#if that scene with silver and ember feels familiar i based it on That Scene from Monster House

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

will emberdawn ever find silverhawk and lynxfire (i don't remember if it was you or another person who had this name for the son, i follow a lot of rewrites 😅)?

if so, how do they react?

Okay!

1. Yes I am the Monster Emberdawn person! You remembered correctly!!!

2. Well... Yes.

Part of the reason Emberdawn agrees to help Bristlepaw is Bris' promise to assist Emberdawn with finding her family.

Silverhawk is the first to see her, and at first, he almost doesn't recognize her as she towers over a large boulder, swiping her massive hooked claws at bat flying around the Dark Forest. (Someone with a fear of bats is nearby, I didn't send a bat to hell)

And... I forgive him for that. For goodness sake, she looks like a monster! 7 feet tall with a jaw that hangs open... She hardly resembles a cat anymore.

Then, he hears her voice. It's raspy, croaking, but familiar after all these years.

He steps up towards her, standing in front of the murky, still lake. Softly, he calls Emberdawn's name. Emberdawn, focused on catching the little bat, puts a massive paw onto the boulder, stretching up higher to try to reach it.

"Emmy? Is that you?"

She freezes. Her large head swings downward, jaw brushing the forest floor.

"Emmy, it's me. I'm here."

"Sil... Silverhawk..."

"I'm right here, Emberdawn. I'm not going anywhere."

He reaches out a paw, touching the one she has set on the ground. His paw is barely the size of one of her toes now.

"You... You've gotten into some trouble, haven't you? Kept looking for me for so long, you... Oh, my poor Emmy..."

She lowers herself down, and touches her nose to his. Her huge paw comes down and one of her claws gently traces a scar he recently attained from fighting with another demon.

"Hawwwk. Silverhawk. Lynxfire..."

There's a moment of quiet, before Silverhawk resolves to guide Bristlepaw and her gaggle of Dark Forest demons (and her dad, and a few kittens) to the deepest part of the Dark Forest, to break through the barrier into what lays beyond it all.

Unbeknownst to them, another group of angels is coming, with bared teeth and claws.

One of those angels is Lynxfire.

He and the other angels, ordered by Npui Gmjhiu to chase down the cat who intends to upset an ancient hierarchy undisturbed for as long as Starclan has existed.

He charges through the slick undergrowth, ignoring the roaring hounds and ferns that seem to cling to his sparkling pelt. When Npui Gmjhiu gives an order, it is to be followed.

Important to note: Silverhawk and Lynxfire met during the Great Battle, and Lynxfire made Silverhawk realize that the entire plan was stupid.

The angel crashes face-first into Mapleshade, toppling the fat tortie over and making her kittens squeal with fright.

At the sound of the kittens, a hulking huge paw slams down near him, smacking his fellow angel and sending them crashing into a massive tree, sparkling white blood flecking the ground.

The monstrous creature snarls, its claws hook under Lynxfire as it pulls him up, higher and higher, until he's staring into its pitch-black eyes, the orange pinprick pupils staring at him.

The shade of orange is all too familiar.

"...Mom?"

She stares at him, before placing him down onto her bony shoulders and smashing her paws and subsequently massive claws down onto his fellow angels, each movement she makes jostling him heavily, yet Emberdawn keeps her shoulders stiff enough to keep him safe on her spiny back, like he's a kit having a Badger-Ride, not riding on the back of his monstrously mutated mother in the depths of The Place of No Stars.

Truth be told... She'll never go back to how she used to look. She'll probably be able to speak again, but the damage has been done. You can't undo years of trauma and pain, and the effects it had on her body as she warped and twisted through the effects of The Mist are indeed permanent.

But... She can be happy. They all can.

[the-masked-ram]

The Unseen and Those Forgotten- Chapter Two

CW: Not SFW, Dabi x Fem Reader, Hades!Dabi, Mentions of Ancient Greek Lore, Based on Persephone and Hades, War, Pre-Apocalypse, Plot Heavy, Slow Burn,  Violence ---- Chapter Two: Over the Horizon He could feel it, if he just stood still and breathed, he could taste it too. The air humming and dripping with power, with chaos and the promise of… something, yet Dabi couldn’t place what it was. Whatever was waiting on the edges of his consciousness, whatever that shuddering intensity was that waited to crash over them all, it wasn’t good. His lazy eyes drifted among the crowd again. Even though he knew he should be seeking out the source of this ominous force, maybe find council with the other handful of gods who still were stuck to wander the Earth, he couldn’t. He felt stuck in the same loop, constantly searching for the source of the light, for you. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the creatures he had once been tasked to cultivate.

He hadn’t seen you since that day he got a glimpse among the crowd, but he had at least felt your presence. You just seemed to be moving earlier lately, so today he was waiting for you as the sun peaked over the horizon. He would not miss you this morning. He waited there for what felt like years, when really it was just a handful of hours. When did he get so impatient? His fingers were curling against the cement below him when he felt the tingling warmth at the edge of his senses. He saw the light sparkling and he felt it pull at his soul, the weak embers of his power crackling to life. His tongue flicked against his lower lip, tracing the scars as he dropped to the asphalt, his walk purposeful while he moved through jostling bodies. Once again, the shifting mass of flesh in front of his parted for half a second and he saw you, standing in the middle of a planter box not that far from the original one.   This time your hand was placed on a tree whose life force was rotting away. Black disease riddled the usually green veins of energy that ran through plants. However, as he fought to stay focused, he could see your golden light overwhelming the inky color that ate away at the limbs and bark. He stepped closer to you, careful not to lose you in the crowd as it shifted to swallow you again. You inhaled, stepped back, and he could see the leaves of the tree visually perk even as your light flickered out when your activation stopped. A smile lifted your face, so bright and naïve he felt a coldness he didn’t know had settled over him, flush with heat for a moment. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” you whispered, patting a soothing hand over the silvered wood. “I just got to get to work now.” He watched the scene play out dumbfounded. Not thinking to make his form corporeal, even though he couldn’t talk to you as he was now, though you were within his grasp. You walked right toward him and he caught the sharp scent of rubbed mandarin leaves, the thick smell of blackberry jam, and the sweet smell of pomegranate blossoms. “Hades.” Dabi’s head snapped towards the side, he hadn’t been called that name in at least five years. He bristled as his eyes searched the milling mortals. “Above, cousin,” the voice said, coolly. It sounded so different and yet so familiar. Dabi’s eyes flitted up and he saw a figment standing on a building. He snorted, but collected what strength he could expend into this, and jumped, leaping to just barely clear the roof and land with a stumble. There were days when he could have teleported himself to this area. In front of him stood Boreas, another god who had survived the collapse of their era. His human form was unintimidating, a head of white and red hair, and heterochromatic eyes. Everything was as it should be, as it used to be, except for the scar that blossomed over the left side of his face. Something he likely received in the last war. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen him, it had been before the fall. “Boreas?” Dabi asked, raising a brow. “Mmm, I go by Shouto now. I assume you have a new name too?” he said with a nod. A sneer twisted his scarred lips and he spat, “If you mean the mask I am forced to wear because we constantly swim with this filth? Yes. It’s Dabi, though I suppose you can call me Touya.” “Always so dramatic, Touya,” Shouto huffed, rolling his eyes and testing the new name carefully. Dabi pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, “Just… tell me why you are here. It’s not like you to seek me out.” “Can’t you feel it? Even I can. You feel the shift, don’t you?” he fixed Dabi with a critical eye. The dark-haired man scoffed, but it was quickly followed with a grimace. The heaviness clung to his skin, making his staples and scars itch. Yeah, he could feel it. He could taste the atmospheric changes. It was hard to miss, even the humans were skittish today, and they were usually so pitifully oblivious to their surroundings. “How could I miss it? But it’s not our problem anymore, it’s not our job to guard them,” he gestured to moving crowd below. “Except, dear cousin. That we’ve been offered a deal from the new gods. They seem unable to fix whatever this is on their own,” Shouto said with a confident smirk. Dabi frowned, pursing his lips and glancing back at the mass of bodies where you had disappeared. Where he wouldn’t have a hope to see you again until tomorrow. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the other deity. Anxious to leave so he could come back fast, and desperate to stay to search for you futilely, he forced himself to go with the most productive. “Alright then. Where and when are we meeting the fledglings?” --- Read more content at my Patreon  

