musicians often start singing in English and more american-like after a while to get bigger. We value American culture and music, they mock our accents (and languages sometimes) and best case scenario see us as funny and silly.

Then I started thinking. Do you think that americans kind of see rap kind of like foreign music still? Like low-brow unexotic foreign music.

I don't know this is a really fresh thought and I'm not sure if I am explaining it very well.

hey first off I just want to say -

you are entirely correct in your reaction that people outside of America/the English-speaking world do not need more American culture thrust upon them! this discussion is extremely centered on Americans, the reception and reaction to rap within America, and excuses that white American use to avoid interacting meaningfully with Black culture, art, and ideas. while anti-Blackness as an issue obviously extends far outside of America, this particular conversation is deeply tied to American culture. I appreciate you pointing that out!

I also think you're point about rap, and by extension other Black artforms, being Othered in American pop culture. certainly in terms of language, African American Vernacular English (AAVE), which is utilized by many rappers, is still heavily disputed in its validity as a "real" language, with many dismissing it as a bastardized version of "proper" English and associating it heavily with those who are lower-class and uneducated. in a similar way to many international artists having to work in English to gain wider recognition and validation, many Black Americans are proficient in "code switching," the practice of switching between AAVE that they likely grew up speaking and an English dialect that is considered more "professional."

similarly, I think your use of the term "low-brow" is very apt. Black music has always been met with distrust and disdain by white audiences. there's a reason that so many people feel the need to bring up sex, drugs, and violence when they talk about rap; to many white cultural gatekeepers that was all rap was. (and, like, we should very much talk about why that is in and of itself a bad thing, when white crime is so often glorified in pop culture. why is the Godfather a classic masterpiece but Black men making art about their own experiences with racism, violence, poverty, and survival don't deserve serious consideration?) and that didn't start with rap! in the early 20th century jazz, also a Black creation, was seen as dangerous for promoting promiscuity among nice white teens. no matter what Black people make, white cultural gatekeepers will find a way to start a moral panic about it.

the reverse also happens as well, with Black people being treated as foreigners even in music genres that they helped pioneer. Black Americans were hugely formative in the early days of country, but are met with hostility in the contemporary country scene. Lil Nas X's Old Town Road was one of the biggest songs of the year it was released and undeniably country but was largely snubbed by country music community, and Beyoncé's new country album, Cowboy Carter, is a direct response to her hostile reception at the Country Music Awards in 2016.

the point being, yes, I don't think it's off-base to say that, to many Americans, rap and Black music and art generally are like... very optional and avoidable parts of pop culture in the way that more white-dominated genres are not, similarly to a lot of international and especially non-English art.

[kwanisms]

Monsoon Season — y.jeongin

» stray kids masterlist «

➮ kumiho!Jeongin × f!Reader

wc: 17.4k (all of these are gonna be at least 10k so prepare yourselves for that lol)

summary: Jeongin has always been a bit of an outcast in his village being half fox demon (kumiho) until a kind stranger takes him in during a monsoon and gives him more than a place to stay for a few days.

genres/themes/au: angst, smut; supernatural and demonic themes, historic themes, s2l; non idol au, demon au, historical au (kinda)

warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, Jeongin is bullied heavily, physical violence, a building is burned down, Jeongin gets hit over the head with a branch by the reader, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut!

special taglist: @yoonguurt , @anyamaris , @wooyoungqueen , @kpop-stories-21 , @xsweetelegantdiasterx , @kookthief , @stardragongalaxy , @millennial-fangirl , @blankdyean , @imwithurmother , @bangchans-angel , @oreoqueen , @yjeonginlvr , @zdgx1 , @shuxsoo , @s00buwu , @queenmea604 , @pochaccomin , @katsukis1wife , @linos-catnip

Join the taglist! »» Closes 10/30 @ 23:00 CST!

Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED.

AGELESS BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED.

a/n: I'm a sucker for Jeongin in general so there's that. He needs more content and I'm happy to provide that. Anitta is just a codename used by Jeongin's mother. it'll make more sense later what I'm talking about. it's a surprise, shhhhh! Thank you for reading and if you liked this, please reblog or comment! Also consider supporting my work through my kofi (link is in my pinned post). As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), unprotected sex (it’s a period piece and I’m not looking up ancient contraceptive techniques lol just use protection) first time sex, degradation (m receiving), begging, corruption kink, virgin!Jeongin, use of pet names (baby boy, sweetheart, little fox, etc), Jeongin is a subby whiny baby. Take it or leave it. If I missed anything, just let me know!

dialogue prompt: ❛ Have you never been touched like this before? ❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

To a kid, the word orphan is often used as an insult from other kids. Jeongin was lucky that he never had to hear that word until he was much older. He was just shy of fifteen years when his father died from pneumonia. Old enough to be considered a man but Jeongin didn’t feel like a man.

He felt like a lost little boy who just lost his father.

His mother had left not long after Jeongin’s birth. His father had tried his best to explain to Jeongin how his mother didn’t love him any less. She just had a different way of doing things. She had things she had to do, tasks to see to and couldn’t take a newborn with her.

That was the nature of a kumiho. Others called her flighty, said she abandoned him but Jeongin knew better. He had her journals, gifted to him on his fifteenth birthday by his father on instruction from his mother. Jeongin had spent his free time reading those journals, getting to know his mother through her words. It was a surreal experience for him.

His father couldn’t tell Jeongin much about his mother other than that she was incredibly cunning, kind, and compassionate. He also spoke of her beauty. Jeongin had never seen a portrait of his mother and had no idea what she looked like.

“I see her in you,” his father often told him. “You have her eyes and her hair.”

Jeongin took solace in the fact that he resembled his mother. It was comforting in a way.

When Jeongin was finally thrust upon the cruel world at a young age, he had luckily learned enough skills from his father to survive. He knew how to hunt small game and fish. He grew a simple garden that was enough for one when he harvested it. He had spent time foraging with his father and knew his way around the forest’s shrubbery and other plants.

He knew which ones were food, which ones healed, and which ones killed.

Jeongin was able to raise himself, growing into a man of limited means and he kept to himself except when he needed to head to the village to trade his furs for other things he could not provide for himself, like clothing. He’d never learned how to sew as he had no mother to teach him and his father also didn’t know how.

So another morning was spent gathering the furs he’d chosen to sell, setting them aside for the ones he wanted to keep. And he packed some food for his trip to the village. His walk through the woods was always quite so early in the morning. The sounds of the forest waking up, birds calling out to say good morning as the sky lightened from deep indigo to a light periwinkle, the sun creeping over the horizon.

The first rays of sunshine had started to break through the trees as Jeongin reached the village which was also bustling, everyone having gotten up around the same time as he. He ignored the stares as he walked through the village towards the market, readjusting his bag as he trodden on.

He could hear murmurs and whispers as he passed but chose to ignore them. Sure, he perhaps didn’t stick out as much as a full blooded fox folk might, but his blond fox ears, hair, and orange eyes gave him away immediately. Folk around these parts didn’t normally sport such a contrasting hair color.

Jeongin’s father had told him he took after his mother after all.

Upon reaching the market, Jeongin looked around, surveying his surroundings and looking for the lady his father had always purchased clothing from. He spotted her and made a beeline as she was folding garments, setting them down on the wooden stall before her.

“Morning,” Jeongin heard her grumble. Unlike the rest of the villagers, this woman had always been kind to him as he accompanied his father, sneaking him sweets and other homemade candies when his father wasn’t looking. The caramels were his favorites.

“Morning,” Jeongin parroted as he looked over the linen tunics. His was starting to fit a little too snugly and the threads were wearing out. His pants would last him another winter at least. As he was looking over the tunics, he heard a voice as sweet as honey call out.

“Granny, I can’t find the skirts!”

Jeongin looked up in time to see probably the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life appear before him. He stared, awestruck as she walked over to the old woman. She had waist length black hair that fell in soft waves down her back, half of it pulled back and secured with a comb. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, much different than the dark brown or black he’d grown accustomed to.

She was petite, smaller than he was, with a slender frame and a pale complexion. She met his gaze and Jeongin felt as if the world stopped moving. Everything around him seemed to slow, almost as if time was stopping. The sounds around him drowned out as he stared back into those brown eyes.

Her pale, pink lips pulled into a shy smile before she averted her eyes to look at her grandmother. “They’re in the chest, not the sacks, dear,” the old woman replied and waved her hands. “I’ll get them,” she said, brushing past the girl and around the cart.

The girl looked after her grandmother before stepping towards the stall. Jeongin managed to snap himself out of his trance and had looked down to resume inspecting the tunics. “This would look nice on you,” the girl said, brushing her fingers over a black tunic.

Jeongin glanced up, meeting her gaze and quickly looked away as did she. He noticed the blush that crept over her cheeks. “I’ve never seen you before,” she suddenly said, smiling as Jeongin looked up. “Are you new to the village?” Jeongin opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted.

“He lives in the forest,” the grandmother said as she returned, arms loaded with fabric that she dumped onto the stack of boxes next to her. “This is my granddaughter, Haneul,” the old woman said as she started to fold the skirts and place them on the wooden surface of the stall.

Haneul turned to look back at Jeongin. “What’s your name?” she asked. Jeongin was caught off guard and forgot to answer, instead just smiling and nodding at Haneul. She giggled as he realized his error, shaking his head before answering awkwardly. “Uh, I’m Jeongin.”

As the old woman folded the skirts, Haneul reached into a small pouch on her hip, glancing at her grandmother before pulling her hand out and quickly handing something to Jeongin when her grandmother wasn’t watching. Jeongin glanced down at his hand and felt heat spread to his cheeks.

Sitting in his palm were three wrapped caramel candies. The ones the old woman used to give him. He smiled, tucking them away in his bag before clearing his throat. “I need some shirts,” he announced. “Very well,” the old woman said. “What do you have to trade?”

Jeongin ended up trading one of his tanuki furs for three shirts, two light colored linen ones and one black one. He also managed to trade three of his rabbit furs for a new tool set. As he thanked the blacksmith he turned around and bumped into a body.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely, bowing quickly. The woman he’d bumped into patted him on the shoulder and went about her business. Jeongin was about to turn away when he caught Haneul watching him, an amused smile on her face. When their eyes met, Jeongin felt another rush of heat over his cheeks and waved to Haneul who returned the gesture.

Before Jeongin could turn and start making his way home, he felt an arm hook over the back of his neck, draping across his shoulders. “Well, well, well,” said an all-too-familiar voice. “Look what the dog has dragged back to the village!”

The comment was met with a cacophony of laughter as Jeongin held his tongue.

“Hello to you too, Baek-hwa,” he said monotonously. He glanced up at the taller man, noticing he was now surrounded. Baek-hwa’s friends were staring him down and Jeongin felt like this wasn’t going to end well. He felt Baek-hwa’s arm tighten around the back of his neck.

“What are you doing here, thief, I thought I told you to stay away from the village,” Baek-hwa said under his breath so only Jeongin heard him. “I’m not a thief, Baek-hwa,” Jeongin replied softly. “I just came to get some things and I’ll be going back home now. You won’t have to see me again for a long time.”

Baek-hwa clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You really should have stayed away.”

It didn’t take long for Baek-hwa and his friends to drag Jeongin away from the market and behind a hut before they started laying into him. His bag was torn from his grip and tossed aside as they landed blow after blow on him. Jeongin had learned from a young age that if he avoided trouble, he’d be okay but he knew that wasn’t always the case. Regardless if he stayed out of trouble, it always managed to find him.

He leaned against the wall, doubled over in pain as Baek-hwa’s friends goaded him on. “Kick his ass!” one laughed. Jeongin glanced at where his bag sat and then looked up. His assailants were too busy egging their leader on. He had a small window. Mustering his strength and taking a deep breath, Jeongin pushed off the wall, knocking over one of his attackers.

He snatched his bag and took off as they shouted after him. He may not be as strong as they were, but he was definitely faster. He was more agile having spent all his life living in the forest. They had no hope of catching him once he made it into the treeline.

Jeongin didn’t stop as he vaulted over fallen logs and through the underbrush. He made sure to loop around the long way to lose his pursuers if they were even still following him. He didn’t want to take the chance that they would follow him home and come knocking.

It was midday by the time Jeongin finally reached the front door of his father’s cabin, pushing aside the curtain that hung there and stepping over the threshold. He set his bag down and moved to peer out the window. He saw no sign of life and let the curtain fall back in place before he went about his business.

His father had been in charge of keeping up the home but without his help, the cabin was slowly falling apart and Jeongin didn’t know much about building. There were poorly made patches in the roof that barely kept out the rain and more than once, parts of the roof had collapsed. Jeongin did his best to make it work as he had nowhere else to go.

He was sitting by the fire, heating up some stew he’d made the previous night when he heard it.

A distant crash of thunder. Looking up from the fire, he let out a sigh and glanced up at the roof.

“Just hold out for tonight, please,” he begged the thatched hay. “Just one more night.”

The storm blew in quickly after that, dark, thick storm clouds obscuring the sun and bringing with it heavy rains and strong gusts of wind that whipped around the small cabin, making the walls shake and blowing through the cracks Jeongin hadn’t managed to seal properly.

Several times, he was afraid that the roof was going to collapse or a wall was going to cave in and then the entire cabin would crumble around him, trapping him inside.

Rainwater leaked through the shoddy patching, drenching almost everything under it. Jeongin huddled up in the corner as his furniture and almost everything was soaked. The only thing that saved him was the built-in table in the corner.

He had dragged most of his bedding from the bed to the corner, curling up in the only fortified, safe, and dry place in the cabin. It was here that he fell asleep, curled up with his blankets and pillow as well as his bag and the small box his father had left him. The only important possessions in his life.

The storm raged all night and finally blew itself out by dawn, the dark storm clouds retracting as the sun rose, almost as if shooing them away. Jeongin woke as the sun was climbing and crawled out of his cubby, inspecting the damage. His plea to the roof had saved him. The thatching had held up for the most part but it would have to be replaced. Jeongin wasn’t sure who he could even ask.

He headed outside to inspect his garden and was pleased to see that the garden remained safe and untouched as he picked up a few twigs that had blown in and tossed them away. His firewood stores were also surprisingly dry with only the top layer soaked from the rains.

All in all, he’d managed to survive another monsoon storm. As he was cleaning up stray leaves and small branches, Jeongin heard voices and looked up, his stomach dropping as he spotted Baek-hwa and his friends. ‘No,’ he thought. He looked around and darted inside the cabin, starting to grab things, placing them inside his bag as the voices grew louder and louder outside.

“Come on out, thief, we know you’re in there!” came Baek-hwa’s voice. Jeongin swore under his breath, filling his bag with as much as he could but he knew he wouldn’t have time to leave out the front door. He’d be spotted and then they’d follow.

He dropped the bag by the back window before exiting the cabin to face his tormentors. If he was lucky, they’d just beat him up and leave quickly and then he could leave. He didn’t know where he’d go but now that they knew where his home was, they would be back.

“There he is,” Baek-hwa said as he stopped, leaning against the fence Jeongin’s father had built to keep their small homestead separate from the forest around them. “The thief shows his face.”

Jeongin’s fingers curled in against his palms. “I’m not a thief,” he said, a little more forceful than he intended. “Stop calling me that.” The smirk on Baek-hwa’s face dropped instantly. “You raising your voice at me?” he asked, his tone low and dangerously so.

“You think you can just raise your voice and talk back to me and I’ll let it slide?”

Jeongin held his ground. This was his home after all. “We’re outside the village,” Jeongin replied. “I don’t have to listen to you anymore, Baek-hwa.”

The man laughed, looking around at his friends. “This is my world, Jeongin,” he said, actually saying the blond fox folk’s name. “You’re just living in it.”

Jeongin forced a smile. “No it’s not,” he answered, shocking Baek-hwa. Never before has Jeongin acted so defiantly but like Jeongin said, they weren’t in the village. Jeongin wasn’t afraid of them out here. Sure he was dangerously outnumbered but he didn’t have to worry about causing the village trouble out here.

“I’ve had enough of your smart mouth,” Baek-hwa said before nudging the friend standing beside him. “Teach him a lesson, Jae-song.”

The man next to him climbed the fence, landing in the garden and stared Jeongin down before advancing slowly through the small rows of vegetables, making sure to stomp on them as he strode towards Jeongin. “I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born,” he spat, bringing his fists up.

Jeongin didn’t move, standing stoically as he stared back at Jae-song. “Beat you to pulp and leave you for the scavengers,” he added. Jeongin narrowed his eyes. “Your parents must be so proud,” the smaller man retorted, catching Jae-song off guard before Jeongin tilted his head. “Oh wait…” he said with a scoff. “They’re dead.”

Jae-song gritted his teeth and swung at Jeongin who dodged the blow easily. “Picking on smaller people and beating them up for the fun of it. What would your mother think?”