[aminiatureworld]

A Light in the Storm

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Panic attacks, passing out

Premise: Jaskier, having just joined Geralt, is excited for new adventures. Unfortunately for him panic strikes at an inopportune moment, and his adventure, not to mention his relationship with the Witcher, is thrown into question.

Author’s Note: The ending might be a bit brusque, but I thought that going on would be a bit irrelevant to the core of the story, as well as to the development of the characters. I might release the rest of it as an epilogue, tell me if you'd like that!

If you want to know the true story this is based off, as well as if you wish to read my thanks to those who've read my most recent fanfiction before this, please read the endnote. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Ao3 link in reblog

          If Jaskier had to decide the worst part of losing mobility in basically one’s entire body, being unable to even sit properly, much less climb or move about, was probably the worst bit of it. Lying down, hissing in pain as he propped up his elbow in a way that hurt less, because a baseline of pain was a given at this point, Jaskier lay his head back upon the pillows and wondered where it all went wrong. Not that he didn’t know, he knew the exact moment everything went wrong, and it was the first time he’d ever seen something get struck by lightning.

           He’d been about twelve at the time, and it’d been an offshoot building for one of his parents’ manors. Lightning had struck the wooden roof, and the fire torched the whole thing to ground, as well as a wing of the greater manor and about half of the gardens. The whole family as well as the servants had run outside in a panic, and it was hours before the blaze had been put out. The memory had seared into Jaskier’ss brain, as had the unfortunate side effect of panic attacks which, in the worst cases, resulted in him passing out.

           Of course such a handicap at least had the benefit of being easy enough to hide. The odd thunderstorm, though it set his heart and mind racing, usually didn’t result in something as drastic as fainting, most panic attacks didn’t. So when he’d set off with his new witcher friend, or whatever Geralt was calling them, Jaskier didn’t consider the possibility that one such attack might surface. Besides, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, surely he’d grown out of it! Unfortunately for Jaskier, hubris is not, in fact, stronger than fear.

           They’d been up in the mountains when the troubles really started. The first flashes of lightning had set the hairs on Jaskier’s neck straight up, but counting it the storm seemed a good thirty miles away, and surely it would all be okay. His tentative optimism had been destroyed pretty quickly however, and when Jaskier saw a flash of lightning, willowy and branching like an infernal tree, he knew that it was a matter of time before the panic caught up with him. “Geralt…” he called out to his companion.

           “Hmm?” Came the familiar reply. Normally Jaskier thought the Witcher’s reticence to speak was vaguely hilarious, and definitely adorable, but in that moment he felt sure that, had he also been on horse, Geralt would’ve been two seconds away from getting strangled. Gritting his teeth and attempting to keep his tone light, Jaskier pressed on.

           “I think we ought to find shelter, wait for the storm to ride itself out. The thunder must be unpleasant to witchers, no?” He looked at Geralt, who was glancing towards the storm, the storm whose growing strength seemed directly congruent to Jaskier’s panic, and silently pleaded that he’d said something of some sense, that he might be able to save his pride before he lost it forever.

           “It’s far enough, it won’t bother us. Besides,” Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, a vague smirk painted on his face, “Roach and I have both seen and heard much worse.”

           “Of course you have.” Jaskier muttered to himself, realizing that the possibility of a simple escape was simply not going to happen, and wondering if he could just willpower himself out of the situation. Surely he could tell his brain to just… not? Continuing on the mountainous trek, and flinching every time he say a flash of lightning out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier almost thought that he might be able to make it, for they were about to turn away from the highest cliffs, and thus the unobstructed view of the storm, when another flash of lightning, this one seeming must closer, hit a group of trees, which promptly burst into flames.

           “Geralt…” Jaskier gasped out, for the familiar feeling of heat was rushing to his head and the world was beginning both to fizz out of his vision, seeming mosre and more like he’d been dunked underwater.

           “Jaskier?” Geralt shifted in his saddle. Jaskier stumbled forward, almost losing his footing, his knees seeming to go out beneath him.

           “Alcohol-” He managed to make it that far before some unseen obstacle hit the tip of his boots, and, listing slightly to the side, his eyes closed and he was enveloped by heat.

           Jaskier came to, feeling quite groggy, lying on his back, his arms bent around his head. He immediately felt the return of the hot, floating feeling, and closed his eyes, waiting for the cool, open air to come back to him; only then would he be safe. Attempting to sit up after the first few cooling moments, Jaskier found he could barely do such a thing before immediately having to bend over again, as everything around him swam.

           “Jaskier!” The voice came to him belatedly. Too weak and unsure to look up Jaskier gave a short “uhm” back, assuring Geralt that Jaskier was, indeed, alive. A wineskin was shoved into his face, the pungent smell snapping a bit of the heat and static back, and Jaskier grabbed onto it, drinking deeply, despite the taste being, charitably, something akin to piss. He gasped for air after a few seconds, the confusion slowly wearing off, but the adrenaline still too prominent for him to care much about his situation, at least care any farther than the battle to keep awake, for he’d truly failed to fight it off the first time.

           “How long.” He croaked out at last, still staring down, his head in his arms. He was vaguely beginning to register the stinging pain, which surrounded his left elbow, right knee, right shoulder, and various parts of his hands.

           “Five minutes or so, eight maximum.” Jaskier sighed, but he was grateful that the man hadn’t simply rode off, leaving the poor bard to, well, Jaskier wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure what to do now, unwilling to ask how much damage this whole thing was going to do to his new relationship with his companion. For, as he was quickly becoming aware, Jaskier had just presented a most embarrassing scene, and, almost in preparation for Geralt’s inevitable scorn, embers of resentment began to flicker.

           “Sorry I inconvenienced you like this.” He knew his tone probably sounded like a whining old man, or perhaps a wchild who’d shouted for a bit too long, but everything was beginning to hurt a lot more, and Jaskier could barely find the energy to raise his head up, much less deal with such complicated things as the breakdown of a barely started acquaintance. “I’ll be fine now.” He gingerly stood up, but the panic attack was gone, as suddenly as it’d arrived, and Jaskier found that he felt perfectly fine. Ignoring Geralt’s questions and gruff assurances that they could wait, accepting only to ride on Roach for some time, Jaskier quickly had them setting off again, wanting nothing at the moment but to find someplace where he could sleep for twelve hours, and dreading nothing but what would inevitably happen after that.

           When a town had finally been found and they’d arrived at the stables, Jaskier realized that maybe he should’ve just walked. Bending his knee hurt like hell, but it was the slightest movement of his left arm that had his nerves screaming in pain. Stiffly swinging his right leg over, Jaskier fell out of the saddle, and probably would’ve hit the ground, if Geralt weren’t there to catch him.

           “You need to get a doctor.” Geralt’s voice seemed even gruffer than usual, and Jaskier fought the urge to roll his eyes.

           “What I need first and foremost is a bath, and to rebandage everything again, do you witchers not use regular herbs to fight infection? Or is it a liquid diet for you all.” Lifting himself up Jaskier gave a short “thank you” to Geralt, before walking off, or attempting to at least, his pathetic hobbling goin the speed of about 0.005 miles per hour. His pride was smarting, now that the danger of a relapse was next to none, and the stares of the townspeople hardly helped one bit. Scowling, Jaskier stared at the slight step that one needed to cross to get into the inn, but before he could screw up his courage to get his leg up he was suddenly hauled up off the ground, and straight into Geralt’s arms.

           “You need a doctor.” The Witcher reiterated, and this time Jaskier said nothing, silently admitting that Geralt did have a point, even if it was one that the bard would rather not admit. His arms both flaring, not to mention his dangling knee, every step Geralt took had Jaskier swearing in pain, and slightly worried that he tumble out of the other man’s arms. Thankfully Geralt seemed an expert in carrying wounded people, and even managed to grasp under Jaskier’s arm, to his great relief. Ignoring the stares, it wasn’t every day a quiet village saw a man with silver hair carrying another man who looked like he’d just gotten the shit beat out of him, Jaskier closed his eyes, and silently wondered how fast the Witcher was going to drop him once the danger had passed.

           The apothecary, for there were no real doctors in a place like this, made quick work, and even quicker examination of the bard, and soon Jaskier was given his promised bath, before being shuffled into a rough bed, pillows propping up his leg, left arm, and head. His hands had also been bandaged, the apothecary having asked what kind of cat Jaskier had gotten mixed up with after seeing the cuts in his fingers. It would be a while before he’d be back on his lute. It was that, more than anything else, which frustrated Jaskier, for even after his hands healed there was still the matter of his elbow, having been dislocated and badly bruised, which resulted in most movements, even bending, being impossible before and now, the apothecary having set the bones back into place, incredibly painful. Music was everything to Jaskier, and the thought of how much time he’d have to spend away from it put him in the blackest of moods.

           There was another thing that kept Jaskier from drifting off to sleep, no matter how much his body screamed at him to rest. That, of course, was the matter of Geralt. So far the Witcher hadn’t said much. He’d listened to the apothecary’s orders as to how Jaskier was to rest, before silently carrying him back to the inn, his only words being to the man behind the bar, asking for a room and hot water. After helping Jaskier strip and bathe, something the bard would never stop feeling embarrassed about, Geralt put Jaskier to bed, before walking out the door without another word. Nothing more than half an hour could’ve actually passed since then, but to Jaskier the minutes felt like hours, and enough time had passed for him to live out a variety of scenarios on how Geralt’s leaving was going to go. Jaskier at least hoped that Geralt would tell him, rather than perhaps just ditching him to ride off in search of less pathetic companions.

           Eventually Jaskier must’ve fallen asleep, for after what seemed merely like a blink of the eye the world had suddenly turned to night, and Geralt was back, with a wide variety of supplies, which crowded the table in the room. The Witcher himself was staring down at Jaskier, who attempted a small smile, one that the Witcher didn’t mirror. He looked as stone faced as ever, but he was back, and that had to count for something, right?

           “Geralt-” Jaskier began, but the Witcher shook his head, before walking over to the table and picking up something.

           “Poultice, for the cuts on your hand. It’ll bring the swelling down, and hopefully prevent infection.” He reached out his free hand, and Jaskier tentatively placed his own hand in Geralt’s palm. Unwrapping the bandages, Geralt spread out the slightly warm onto the bard’s palm, and Jaskier sighed, for despite the heat it did indeed seem to be drawing out the pain.

           “Glad you know something of herbs.” He looked to Geralt, who smirked slightly.

           “We witchers don’t solely rely on, what did you call it, a liquid diet?”

           “Well thank the gods for that!” Jaskier exclaimed emphatically, before growing serious, for if they had to part, he’d rather it’d be on his own terms. “You don’t have to stay with me Geralt. Thank you for bringing me here, for your help with the innkeeper and the herbs, and stripping me down to my braies…” he paused, hoping that his face wasn’t as red as it felt, or at least that Geralt wouldn’t take much notice of it, “but I can take care of myself now. I know you weren’t thrilled to have my company in the beginning, and that a witcher can’t very well take on a companion liable to faint at every passing storm. I cannot blame you if you leave, but I’d like you to at least give me notice, that way I’ll not expect you back.” Realizing he’d been speaking so quickly he’d forgotten to breathe Jaskier choked out the last words before a long intake of breath, followed by a sigh. He looked at the Witcher, who was staring back, brows furrowed slightly.

           “I’m not leaving you.” The words were short and brusque, and Jaskier was beginning to feel irritated. Why was the man making this harder than it already was? The last thing Jaskier needed was pity nannying.  

           “Damn it Geralt I’m bruised, not paralyzed. I’ll be perfectly fine in a day or two, and good as new in a few weeks!” Pulling his hand out of the Witcher’s his elbow grazed the mattress, and Jaskier let out a hiss of pain. Rearranging himself, Jaskier then turned back to his companion, who now was most certainly annoyed, as was evident from the frown contorting his face.

           “Last I checked perfectly fine people aren’t hurt by pillows. I’m not leaving, and that’s final.”

           “You say that now, but what about when I’m better, huh Geralt? You really expect me to think that you won’t leave the minute I can walk? There’s no point in pretending otherwise, so stop trying to act like your plans for staying go past a week!” Jaskier felt he’d probably said too much, but he’d already collapsed in front of Geralt. Whatever dignity he’d had in regards to the Witcher had definitely disappeared the moment he’d required reviving after a thunderstorm.

           “Do you think so little of me and my kind as that?” Geralt’s tone was gruff again, half incoherent by hurt, gravelly and low. “I’m going to abandon you in the middle of fucking nowhere. And I’m not going to listen to you throw accusations at me. If you want me to leave I will, but I’m not going to act out your twisted scenarios to save your pride.”