Jae-song let out an angry yell. “Shut the hell up!” he swung again but Jeongin managed to dodge it again, this time pushing Jae-song forward, using the bully’s momentum to send him running face first into the side of the cabin.

“And stay down,” Jeongin added as Jae-song fell to the ground, holding his nose and writhing in pain. “I’m getting sick of this,” Baek-hwa said loudly. “Grab him.”

Jeongin turned as two more of Baek-hwa’s friends hopped the fence and advanced toward him, also kicking and stomping on the vegetable beds as they went. “Two against one?” Jeongin asked, raising a brow. “How noble of you. Or is it pathetic that you need help to take me on?”

Jeongin ducked as two separate fists swung at him before kicking out, knocking one of the assailants down and rolling out of the way as the other aimed a kick at him. Jeongin was back on his feet as the one who tried to kick him, came lumbering forward. As he was about to take another swing, Jeongin dodged around him, kicking him in the backside and sending him toppling over the fence.

“Enough!” Baek-hwa said, climbing the fence himself. “I grow weary of this,” he continued, advancing in Jeongin, stalking forward like a panther stalking its prey. Jeongin kept his eye not only on Baek-hwa but also on his friends who seemed like they were going to sit this one out.

“You sound like some kind of villain, talking like that,” Jeongin noted with a laugh. “I grow weary of your games,” Jeongin mocked, turning as Baek-hwa circled him slowly. “I’m going to end you,” Baek-hwa growled angrily. Jeongin rolled his eyes. “Again with the villain talk. Come on already,” Jeongin said exasperatedly.

Baek-hwa leaned into his punch as he threw his fist forward. Jeongin managed to block the attack before counter attacking with a blow of his own to Baek-hwa’s side. “You little shit,” Baek-hwa grunted, reaching for Jeongin who dodged again, pushing Baek-hwa’s hands aside.

The taller man tried again, aiming a punch that Jeongin deflected before hitting Baek-hwa in the throat with his palm. Immediately Baek-hwa backed off, choking from the sudden impact. “Go home,” Jeongin said as he watched Baek-hwa stumble backwards. “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

As the men helped each other up and staggered out of his garden, Jeongin heard Baek-hwa’s strained voice call out. “We’ll be back, thief. Watch your back!”

Jeongin watched as they disappeared in the forest and breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had he stood his ground against his tormentors. He was grateful for the few self defense lessons his father had given him before he passed.

Jeongin looked down at his mangled vegetable beds and sighed. He would have to go foraging and salvage what he could. He needed to pack up everything and leave tonight. He knew Baek-hwa and his friends would be back.

He entered the cabin, grabbing a basket and heading out into the forest. There was a berry patch not far from his cabin but the terrain made it a longer task of traversing to it. Once there, Jeongin started to gather some of the berries. There he also found wild carrots, chives, cabbage, and potatoes. He gathered what he deemed necessary for tonight as well as some for his trip and started to make his way back.

The sun was starting to set when he reached his cabin and he felt his heart sink and his stomach drop. Baek-hwa and his friends had returned but this time he was really outnumbered. He had half a mind to sneak around to the back of the cabin and grab his bag without being seen but just his luck, one of them turned and spotted him. 

Before he could turn and run, he was grabbed from behind by two sets of hands, the basket knocked from his grip, and dragged over to where Baek-hwa stood. “Not so tough now,” Baek-hwa sneered. Jeongin looked around at the ten or so men Baek-hwa had brought with him. 

“Judging by your entourage, I’d say you aren’t very tough either,” he quipped.

For his comment, Baek-hwa landed a blow, punching Jeongin hard in the stomach and causing him to double over in pain. “That’s for earlier,” he snapped before looking towards one of his friends and nodding. Jeongin looked up in time to see one of the men he’d fought earlier holding a torch. His eyes widened in horror.

“No,” he said, struggling against the two holding him. “Stop!” he shouted as the one with the torch lit the garden on fire before moving towards the cabin. “Stop, please!” Jeongin shouted and continued to struggle. “Everything I own is in there! You can’t do this!”

Baek-hwa smiled smugly as Jeongin’s father’s cabin was set ablaze. “Actually, I can,” Baek-hwa said.

As the cabin caught fire and the flames spread, Baek-hwa stepped back allowing the others to take turns punching and kicking Jeongin. “S-stop,” Jeongin coughed. “Please.”

Baek-hwa laughed cruelly. “That’s what thieves get,” he said as Jeongin collapsed to his knees, only being held up by the two beside him. Jeongin weakly watched as the flames engulfed his home and burned presumably everything inside. Everything was gone. The cabin, the roof, his furniture, his stores… his eyes widened. 

His mothers journals. 

‘No,’ he thought as he stared at the fire.

He hadn’t finished reading them all.

Jeongin struggled against his captors. They held onto him tightly as Baek-hwa watched the inferno with a smirk. With a strength he’d never experienced before, Jeongin managed to pull free from his captors, delivering a punch to each before tackling Baek-hwa to the ground.

His actions were so sudden that everyone was caught off guard as Jeongin grabbed Baek-hwa’s head and slammed it against the ground, dazing the man before he scrambled off him and pushed through the hands that tried to grab at him. He burst into the flaming inferno, shielding his eyes as he looked around. His bag by the window sat untouched.

Before grabbing it, Jeongin darted under the table, tearing through the blankets until he found the bag with his mothers journals. He grabbed it and got up, eyes landing on the trinket box his father had made sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. Jeongin dashed across the room to grab it, stuffing it into the bag with the journals before he moved to the back window, grabbing the bag and heaving it over his shoulder.

Tossed both bags out the window before climbing through. Grabbing the bags, he took off into the forest as the fire consumed his home, the roof finally collapsing. Jeongin turned to look back at the raging inferno as he slung the bags over his back. ‘No going back now,’ he told himself as he watched the flames dance before turning away from the sight and heading further into the woods.

He’d never been this deep before. Glancing skyward, he could see clouds were obscuring the stars and he could only assume another storm was brewing. He made his way through the forest, making his way down embankments and crossing streams as he continued deeper than he’d ever ventured before.

As he stopped to catch his breath, he could hear voices in the distance.

“I think he went this way!” 

Jeongin’s eyes widened. Baek-hwa and his friends had followed him?! Looking around, he saw a small opening under a tree sitting atop the embankment he was currently at the bottom of. He scrambled up, making his way over and peered inside. He couldn’t see much but hoped for the best as he removed his bags and stuffed them through the opening before pulling himself up using the roots of the tree.

He slid into the opening feet first and wiggled into the space. It seemed to be some sort of den. Most likely abandoned but he didn’t dwell on it, instead kept himself hidden as he peered out into the forest. He heard footsteps overhead and ducked back into the safety of the small cave waiting for the pounding of his heart to subside.

He waited as the sounds of feet and voices continued around him. “Did you see which way he went?”

“No.”

“Maybe he’s hiding nearby.”

“Well we’ll never see him in the dark.”

“Maybe we should come back when it’s light out.”

“Enough,” a voice Jeongin recognized to be Baek-hwa’s snapped. “He couldn’t have gotten far,” he continued. “Spread out and find him.”

“How?” another voice asked. “With what light?” Jeongin guessed this voice to be Jae-song’s. It sounded like him anyway. “Here,” another voice said and Jeongin saw light flicker and dance outside the opening of his hiding place. Glancing back, he could barely see that this was indeed a den. He grabbed his things and scooted back further, hoping to stay out of sight.

He waited, listening patiently as footsteps trudged through the forest, twigs snapping underfoot.

He carefully crawled toward the opening and peered out. He could see two of the men standing nearby as they searched the area. “Find anything?” one of them called. “Nothing yet!” another voice called back. “This is so stupid,” one of the men said softly. “There’s no telling which way he went.”

The one that had spoken up before nodded in agreement. “I know,” he answered just as quietly. “But you know how Baek-hwa is. Ever since he saw Jeongin talking to Haneul, he’s just been set on making Jeongin suffer,” he added as he held his torch up, peering around a tree.

“I mean, it’s not like doing all this is going to impress Haneul,” he continued. “She doesn’t even like Baek-hwa.” The second man nodded as well. “I know! It’s like--”

What it was like, Jeongin didn’t get to hear as he watched a shadow cut across the small illuminated circle, passing both men. The second smaller one let out a grunt of pain and Jeongin watched in horror as blood spilled from his mouth, a look of pain crossing his features as he fell to his knees.

“Wonjae!” the first man said in shock as his friend collapsed, blood gurgling from his mouth. “What happened?” Jeongin watched as the shadow passed again, quick as lightning, passing the first guy who let out a choked cry of pain before falling to his knees as well, blood seeping through his shirt and he fell to the ground. Jeongin froze realizing he’d just watched something kill those two men.

‘What the hell?’

“Where are they?” called a voice, drowning out Jeongin’s thoughts. “Over here! Dabin! Wonjae!”

Jeongin watched as two more men entered his field of vision. “Are they okay?” one of them said as the other knelt down to check the bodies of their friends. “They’re… dead,” he said, his voice shaky. “D-dead?” the other stammered, taking a few steps back.

“What happened?” Baek-hwa’s voice called from somewhere above Jeongin’s hiding place. “They’re dead!” the one kneeling beside Wonjae and Dabin’s bodies called back. “Shit,” Baek-hwa cursed. “Get down there and help them get the bodies,” he instructed someone Jeongin presumed was beside him.

Jeongin watched as two more men appeared and helped pick up the bodies of the two men and carry them away. He listened as the footsteps retreated and pulled back as the area was thrown into darkness once more. He listened as the sounds of the forest came back and he could finally rest.

He tried to get some sleep but his mind wouldn’t stop. ‘What was that shadow? Was that what killed those men?’ He tossed and turned until he finally managed to pass out.

The next morning, he awoke to find light creeping into the cave and he could finally see. It wasn’t a huge den, maybe only big enough for a family of foxes or so. He had enough space to sit up. He could tell it wasn’t dug out by whatever previously lived here. Perhaps it was naturally occurring.

He gathered his things and left the safety of the den, squirming his way out of the opening and could see that it had rained the night before. He pulled a flask from his bag, filling it with water before he placed it back and stood up, slinging both bags over his back again. He started the way he’d been going the night prior, moving deeper into the forest.

He continued as the sun rose, stopping briefly to have something to eat before continuing on. He didn’t see Baek-hwa or his assailants again as he continued on. He noticed how the terrain started to slope up and he knew he must have reached the base of the mountain. If he could reach the otherside, maybe he could find another village where he could set up a new homestead.

He continued on, stopping when he heard a twig snap from behind him. Turning quickly, he expected to see Baek-hwa or his men. He was met with nothing. He couldn’t see anyone or anything other than the trees for that matter. Perhaps he was hearing things?

He turned back and continued forward. He’d only gone a few more steps when he heard another snapping twig. He froze again, turning his head around to see what was following him but again, he saw nothing. He turned back forward, but instead of taking another step, he waited. Waited for something else.

Another twig snapped, this time closer but instead of looking, Jeongin stayed still. He kept calm, listening as soft steps carried toward him. He spun quickly, catching sight of what had been following him. His eyes widened as he made eye contact with it.

‘A fox?’ he thought to himself. Looking back at him was a small fox with black fur and golden eyes. He stared back at it, expecting it to run but instead it stared back at him. He watched in awe as it took a tentative step forward, still keeping its eyes on him. Jeongin slowly knelt down as the fox approached, holding out his hand.

The fox looked at his hand and then up at him before its head turned slightly to look at something behind Jeongin. He froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He tried to turn to see what was behind him but he felt a blow to the head and everything went black.

You looked down at the man, the branch in your hand as you breathed heavily. “Oh my god,” you whispered as the realization of what you’d done crept over you. You tossed the branch aside and looked back down at him. Looking at Clover who looked up at you, golden eyes judging you. “I’m sorry!” you said holding your hands out. “Look, I panicked! I thought he was going to grab you!”

The fox rolled its eyes and you looked away, back at the man lying unconscious at your feet. “Should we take him?” You looked back at Clover who stared back at you unblinking. You nodded. “Right. Leaving him here would be bad. Got it,” you said as you brushed your hands together to get the dirt from the bark off. Clover watched as you reached down, sliding your hands under the man’s arms and lifted, starting to drag him along the ground.

You heaved and pulled, panting as you did only to receive more judging looks from Clover. “Look,” you panted. “You could help me, you know.” Clover rolled their eyes again before the vision of the fox spun and morphed into a man. “I don’t know what you’d do without me,” he said as he waved his hand, the man’s body lifting from the ground.

You smiled at the wizard and dusted your hands off again. “Thanks, Clover!” you chirped as he shook his head. You led the way, skipping along the path as the man’s body floated behind you with Clover bringing up the rear. 

You skipped faster as the cabin came into view. “Almost there!” you called out to your friend who rolled his eyes as your chipper demeanor. “You know,” he said as you started up the path leading to the door. “For someone who is so violent, you sure don’t act it,” he continued, guiding the man’s body after you.

“I’m not violent!” you called back as you reached the door and unlocked it, pushing it open and holding the door so Clover could guide the man into the room. “Just put him on the bed,” you said softly as Clover guided the man’s body over to the bed where he hovered for a moment before falling haphazardly on the mattress. “Careful!” you chastised, rushing over to sort out the man, moving his head and arms so he wouldn’t be sore when he awoke.

“You hit him over the head with a log and you’re telling me to be careful?” Clover chuckled as he stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest. “What a strange person you are, Y/N,” he added.

You stood up straight and turned towards him. “Well, I must be off,” he said, standing up straight. “Will you be alright, alone here by yourself?” he asked. You shook your head. “Right, just hit him with another log if he gives you trouble,” Clover said with a smirk. Your smile fell. “I. Panicked, okay?”

Clover nodded, waving before exiting the open door. You rushed over to watch as he headed down the path, turning once to look at you waving at him. He raised a hand before turning into a raven and taking flight into the sky. You shut the door and locked it before turning your head to look back at the man on your bed.

“Alright,” you continued, taking a deep breath and walking over, placing your hands on your hips as you took a good look at him.  “Now, just who are you?”

Jeongin woke to the sounds of light clattering and the scrape of metal against metal. His head was throbbing. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust. He turned his head, wincing at the pain that followed. He was inside a cabin of sorts.

He could see shelves with books upon books and a desk that was cluttered and covered with papers, writing implements, and an assortment of herbs and rocks. He tried to sit up but his limbs felt heavy. He looked down and noticed a strange purple aura encasing him.

“What the-”

“Oh, you’re awake. Good,” said a voice and Jeongin looked up, seeing a figure by the hearth where a fire was crackling, heating up a large cast iron pot. The smell of meat and vegetables reached his nostrils and he took a deep inhale. Whatever it was in the obvious cauldron smelled amazing.

“Where am I?” he asked as the figure turned their gaze away from him and stirred the contents of the pot.

“You’re in my cabin, what a silly question to ask,” the figure said with a chuckle. Jeongin watched as they set the spoon aside and moved towards the bed. Jeongin looked up as they approached and took a seat beside the bed. “What have you done to me?” he asked as the person, he could now see was a female, looked over him, gently turning his head and prodding the tender spot.

Jeongin winced and the figure grimaced. “Sorry,” she said. “I hit you over the head.”

Jeongin looked up at her. “You what? Why the hell would you do that?!” he yelled.

You moved your hand, your finger moving in a quick circle and Jeongin felt his jaw snap shut.

“Don’t yell,” you said as you grabbed a basket with some medical supplies in it. “It’s rude.”

‘Well, so is hitting someone over the head,’ Jeongin thought since he couldn’t talk.

“My name is Y/N,” you said as you pulled out a small vial. “And I hit you over the head because I thought you were going to hurt my friend.” You looked down at him and Jeongin felt his heart skip a beat. Your eyes. They were a bright golden yellow. Much like that fox from before.

“Do you remember the fox?” you asked and Jeongin nodded as he watched you pull the cork on the vial. “That’s my friend Clover. I thought you were going to grab him and hurt him. Foxes aren’t exactly revered around these parts,” you explained as you turned the vial over, allowing some to spill onto a cloth.

You set the vial aside and leaned forward, holding out the cloth only for Jeongin to shy away. “It’s okay,” you said softly. “I know your head hurts. This will make it not hurt.” Jeongin hesitated, allowing you to gently press the cloth to his head. He winced but soon, the pain as well as the throbbing went away and he looked up at you in shock.

You winked at him, placing the cork back in the vial and returning the little glass to the basket. You waved your hand and freed his mouth. “Who are you?” he asked softly. You looked down at him unblinkingly. “I’m Y/N,” you said plainly. “I already said that.” Jeongin shook his head.

“I meant like… who are you? Are you like… a witch?” he asked to which you laughed. “I’ve been called that before,” you answered with a nod. “But more importantly,” you said, leaning forward. Jeongin was unable to pull too far away due to whatever spell you had his body under.