           “This has nothing to do with pride!” Jaskier burst out, though he wasn’t being entirely true, for indeed there was a part of him that smarted at the idea of Geralt knowing about how badly he reacted to storms, that resented the idea of adventures being thwarted by a single incident such as this. Geralt was evidently as unconvinced as Jaskier, and simply raised an eye. s

           Trying to find better words Jaskier sighed. His head was pounding by now, and he wanted to do nothing more than go back to sleep, for starting this conversation now seemed like a horrible idea. “I want to keep traveling with you,” he restarted, “but I don’t want either you or myself hampered by this. I joined you because you smelt of adventure, remember? I’m not about to be coddled, or for you to keep me out of pity while you secretly resent my presence. Or for you to leave me in town every time you go out. If I wanted that I would’ve stayed home.”

           “I won’t do that.” Geralt replied. “And I wouldn’t give up the Path for your fear of storms. But I also won’t simply leave you. I won’t coddle you, and I won’t abandon you. Happy?”

           “And if there’s another storm?”

           “Then I’ll load you up on liquor. Isn’t that what you were asking for before you fell?”

           “It does help.” Jaskier admitted. “But are you sure you’d be willing to jump through all those hoops? I don’t want you to resent me.”

           “I am. And I won’t.” The answers were as simple as the assurance he wasn’t going to leave, but this time Jaskier felt slightly hopeful, not to mention wildly lucky and a bit in disbelief.

           “Why?” He ventured, for he had to know, had no illusions that Geralt was the kind of man who would do this to anyone in need. Not the same man who decked Jaskier in the stomach the first time they met.

           “Because I want to.” Geralt replied, before turning towards the table, a sign that the real answer wasn’t going to be revealed anytime soon. Content with that Jaskier let his head loll back on the pillows and once again drifted off to sleep.

End note: Two days ago I passed out in a parking lot after getting vaccinated (get your shots y'all I've passed out before but am still up to date) and decided hey when life gives you lemons! Due to the unfortunate state of medicine in the Witcher universe I changed shots to lightning. Coincidentally earlier this summer a transformer (the electricity kind) was struck by lightning and two garages and a house burned down on my block. Write what you know, amiright?

My deepest thanks to the 10 people who liked/reblogged my last fanfiction. I realize it was a bit of an incoherent music rant, so I'm so glad that at least some people found it enjoyable. You guys are the best!

[mahoganypens]

Until Death, Together

Even though Avery has loosened his navy tie a few times, he still couldn’t help but notice the itch in his throat. He coughed into his fist hoping on dislodging the feeling tapping at the base of his neck.  Avery’s eyes searched the gathering of suits and dresses, trying to find someone familiar. He saw a man who almost had the same degree in the curve of his back that his grandfather did when he was alive. But other than that, the only person he could feel of sense of familiarity was from the young man seating in the center of the long table in front of the group of people. He looked the same he did on the last day school, when they shared a cigarette behind the barely held together building. And he looked the same way he did on the first day of school, when they were sitting in their kindergarten class, sharing the box of crayons because Avery never remembered to bring his. But the boy had exchanged his jersey for a tux and took his girlfriend from sophomore year as a bride.

Avery’s fingertips twitched for a cigarette, but he had left his only pack in the car. His leg jumped, knocking into the table enough times that the flower that rested in the vase had shifted from one side to the other.

               “Sorry, I think this is my seat,” a soft voice came, even though the music was pouring through the speakers. Avery tore his gaze from the groom to the stranger. Her blonde hair matched her dress and her manicured nails gripped the back of the covered chair. Avery mumbled an apology and pulled his jacket off to lay on his lap. She gave him a small smile before sitting down. She looked around the same way Avery did, searching for someone that could strike a memory or conversation. With no luck, she leaned forward, elbows on the table, and sighed.

               Avery couldn’t help but give her a breathy laugh in response. She considered at him, pale lips plucking at the corner in a hidden smile.

               “Bride or groom?” she asked. Avery’s eyebrow, which was usually sitting straight on his forehead, curved to the question.

               “Groom,” he said, reaching for his glass. “And you, Madison?” The girl seemed taken aback from the name, which confirmed Avery suspicions. It was her turn to contort her expression to convey her question. Before she could vocalize it, Avery lifted one finger off the elegant wine glass that only held water, and pointed to the card on the table.  She laughed when she took in the word on the paper, which was twisting and twirling in a cursive handwriting, and nodded to the identical one a few inches away. 

“I’m a friend of the bride, Mr.” she paused to read the name, “Avery.”

               A few songs played before Avery noticed the tinge of gray in the room. He leaned back in his chair and looked from the dancing teenagers to the couple small talking by the table encased with food. The woman wore a large hat, which hung low with decorations weighing it down. Avery was almost distracted from the jewels, but the thin trail of smoke coming from behind it captured his attention. Avery tapped his glass against the table, Madison’s eyes pulled from the dance floor to Avery’s gray ones. He motioned towards the gaudy head dress. At first, Madison was falling in the same track as Avery, taking in the gigantic, indigo jewel in the center of her hat, until Avery waved his hand.

“Do you see that?” he asked. Madison squinted. She gasped, turning around to find anything red pinned on the wall.

“We should go put it out,” her chair scrapped against the tile flooring, and she threw her napkins on the table, “We have to find someone in charge. We should tell someone, right? Avery, are you even listening?” Madison was frantically searching, but Avery could only watch as the fire picked up momentum.

“I don’t think we have to,” he said. A scream fell over the room, cutting off the music and rhymes. The room erupted in a flood of panic. Everyone jumped to the opposite side of the ball room, pushing tables and slower guests out of the way. A toddler was crying in the center of the room until his mother came over and scooped him up. The embers crawled along the table, engulfing the plates of food as if a starving beast. The bride yelled through the narrow halls, crying to her father to save the blessed day. And Avery stood, back pressed against someone else’s and stared at the crimson death.

“I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this.” He whispered, “Because if I wasn’t, I would never believe it.” He felt a smack on his shoulder and turned to Madison. She was glaring at him, which laid awkward on her usually sweet expression.

               “This is awful,” she said. “We should have done something.”

               “There wasn’t anything we could have done.” There still wasn’t. As the room of people started to thin out, the hot summer air breathing into the room from the open double door entrance gave the fire a chance to grow in size. It snaked farther down the table until it completely consumed the tall crafted cake with its heat. Finally, a man in a ruffled suit came running through the crowd with a fire extinguisher. He attacked from the back, starting where the fire originated from. But he couldn’t kill the flames fast enough. Avery watched as the fire ripped the wrapping paper and burnt the delicate bows from the gift boxes as Madison pulled him from the room.

               Once on the steps of the banquet hall, he could hear the sorrowful cry of the white dressed woman, followed by requesting the company of her wedded husband. Avery let himself be pulled from the entrance, Madison not stopping until they were far from the smoke bellowing out of the doorway. Nothing was spoken between them until an ear-splitting noise ripped through the trees. The firetruck slammed on it brakes a few feet from the building and the helmeted men got to work.