“Who are you?”

Jeongin cleared his throat. “I’,m uh… I’m Jeongin.”

You sat back up straight. “Jeongin, huh?” you said softly, tilting your head. He nodded, glancing down at his body still shrouded in the purple aura. “What is this?” he asked, nodding towards the aura. “Oh,” you said suddenly, waving your hand and it disappeared.

“I just did that while you were out and I was busy cooking so you didn’t try to sneak up on me,” you explained as you started to stand. Jeongin moved quickly, sitting up and grabbing your arm but you were quicker. You managed to roll, pulling him off the bed and pinning him against the floor, his arms pinned to his sides by your legs as you straddled him, your forearm pressing against his throat.

“I’m not your enemy,” you explained softly. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t hesitate to kill you if you try to hurt me.”

Jeongin tapped the back of your calf, surrendering to your power.

Just as quickly as you were on him, you got up and held out a hand, pulling him up when he took it. “Let’s eat,” you chirped and walked over to the fire. Jeongin stood hesitantly. “Sit,” you instructed and he did as you said, moving to take a seat at the table. You grabbed a bowl and picked up the ladle, scooping stew into the bowl before moving to set it on the table.

“It’s hot, so be careful,” you said as you filled another bowl and took a seat across from him.

Jeongin watched as you picked up your spoon and took a bite. “It can’t be that hot,” he noted, to which you looked up. “Want me to throw it in your face and test that theory?” you asked with a smirk, tilting your head. Jeongin’s eyes widened and he quickly picked up his spoon, shaking his head.

“N-no,” he stammered before digging in.

He could tell there was meat and potatoes, maybe some cabbage and rice but it was delicious. He scooped another spoonful into his mouth. “S’good,” he said as he ate and you smiled, turning your attention back to your own bowl.

Jeongin had forgotten the last time he had a proper meal and ended up eating three bowlfuls of stew. You reached to take his empty bowl but he stopped you. “You cooked,” he said before getting up. “Tell me where to go and I’ll clean them.” You smiled but ignored his comment, taking his bowl.

“You’re still injured,” you explained. “Go lay down, let me deal with this and then I’ll look at your wounds.

Jeongin watched as you headed out the door and instead of laying down, he started to poke around the cabin, inspecting your belongings. He was used to the small huts in the village where he lived. Nothing this extravagant. Wooden doors that locked, windows with decorative frames were things he’d never seen in person, only ever heard of.

The cabin was one room, like his had been but it was much cozier. There were no cracks for the wind to sneak into, the roof was sturdy wood and slanted to allow rain to run off. There were four windows, two on the wall by the door, one on the outside window and one on the back wall over the desk, framed by shelving. The fourth wall wasn’t made of wood. It was made of rock.

‘It must be partially built into the mountain,’ Jeongin noted as he stared. The bedroom area was almost entirely encased in rock. It was unlike anything Jeongin had ever seen. It was an extremely clever idea as well. Using a cave as part of your dwelling. If only he had known to do so.

On the other side of the stone hearth was a large wooden cabinet with doors and shelves stocked full of cheeses, sealed bottles, breads, small bowls with salts and other spices. Hanging from an iron circle suspended from the ceiling were various dried herbs and even some small game. Rabbits and birds mostly. He inspected the mantle and noticed a couple portraits and a small trinket box. 

He moved over to the desk, fingers brushing over the papers on the surface as he inspected them. There were a lot of maps. Maps he didn’t recognize, not that he was knowledgeable of maps to begin with. He looked up at the shelving, inspecting the books and their titles. He expected to see this sizable collection in a palace or something, not here in a cabin in the forest, built into the base of a mountain.

Jeongin turned as he heard the door open and you returned with two clean bowls and spoons.

“Having fun snooping?” you asked with a smirk. Jeongin opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water trying to explain but you shook your head. “I saw you through the window,” you explained, pointing to the window opposite the rock wall.

“I’m not mad,” you continued. “But I really do need to inspect your wounds.”

You led him over to the bed and he sat down. “I don’t have any wounds,” he protested but you made him lie down and lifted his shirt. “Your wounds are internal,” you explained as you gently prodded and massaged his side, making him wince. “You’ve got a fair amount of bruising here and here,” you said, also placing your hand over his stomach just over his navel.

“Were you in a fight?” you asked bluntly. Jeongin froze, staring up at the rocky ceiling above. You waited for his answer but when he didn’t answer, you spoke again. “Did you at least get a few punches in?”

Jeongin chuckled, letting out a soft cry when the motion caused his sore muscles to tense him. “You’re asking me about my fight?” he asked. You nodded. “Whoever did this packs a wallop. So I hope you got a few licks in, too.”

Jeongin smiled as you rubbed some kind of ointment and the soreness and tenseness in his muscles dissipated. “You’ll have to apply this until the bruising clears up,” you explained as you rubbed some more on his stomach.

Jeongin held his breath as your hand traveled dangerously close to his waistband. “Two times a day,” you added as you pulled your hand back, wiping it on a cloth and placing the lid back on the small metal tin and handed it to him. Jeongin sat up and took the tin from you. “What is it?” he asked.

“An ointment to help with soreness and bruising,” you explained as you gathered your supplies and set the basket aside. “I made it myself.” Jeongin opened the tin and held it up to his nose, sniffing it. He smelled mint but couldn’t tell what else was in it.

“What’s in it?” he asked, placing the lid back on it and looking up at you.

“Just some herbs,” you replied. “I’ll tell you how I made it tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

You got up and paused when he grabbed your wrist. Looking down at his wrist and then up to meet his gaze, Jeongin managed to blurt out “thank you.” The smile you gave him was one he’d never seen before, not even from the old woman in the village he traded furs for shirts or her granddaughter, Haneul.

“You’re welcome,” you answered and Jeongin let go of your wrist. “What about you?” he asked as you moved over to the desk. “I can sleep on the floor,” you said as Jeongin set the tin of ointment on a small table beside the bed. “What?” he said suddenly. “No,” he continued. “This is your bed. I’ll sleep--”

He didn’t get to finish his words as you turned in your chair and waved your hand at him. “Sleep,” you said sternly and Jeongin passed out, unable to fight the darkness as it passed over him, taking him deep into slumber.

The next morning, Jeongin awoke to find himself in bed but the cabin otherwise empty. He sat up, looking around and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Lifting his shirt, he saw that he indeed had some heavy bruising from Baek-hwa and his friends’ punches.

He dropped his shirt as the door opened and you entered the room, smiling when you saw he was awake. “Morning,” you said as you carried something in your arms. “Or should I say good day,” you continued as you carried the sack over to the table and set it down.

“Let’s have a look at those bruises,” you said as you walked over and took a seat beside him. Jeongin lifted his shirt for you to inspect. “Make sure to apply that ointment,” you said as you gently poked around the edges of the bruising. “It’ll make a huge difference in healing.”

You got back up and headed for the table as Jeongin picked up the tin and opened it. He scooped a small amount and started to rub it into his skin as you opened the sack. “What’s in the bag?” he asked, looking up occasionally as he applied the ointment.

“I went hunting,” you said nonchalantly. Jeongin looked up at the rabbits hanging from the ceiling. “What about those?” he asked, nodding towards the rabbits. “They’re small and we need more meat if you’re going to heal properly. Protein speeds up the healing process,” you explained as you pulled small game from the sack.

Jeongin finished applying the ointment and wiped his hand off on the same cloth you used the night before and got up, walking over to the table. He was surprised to see what you managed to catch. “Hunting and fishing?” he asked as he noticed the fish basket.

“I’ve been gone all morning,” you replied. “Up before the sun, in bed after it sets,” you explained. “Making the most out of every day. That’s what Clover taught me.” Jeongin smiled as you added the rabbits to the iron circle. “The fish has to go outside,” you explained and picked up the basket.

He followed you as you headed outside and over to a wooden rack where you had some fish already hanging. “How does fish tonight sound?” you asked, turning to look at him. Jeongin nodded silently before you turned back to the rack and hung up all the fish.

“I also need to go foraging,” you said as you walked back towards him, stopping at the bottom of the steps leading into the cabin. “Want to come with me?” you asked, looking up at him. He nodded. “Sure,” Jeongin said, stepping aside as you entered the cabin.

“Good,” you said and grabbed a sack. “Make yourself useful,” you added as you tossed one to him.

The hike to the spot was a short one and Jeongin was shocked to see the size of it. Not only were there even more berries than at his favorite spot but there were more types as well as all kinds of fungi. He watched as you pulled a small bag from your pocket and moved over to one of the mushrooms.

“These are really good when you fry them,” you explained as you picked them and placed them in the bag. “They’ll need to soak for a few hours but we can have them with our fish.”

Jeongin looked around and moved to one of the bushes. “Are these okay?” he asked, pointing to the berries. You turned to look at him and nodded. “Not too many though,” you instructed. “Maybe a sack,” you added. “There are smaller bags in the large sack I gave you.”

Jeongin dug through the bag and found one before starting to pick berries and fill the bag. Once it was full, he tied it off and picked a few berries to eat. “And those?” he asked, pointing to another bush. You nodded without looking. “All these berries are good to eat,” you replied. “Just a small bag each. I like to make wine with them,” you explained.

Jeongin got to work, collecting berries as you foraged for mushrooms and other plants. When the bags were full, Jeongin insisted on carrying both but you refused, reminding him he was still healing. The walk back, you asked him about his life, where he was from, where he grew up, what his childhood was like.

When you broached the subject of parents, Jeongin shut down as you walked up the path to the cabin. “Touchy subject?” you asked, unlocking the door and letting him in. Jeongin nodded, handing you the bag and watching as you moved to the cabinets. “I lost both my parents,” he finally answered.

“My mother left when I was young and my father died when I was fifteen. I’ve been on my own ever since,” he explained as you started to store the food you both collected together. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I lost my parents to disease when I was young. I was raised by Clover,” you explained, shutting the cabinet doors.

“The fox?” Jeongin asked, making you chuckle. “He’s a wizard,” you reminded him. “He was in fox form while we hunted that day. He’s awfully quiet in that form,” you explained. Jeongin grimaced as you turned to him, setting the bags of berries on the table.

“So he raised you?” he asked and you nodded. “Taught me everything I know. Built this cabin and left it to me when I came of age.” Jeongin looked around. “Makes sense,” he said softly. “I’ve never seen a cabin like this before,” he explained. “That’s because it was built with magic.”

Jeongin smiled as you set the empty bags away, hanging them on hooks.

“I have some work to do in the garden,” you announced. “Would you like to join me?” Jeongin nodded with a smile. 

“I’d love to.”

After a quick lunch of leftover stew, Jeongin helped you in the garden, pulling weeds and pruning the bushes and vines. His garden was small but this garden was twice the size. It had everything from cabbages to potatoes and even pumpkins.

“This is a huge garden,” he noted as he dropped another cabbage in the basket. “Even for two people.” you nodded as you pruned a tomato plant. “I sell whatever I don’t need,” you explained. “Never hurts to have a little extra coin,” you added with a wink.

As the two of you finished up, Jeongin looked at you. “Where do you sell this stuff?” he asked as you gathered one of the baskets. “At a village on the other side of the mountain,” you replied. Jeongin rounded on you, holding the other basket. “On the other side of the mountain?” he asked incredulously. You nodded with a laugh and beckoned him to follow you inside.

Once inside, you stored your harvests away and led Jeongin over to the desk and pulled out a map from under the stacks of paper. “This is a map of this region,” you explained. Jeongin looked over it in awe. He’d never seen more than a map of the village and the forest. Your map had so much more on it.

And it was so detailed.

“Here’s the village you told me about and based on your descriptions, your cabin was around in this area,” you explained, pointing out spaces on the map. “Here’s where we are,” you continued, pointing at a small red x on the map. “The village I sell at is here,” you added, pointing to a black x on the other side of the mountain range.

“How long does it take to get there?” Jeongin asked, looking up at you. “Well, if you go around the mountains, it can take months,” you answered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “But I use the mountain pass so it only takes a few days,” you added, pointing to two lines drawn over the mountain range connecting the two sides. “Who made this map?” Jeongin asked in amazement.

“Clover,” you answered, standing up straight. Jeongin followed your movements, standing upright as you walked over to the hearth and added a couple logs to the dying flames. “He makes maps of all the regions,” you added. “He’s a traveling wizard and cartographer,” you added as Jeongin stared at you.

“He stopped for a while to raise me here,” you explained as you stood up, brushing your hands off. “But now that I can care for myself, he’s back to traveling again, making amendments to his maps.” Jeongin shook his head as you moved over to the bedroom area, grabbing a small basket from the shelf.

Jeongin looked around the cabin. “So, now what?” he asked as you sat down on the armchair. You looked up at him. “Now we rest,” you replied with a smile. “It’s too soon to have dinner and I have some knitting to get done,” you continued, pulling out a project you must have been working on for a while.

“You can read any of the books if you’d like,” you said, nodding towards the shelves. Jeongin shook his head, instead grabbing one of his bags and opening it. He sifted through it until he found what he was looking for. The journal he’d been reading. He settled down on the bed, propping the pillows up against the wall so he could sit up against them.

Jeongin read as much as he could, absorbing his mothers words. He had reached the part of her journals where she had met his father and it was so enchanting to read about his father through his mother’s eyes. He discovered a new side to his father he’d never known. The romantic side.

Their courtship was long according to her and she initially rebuffed him as he was a human but he eventually gained her trust and she warmed up to him. After which, they got married, something Jeongin had never known. He thought it had been a short affair but the time and effort they put into their marriage told him otherwise.

He also learned that his parents had a hard time conceiving a child and that Jeongin was from their sixth attempt. He was the only one that made it full term.

Jeongin dropped his hands into his lap, the journal falling with it as he stared at the wall. You looked up at him. “You alright?” you asked, noticing he seemed catatonic. When he didn’t respond, you set your knitting aside and got up, moving to sit on the bed. “Jeongin?” you asked, waving your hand in front of him. That seemed to snap him out of it and he looked at you.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with concern. He nodded, clearing his throat and looked down at the leatherbound book in his lap. “Yeah, I just uh…” he trailed off before looking back up but not at you. He seemed to be looking past you but not at anything in particular. More like he was staring off into a place you could not see. “Jeongin?”

“I have siblings…” he finally said softly and your brows rose in shock. “What?” you asked.

He turned his head to look at you. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Random thought.”

You glanced at the book. “What are you reading?” you asked. Jeongin glanced at the book and closed it, keeping his thumb between the pages. “It’s private,” he explained. “Sorry,” he added. You shook your head. “No need to apologize,” you replied. “I meant no disrespect nor was I meaning to pry. Simply curious,” you explained.

Jeongin glanced down at the book again before taking a deep breath. “It’s a journal,” he finally sighed. You waited for him to continue. “It’s my mother’s journal,” he clarified. Your eyes widened. “Oh,” you said softly, uncertain of what else to say. “And you’re just now reading it? I’m not judging by the way,” you said quickly. Jeongin simply chuckled before setting the book aside and scooting off the bed.

You watched as he grabbed one of his bags and walked over, opening it for you to see the contents. Inside were a dozen or so leather bound books, all of them identical. You looked up at Jeongin in bewilderment as he set the bag down and joined you on the bed.

“My mother kept extensive journals all throughout her life. She left them with my dad when she left,” he explained. “Dad kept them for me so I could get to know her if she never came back. I think he knew she wouldn’t come back,” he continued sadly. “I’ve been reading them since my dad taught me to read.”

You looked back at the bag. “How many are there?” you asked, looking back at Jeongin. “Around fifty,” he answered, a hand reaching up to scratch his brow. “I’ve read about twenty of them so far.” Your eyes widened as you looked back at the sack lying unassuming on the floor.

“What’s in this one?” you asked, tapping the cover of the one on the bed before you froze. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “That’s none of my business,” you continued. Jeongin shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said, grabbing the book and opening it. “In this one, she met my dad,” he explained.

“She details their courtship and marriage,” he continued, flipping through the pages. “She wrote that it was a huge ceremony and that the reception lasted well into the early hours of the next morning and that they were both so exhausted from the party that they never actually consummated their marriage during the ceremony,” he said with a chuckle.

You smiled fondly, watching him look over the words on the page.

“What was your mother’s name?” you asked, drawing his attention. “Well, dad never told me her real name. He knew her as Eun-soo but while she was in Japan, her name was Yuki. So I’m not entirely sure what she was really called,” he continued.

You looked at him again, studying his features. The fox-like eyes, the orange irises, his blond hair. It suddenly made sense to you. He was like you. He was fox-folk.

“Was your mother a kumiho by any chance?”

Jeongin was caught off guard by the question. He’d never been asked so directly about it before and as he looked up, his eyes met your golden ones and he knew instantly why you were asking. It was like a switch went off in his head and suddenly everything made sense. 

Your golden eyes, the magic, being raised by a wizard. Well, maybe the last part wasn’t really all that related but in his mind, it still helped him to put the pieces together. You were like him, too. You were fox-folk.

“A…are you?” he asked softly, holding your gaze. He could tell by the way your eyes widened slightly that he was on the right track. “Or was one of your parents?” he continued, setting the journal aside. You nodded slowly. “Both of my parents were fox-folk,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin leaned forward. “Both?” he asked in amazement. You nodded, shifting to face him. “Yeah,” you replied. “That’s amazing,” he breathed. “So you’re pureblooded?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Wow. I’m only half,” he replied. “Probably why I can’t do any magic,” he added with a chuckle.

You tilted your head at his comment. “All fox-folk can perform magic,” you said, drawing his attention again. “Wait, really?” he asked. You nodded, grabbing the journal from his hands and setting it aside. “Have you ever tried?” you asked. Jeongin shook his head no, watching as you pushed your sleeves up.

“It’s easy,” you explained. Jeongin rolled his eyes. “Oh sure,” he retorted but you pushed him gently. “I promise it is,” you replied. “It’s so simple, really. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Jeongin watched as you scooted onto the bed beside him, crossing your legs and resting your back against the wall. You closed your eyes, adopting a sort of meditation position. Jeongin watched but when you opened one eye to peek at him, you nudged him and he sighed, adopting the same position.

“Deep breath in,” you said. Jeongin followed your lead, breathing in slowly and deeply, filling his lungs. “And out,” you said and the two of you breathed out in unison. “Now, visualize a fire,” you said softly. “A fire? Why a fire?” Jeongin asked. “Ow,” he whined when you lightly slapped his hand.

“Okay, okay. A fire. Got it,” he said. “Wait, what color is it?”

“Whatever color you want it to be.”

Jeongin closed his eyes again, picturing a fire in his mind. Something bright and pink. “Now, imagine how it feels. Is it hot? Is it cold? Does it burn or does it tickle? Does it smell pleasant or is it rancid?” Jeongin imagined the fire was cool to the touch and it felt like the fluttering of wings. It had no smell.

“Okay,” he said. “Now what?” he asked, opening an eye. “Hold your hand out,” you instructed. Jeongin closed his one eye again and raised one of his hands. “Place it in my hand,” you continued and he did as you said, placing his hand in yours, palm up.

“Now imagine your fire and imagine it’s in your hand. Concentrate and picture your fire in your hand.”

Jeongin focused all his energy, holding his breath as he pictured the pink, cool, fire that fluttered. “Don’t forget to breathe evenly,” you reminded him. “Breathing is important.” He resumed breathing as he focused all his mental strength on the fire. He sighed, keeping his eyes closed.

“This is dumb,” he said. “I can’t do magic.”

“Is your fire pink and cool to the touch?” you asked softly and Jeongin hesitated. ‘Wait… is mind reading one of the abilities of a full-blooded kumiho?’ he wondered. “Uh, yeah. But how did you know that?” he asked. “Open your eyes, Jeongin.”

He did as you instructed and was met with your face drenched in the pink glow of a fire in his hand. The pink fire he’d imagined. He looked back up at you and then down to the fire in his hand. It was dancing, fluttering against his hand. “Are you doing that?” he asked and you pulled your hand away, conjuring up a bright blue flame. “I take it that’s a no?”

You laughed and the fires both extinguished as Jeongin lost focus. “I told you that you can do magic!” you said excitedly, slapping his knee and then pushing yourself up and climbing off the bed. Jeongin looked down at his hand, excitement bubbling in his stomach.

“I’ll get dinner started,” you said as you moved towards the door. “Keep practicing,” you said before opening the door and heading outside. Jeongin kept at it, conjuring a pink flame, making it dance and crawl around his hand as you prepared the fish for dinner. While it cooked, you made a side dish with rice and some of the mushrooms you’d picked earlier.

When it was ready, Jeongin joined you at the table and the two of you ate in silence. “Thank you, Jeongin said suddenly, making you look up, eyes wide and bewilderment on your face. “For taking me in after you bashed my head in,” Jeongin continued. “For caring for me and teaching me magic.”

Your expression morphed, a smile spreading across your face. “I couldn’t leave you out there after I hit you with the branch,” you explained. “Clover would have but I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I left you to the elements. And besides,” you continued. “It’s nice having some company that isn’t Clover for once.” 

Jeongin looked down at his food, cheeks growing warm.

“You know,” you said, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “If you want to stay longer, you’re more than welcome to,” you added. “I really enjoy your company.” Jeongin’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked, trying not to sound too excited. You nodded, smiling at him. “But you might have to get used to sharing a bed,” you said. “There’s not enough room in here for another bed and I refuse to let you sleep on the floor,” you added.

Jeongin’s cheeks grew even warmer at the thought of sharing a bed with you but he played it off.

“Sure,” he said softly. “No problem.”

It was indeed a problem he later discovered. While the bed was big enough for two bodies, it wasn’t big enough for two bodies and a space between them. Jeongin wanted to respect you and give you as much space as possible but with the size of the bed, it put him right on the edge of the mattress and in danger of falling off.

The next day consisted of about the same routine, some foraging but in a different spot. You taught Jeongin all about the herbs and weeds you used to make ointments and medicines, showing him what cured certain ailments. Afterwards, he helped you on the other side of the garden where the bee boxes were and held the jars for the honey while you handled the bees.

The day after that, you took him fishing with you and he was impressed by the spot you had. No one else was around and as you sailed out on the lake in a boat you proudly told him you helped Clover make, the two of you sat in silence, rods propped up while you knitted and Jeongin read more of his mother’s journal.

He’d made it to the part where she was pregnant with him and close to her due date. She wrote how she knew he was a boy and how she knew he was going to take after her in both looks and mentality. Jeongin checked his fishing rod before returning to his reading. He heard you clear your throat and looked up to meet your gaze.

“So what else does she say?” you asked, nodding towards the journal in his hand. “Oh,” he said softly. “She’s pregnant with me in this part,” he explained. “She wrote about how she knew I was a boy and that I would take after her,” he continued. You smiled at him as you tied off and wove the yarn tails into the scarf you were making. “She also says she got a letter from a woman named… Anitta?” he said and looked up at you.

You merely shrugged and set your knitting needles aside, picking up the scarf and throwing it around his neck. “There,” you said with a smile. “It’s done.” Jeongin’s cheeks burned as he looked down at the soft garment. “It’s nice,” he said softly and started to take it off. “It’s yours,” you said, grabbing it and wrapping it back around his neck.

“I was going to give it to Clover but I figured I can always make him another and you need one now so,” you trailed off, smiling at him. Jeongin toyed with the material, cheeks burning as he tried to think of something to say before finally settling on a simple and soft thank you.

Fishing ended with the two of you catching a small basket of fish and Jeongin managing to catch a little crawfish which he promptly dumped back in the water. Once the boat was pulled ashore, the two of you headed back down from the mountain lake to the cottage to hang up the fish and settle in for the night.

You made roasted rabbit and potatoes and after dinner, you settled down with your knitting to start another scarf for Clover while Jeongin got to the end of his mother’s journal. He closed it, wrapping the twine back around it and got up from the bed, moving over to his bags.

He reached in for another, pulling the trinket box out so he could dig for the right one.

“What’s that?” you asked, looking down at the box. “Oh, just a box my dad made,” Jeongin said as he dug through the bag. “May I?” you asked, setting your things aside. “I’m kind of nosey,” you noted with a laugh. Jeongin chuckled and shook his head. “Go ahead,” he replied.

You grabbed the box and set it on your lap, opening and inspecting the contents.

The box was a beautiful dark wood with a soft lining. It was beautifully crafted and you wondered if Jeongin’s dad knew how much he could have made by making and selling these boxes. Inside the box were a few items, some of great value and others you suspected were more sentimental. There was a silver ring, a loose but rather large gem, some gold coins, and a silver locket. You picked up the stone to inspect and deduced it was a sapphire and was definitely worth a lot.

“This could fetch you a lot of gold,” you noted, holding up the stone for Jeongin to see as he looked up. “Dad found that,” he said, reaching up to rub his eye. “Found it while digging around the outside of our cabin to add to the garden when I was a kid,” he continued and held out his hand.

You placed the gem in his palm and he brought it to his face to look at it. “He thought the same thing,” he continued. “Thought we could sell it for some gold in case we ever needed it. I forgot it was in the box,” he added, handing it back to you to place in the box.

Next you picked up the silver ring. There was nothing of note about it. It was a crudely forged ring made of pure silver. “Oh,” Jeongin said, noticing the ring and grimacing. “Dad made that. Was trying his hand at smithing,” he added. “It’s ugly but he was proud of it. He made it himself without any help. He wasn’t much of a blacksmith. He was more of a carpenter,” he explained.

“Which is why the box is so nice,” he added, gesturing to the box in your lap.

You dropped the ring back into the box and Jeongin returned to his bag, digging for a specific journal as you lifted the silver locket. It was engraved with a simple fox head on both sides. You carefully opened it and smiled at the first portrait. It was of a young child with light hair. There was no mistaking this was Jeongin.

You turned the locket to look at the other portrait as Jeongin pulled the correct journal from his bag and his eyes fell on the locket in your hand. The other portrait was of a woman. An all too familiar woman. She had the same blonde hair Jeongin had, the same fox-like eyes. It was his mother.

“Oh, that’s,” Jeongin darted forward, his hand closing around the locket and closing it before he took it from your hand. “That’s my dad’s. Was my dad’s.” he said softly, looking at the silver locket. You shut the trinket box and handed it back to him. “Sorry for prying,” you said softly as he took the box.

“No, it’s okay,” he said as he brushed the silver surface with the pad of his thumb. “I honestly forgot this was even in there,” he added as he looked up and gave you a sad smile. “She’s very pretty,” you said softly, drawing his attention. “Your mother,” you clarified.

You tilted your head, offering him a playful smile. “I guess you’re pretty, too,” you added, noticing the way he averted his eyes and his cheeks turned peach. He opened the box and placed the locket back inside, closing the lid and setting back with his things.

After he read a bit more and you started to yawn, you called it and set your knitting aside. “It’s going to storm tonight,” you said softly as you got up. “I’m going to put the covers down on the windows so it doesn’t rain in.” Jeongin watched as you exited the door and returned to his book as you disappeared.

Outside you undid the hooks holding the covers up and let them down into place, securing them with the wooden rods that slid through two rings on the side of the cabin as well as a ring on the end of the shutter. 

Clover had done some interesting things when building this cabin but as odd as they were, they worked. You placed the covers for the other three windows down, locking them in place as the wind picked up. 

You also grabbed the cloth Clover had for covering the garden and hooked it in place with the four hooked stakes in the corners of the garden. You repeated the process, covering the bee boxes before gathering all the fish and bringing it inside to hang up by the fire.

As you closed and locked the door, you could hear thunder in the distance and Jeongin looked up from his mother’s journal. “We’re safe here, right?” he asked and you nodded, moving to stoke the fire and then joining him on the bed. “This is probably the most stable building in the region,” you explained as you settled down on the side of the bed you’d claimed and looked up at him.

“You can stay up if you want,” you said, shifting, pulling the covers over you, and getting comfortable. “Just try to keep the noise down,” you added with a wink which made Jeongin crack a smile. “Okay,” he replied. “I’ll try.”

You shut your eyes and tried to focus on sleeping.

But you couldn’t. Your mind was full of the portrait in the locket. You rolled onto your back and sighed, opening your eyes and staring at the cave ceiling. Jeongin didn’t seem to notice but when you sighed again, he looked up. “You alright?” he asked and you took a deep breath before sitting up and turning to him. “I need to tell you something,” you said, taking his journal and setting it aside.

Jeongin looked from the journal to you as you took his hands in yours.

“What I’m about to tell you might sound outrageous but keep in mind I’m much older than I look because as you said before, I’m pureblooded fox-folk.,” you started. Jeongin met your gaze and nodded slowly. You took another deep breath before explaining.

“Your mother’s name was Keiko. She was from a small island off the coast of Japan. The locals there called it Fox Island. She came to this land as a child with her mother to live in the palace of the king centuries ago. Her mother was a highly sought after healer and the king’s wife was incredibly sick.”

Jeongin said nothing as you continued.

“When your mother was nearing maturity, her mother overheard a plan to marry her off to the king’s son but her mother had heard that the first prince was a cruel man who abused those around him. She did not want your mother to suffer at his hands so she ran away, taking your mother with her. They left the palace and ran and ran until they reached the coast, hoping it would be far enough away that the king’s men would never find them.”

You cleared your throat and continued the story.

“Your mother continued to live on the coast, in a small fishing village for many many years and eventually, she grew into a great beauty. Many men tried in vain to marry her but her mother drove them all off. When her mother finally passed from old age, your mother left the village and traveled inward, hoping enough time had passed that the king was no longer looking for her and she was right.”

“The king and his son had both since passed and a new ruler was on the throne. Your mother traveled the land until she found this region and moved here, settling down in a cave in the mountains. Rumors circulated of a great beauty that lived in the mountains but some of those rumors painted her out to be an enchantress that devoured the souls of men. It was here my mother met her,” you explained, watching Jeongin’s eyes widened but he said nothing, allowing you to continue.

“Your mother and my mother became good friends and then… I came along and I can remember how your mother doted on me. She wanted a child of her own but she had no luck in finding a husband. It was when she’d given up hope of ever having a child that she met your father. I was a young child by then but I still remember the day she came to us, announcing she had found someone,” you said with a smile, remembering back to that day.

“My mother and father were so thrilled she’d managed to find someone who loved her. Someone she could start a life with. She wrote to my mother, telling her of the ceremony and the time after. She shared her troubles conceiving with my mother in those letters. And then, she got pregnant. And it lasted,” you said softly, looking up from your hands to find Jeongin’s eyes filled with tears.

“She gave birth to a healthy baby boy and she named him Jeongin. She wrote how she was so in love and she’d never known a love like that before. The love of a mother. She loved you so much,” you said softly, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. This pushed him over the edge and a small sob escaped him, the tears finally falling. You pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Why did she leave?” he whispered into your shoulder. “She had to,” you explained, gently stroking his hair. “The people in the village branded her a witch and she feared if she did not leave, they would come for her. So she left you with your father and she went north,” you continued. “I’m sure it was her intention to come back but I don’t know much else,” you added.

You continued to stroke his hair, rocking him gently as he sniffled. “Sorry I got snot on your shirt,” he said softly. You chuckled, patting his head. “It’s okay,” you replied. “I’ve had worse things on my shirt before,” you added as you pushed him back, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I just needed to tell you because if I didn’t, it would eat me alive.”

You pulled him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You deserved to know the truth about her. She was a remarkable kumiho. I really looked up to her,” you added. Jeongin smiled, reaching up to wipe his eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. “And who knows,” you said suddenly.

“Maybe she left some clues in her journals as to where she went.” Jeongin looked down at the journal and then back up at you. 

“Then I better get to reading, I guess.”

After the talk, it must not have taken you long to fall asleep because you were woken by the sound of thunder.

Your eyes opened and you noticed that it was mostly dark, save for the fire in the hearth. You peered over your shoulder to find Jeongin had finished his reading and gone to sleep as well. You lay back down, closing your eyes but another clap of thunder sounded and the rain whipping against the side of the rain made you realize what had actually woken you and it wasn’t the storm.

It was the way Jeongin shook each time the thunder clapped or the shutters rattled against the windows.

He’d told you how his home was battered by storms and he wasn’t able to keep up with repairs as he wasn’t a carpenter like his father. He said he’d grown accustomed to the fear that at any moment, the entire hut would collapse, trapping him inside.

‘He’s probably terrified out of his mind right now,’ you told yourself.

You turned over, eyes finding Jeongin curled up in the dark beside you. Sitting up, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” you asked softly over the sound of the rain battering against the roof. Jeongin rolled back to look up at you. “Sorry,” he said just as softly. “It’s just the storm…” he trailed off.

“I have… bad memories.”

Your expression softened as you pulled the covers back and gently grabbed his arm. “Come here,” you whispered, tugging him towards you. Jeongin followed, allowing you to pull him into your space where your arms went around him protectively, his head ducking under your chin and into your chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

You gently stroked his hair, humming softly as you tried to drown out the sounds of the storm. Your humming turned into singing, trying to lull him to sleep. “What is that?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth of your night shirt. “It’s a song my mother used to sing to me,” you replied, continuing to stroke his hair. “It sounds familiar,” he continued.

You nodded silently before speaking. “Your mother probably used to sing it to you when you were a babe,” you answered. “Most fox-folk know the song.”

Jeongin fell silent, tightening his hold on you as he nuzzled further into your warm embrace.