               Madison shivered next to him, even though the heat was still sticking to their skin. Avery cleared his throat and tucked his fist into the pocket of his pants. They watched as the crew of firemen entered the hall with a hose dragging behind them, as they shouted commands to the party members. The moon twisted and faded behind the mask of smoke. Avery’s fingertips started to twitch again, nails digging into his palm to keep from shaking in the cotton. Avery took in everyone with a glance as they walked from the hall to the sidewalk, and when the groom made an appearance, Avery’s chest couldn’t help but swell. He had a moment of deafening silence, gaze drowning in the panicked look Jeremy was delivering to him. Only once Jeremy’s shaking hands caught capture of Avery’s sleeves and started to twist him, did Avery senses return to him. But they were ripped away and torn apart again when soft lips met his.

Avery’s shock was choked by the absolute happiness he felt to have Jeremy’s lips on his again. When he pulled away, if felt like every other time. Happiness being replaced with shame. Except this time, Jeremy didn’t leave. He didn’t run from Avery. He pulled Avery closer and whispered into his ear, in the same breathy tone Jeremy had when he told Avery that he loved him the first time.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” The words didn’t get a chance to be duplicated, because Madison was watching beside them, arms crossed and head tilted up.

“Where is Dianne?” The question was a moral one that neither the groom nor the night answer. But it still trembled the cords of his spine and made Avery take a half a step away from the man. Dianne. The woman he married to get away from his past. To get away from Avery. They waited for his response, but Avery was distracted from the thumb rubbing against his chin and the vicious hold Jeremy had him in.

               With everyone’s back to the banquet hall, Avery was the first one to make eye contact with the white dressed lady. Her mouth drove itself to the ground, following the descent of the bouquet.

               ”Jeremy,” her voice shook the night, “what the hell are you doing?”

               “Honey,” Jeremy turned to hide Avery behind him, reminding Avery a lot of their past and how Jeremy was too scared of his family’s threats to put himself on view. But this time, Jeremy hand was still glued to his. Avery didn’t intend on letting go again. “It’s. It’s not what you think.”

               “It sure as hell is.” She glared around her running mascara, spitting her words out as if they were loaded with venom, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Honey,”

“Don’t honey me, you piece of shit.” With wild eyes, she lifted her recently manicured hand to tear off the silver bands from her finger. The ground had no warning before the jewelry smashed into it, seconds before the heel of her shoes dug them deeper into the dirt. “It’s over!”

“Please, let me explain.” Jeremy slowly lifted his arm and tried to walk toward the woman in white. She shook her head, curls tumbling about, and removed a dirt covered shoe, aiming strictly at the groom’s forehead. Jeremy ducked in time, earning Avery a high heel to the chest.

“Fuck you!” and with that, she stalked to her family waiting in a limo. It drove off with the writing “Just Married” reading back to them.

There was a few moments of quiet. Madison, still glued to her spot, blinked. No commentary spared, she flicked her wrist at the two, turned on her heels, and made her way to the almost empty parking lot.

Jeremy and Avery stood motionless. The only evidence that they were still there were the traces of each other’s heart beat under the other’s fingertips. A fireman approached the two eventually, telling them they didn’t know what or who started the fire, and they requested that men should leave the scene until the investigation was finished. Avery dragged Jeremy until the grass turned into cement. When his car came into view, he let go of his hand. Avery watched as Jeremy turned the rings that he unearthed earlier.

He sighed, searching for his keys in his pocket and unlocked the car.

“Jerry, I have to go.”

“I know,”

“You need to go talk to your bride.” Just thinking the phrase felt like touching a hot iron. Saying it was like swallowing one.

“I know,” he whispered, closing his fingers around the rings.

“We can’t see each other. Never again.”

“I know,”

Avery sharply nodded, cleared his throat, and opened his door. Falling into the car was the hardest thing he’s done in a long time. But he knew that he needed to do this. For Jeremy. Perhaps that’s why.

The engine started the same time the passenger’s door opened. Avery glanced to the seat and caught a glimpse of Jeremy before he took Avery’s dimples into his hands and kissed him. Jeremy pulled back to stare into Avery’s eyes, and he still have the same tug on his lips when he got lost in them.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how to fix my past. And I don’t know how my family will ever accept me for who I am. But I know a fake love isn’t worth it if you’re losing the real one. I know that if I let you go another time, I’ll never get another chance.” Jeremy ran a few fingers through Avery’s hair, fingertips finding home behind his ears. “I just know that I love you. With or without my parent’s or the world’s permission.”

Avery smiled and ducked in to kiss Jeremy again. Just because he can.

[garbageismydomain]

Shrouded in Light

Well, here we are again with a story for @huxloween. We’re 18 in and I’m still going strong. I’m quite proud of myself. Anyway, here is another one of those “visions of the future” fics. I was actually nice today.

Armitage wandered out in the back fields of the academy in a daze. His father had just gotten finished telling him what a worthless child he was. It was not the first time nor would it be the last. Sloane had been able to stymie the physical abuse but his father had a way of getting under your skin. He didn’t yell, yelling would call attention to them. Instead he condescended to Armitage. Speaking to him as if he were too stupid to even write his own name. No matter how good Armitage got at anything his father would always be the same. It was disheartening. Neither Sloane nor the children under his command would ever be able to take away that sting.

Armitage reached the “lake” in the fields. It wasn’t a lake in the real sense; it was a drainage ditch that didn’t drain. Hux sat beside the tepid water, watching the sun fall below the horizon. He wasn’t particularly relaxed here but being away from the noise of other people gave him a moment to reorient himself. He closed his eyes and laid back in the grass.

Armitage wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but he was awoken by the sound of splashing and then the sound of running. He bolted up grabbing for his boot knife. Instantly aware he took stock of his surroundings. There was no sign that anyone from the academy had come looking for him but as he glanced around he noticed something odd.

The planet had a specific type of aquatic fungus that glowed an eerie green color at night. Part of the reason Hux liked this specific drainage ditch was because it was absolutely over run with colonies of it. When he looked at the growing drainage ditch he noticed that there was a trail leading out of the water and into the woods just beyond the academy line. Hux’s higher logic was telling him to go back inside, but some of the little bit of wonder and interest hadn’t been beaten out of him and that part was telling him to follow the trail. Hux glanced back at the academy for a moment, trying to convince his body to turn around and go back inside, but after a moment he found himself running along the trail of glowing slime into the darkness.

The path whatever had come out of the water had taken through the forest was wild. It was almost as if it was leaving a trail for him to follow. Again, the side of Armitage that held only reason and practicality told him that this was highly unusual and maybe dangerous, but Armitage ran on.

The trail finally brought him to a cave that Armitage was familiar with. On occasion the cadets would go out on training missions in these woods. He had discovered this cave when he was scouting out the forest and instead of letting the rest of the boys know he kept it to himself. The cave was his secret, the other boys would have certainly told his father and his father would have certainly had it destroyed. Not only to spite Armitage, although that would definitely be a benefit, but because the walls of the cave were absolutely covered in ancient art. Hux remembered looking at the walls with amazement. So many scenes of battles forgotten by history, thousands of dead races were painted here. If Armitage were to be asked in the proper mood he may even use the word “beautiful” to describe it.