“Do you feel better?” you asked softly, smiling when he nodded. “Good,” you whispered, tilting your head to press a kiss to the top of his head. Jeongin pulled back to look up at you. Neither one of you said anything, staring at one another until he finally made the first move, closing the distance and pressing his lips against yours.

Almost as quickly as it happened, he pulled back, stuttering apologies and trying to explain himself. You cut his words off, taking his face in both your hands and pulling back in for another kiss. He relaxed under your touch, lips pressing more firmly against yours as he leaned into the kiss.

“Don’t apologize,” you said when you pulled back. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Jeongin pulled you back in for another kiss, more hurried and rushed this time. You didn’t fight it when he pushed onto your back or when he climbed over you, never breaking the kiss as he settled between your parted thighs.

You sighed against his lips, almost moaning when you felt his tongue slip into your mouth. He moved his hands, sliding them up to your cheeks and pulled back, breaking the kiss. “Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes looking between yours. “For what?” you whispered, placing one of your hands atop his.

“For saving me,” he continued, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I now know it was you that killed those guys following me.” You stared up at him. “I’ve had time to think about it and it makes sense,” he added.

“So thank you for taking me in and for protecting me.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down into another kiss. “You don’t have to thank me,” you murmured between kisses. “I’m sure you would have done the same in my position,” you added. Jeongin shook his head. “I’m shy and antisocial,” he replied. “I wouldn’t have gotten involved.” You pushed him back slightly so you could see his face.

“You’re not antisocial,” you countered. “You were tormented and abused. There’s a difference.”

Before Jeongin could say anything else, you interrupted with another kiss.

You rolled over, pinning him against the bed as you straddled him, directing his hands to your waist as you continued to kiss him. You felt him tense under you as you rolled your hips, grinding against the growing bulge in his pants. You pulled back to look at him, noticing the look of hesitation on his face.

“Was that too far?” you asked, fearing you may have crossed a line and moved to climb off him but his hold on your waist tightened. “No,” he croaked. “It’s just that…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve never… I’m a…” he was failing to form a complete sentence but you knew what he was saying.

You cupped his cheek tenderly. “You’ve never done this, have you?”

He shook his head and you smiled warmly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Do you want to stop?” you asked and watched as he contemplated it. Just when you thought he was going to say yes, he surprised you by shaking his head. “No,” he finally answered.

“Don’t stop.”

You pressed your lips against his, taking the lead. Your hips rolled slowly, grinding against him, eliciting the sweetest moans you’d ever heard come from a man before. “You sound so sweet,” you whispered, lips brushing against his cheek as you moved to whisper in his ear. “So innocent,” you continued, kissing down the side of his neck.

Jeongin let out a moan as you nipped at his neck, smiling before pulling back to look down at him. “Do you want me to keep going?” you asked, slowing your movements, enjoying the desperate way Jeongin whined and pulled at your hips, urging you to move.

“Y-yes,” he whimpered. “Keep going, please,” he begged. Instead of doing so, you climbed off him, ignoring his protests and pleas as you tore the blankets back. “What are you doing?” Jeongin asked as you nestled beside him. “Just trust me,” you said softly, reaching to turn his head towards you, pulling him into a kiss.

With the distraction of your lips against his and your tongue slipping into his mouth, Jeongin didn’t notice the way your hand moved down his chest, slowly until he felt your palm against the bulge in his pants. Moaning into your mouth, one of his hands moved to grab yours but you pushed it away.

“Are you going to be a good boy or will I have to restrain you?” you asked darkly. Jeongin let out a little whimper and shook his head. “You won’t be good?” you asked, cocking your brow. He shook his head again. “I’ll be good,” he blurted out and you pulled him back in for another kiss, letting your hand wander again.

This time, he didn’t move, only moaning as you started to palm him through his trousers. Considering how hard he already was, it didn’t take you long to get him begging and whining for more, his hips bucking up against your hand.

You made quick work of his pants, untying the string and sliding your hand under the waistband, your palm coming into contact with the hot skin of his dick. Jeongin let out a soft whimper as your fingers wrapped around him. “Have you never been touched like this before?” you asked, watching his face as he shook his head.

“Not even by yourself?” you asked, tilting your head. He hesitated before nodding. “I’ve…” he swallowed thickly. “I’ve touched myself a few times,” he answered. Your smile grew slightly. “Do you want more?” you asked, watching the way his brow furrowed as you stroked him at an even pace.

“P-please,” he murmured, hips bucking into your hand. You removed your hand from his pants, moving and pulling his pants down, throwing them to the floor before climbing over and straddling his hips. Jeongin looked up at you as you leaned over. “Do you want to stop yet?” you whispered, your smirk growing even more when he shook his head.

You toyed with the hem of your night shirt, watching the way his eyes flickered from your face to your hands and back up. Finally, you decided to not tease him any more and lifted the material up over your head, dropping it to the floor and allowing him a moment to adjust to your nakedness.

His eyes were all over your form, taking in every inch of exposed skin. You took his hands and guided him to your waist. “You can touch me, you know,” you said softly, snapping him out of his trance. “O-okay,” he answered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the storm.

“Wait, I can?” he asked as if just registering what you’d said. You nodded instead of replying verbally and waited patiently as his hands moved of their own accord. His eyes followed the movement of his hands up to your chest, hesitating before cupping both your breasts.

His lips parted in awe as he gave a gentle squeeze.

He’d never done anything like this before. He had no idea what was allowed and what wasn’t or what felt good for you. “Is this okay?” he asked, looking up to meet your gaze. You nodded, reaching one hand up to place over his, pushing his palm against your chest more firmly.

Jeongin groaned at the contact, eyes flickering back down to your chest. Without a word, he sat up, his hand under yours moving aside. You pulled your hand back as he leaned in, glancing up at you for permission which you gave in the form of a nod. His eyes fluttered shut as he took your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the bud.

You let out a sigh, combing your fingers through his hair as his tongue flicked against your skin. You arched your back, pressing your chest into his face as he gently sucked, letting your nipple fall from his mouth before repeating the same process on the other breast, one of his hands moving up to cup your chest. His other hand moved around to your back, hovering just above your ass.

You rolled your hips, brushing your sex against his cock and making him gasp. Your fingers in his hair tugged, tilting his head back to look up at you as you rolled your hips again. “How does that feel, sweetheart?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek with your free hand.

“S’good,” he moaned, his hands grabbing your hips, trying to guide your movements but feeling unsure of what he was doing. “You want me to ride you, little fox?” you whispered, leaning in so your lips brushed against his. He gulped loudly. “Y-yes,” he pleaded. “I wanna feel you.”

You took him in a messy kiss, tongue dancing against his. “You wanna feel me? Feel me from the inside?” He nodded quickly, eyes sliding shut as you rocked your hips, grinding against his cock, coating it with your arousal.

“Wanna fill me with your cock?” you purred. Jeongin let out a choked moan as you ground harder against him. “Fuck! Y-yes, please!” he whimpered.

You reached down to grab the bottom of his shirt, tugging it off him and letting it fall to the floor as well before placing your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back against the mattress. You allowed your eyes to scan his body, taking in his lean frame as you lifted your hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” you asked as you reached between your bodies, taking his cock in your hand and giving him a couple of strokes, coating all of his cock with your slick. He nodded urgently, biting into his bottom lip. “I need to hear you say it, Innie,” you cooed, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance. He nodded again. “Yes,” he finally managed to croak out.

“I promise I’ll be good.”

Without another word, you sank down on him, his cock gliding easily as your walls welcomed the intrusion. Jeongin let out a long groan as you enveloped him completely with a sigh. You felt him twitch inside you and you leaned over, placing your hands on the mattress on either side of his head.

“You promised you’d be good,” you said, meeting his gaze. He nodded, blinking slowly as his hands moved to your thighs. “I promise,” he whispered. “Then you can’t cum yet,” you replied, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “You have to wait until I say you can cum,” you continued. “Can you do that for me, baby boy?” He nodded again. “Yes, I c-can,” he answered.

You slowly raised your hips before sinking back down on him, his cock burying into your cunt. Jeongin moaned against your lips, fingers digging into your skin. “Feels s’good,” he muttered as you set a slow, steady pace, hips rising and falling, driving his cock repeatedly into your pussy.

“Such a good boy,” you cooed, leaning over to kiss along his jaw, making him tilt his head, giving you more access to his neck. “Letting me fuck you like you deserve.” Jeongin whined in response, his hands moving up to your waist. “Mmore, please,” he begged, gasping when you obliged, your hips bouncing against his. “Shit, shit,” he gasped, fingers tightening around your waist.

“Wait, m’close!” he warned. You immediately stilled, his length buried in your walls. You raised your hand to push his bangs back from his forehead, leaning over to press a kiss against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praised as he came down from the edge.

“Filling me so well. Such a good little fox.”

Jeongin whimpered as you rolled your hips. “Do you want me to keep going?” you asked sweetly. He shook his head. “Give me a moment more,” he murmured. You sat up, moving your hands to his chest, sliding them down to his stomach and back up past his shoulders and onto the mattress.

“Do you want me to stay on top of do you wanna take control, little fox?”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours. “I can take control?” he asked softly. You nodded. “You want to try that?” He nodded hesitantly, hissing as his cock slipped out of you.

You pulled him on top as you laid back, your thighs wrapping around his waist. He looked down at you, cheeks burning as he took in your fucked out expression. “Go ahead,” you urged.

Jeongin looked down, eyes widening slightly as they landed on your glistening sex. “It’s okay,” you added, drawing his attention. “Take your time.” Jeongin took himself in his hand, guiding the tip to your slit, watching as the head of his cock slipped past your folds, finding your center easily.

He groaned, watching as your walls sucked him in until his hips met yours. His eyes moved up, meeting yours as he tried to control his breathing. “I don’t…” he trailed off. “Just follow your instincts,” you said gently. He nodded, taking a deep breath before pulling his hips back, watching your face as he snapped forward. You let out a moan, eyes rolling back.

Taking that as his cue to keep going, he repeated the action, quickly setting a steady pace. It was different than when you were in control, he was able to drive his cock deeper into your walls, making you moan louder than when you’d been on top.

“F-feels s-s’good,” he stammered, his head falling into your chest as he continued to thrust into you. “Ah~ fuck, that’s it, Innie,” you encouraged him. “Keep going.” Following his instincts, like you’d suggested, he cupped his hand against the back of your thigh and pushed your leg against your stomach, sinking his length further inside you with a groan.

“S’ so deep,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. Jeongin kept his eyes open, watching to watch your face as he fucked you. He’d never seen someone so beautiful before. “Faster,” you gasped. Jeongin complied, his thrusts gaining speed. “Oh f-fuck,” he groaned. “M’gonna cum.”

You took him by surprise, rolling him onto his back during his momentary lapse in control. Without giving him a chance to regain the upper hand, you took his hands and pinned them against his head. “Gonna cum already, little fox? I thought you’d last longer,” you said with a scoff. Jeongin whimpered, his cock twitching as his orgasm impending as you rocked your hips with renewed vigor.

He tried to pull his wrists from your hands but your grip was too strong. “Don’t fight me for control,” you said, leaning over to kiss him. “You gonna cum for me? Can’t even wait for me to say you can cum. Pathetic,” you scoffed. Jeongin bucked his hips up to meet yours.

“Please,” he begged. “Let me cum.” You shook your head. “Only good boys get to cum,” you retorted. “You haven’t been good.” Jeongin shook his head. “I have been good!” he argued, moaning at the end of his protest. “I’ve been good,” he repeated.

“Please let me cum, Y/N.”

You chuckled, slowing your movements, holding his wrists tighter when he protested.

“Such a greedy little slut. Wanting to cum first,” you snapped, rolling your hips. “F-fuck Y/N, m’gonna cum. Shit, shit, shit,” Jeongin whined, hips bucking up as his orgasm washed over him. You slowed your hips as his cock twitched, Jeongin releasing inside you with a whine.

You sighed, your hips coming to a stop as you looked down at him. “Couldn’t even wait for me to finish with you,” you said softly. Jeongin opened his eyes. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “I tried to stop but it just felt so good.” Your lips twitched into a smirk. “It’s okay,” you replied, releasing one of his wrists to cup his cheek. “But now you’re gonna have to lie there and let me finish,” you continued.

Jeongin looked up at you, leaning into your touch. “That’s okay,” he replied, letting out a gasp as you rolled your hips, his cock still lodged inside you. “You’re in for a long night, little fox,” you said softly, taking his wrist and pinning it again before sliding your hands to lace your fingers with his as you continued to rock your hips, feeling him slowly start to get hard again.

“A really long night.”

Jeongin awoke the next morning to the smell of meat and opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep and allowing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight that filtered into the cottage.

He rolled over, peering at you by the fire, cooking breakfast. He stretched his arms, whining at the soreness in his muscles. You chuckled as he pushed himself up, realizing he was shirtless. You, on the other hand, were fully dressed. “What happened last night?” he asked, reaching up to scratch his head.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten,” you said as you plated breakfast and walked over to the bed. Jeongin felt heat rise in his cheeks. “No,” he answered as you sat on the edge of the bed, presenting him with a plate. “I just forgot how many times,” he murmured, adding a thanks at the end.

You chuckled as you dug into your own food. “More than a few,” you answered. Jeongin looked up and then out the window. “How late is it?” he asked. You shook your head. “Not that late, It’s not even noon,” you replied. The two of you ate in silence, Jeongin thanking you again as you took his dirty plate.

“Where are my clothes?” he asked, noticing they were not on the floor where you’d left them the night before. “I washed them first thing this morning,” you answered. “They’re probably dry by now,” you added and headed out the door to retrieve them.

Upon entering, you handed the clean clothes to Jeongin who dressed himself in silence. “What do you plan to do?” you asked softly as you stoked the fire. Jeongin looked up and then down at his hands. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’d like to go find my mother,” he added.

You turned to look at him, a warm smile on your face. He got up and walked over to where you stood, his hands resting on your waist and pulling you closer. “But part of me wants to stay here with you.” You smiled, eyes shutting as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Stay here and maybe build a life with you.” Your heart swelled at the thought but it was quickly deflated by another thought.

“I think you should follow your heart,” you finally said, pulling back to press a kiss to his forehead and turn away. Jeongin opened his eyes and sighed. He looked around the cottage and then at his bags on the floor near the table where he could see one of his mother’s journals peeking out at him.

His mind was made up for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, pressing his lips against your shoulder. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “Do what you have to do,” you added. Jeongin turned you to face him, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I will come back,” he said softly, eyes flickering between yours. “I promise.”

With his rucksack packed full of supplies you could spare and a map in hand, you pointed him in the right direction. Jeongin pulled you in for one last kiss, resting his forehead against yours for a few moments after. “I mean it,” he said, pulling back to look at you. “I will come back. Regardless if I find her or not.” You nodded, smiling and keeping the sad feeling lingering in your stomach at bay.

“Be careful,” you said, giving his hand a squeeze. Jeongin pulled away and started through the forest in the direction you’d pointed him. The last place you’d heard his mother had been spotted. North towards Mongol territory. As he reached the edge of your property, he turned to look back at you.

He raised his hand, waving which you returned and watched as he turned back and slowly disappeared from sight. With a sigh, you continued to stare after him. “You better come back,” you whispered to yourself, moving your hand to rest against your stomach.

Smiling to yourself you turned away and headed back into the cottage to tend to your chores, hoping Jeongin found what he was looking for sooner rather than later.

He only had nine months after all.

ⓘ Graphics made by me. Content and support banners made using a template by cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All writing and graphics are ©️ kwanisms.

[torchwood-99]

These three quotes, from Eowyn, Tolkien and Faramir always interested me, in how much they align with each other.

I think the discussion about Eowyn being a warrior and giving up dreams of battle after the war, and whether or not this is a sexist development (suggesting she was wrong for defying gender roles and going to battle when forbidden), hinge too much on whether Eowyn was "right when she wanted to go to battle" or "wrong when she wanted to go to battle, and right when she gave it up."

But these three quotes I think paint a different image. All three quotes affirm that when a "foe breeds a war", when it is a time of "crisis", when lives must be protected against a "destroyer who would devour us all", there needs to be resistance, there needs to be war. But that war is only righteous in its defence of others.

When the threat of Mordor demanded a defence, it was a choice between war and obliteration. And with such danger on her doorstep, Eowyn needed to be able to fight. Her temperament, her spirit, her valour demanded, it of her. She needed to directly confront and take down the threat to her and her people, or else be driven to despair in her waiting.

This was compounded by the glorification of death in battle among her people, and the fact only warriors were remembered after their deaths. Add into that although Eowyn was "not a dry nurse by temper", that was the civilian role assigned to her, and the only escape from that seemed to battle, and death in battle. In the end, the waiting, the helplessness, the feeling of degradation, of being set aside and relegated to dry nurse, of feeling caged, fed on by Grima's manipulations, drove her to despair, and when she rode to battle, she didn't want to ride out of it alive.

These factors all played a part, but it all stems from the fact that when she needed to fight, she was denied the chance. Her people were in a time of "crisis", and Eowyn needed to put that "great military gallantry" to use.

Her talk with the Warden in which she reveals her eagerness for battle seems at first in opposition to Faramir's speech, when he treats war as a necessary evil, and violence only good for protecting others, and yet the sentiments are very similar. Both recognise the need to fight when a threat is upon them, both place the value of war on its role in defending others.

It's just that Faramir is sceptical, coming from a position of having battle thrust on his shoulders, of being expected to fit into a mindset of war being something glorious and grand, of being forced to fight by duty and necessity, while Eowyn is glorifying battle and death in battle, for she is coming from a position of knowing the strain of being forced not to fight.

It's interesting here that it's clarified that Eowyn's heart didn't change as much as that she understood it better. This suggests that Eowyn wasn't wrong. She was right, war had to be fought when Mordor proved a threat. And she, with her "great military gallantry", had a part to play in that fight.

But her desperation to be able to fight, long denied, drove her to to a point of despair, where fighting but surviving was no longer a desire.

Eowyn's philosophy at heart was correct. "War it must be", and "it takes but one foe to breed a war", but suffering and frustration caused her to focus less on the reason why war needed to be fought, and more on the idea that war would liberate her from the cage that was her life.

Her choosing life, and healing, now they were in a time of peace, in a time where healing was needed now that the war was over, seems to be her remembering what she wanted to fight for in the first place. It was her understanding her heart, understanding her motives. Fighting so that peace could follow.

So was Eowyn wrong for wanting to go to battle, or was Eowyn wrong for giving battle up?

Neither. Eowyn was right that battles had to be fought, and right that she had a right to fight for her people as much as her brother and male peers did. True, somebody needed to stay behind and manage the home front, but it was unjust to demand it was always her. And she, with her "great military gallantry", had every right to fight the enemy directly.

Eowyn was also right, after the war had ended, to make healing (whether metaphorical or literal) the goal of her life, because war is only good when it's in defence of others. It's not a good in its own sake. And when war could be avoided, it is best to do so.

[juniperhillpatient]

I know I'm terminally coffin-brained lately but hear me out it really bothers me that the perception of the Coffin of Andy & Leyley is ONLY "hehe incest cannibalism game" which is....not EXACTLY inaccurate but it certainly simplifies it ya know??? like I call it the incest cannibalism game too as a joke but I'm realizing there are a lot of people who think of it as like...a porn game? & btw I'm not AGAINST porny games or whatever I just think it's reductive & inaccurate to call Andy & Leyley that when in reality there is not even (so far) any textual sexual content beyond a demonic vision of a possible future. yes very obviously their relationship does have a sexual & romantic undertone, but it's compelling specifically because it's a complex story about siblings who have been genuinely fucked over by their parents & the world & they have developed a topically obsessive codependent relationship as a result.

like the initial conversation that the game's title is based on is Andrew casually half-jokingly talking about killing himself & it's just so..... narratively delicious. Ashley is not some horny one-dimensional slut who just wants to fuck her brother? Her reaction to Andrew talking about suicide is to joke that she'll race him to the balcony & he says back - semi sarcastically but we KNOW there's truth in his words, that he's clearly thought about this - that it would be too romantic, that they would be smashed together on the pavement, buried in the same coffin & like...the game proceeds from there with these two living in this intertwined fate, tangled together in ways neither of them can ever escape. it's romantic but it's also tragic & awful.

Andrew's love for Ashley will always be bitter & tinted with resentment because he was thrust with the responsibility of raising his little sister when he was only a child himself. he was made responsible for caring for Ashley with absolutely NO example of what caring for someone looked like & he was barely old enough to care for himself. Ashley never had anyone care for her in her entire life except Andrew & so she absolutely adores him to a dangerous & unhealthy degree.

like I hate it when people think Ashley is oh so abusive & manipulative or Andrew is so awful & selfish (she is manipulative & he is occasionally selfish) but like - as if there are not layers upon layers of WHY she treats Andrew the way she does & WHY he's so resentful. (as a side note I think debating who abuses who (aside from obviously the fact that they were both abused in different ways by their mother) or who's "worse" just...misses the whole ass point.)

and the cannibalism is initially about survival & the stakes are very apparent & built super well given the opening of the game spends a lot of time just demonstrating that they are literally starving to death to the point where Ashley is fainting & they're sharing a can of tomatoes out of the garbage joking that it's the best meal they've ever had. it is highly worth noting the way their actions escalate & get worse & worse with time as the game proceeds & you can see the way they're both getting more & more comfortable with violence & taboo. this game just would not compel me if it were just randomly "lol let's eat people!" get real

idk I just feel like people who don't know the game get the wrong idea about it when it's actually SO narratively rich okay bye

(this is not an anti Gravecest post either just to be clear, I fucking love the ship I just feel like it gets oversimplified often & also that Ashley especially is highly mischaracterized a lot, even in the game's marketing sometimes. at the core of the game are two deeply broken people who were fucked over bad & who are tied together in a way that neither of them can ever escape. it's love as horror & I loooove that about it)

[helloescapist]

Describe It to Me | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 1761

Setting: Gyomei x gn!reader (reader is a kakushi)

Content Warning(s): mentions of gore/violence, angst

Summary: a tap at your window, an emergency request delivered by a kasugai crow leads you to to devastation and a man you had not seen since the Final Selection.

A/N: full disclosure, I lost where I was going with this, and just cut it short. 🫣

Cries echoed into your ear drums, the stanch scent of iron that threatened the earth beneath your feet. Tarnished soil, dragged and muddled across gore and destruction. Limbs that tangled beneath their own weight, splintered, and shattered in the depths of the dark. The night robbed of light, the moon shied away from the horrors that you bore witnessed too. As though the sight were far too much for the gentle spirit to bear, the devastation littered throughout the landscape.

Trees torn from their roots, evidence of their once productive life, snubbed out with a single thrust.  Trunks threatened to smash to bits, the mass majority of branches fractured. Only the occasional splintered branch worth consideration of mulch in the years to come. Left ruined amongst the forest floors. Foliage robbed of any chance of survival, crunched beneath zori. The embroidered mark of the slayers before you as you pressed forward, bundled together in a close knit as kakushi often traveled. Averted eyes that struggled to process the bloody scene. The ache of your heart upon your sleeves, the stench of death that left you unsettled and uneasy. An unusual nightly excursion to a devastated area, the call having been one of desperation begging for aid, a large quantity at that. A Kasugai crow that rattled against your bed window. Rose you from your slumber, leaving you with little time to process the severity of the situation. His delicately obsidian feathers were immaculately maintained soothed only by the night wind. A shadow amongst the cover of the trees, the distinct caws assisting with guiding you amongst the terrain. Small scowls you had been quick to decipher as attempts to assist your travel in the depths of the night. Shooed away any doubts, and anxieties that may have begun to fester in the pit of your stomach, and urged the others of your group to remain steadfast to the cause. Though they were less than tactful at tucking their emotions away, despite the clothes that clung to their features. A final cowl from the Kasugai. You had arrived.

              Iron that threatened to spirit away your senses, overwhelming taint that threatened the vile in your stomach. Eyes that followed the trace of gore, and the eyes that met your own. Trembled from the faint glow of the lanterns you bore. Momentarily stunned, and confused, regardless of the time that passed you always found your feet. Bared your weight when your body threatened to give out, carried you regardless of how your heart hesitated. Fingers that weaved and picked through torn uniforms, the furrow of your brows as you patched small scratches, grazed over the smallest of blemishes.  Several of the slayers falling in the mizunoto, new recruits that appeared dazed and confused. Dazed to the point that they neither flinched, nor registered the way your hands skated across their craniums. Evaluated their response, their reflexes. All well intact, the flutter of their chests, and raps of their breath as  though the air threatened to abandon them. Their heartbeats rattling into your fingers, throbbed in veins and dashing beat, painfully aware of the clammy state of their skin devoid of color. “What happened,” your pressed, their eyebrows at the met of their tone betraying their frustrations.  Snubbed of the greet of the teeth, it’s surprising how little the uniform shielded slayers from the wrath of the bearer. Taro’s bad temper once again straying him to rash decision making. A fairly recent transfer, he had indicated the desire to try his hand at caring for the wounded, and assisting their travels to the Butterfly Estate though his bedside manner betrayed any such sentiments. Whispers that the boy had merely wanted to avoid shuffling swordsman to the smithing village not without reason. The youth was tall, and barrel chested, so much so that his uniform left little to the imagination, nor did he take into consideration the way his size towers over the newer recruits, “OI! Answer me.”

              “Shock,” you sighed, allowing yourself to draw to your feet. The patches of bandages secured to your patient’s face. The skim of the other kakushi readily at work before cutting your eyes at the kakushi at your side. His annoyance beginning to fester to the point that his fingers had caught at the brows of the patient, threatening to draw them to their feet should they not answer. “A patient that exhibits symptoms of shock should be treated with care—he’s not going to answer you,” the drip of warning poised in your voice. As sharp and lethal as the dagger secured at your hip. All too aware that the cloth shading your features to the night would not protect the inexperienced kakushi from your wrath.

              The pitter of voices, fallen into trembled tones. Shook with e ach word that parted from dry lips, guided by the beckoning way of a subordinate. The frantic touch, drawn to rush to their side. Eyes that met the scratch of blood that had met at the top of the skull, being tended to with delicate fingers as the words threatened to overflower. Rattled mumblings of demons, and surprised attacks. The shatter of bark, and the sickening moan that it had released. A giant that could bear the weight of trees, yielded them as mere weapons no more than a means to combat a beast of the night. The tremble of the victim’s eyes and dilated pupils, telling symptoms of hallucinations. Concussions. The passing thought to review their status before the feathers ruffled near your ear. Perched a small creature that threatened to consume the entirety of your shoulder, its little beak peppered through your hair. It’s frail voice near begging, near mournful of its pursuits. The little crow who had dared the darkness of night to seek assistance. “Is this Kasugai perhaps yours,” you whispered to the ramblings of a madman. Ignored, and threatened to send the individual into a state of panic. The threading of their fingers through their hair,  scratched into the aches of their scalp murmurs that were incomprehensible. The kakushi at their side, rattled by the sudden lurch of their body. Fumbled and anxious cries that bellowed, drew a finger to your side. Caught your eye at something that emerged from the ground. As though it had splintered the earth. A stone—no, the oddity of the shape a blade of some sort. The nudge of the crow in your ear, feathered through the strands of your hair at the insistence. Hefty, an abandoned blade amongst a battle field, far too aware the severity of such a loss should incur. Lifting upon it, caught amongst muck, an unholy mixture of dirt and blood that threatened to confine the remainder of the weapon. Chains that emerged like the dead from its pull. The sickening staunch of a scent you rarely had interactions with. Brain matter that clung to speared ends. Metal that formed tips, and edge upon the end of the chain. A ball marred by the spikes that bore casualties, the opposite of the hefty discovery clenched between your fingers. An axe and flail, and the weight your heart threatened to stop. The bit of your body stumbled to bear its weight. Giant. Fear taking over the better part of your senses, the distant reflection of a man. A mountain of a main carved from stone by the gods, the callous of his hands curiously embracing the touch of wisteria petals unheeded by the blood at his fingertips. Delighting in the presence of such beautiful fragrance though he would never know the sight that marveled before you. His mere presence the only reason you had survived the Final Selection, and the whisper of his voice, deep and soft, “Describe them to me.”

The only payment he had requested in return for your life.

The rush of feathers fluttered against wings as the shrieks of a scaw rang through your ears. Threatened your senses and drew you to muster what little strength you could manage. Strained muscles shook your core. Numb to the weight, leaving little choice but to draw the tug of the chain. The spike far too much for you to heave as it dragged through the blood-soaked dirt. No time to acknowledge the tears that edged their way to your eyelashes.

“T-Take me to him,” you demanded.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Top of the World

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, violence, abortion, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍓🍓🍓

You stare out the window at the warm sunset. The serenity of your surroundings contrasts bitterly with the turmoil of your life. You sit in the desolation of your tower, watching the world pass you by, a princess without the legendary braid to let herself down to freedom.

Even the days spent in the misery of retail shine compared to this. How dumb you were then. You remember how often you stood behind the counter, dreaming of a life of luxury and laziness. Of not having a single responsibility or obligation. That can never be; every life has some cost.

You shift and wince with a wheeze. The pain is deep and unending. You hug the sheet tight around your body as you bend slowly over your lap and whimper.

You don't pity yourself, you can only think of Kitty and her punishment. Your fault. You really believed you could get away with it. Don't you know better by now? The world belongs to Tony Stark.

The thought alone summons him. You sit up and let out a moan at the heavy throb inside. You turn your head as you hear him enter from the main room of the suite, his silhouette darkening the edge of your vision. You clutch your shoulder and gulp.

"Now, princess, did I say you could get out of bed?" He taunts as he comes closer, the ice in his glass clinking loudly. He bends over to brush his nose along your ear, "think I'm done with you already?"

"N-no," you wisp and look straight ahead.

He tugs the back of the sheet and you let it go. He tuts as he stands straight and takes a loud gulp of his whiskey. He steps away to set it on the glass table just beside the chaise you sit upon.

He unknots the belt of the red satin robe and comes back to you. He plays with himself shamelessly as a groan rolls from his throat. He grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back.

"You know what, not a bad idea princess," he snarls, "nice view..."

He yanks you over and guides you down onto your stomach. You let out another whimper as your bruised thighs rub together. He runs his other hand between your legs and forces them apart. He roughly jams his fingers between your folds.

He rams two fingers into you, shaking his hand until you sob. He snickers and rips his fingers out, wiping them up your ass and giving a mean smack to the tortured flesh. He frames your hip and angles himself over you, straddling your ass as he drags his tip up and down your cunt.

"Tell me how much you want it, sweetheart."

You murmur and sniffle as you rest your cheek against the puckered velvet. He continues to tease you as you quiver.

"Come on, you know you want me, sweetheart. You want my baby, don't you? Get that bag," he bends over you as his voice deepens cruelly, "dig for that gold, babe."

Your lip trembles. You have to say it. You have to obey him. You have to try to make him forgive you. You won't survive if he doesn't.

"I want you, Tony," you breathe, "please, I... I want your baby..." you stretch your arm back and graze his hand, "I want you to give it to me, please."

He growls and lines himself up. As he slides into you, you rescind your arm and hide beneath it, curling it around your skull as he thrusts. Each intrusion hurts worse than the last.

It's your own fault. All you. You're ungrateful and stupid. He's given you so much so you can give him this. He's bought you, fair and square.

[heyitsjaysblog]

Lover's Quarrel (Tiefling!GN!Reader x Astarion)

Words: 3064 | Rated: Teen | Tiefling!Gender-Neutral Reader (Y/N = your name, E/C = eye color, H/C =hair color) Synopsis: Reader is consumed with pent-up sexual frustration, that results in an argument with their vampiric companion. Eventually, the two come up with a way to release said anger. Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, heavy petting, and some angst! Some minor Act 1 spoilers as well, in the case you’ve just began the game. A/N: I just recently started playing BG3, and I am absolutely obsessed with this game. I am trying to use writing as a way of getting the urge to play out of my system LOL. I tried to remember some of the things that took place earlier in the game as well to write the fic. Let me know what you all think! I am hoping I was able to do him justice. I may try to write more, although it may end up revolving more around my original character. This fic was actually inspired after my tall, tiefling baby as well. (image screenshotted from my playthrough!)

- - -

You were never really known to be much of a leader.

 If anything, prior to this impromptu excursion, you were often alone. Growing up as a young, orphaned tiefling in Baldur’s Gate manifested your forlorn, self-reliant attitude. You also never really complained, because while you often felt despondent due to all the loss you had experienced in your youth, it also managed to empower you. No longer having to worry about loved ones made you feel more… impervious; as if nothing could be leveraged against you. 

Now, you find yourself constantly perplexed by the leadership position that has been thrust upon you by your rather peculiar group of traveling companions. While you all happen to share the burden of serving as hosts to the invasive parasites derived from the Mindflayers, you never thought that you would find yourself leading a group like this. Especially since you never really volunteered to do so in the first place. Now, you’re all on a quest to locate and rescue the dignitary of a quaint druid village, in order to aid in resolving some of the civic issues that have developed within his absence. You couldn’t help but get involved, especially as the issue seemed to revolve around a group of asylum-seeking tieflings, and quite frankly, the situation very much hit home for you. It’s daunting how you’ve managed to end up in this situation after recently escaping captivity on an Illithid vessel, however, you can’t help but feel a bit hopeless when it comes to figuring out how to get these annoying creatures out of your skulls. It certainly doesn’t help that your traveling companions aren’t exactly keen on each other as well. So far, you’ve managed to band together a hot-headed githyanki warrior, a charismatic & rather eccentric wizard from Waterdeep, a dismissively curt cleric, and the infamous Blade of the Frontiers. 