He stepped into the cave and let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. It was even more magnificent at night. The fungus grew here as well, but as opposed to the green color alone it glimmered in every shade that Armitage had ever seen. The cudgels that Armitage had first percieved as made of wood were now glowing in every imaginable color. They were lightsabers. These were force users thousands of years ago. Armitage just stood in the middle of the cave, mouth agape. That was until he heard a cough.

Armitage spun on his heel brandishing his knife. In the darkness he perceived a small hunched figure.

“Identify yourself,” Hux hissed at the figure cloaked in darkness. The thing laughed.

“I am the rightful inhabitant of this cave young one,” the voice spoke, light and melodious. “I should be the one asking you to identify yourself.”

The figure shuffled forward a bit and there was a click. Armitage prepared himself to flee but after a moment a small lantern began to glow at the feet of the other in the cave. When Armitage’s eyes adjusted he took in the figure.

The other was alien, and possibly female based on the voice. She was immensely short, and even looking at her sitting Armitage could tell she would barely come up past his hip if she were to stand. More to the point however was that the creature’s eyes were milky white and without pupils.

“Yes Armitage Hux, I am blind and I am female,” she chuckled, somehow staring right at him with her sightless eyes. She gestured to a small pillow across from where she sat. “Please, sit. You are a guest.”

Armitage hesitated for a moment. Again the logical side of his brain was telling him to turn back now. This was all too strange. But still, he found his body moving against logic and he sat down.

“What would a blind creature want with a cave filled with art?” Armitage asked, trying to get comfortable. The pillow was certainly more pleasant than the rock floor, but it was still lumpy and odd. The creature laughed and smiled at him with her mouth full of gaps and rotted teeth.

“I wasn’t always blind,” she answered, waving a hand. A fire sprung up in a small pit where Hux had been standing only a few moments before. With another gesture she summoned a kettle and hook to hang over the fire.

“How are you doing that?” Hux gasped, watching the fire leap and kettle float of its own free will. He turned back to the stooping alien.

“The Force, young one. The same way I knew your name, the same way I could hear your wonder.” She smiled. “Same as I saw that you would end up here tonight.”

“I heard the Force is just trickery for people who believe in magic over science,” Hux huffed. That is what his father insisted anyway.

“Your father is a fool,” she wheezed. “But you know that already. It’s interesting that you don’t believe in the Force young one, I feel it around you.”

“Don’t the mystics say that the Force flows through all living beings?” Hux asked.

“Yes, of course. The Force engulfs the galaxy even out here in the Unknown Regions. But no child,” she said, leaning forward as if she were examining him closely with her blind eyes. “You, there is something that has wrapped itself around you like a shroud.”

Hux wiggled uncomfortably. The idea that something was attached to him that he had no control over was unsettling.  

“I can’t explain it any better than you are entwined with a destiny that will have you surrounded by the Force.” The crone rubbed her chin for a moment and then her face cracked into a smile. “Ah, I know just the thing.” She waved her hand again and a mug floated out of a small box on the ground. It floated to the now boiling kettle and filled itself with water. The mug then floated over to a cabinet where a bottle of mysterious herbs tipped itself into the water. It settled on the cabinet.

“Armitage Hux, boy in the shroud,” she said, reaching into a small bag at her side and producing a small thermos. “I will give you an opportunity that very few ever receive.” She handed the thermos to him. “You may fill the thermos with the tea that is brewing there before you leave. Drink it before you go to sleep tonight. You will see the shroud and what it ties you too.”

“You mean you are allowing me to see my future?” he asked, turning the thermos around in his hands.

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “It is your choice. You may go without if you wish, but this is a rare opportunity. The tea is ready, Armitage.”She spoke, gesturing at the cup.

When Hux looked over he heard the lantern shut off and a sound like the wind whipping through the cave. He turned back. Where the old alien had been sitting was just a pile of old pillows. The fire was still burning, but gradually getting lower. He stood and went to the steaming mug. For a moment he contemplated living without foresight. But what was this shroud? He poured the steaming liquid into the thermos and screwed it shut.

Armitage Hux had only one true luxury here, and that was that he did not share a bunk. In prior years the cadets had needed to share quarters, but in their current location there were enough small rooms for each cadet to have a private room. Never before had Hux been more thankful for that. He climbed into bed in his pajamas, opening the thermos. The smell that wafted out was not unpleasant. It was something like fresh melons with something spicy behind it. It reminded him vaguely of a tea from a long forgotten memory. A woman with red hair, drinking spicy tea. He shook the thought away and contemplated the drink once more.

“Well, bottoms up,” he said to himself, taking a mouthful of the liquid. For a moment he didn’t taste anything, but suddenly his mouth was tingling like he’d rolled in thorn bushes. He swallowed reflexively and breathed hard. His whole mouth was numb and he slowly felt the sensation creep down his throat. For a moment his mind wandered to the thought that the witch had poisoned him, but even as he grasped at the thought he found himself falling backwards into a great black chasm.

Instead of landing hard on the ground he found himself suddenly cradled by arms as if he were a bride. He looked up and found that looking at him was a black and silver mask, dented and worn, covered with soot. The air around them was filled with embers and the figure’s long flowing robes flew out behind them. The creature carrying him was breathing hard as if he was running.

“Hang on, General,” the figure whispered through the vocoder in the mask. Hux blinked and found himself in another vision.

He was on the deck of a great starship, the vastness of space visible before him through the transparisteel window. He glanced to his side and saw the same figure that had been running with him in his arms. He was staring out at the stars too, or so he could only assume with the mask. He felt the figure squeeze his hand and blinked. There he was in another vision.

A man was standing over him now. His face was bisected by a scar that was long healed, and he had a towel draped around his waist. His hair was wet as if he had just showered with real water, and his pale skin glistened in the early morning light.

“Armitage, it’s time to get ready. Your subjects are waiting,” the man said, a faint smile playing across his lips. Armitage blinked one last time. And he was in yet another vision.

He was sitting on a dais staring out at a sea of beings. Many species all crowded in a large town square. He glanced to one side, seeing the man with the bisected face sitting in a royal red robe with his face painted like ancient Nabooian royalty and a glance to the other allowed him to catch his reflection in the chrome armor of a storm trooper. He himself was also in a luxurious robe, this one as white as the mood, and with a simple circlet on his head. An emperor. He blinked and it was all gone.

The next he knew he bolted out of bed and threw up onto the floor. The visions continued to run through his mind as he dry heaved over the side of his cot. He breathed slowly, feeling the nausea pass. He grabbed a tissue from a box on his side table and dabbed at his mouth and nose. He cleaned  up his sick and lied back down to sleep. When he awoke in the morning he could still feel the man squeezing his hand.

[sofeyhh]

Sons Of Neptune

*BTS Metahuman Au

Part 11 / ?

“Yoongi.”

The man’s voice echoes in Yoongi’s ears as he stands in his small kitchen, warily watching the scene that played out in his living room. Just hearing him call out his name brought back memories that threatened to peel away at his past.

“Yoongi.”