You also could not, or rather he wouldn’t let you forget him. The pale, elven rogue, who’ve you recently discovered is a vampire. Within the first few days of meeting Astarion, you both were substantially guarded around each other. Well, you couldn’t help it. He practically held a blade to your neck upon first meeting, and you returned the favor of uncertainty by headbutting him, which was undoubtedly unpleasant, due to your pair of twisted horns. Immediately, you both were not particularly fond of one another, however, things began to shift a bit once you started to get to know him. You realized you both were rather similar, as you both are quick to use others and prioritize your own survival. Things shifted even more once you caught him while attempting to feed on you one evening. It started with him inquiring if he could bite you, and you deciding it was okay, until eventually developing into your rather frequent invitations. You’ve begun to almost desire his bite, developing a minor obsession with the pain and pleasure that comes from his feedings. While you may mentally deny it, there was some sort of internal frustration that was brewing within you, that you couldn’t quite fight anymore. 

That had to be the explanation for why you reacted the way you did today. 

You and your ragtag group of adventurers found yourselves walking in circles as you attempted to path your way to the goblin camp. Rubbing your temples while your eyes clamped shut from an oncoming headache, you began to mentally recollect some of the signposts you’ve all passed on your way to the camp. 

“Fuck- this can’t be right…” you muttered under your breath, opening your eyes and reassessing the map you sketched and plotted of the area so far. 

Your group has been wandering in the open roads of Faerûn for some time now, even after enduring an alarming ambush from a group of gnolls. You were very much aware of how tired everyone seemed to be, as well as how nightfall was slowly beginning to creep upon the sky.

Noticing the look of confusion appear upon your face, Wyll began to make his way over to you, attempting to aid your weary eyes in figuring out where exactly you all had ended up. 

“(Y/N), let me try to help-” he offered, as you shifted a bit to allow him to join you in reading the map you drafted. You hand over the paper scroll as your tail anxiously swayed. You bit at your pointed fingernail, hoping that he would be able to offer some form of insight. 

“Ughhh…” Astarion groaned deeply as he pressed his hands to his face in frustration. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten us lost.” he muttered into his hands, which struck a very tender nerve within you. 

Furrowing your brows, you fold your arms tightly to your chest, rolling your (E/C) eyes in annoyance at his muffled comment. It wasn’t the first time during this trip that he began to complain, and certainly not the last.

“Astarion…is there something on your mind you’d like to share?” you ask, looking down toward your feet while trying to bide your growing anger. 

“Oh, well- …It’s nothing, dear.” he began, gesturing as if he were postulating another thought, although you already had an idea of what was about to leave his lips. 

“It’s just that, well- We’ve taken this path at least a DOZEN times, and for some strange reason, WE KEEP GOING THIS WAY!” he yells, stoking the fire that is your anger. 

Clenching your fists tightly, your facial expression shifts, prompting Gale’s eyes to widen a bit. Neither he nor the others have yet to see this side of you, especially since you are known to be rather level-headed in times of stress. Your demeanor even takes Lae’zel by surprise, who seems rather entertained by the thought of you confronting Astarion. She begins to smirk a bit to herself, folding her arms as she watches you both begin to argue. 

“Okay- Then why don’t you take a fucking crack at it? Especially since you have quite literally done nothing of value when it comes to our journey? Why don’t you fucking lead everyone!” you shout in response, prompting the pale elf’s gait to shift. 

His eyes widen at the thought of you raising your voice at him, which leads to him narrowing his crimson eyes into a glare, directed towards you. He decides to approach you, which further angers you, bringing about a scowl on your face. 

“Well, quite frankly darling, I can’t be the only one who’s at a loss as to why you are suddenly hellbent on being a savior to a group of tieflings. A group of tieflings, if I made add, that contribute absolutely nothing to figuring out how to cease our transformation into fucking Illithid freaks!” he retorts, leading you to visibly show offense to his words. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you respond dryly. Even you were questioning your decision to help the tieflings. It seemed so out of character for you, especially since you often only thought of yourself. At the same time, you know that you could relate to the undesired, nomadic lifestyle that is cast upon tieflings in Faerûn. You know personally know what it’s like to not be welcomed into a space because of what you are. 

 “If you take issue with my choice to help the tieflings, then why don’t you leave?! Find another group of people you can prey upon and use for your own liking,” you suggested in response, attempting to cut into him with your words. However, you know deep down you didn’t fully mean what you said.

 Astarion chuckled a bit at your naive attempt to bruise his ego, as he quickly rebutted, “Oh, (Y/N). Who else would you desperately cling to if I was no longer here? You practically throw yourself at me, begging for me to feed from you.” he responds with a salacious smirk, further exacerbating your anger. At this point, the both of you tensely faced each other in such close proximity. 

Your fists clench tightly, causing blue-tinted flames to seep through your palms. A pink hue of embarrassment arose across your face.

“...You insufferable, little-” you began before Shadowheart marched over to forcibly place herself in between you both. 

“ENOUGH.” she shouts, bringing all of the bickering to a halt. Your party’s mixed facial expressions all seemed to sync in shock, wondering how such a loud shout erupted from your small companion. 

“We are all extremely exhausted from the traveling and battling we’ve accomplished today. It’s also rather close to nightfall, which means we should set up camp and resume our expedition in the morning. It’s clear that we all need to take a moment to relax and rest before we continue our pursuit of the goblin camp.” she states, staring the two of you down before finding her own composure. 

The flames that began to form in the palms of your hands dissipated as you took a deep breath before abruptly turning from Astarion. You couldn’t believe that he would say that about you in front of everyone in your party, and you certainly could not believe that is how he views you. Desiring to flee from your deep-seated embarrassment, you carried your belongings to the nearby clearing, beginning to set up your tent and gather wood for a small campfire. 

Time passes quickly as everyone gets to work establishing their tents and positioning their bedrolls around the fire. Gale and Wyll are rummaging through the collected supplies to start preparing food, while Lae’zel sharpens her weapons in her tent. Shadowheart busies herself, taking a moment to offer prayers to her night mistress, Shar. However, she couldn’t help but sneak glances between you and Astarion, to see if the feud had really ended. You were not entirely sure either, as you made it your mission to avoid making any form of contact with him during the evening. Even though you don’t wish to entertain the thought, you wonder a bit to yourself if he is still angry with you. At times, you could have sworn you felt his piercing, crimson eyes on your back while you were turned away. You, however, decided to chalk it up to being paranoid. 

You find yourself reflecting on the events that occurred earlier, replaying each action back in your head. The tadpole behind your eye swarms in a frenzy, most likely reacting to the immense anger that still lingers within your body. While you lay on your bedroll, with an arm planted behind your head, you think back to how Astarion spoke to you during the argument. You recall the way that he planted himself a few inches away from you with an aggravated expression. You can hear the guttural rasp of his raised voice, as well as how his crimson eyes seared into yours. You start to reimagine the way he frustratingly rakes his long, slender fingers through his silver curls, while he attempts to play off the sheer rage you bestowed upon him… The frustration within you grows. 

As time continues to surge on, everyone seems to have retired for the evening, leaving you to your own devices as you lay on top of your bedroll, gazing up at the night sky. You quickly dart your eyes over to Astarion’s tent, which is lit from within by a lantern, disclosing the fact that he is reclined inside, most likely reading. Once you take inventory of where he is, you decide to take it upon yourself to find a way to physically cool off. Each step you take towards the forest produces a loud crunch, signaling to you that you may wish to tread a bit lighter. Making your way towards the nearby river, you decide to kick off your black-tinted leather boots and begin to bring your body down to the ground in a seated position. You roll the fabric of your pants up to your calves, while slowly dipping your feet into the water. This causes you to let a light sigh of relief slip past your lips. You decide to close your eyes, and for a moment, the calming current of the river coaxes the tadpole’s movement behind your eye, causing a small smile to form on your face. You let your tense shoulders fall, and for a moment, you feel so relaxed you don’t pick up on the sound of approaching footsteps behind you. 

A hand suddenly takes a firm grasp on one of your horns, which begins to drag you backward. Caught completely off guard, you yelp, attempting to raise your hands up and grab at the wrist of the unknown assailant. You simultaneously dig your heels into the soil of the ground to halt yourself before taking control of your tail and using it to sweep and trip the unknown figure. You hear a body drop into the ground with a thud, followed by a hushed exclamation: “Fuck!”.

Gathering yourself quickly, you turn and climb on top of them, readying your hand as flames begin to generate within your palm. However, your eyes widen as you fully realize who you’ve managed to pin down. 

Astarion’s tempestuous gaze locks onto your eyes, seeking to read your expression. He recognizes that he’s managed to catch you off guard, causing his typical smirk to slowly surface on his face. 

Flustered by this, a pink tint settles onto your cheeks, causing your angered expression from earlier to make yet another appearance. 

“Give me good one reason why I shouldn’t set you aflame right now.” you finally manage to announce after a distinct moment of shared silence. 

The vampire begins to snicker to himself, developing into an outright laugh. He throws a free hand over his mouth, biting into the side of his hand a bit to stifle his laughter. He can’t help but find your faux-standoffish nature… cute.

“Darling, we both know that’s not what you want to do to me. If anything, I would wager you could’ve done so earlier if you so desired.” he replied, fueling your frustration even more.

“I mean- just look at the compromised position you have me in currently.” he says, causing your eyes to shift down. 

You realize that you’re positioned directly on top of him, with your thighs straddling against his lower body. Lowering your arm, you relinquish the developing flames as those feelings of embarrassment begin to return. Noticing you’ve surrendered your vendetta against him, Astarion plants his elbows against the earth, raising up to meet your gaze, face to face. 

The warmth in your face intensifies as he gets closer, causing both of you to directly make eye contact. Your eyes shift down towards his lips, as you study the shape of his cupid’s bow, and the fullness of his lips. The frustration you felt earlier is only beginning to build up more and more before you make the impulsive decision of leaning in closer to firmly press your lips against his. His eyes widen in response, although, he partially anticipated your reaction. He raises all the way, then decides to wrap his arms around the small of your waist. Your hands reach to rest against his cheeks, cupping his face as you deepen the kiss. You both channel your previous anger into the pressure of the kiss, both of your tongues going to war with one another. It doesn’t help that you both have a pair of fangs, therefore it feels as though you both take turns, biting at the other’s lips. He takes one hand and runs it through your (H/C) hair while taking the other to position it against your neck. Pulling away from your kiss, he begins to pepper the side of your face with firm kisses, pressing against your jaw, and eventually, down to your neck. You let out a soft moan as you slightly crane your neck to the side, anticipating his fangs to potentially make an impact on your skin. He decides instead to tease you, sucking on your neck, as if to leave a hickey. He then drags his tongue slowly against your neck, causing you to shiver and garner arousal from the sensation. You shift slightly, trying to fight the hot feeling between your thighs. You aren’t very successful though, as you realize that you can feel his growing arousal as well, rubbing against you. You decide to take your legs and wrap them around him, further pressing your body into his.

Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispers in a low voice, 

“I’m willing to bet you’re begging for me to bite you.”

While you do not wish to admit defeat, you couldn’t help but affirm his suspicions with a light nod, causing the vampire to smirk before pinning you down to the ground, hard. You slightly wince, although the continued roughness of your rendevous seems to further turn you on. Grabbing one of your horns, the vampire cranes your neck before biting into your flesh, causing you to dig your nails into his back, and tighten the hold of your legs around his waist. You let out a groan as you feel your life force practically fleeing your body. The vampire latches himself further onto you. While initially painful, the feeling of your blood being drained almost feels…euphoric, causing you to slip into a blissful trance. Astarion moans into your neck, causing an electric flutter to echo through your core. While he is entranced by the taste of your blood, he does recognize your pulse slowing down, therefore, he decides to pull away, causing another gasp to escape your lips. He then cleans the wound with his tongue, before bringing his red-stained lips to yours once more. 

You come in contact with your own blood, not fully minding the metallic taste, as he begins to explore your mouth once more. After a moment of sharing another deepened kiss, you pull away, panting a bit for air, before the vampire falls to your side as you try to manage your breath. After what seems to be a sizeable silence, the sounds of the forest decide to creep back in, grounding you after the impromptu, moonlight tryst you both shared. You still are trying to wrap your mind around all of what took place today, until Astarion breaks the silence. 

“Gods…do you always act this way when you’re angry?”

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Confessions of an Astral Assassin

What hits me hardest when i return is the weight of corporeal form. How heavy my head feels toppled atop a strained neck. How my arms struggle through invisible molasses, and my legs lug around cement feet. They're always the first to go and last to return; so eager to surrender to the tingle of slumber, and so reluctant to stir.

I don't blame them.

This form is a prison teethered to the yoke of gravity. Of a particular space and time. I miss the bliss of astral fluidity, the weightless freedom to traverse between realms on a whim. Seeping through them as a passenger of reality, rather than a victim of it. How sweet it is to reside in that shapeless space between dimensions for lifetimes on end, seeing reflections of every potentiality play in prismatic array. Where time is merely a plot device in the stories of lives both lived and unlived. Where one can see we are all of one consciousness divided only by partitions of position and perception.

I trace my hand slowly through stray light beams in a dance between motes of dust. They swirl and hang, wafting wistfully. No. Indifferently. Any other assumption would be my projection. Fuck. This earth bound window of the mind is so rigid and hard to keep straight. It would be so much easier to just become the dust. To see and experience this world as it would. What it would be like to dance upon the slightest breeze, and cascade in suspended animation. What it would be like to exist in this material plane without expectations.

The dust has no greater design to be anything else, but itself. No external pressure to be more than the dust that it is. It is simply a spec, free to soar, and free to rest. It does not pay a cost to live, aside from what change existence already demands. It has no malicious intent, or aim. It has no grand agenda for political and strategic dominance. No part to play in any of it. So why must I? Why can't this shackle of a shell be permanently severed? Why must I return?

Returned to be sent back out, pointed and aimed. Returned to be used. A cognitive weapon of mass destruction that threatens to unmake the world, brandished haphazardly by insecure fools in an attempt to keep order. As if peace could ever be preserved through the violence of its preservation. They don't give a damn about order. Only power.

I wonder, does the dust experience the death's I have? Does it feel the existential dread of its  gradual or sudden shift in form? Is it aware of that impending, inevitable metamorphosis from one state of matter to the next?

I've felt the fear of a light about to fade, and the shock when it does so without warning. I have taken the lives of others with their own hands, tugging their limbs with my consciousness as if it were their own. They could only watch from the recesses I relegated them to, before forcing them out as effortlessly as I slipped in. Never to return. It's how I make ends meet. It's how I stay fed in this world where nothing is free.

But perhaps they're the lucky ones. Liberated from the material and immaterial shackles that choke every breath of joy out of life. They are free. Free to roam. Free to find a new reality and call it home. Yet, I remain, clawing and scraping to survive in this world with persistent illusory purpose.

I see the knife in the sheath upon my desk, and press my thumb along the soft tissue of my neck. If I sever my veins, do I break my chains? Or will the death of this life only thrust me into another? Perhaps, I could explore the cosmos? Endlessly, and without shame. Without guilt. Or perhaps, I'll become the dust. Perhaps, I could simply be.

[ladyimaginarium]

[secondjulia]

Hob Gadling's Second Execution

WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE

Hob had thought himself beyond any feeling, let alone one so great as terror. But when the strange men locked chains over his wrists and dragged him from his once-grand home, fear flooded back into him as fresh as when he’d first faced a charging army, sword trembling in his young hands.

He had no sword now.

Long after his years of fighting for his life in the blood and muck, he’d become something different. A soft, arrogant man, easily broken. Now he was unarmed, bound, and without his fellows to fight by his side. 

Only hostile faces surrounded him now. Lining the path, they watched the witch hunters drag him from his dark, neglected home. Hob looked into the eyes of his neighbors, some of whom he hadn’t seen for over a decade, but he saw no one who would fight by his side now. All that reflected back at him was shock and fear. Several crossed themselves. 

Apparently, years of neglect had still not aged his face. His beautiful stranger had not just made him undying, but forever young. Frozen as the fighter in his prime. Even though the fight had long left him.

“Please,” Hob begged uselessly, as if he’d completely forgotten that he’d already survived one execution. He had not, but the stubborn instinct of fear was too strong. Once upon a time, Hob had rushed into battle, laughing in the face of stupid Death. But without his sword and his fellows and a single fighting chance, he had no hope but to bow to the force of terror. Hob was no martyr, going defiantly to his death. He dug his heels in and twisted in the hands that had gripped his upper arms painfully, but the witch hunter just thrust him forward. “Please!” 