Hoseok was laid on his couch with his eyes closed. Yoongi hadn’t dared to step foot any closer - for many reasons. The most prominent one being: having to face the truth that the man is and isn’t the Hoseok he knew.

“Yoongi.”

Namjoon adjusts Hoseok’s head and places his open palms on his temples, using his abilities to clear Hoseok’s mind from the anaesthetic they pumped in him.

“Yoongi.”

He turns away from his view of the living room and stares at his empty glass with hunched shoulders. There were so many emotions brewing in him that it overwhelmed him; bitterness, ambivalence, sorrow.

“Yoongi,” a soft voice lures him out of his trance. This time, it was Jimin calling out his name. He feels an arm linger around his figure, deciding for a second if it was intruding before it wraps around his shoulders. “You don’t look so well. Maybe you should rest in your room.”

Ever since the intimate night they spent together on the balcony, and later on, in his room, Yoongi seems to find himself gravitating towards Jimin and heeding every soothing word that comes out from his lips as if he was under a spell. And it wasn’t just his voice; it was those wide moon-shaped eyes that pierced with innocence and curiosity, sucking Yoongi in. They were irresistible. To him, Park Jimin was the embodiment of comfort, security and unrequited love.

He had to forcibly turn his head away in order to tear his eyes from Jimin’s. The boy had an effect on him unlike no other. “Yeah..” Yoongi sighs. “I need to lie down.”

All at once, fatigue washes over him, crashing on his aching muscles. He groans in discomfort as he straightens his back. The numerous times Yoongi had to teleport in the short period of time had put a strain on his energy level. And not to mention, his head was still pounding from the shot of memory Namjoon had given him. But he had been overly anxious with Hoseok’s presence that it didn’t dawn on him earlier.

Yoongi sticks close to the wall as he passes by the couch, still intimidated by the person lying on it. Subconsciously, his movements hesitate at the foot of his room door. He feels an obscure energy he was unfamiliar with, tug at him, pointing towards Jimin, who was stood by the kitchen counter.

Without realising, he calls out to him. “Jimin,” his lips said, catching the younger boy’s attention. “Can you…stay by my side for now?”

The light in Jimin’s eyes brightens visibly as he eagerly nods, and within a fraction of a second, he was physically by Yoongi’s side. Strangely, having Jimin near him, instantaneously filled up a void in him. Yoongi subtly shakes his head, wondering why he had such a deep connection with the boy.

—

The insides of Jimin’s tummy churned and flipped and fluttered as he tucked himself under the covers. His senses were on high when he feels the dip of the mattress, soon followed by Yoongi’s smoky scent lingering in his nose. The night that he had slept with Yoongi on this very same bed, was pure bliss. To be wrapped in his embrace, to feel his body heat warming him, to hear his steady heartbeat, it melted Jimin to the core. It wasn’t a lie that on that night, Jimin had the best sleep in all his decades.

If genies in magical lamps existed, he would waste all three wishes on having Yoongi be his. But that kind of magic doesn’t exist. And Jimin had to face the fact that perhaps, this feeling was one-sided. After all, his past lover was back and from the looks of how flustered Yoongi was, there still may be unresolved feelings between the two.

Jimin turns to his side to face Yoongi, only to realise that the latter staring at him. He blushes, almost too easily, from Yoongi’s eyes watching him. The stare held inquisitive questions like he was trying to solve a riddle involving Jimin.

“Wh-why are you staring at me?” Jimin whispers. He was surprised by Yoongi’s boldness. His gaze didn’t falter even after his question. In fact, in only encouraged him to be bolder as Yoongi inches closer, his fingers lightly pinching Jimin’s chin.

“There’s something about you kid.” Yoongi purses his lips in deep thought. “I don’t know what it is yet, but there’s this energy that pulls me to you.”

Jimin’s heart thumped against his ribcage as he tries to steady his breathing. The sight of Yoongi’s hooded eyes and pouting lips got him to gulp. He changed his mind right there and then; he’d use one of his wishes to relive this moment again and again, on a never ending loop.

“Park Jimin,” Yoongi said, pronouncing each syllable painfully slow.

His voice was deeper than normal, sounding like gritty. It sent electrifying shivers down Jimin’s spine, making him giddy and jittery at the same time. The tension between them was so tight that Jimin couldn’t handle it anymore. His conscience was thrown out the window, the pedals’ down and his eyes were closed - this was it.

His heart stops as he captures Yoongi’s lips in his. They were cold and soft and wet all at the same time and all Jimin can do is sigh in satisfaction. He gently grasps Yoongi’s neck, rubbing it with the base of his thumb. Their lips move against each other at a rhythmic pace, savouring each other’s taste. A nostalgic feeling courses through their veins. It felt strange, but in a good way - like it wasn’t their first kiss. Jimin was on a high now and he wanted more. He shifts his weight, leg snaking around Yoongi’s waist as he straddles him.

“Ji-Jimin,” Yoongi whispers into the heated kisses while his hands entangle into Jimin’s fluffy pink hair. It was soft and silky, like how he had imagined it would be.

“Yoongi I - ah!”

A sudden shot of pain explodes on his chest as Jimin chokes back a cry. For a second, he thought he was electrocuted right in the heart. The sting seared like his chest was melted by lava as Jimin falls on his back, groaning in pain.

“Ah, fuck, what was that?!” Yoongi gasps.

Their heads sharply turned to face each other, realising that they had both felt the pain at the same time. It was odd. Before they could internalise what had happened, they hear their names yelled out from the living room. It was followed by a thunder of knocks on their door.

“He’s awake! Hoseok’s awake.”

Jimin’s heart plummets down to his stomach as he sees Yoongi bolt out of the bed, leaving him to deal with the aching chest in the empty room. Seeing Yoongi run out after Hoseok made him feel like everything that happened between them just a minute ago never even existed. Jimin was sure the hurt and disappointment he felt were painted across his face. Now, he really wished that genies and magical lamps existed.

—

“Joon-ah, are you thirsty?” Jin asked. He kneeled beside the taller man with a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon had been stuck in the same position for almost an hour now as he works on healing Hoseok. “I can make you some tea.”

Namjoon’s eyes were closed and his eyebrows were stitched together with concentration. He simply shook his head and offered a small smile to Jin, grateful his partner cared for him.

Their relationship had been strained right before they came to Tokyo when the sensitive topic of Min Yoongi came up. Namjoon knew that what he did can never be forgiven by Jin. Yoongi had been Jin’s oldest friend - they were practically brothers. And as his significant other, all Namjoon ever did was to drive his friend away. The guilt still gnawed at him. Without losing focus, he telepathically sends a message to Jin, hoping that his partner would know how grateful Namjoon was to be loved by him.

As Jin stands up, he hears Namjoon’s voice, “Jin, baby, thank you for everything you have done. Please know that I always love you. I can’t imagine not having you by my side.”

A smile dances on his lips as he once again looks over to his lover. Namjoon always knew how to warm his heart. Jin was about to bend over to plant a kiss on Namjoon’s forehead when a vision blinds him. He could feel his body being pulled into the tangents of time, limbs pulled in every direction when finally, he’s thrust into a world he was not familiar with. But the two faces he sees were Yoongi and Jimin.