Unbelievably, inexcusable, Hob didn’t want to die.

Hatred for himself bubbled up. What sort of monster could want to live after losing a son, a wife, a barely-born babe? Hob had seen many give up after such losses. Those who kept on usually had someone to care for. But Hob had no one. He had only his own rotten skin to care for, little though he might deserve it.

“Please. Oh my dear lord,” he prayed, though he knew not whether his lord’s ears were near. “Save me!”

“Save your breath, witch!” one of the hunters ordered, slamming hard knuckles into the back of Hob’s head. “Our lord despises those who green gown Satan!”

But he wasn’t despised! He couldn’t be! Not by his lord! Yes, Hob had clearly displeased him in some way the last time they’d met. All Hob wealth and success, the fine wine and fine feast laid out for his lord had not been enough to tempt him away from that fool Shaxberd. But his stranger had left abruptly before and yet still returned one hundred years later. He had not broken their bargain.

In 1689, Hob would see his beautiful stranger again. He had to believe it. 

“Oh my pretty lord, I will make it to you,” Hob prayed. “I swear I will meet you again.”

The witch hunter threw Hob to his knees beside the river, growling in his ear. “You’ll meet your pretty demon lord tonight, witch!”

Oh, how Hob wished it were true!

#

Dream had watched many communities tear themselves apart. He knew the nightmares that had run rampant in this era, try as he might to contain them or turn them to something productive. There were many things to fear in this miserable world, bacteria and viruses that killed by the millions, the greed and arrogance of rulers that carved war into continents, and daily cruelties that bled people of their will to live, the deprivation of a harsh world. But try as he might to illuminate the real nightmares in the minds of humankind, they yet failed to ask the right questions, to ferret out the real sources of their suffering. In this part of the world, in this era, many still did not see the true dangers. 

Dream understood the fears of the witch hunters and the hostile faces in the crowd. He knew their worst nightmares and the darkest stories they concocted in their hearts. But he had also felt the fears of their victims, and his heart twisted to see Hob Gadling dragged from his home weeping. 

“Why are you here?” Death’s soft voice came from beside Dream.

He turned to her, fear striking at his heart. “Why are you here?” 

She smiled gently. “There is much work to do in this place.”

Dream turned back to Hob Gadling who was now praying at the river’s edge. He looked more wretched now than he had been even facing certain execution under the axe. The swimming of a witch was, after all, mainly a test and not an execution, though it could often turn out that way. A victim who sank could be hauled back and declared innocent — if the witch hunters did not wait too long. A victim who floated could be sent to the pyre.

Tears streamed down Hob’s face. He hung his head and murmured to the mud under his hands and knees. The witch hunters were proclaiming his imagined crimes while the townsfolk ogled. 

“Dream,” Death said. “You do not need to be here.”

Dream shot her a scathing look. “You think I fear these petty human cruelties? That I cannot bear the horrors of a place which no sane creature could wish to call home?”

“No,” Death said simply.

Dream looked away from her too-knowing glance and back at Hob. “I must bear witness. We had a wager.”

“It wasn’t really a wager. We didn’t actually bet anything. Well,” she paused, and Dream cast her a wary sidelong glance. “I suppose we bet him in a way. Though it’s a bit of a reverse gamble, isn’t it? If you are right, then I will get the pleasure of Hob Gadling’s company. But if I am right, then you get it.”

Dream scoffed. “Yes, such pleasurable company I have always yearned for,” he said, voice low with dry sarcasm. “A bandit, a pompous nobleman, and a praying wretch.”

“Listen to him, Dream.”

#

Mud squelched under Hob’s fists as his lungs gasped in great buckets of air, fearing the moment the flow would stop. 

“Merciful lord who has granted me life, I will tell you of the wrongs of good people and the cruelties of bad ones,” Hob prayed underneath the words of the witch hunters and the gasps and the jeers from the crowd, “and of the mistakes I’ve made and all the beautiful things I’ve lost. In our tavern of the White Horse, let us meet again, where everything I have is yours. Yours is every experience, every word from my lips, my beautiful stranger…”

His words faltered as he realized that the witch hunter’s voice had gone quiet. He was finished with the long recitation of the really quite fantastical things Hob was supposed to have done with the devil and his minions. Heavy steps closed in behind him.

Eleanor’s face smiled at Hob as vice-like grips closed once more on his arms. Little Robyn’s laugh. The babe’s weak cries, before they’d fallen silent forever.

But another face shone brighter. Pale eyes and smirking lips in a smokey tavern. His beautiful stranger’s face was again the sight that accompanied him to the end. Or, what should have been the end.

Hob truly was a monster. He was not a decent man who would at least go to Death with open arms, eager to see those who had passed on before him. He would not see his Eleanor. He wouldn’t see Robyn. He wouldn’t see the unnamed babe that had died in Eleanor’s arms. Because Hob still wanted to live.

“Forgive me, my lord. I am not worthy. I am not worthy,” but even as he repeated the words, chanting them like a monk as if trying to embed their meaning into his very soul and break the hold of his own greed for life, Hob still wanted to live. “I am not worthy.”

“Confessing already, devil-swiver?” the mean voice in his ear growled. The last words he heard before he was thrust into the cold river.

#

For a long moment, Dream could not speak. It was all he could do not to moan aloud in pain. Hob did not have his name, but still he invoked Dream as a stranger, as — for all Hob knew, despite Dream’s opaque answers — some kind of demon, at the very least an unknown creature who had shown Hob very little kindness. Indeed, whose interference had lead Hob to this wretched existence.

Hob had disappeared under the current. 

Now that he was truly paying attention, Dream could see the flickers of his own face in Hob’s daydreams, the visions that danced across the darkness of Hob’s mind as his eyes squeezed shut against the cold water. Even as the pain of suffocation invaded his mind, Hob was in the White Horse tavern, looking up at Dream, smiling, eyes glinting. 

“He cannot… he cannot wish to stay in this world,” Dream said in a somewhat stifled voice. “With these people. This… this kind of life. This whole place is a torment.”

Death squeezed his arm. 

As Hob fought against the water battering his senses, his dreams shifted beyond memory. In his mind, Dream’s hands reached out over the wooden table and drew Hob to his feet. The dream was so strong that Dream could feel the warm, calloused hands of the soldier on his own. He felt the rough beard against his neck. His arms moved as if to encircle Hob’s warm body, strong muscles flexing under his hands as they embraced. Warm lips met his jaw.

Sharp pains assaulted Hob’s nose and throat, and he twisted in Dream’s arm, crying out and thrashing against the assault of water.

Dream hugged himself and nearly fell to his knees.

“I’ve got to go,” Death said quietly.

“My sister!” Dream cried out, sorrow and desperation bursting through his better judgement. It was Hob’s choice. It had always been Hob’s choice. Dream had no right, no reason to beg for more—

“I’m needed elsewhere,” Death said. “But, Dream? You’re right. There is enough torment in this world. You don’t need to add your own. Take care of yourself, little brother.”

Dream kept his eyes on the river as Death disappeared.

#

Hob came back to consciousness in darkness and pain. Water pressed down on him, in him. It burned in his chest and his throat and his nose. His throat spasmed. His head pounded. He felt like he was crying, but the river swallowed his tears. 

Please. I don’t want to die. Please, my lord!

He was still bound, his head too fuzzy and desperate to save himself. To do anything but thrash against the river. After several torturous moments, he drowned again.

#

The townsfolk did not pull that Gadling out of the river when he failed to surface.

For several long minutes they watched the river flow past, it’s deep movements unbroken. Sinking should have meant the man was innocent, but many of the witnesses found this very hard to believe — especially those who had known him forty years ago and had looked upon his face utterly unchanged. 

It was better this way. If he were, by some distant chance, innocent, then the lord had already taken him to his eternal reward. But more than likely, as several murmured to each other, the lord had just been impatient. Perhaps their Heavenly Father had not wished to wait for them to build a pyre and do all that pesky paperwork for a proper execution. Maybe that Gadling’s devilish crimes had been so egregious, so obvious that He demanded judgement and punishment at once, reaching out through the hand of the river to take justice himself.

Gadling had sounded very guilty. They’d all heard him beg for forgiveness. And even he had said he was not worthy at the end. Well, it looked like the lord had decided so, too.

After a while, the witch hunters looked awkwardly at each other. One scribbled something in his book, and then they quietly made themselves scarce. The townsfolk lurked a little longer, gawking at the river and gossiping, but then they melted back into the their homes and their shops and their fields. Life went on.

The lord had taken Hob Gadling in the river; let the lord decide what to do with him now. 

#

When Dream pulled Hob from the river and into a sheltered grove of willows, Hob’s body was entirely limp. Dream unbound Hob’s hands, cleared the water from his lungs and repaired the damaged tissue. Hob’s body would have repaired itself on its own, but Dream did not want to think of Hob writhing in pain through the healing process. He brushed Hob’s hair back from his face. 

When Hob began to stir, Dream backed away. A part of him wished to stay, to take this man into his arms and be the dreams that Hob had held close in his darkest moments. 

But that was not their bargain. 

Dream could not assume that the desperate creations of Hob’s mind at the edge of Death were the true desires of his heart. And Endless love had never served mortals well. And Hob, well… Hob may not be mortal, but he was human. He wished to live because he love life, not because he loved Dream. He had to be left to live his life.

And, on top of that, it would do Hob no good to be seen with a stranger in these suspicious times.

So, assured that Hob was hale and whole, Dream left.

#

Hob dreamed of a pair of cool, pale hands ministering to him in his wretched state. And when he woke, their loss was a pain worse than drowning. Worse than the axe. Though he realized quickly this time that he was indeed still alive, Hob felt no joy on waking. He felt bereft and lost. 

For a long time he just stared up at the sky between the willow leaves trying to gather the strength to stand. Hob wanted to live. And that would mean that, sooner or later, he’d have to get back to the business of actually living. 

Eventually, Hob pushed himself up. He walked with his shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around himself. He turned his back on the town he’d called home for forty years, the home of his murderers, and walked away from his Death.

~The End~

(Sequel to Hob Gadling's First Execution. Gifs from The Whale — 2013 NOT 2022!)

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

personal experience so i dont rlly have a huge scope on this. but i don't think i can call my experiences being raised as a cis girl for 14 yrs of my life "female socialization" and i dont want to, nor do i find that framing to be very intuitive...

this post ended up kinda long so im putting it under a read more

the way ppl are using female socialization kind of suggests it as someone melding in perfectly with the gender roles/behaviors society expected of them, like it's a strong internalization that we fully accepted until coming out as trans and that like. confuses the fuck out of me. cause i never even fit in the spot of "cishet girl" that was expected of me. it was a title thrusted upon me that i tried to redefine in every way to make it palpable cause i didn't know any other option existed. i felt like a wholly different gender from the people i grew up around and i purposefully rejected how i was expected to behave while kicking and screaming, because it felt intrinsically wrong for me to be what they wanted me to be. (my mom even gave me the words "gender neutral" to call myself long before i came out, and it was my favorite way to describe myself)

and like, luckily for me my punishment for going against this wasn't super extreme, but i still was very much punished by my peers. with my family such as my dad and extended family members, there was this subtle aspect of needing to gently correct my behavior through suggestion by hoping that i would some day start acting "like a girl" and show interest in what that means, but they eventually gave up when that day never came.

ive picked up on survival methods against cishet men because i know how they see me and what i have to do to avoid being a victim of their violence. and i dont think that's a very unique experience at all... like i dont think acting in specific behaviors under duress as a survival tactic makes something a part of someone's personality. i do the whole fake polite thing even though i really wanna bite their head off but i do not have any sort of physical self defense available to me. idk how to articulate this super well so...

it really just seems like "you were exposed to these gender roles so you're more willing to engage in behaviors associated with the gender society forced you to pretend to be" ... shrug

[strahdapologist]

just some tatyana & strahdyana thoughts from me and my gf @tatyanafederovna​

narratively tatyana has to embrace the monster the vampire because that represents breaking away from the oppressive gender roles that have been placed upon her

there’s smth beautiful about not being the delicate princess and embracing volatility and violence and i think in the choice between strahd and sergei it can be read as a choice between mother and monster. even though strahd is a liar his form of feral and self destructive love feels more genuine than the fairytale love sergei seems to impose onto tatyana (ignoring the preconceived notions strahd seems to have for her for a moment because this narrative isn’t just about him just as dracula isn’t just about the vampire it’s about mina murray)

sergei to me represents traditional life and societal norms and acceptability and i think its why i rebel against him as a character and his ending so much whereas strahd represents hidden desires and the otherness and pushing against those boundaries / the transgressions of social norms (like exploring sexuality) which is what the monster is supposed to represent

i say mother versus monster because traditional societal norms expect women to be mothers and be pure and nurturing and caring which ties into compulsory heterosexuality and how it affects even straight women it’s just this very strict assumption that romantically and emotionally women are only supposed to be oriented towards men and reproduction rather than themselves because that would be monstrous or whorish for lack of a better word and then motherhood is associated with a gentle maternity and everything that isn’t violence

it’s the madonna-whore duality. women were either pure and virtuous like a madonna or corrupt and sexually available like a whore and the duality suggests that women cant be both at the same time

it’s why i adore yellowjackets because as teenagers going into womanhood instead of motherhood they’re thrust into monster-hood to survive the wilderness and there is something to be said about violence and rage and hunger being natural (woman is wolf)

and that’s why i also think ladies loved 1930s dracula so much it was sensuality and terror all in one. we see this a lot w/ post bram stoker dracula which is far more romanticized and shows a world where the monstrous (whore) side is allowed love. with bela lugosi!dracula it was like this vampire (monster) is a man who will love me for my feminine sensibilities but also my feminine violence and feminine fury

acceptance from a monster feels like recognition and love from a hero feels like expectation

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

✨️NOW SEEKING ARC READERS✨️

Looking for a book full of magic, adventure, and heart? Sign up to be an ARC reader for the final book in the Heirs of Tenebris trilogy, Winds of War at brswrites.com/launch-team!

More details (blurb and content warnings below the cut😁

Full book blurb:

To free the spirits of the Shadow Forest, the evil sorceress must fall.

The past of 647 years ago collides with the present as the fate of Tenebris and all of magic stands on the precipice of great devastation. As Astrid’s heir, Nyla must defeat Dinora, and the humans and pumpkies must forge a path for her to reach the evil sorceress. But is Nyla willing to risk the life she's only just begun to guarantee the safety of those she cares about and strangers alike?

While the coalition of soldiers, Casters, and Royal Guards scramble to mount a defense against Dinora's army, Shamira finds herself the leader of the three pumpkie clans in a clash against formidable beasts of stone. Can she put aside her own heart and convictions to become a leader?

Closer to home, Xander struggles to balance the desperation of his heart and the duties thrust upon him in the midst of the chaos. But when a crucial decision is made on the battlefield, he, Nyla, and Shamira are forced to confront their deepest truths. Will they conquer the challenges they face in the fight for Tenebris's future, or will survival cost too much for them to bear?

The thrilling conclusion to Brianna R. Shaffery's epic young adult fantasy trilogy the Heirs of Tenebris, Winds of War delivers the truth behind the legends and puts the past to rest at last.

Some potential triggers/general content warnings:

Depictions of violence/war/battle

Attempted murder

Murder

Death (on-page)

Grief (more so than F&F and EoE)

Self-doubt

Anxiety, references to panic attacks

Emotional trauma (and unrealistic coping)

....I think that's it, but if more comes to me, I'll be sure to update this list😊

[elachii]

CW: spoilers for the last of us show, mentions of rape & cannibalism

the last of us really is a show written by a lot of straight (white) men, it’s so clear with the choices they make for ellie and how they talk about her. i’m like where are mutual aid groups? why is someone trying to survive in a violent world thrust upon her called violent? like, fucking glad she knows how to break some fingers if she is locked up by a cannibalistic rapist. i just don’t think that saying the violence oppressed people do is bad. there is nuance and complexity to the situation and the way the creators talk about these characters just seems to lack that sort of actual insight and thought. people should fight back if their survival depends on it. if people are forced to do horrible things bc of the world they’re in then isn’t the conditions of the world to blame. who has created those conditions? are they not the bad guys? also why must our main character deal with both a rapist and a cannibal in one episode? must we reach to SA for our character to finally feel extra, super traumatized?

anyway, i’m feeling wary about season 2. i have not played the game but knowing the creator was inspired by the israel/palestine conflict and wants to say “both sides” are bad after his experiences has been turning me off from the show. palestinians are under occupation, full stop. any violence they commit in that struggle is a direct result of the violence that has been thrust upon them by the israel nation-state. so fuck a “both sides are bad” argument. also fuck how the creators spoke abt ellie in the inside of episode 8