The pair were donning robes that were the purest white Jin had ever seen. On their heads were crowns made of green vines and leaves and gold flowers entwined together. They were kneeling and facing each other on a big flat stone that floated in the middle of a pond. The water was crystal blue, so clear that Jin could see the school of fishes that swam by. Their linked hands were held together by a silk white ribbon tied around.

“On the coldest night, I’ll look for your glow among the burning embers of your fiery soul,” Jimin said with a smile. His eyes were watery, threatening to spill tears.

Then Yoongi replies, “And I’ll sift through the ashes in search of the spark that you ignited in my heart.”

Jin clutches his chest as he watches the two, still unsure what kind of vision it was. The passionate feeling of love was conspicuous as both Yoongi and Jimin recites, “O’ father of Neptune, bless your sons with an eternal love that will bind them forever.”

A cry of cheers roars from behind Jin as silver specks of dust fall over the pair. He wants to turn and see who those people were but he was glued to his position. At times, during his visions, he was only allowed to see a certain scene. And for this vision, he was meant to focus on Jimin and Yoongi. With their hands still tied by the ribbon, they lean forward, planting a soft kiss on the other’s lips. At that moment, Jimin’s robe curves forward, revealing his skin. Jin takes a closer look and sees a string of characters imprinted on the left side of Jimin’s chest, right above his heart.

“Those charact-”

Jin gasps in shock just as he was pulled out of the vision. The solemn scene of Jimin and Yoongi flies far away from him, dissolving back to the sight of Namjoon kneeling over Hoseok.

“Namjoon! I-”

Another gasp echoes in his ears, this time it wasn’t him. This time, it came from the man lying on the couch. Hoseok’s eyes flew open as he stumbles onto the floor. “Where am I?! Who the fuck are you people?”

BTS Au Masterlist

[inkingthewild]

Not Again

Oh look, it’s my first story on here! This is actually based on my personal experience in the Lost Woods. In the end I gave up, barrelled straight through and managed to get into Korok Forest out of sheer luck.

Enjoy!

Link sighed heavily, and wondered if rushing to Calamity Ganon would’ve been easier than trying to navigate the damned Lost Woods. 

He had dropped into the dense thicket of trees by accident, after a particularly unforgiving gust of wind had blown his flight from the Wasteland Tower off course. Link had huffed, but was largely unbothered by the change of plan, knowing he could figure out another route from his map.

That was before he touched down onto the thickly covered forest floor and the world dissolved into a haze of silver.

Now, Link found himself in alien territory. Gone were the familiar oak copses that dotted Hyrule, with their branches swaying gently in the warm sunlight. Instead, they were replaced with towering counterparts, which made Link feel tinier than he already was. These new trees even snarled; jagged, gaping holes in their trunks that made for an unsettling sight. The tell-tale sounds of wildlife which Link had gotten used to were noticeably absent: leaving an eerie silence, punctuated only by piercing howls. The air itself was alive; twisting, turning and looping as a heaving fog and concealing any discernible path - not that there were any. The scene could be called beautiful, but only dangerously so.

Conveniently, the Sheikah Slate had buzzed to static. If Link hadn’t been having a bad day before, he was definitely having one now. 

All right, he thought to himself, this shouldn’t be so difficult if I find a vantage point to find my bearings. Or anywhere that isn’t this foggy…

Except there wasn’t anything behind him. The fog, which now swirled almost mockingly around Link, had blocked the entire surrounding area, leaving him with no other option than to press onward and make his own way out.

“Oh, how lovely,” Link muttered exasperatedly. 

He trekked, wary of the odd Keese that bothered to engage him. The sun’s rays were feeble, leaving Link chilly and slightly sour as he pushed through the stubborn undergrowth. It seemed like an eternity before he finally caught sight of something worthwhile: a flickering orange speck in the distance. With a flare of optimism, Link broke into a run.

It was a torch. The cheerful flames danced, its embers disappearing into a wisp of smoke. Link craned his neck to stare in the direction the smoke trail had ended, and strangely enough it had floated towards another torch in the distance. Beyond the second, there stood a third. It seemed as if his luck was beginning to show at last.

After trudging through a particularly nasty swamp and narrowly avoiding a mob of Stalkoblins, Link managed to arrive at the fifth torch, which stood eclipsed by one of the ‘snarly trees’ (as he had dubbed them). However, there was a small problem - the smoke from this torch pointed to nothing. The way forward was now completely devoid of any light, instead occupied by sprawling trees entangled with grey mist. It almost felt as if the woods itself were challenging him. Can you find your way out, chosen hero?

“Well,” Link almost grinned, fuelled by his success so far, “I’ve been in worse. I’ll get out of here soon enough.”

In hindsight, Link should’ve remembered that things were rarely so straightforward when he was involved.

It first happened after he had stopped to catch his breath.

Leaning against the trunk of another snarly tree, Link had paused to survey his surroundings. It had been a minute before he picked up on little changes in the fog around him. Where it was lethargic and almost dormant before, it was now starting to thicken and build up, coiling and weaving ever closer and closer to Link as a cloud of white, amassing into a vehement conglomeration inching ever faster and faster - and then he was running, stumbling over the brambles littering the forest floor, gasping and spluttering, reaching out blindly before he was engulfed whole and his vision was overtaken by the phantom fog-

This, he learned grudgingly, would happen often. The liberty to observe and devise a logical route was stolen from him, because if he dared stay in one spot for too long, the treacherous mist would return him to the base of the tree accompanied by the final torch.

I wonder, Link thought dryly, dragging his feet, if I could pray my way out of this?

At this point, he was willing to parade naked and bald around Kakariko Village if it would get him out of the Goddess-forsaken woods.

Dear Goddess Hylia, he began, somewhat awkwardly - unlike Zelda he wasn’t well-versed in the art of praying - please, grant me a way out of this forest. I ask for… for your guidance, so that I may continue my quest once again, please, please let that not be what I think it is… O Goddess, I ask for a path so that I can make haste towards the castle… if you could help me right now I would be truly grateful to you- “no no no please NOT AGAI-”

By the thirty seventh time he was deposited in front of Hell (as he had now dubbed the snarly tree), Link was considering carving his name into one of the younger saplings. After all, Hyrule should remember him when he inevitably died from pure frustration.

By the time night had fallen, he had lost count of the number of times the fog had beaten him.

“Oaki… what do you think this lump is?”

Tasho nervously prodded the unmoving lump with a flimsy tree branch. Nothing strange usually ever turned up in Korok Forest - the Great Deku Tree protected them, after all! - but today he had woken up to find this strange… thing on the steps of the Keo Ruug shrine. 

“I don’t know…” Oaki scratched his head. “It doesn’t seem that scary! Maybe we could be friends when it wakes up? If it got through the Lost Woods, maybe it saw the Daag Chokah shrine! You know, the one I want to find for myself!”

“But what if it’s a monster? A disguised monster? Maybe we should tell the Deku Tree, just in ca-”

The lump erupted suddenly into a thunderous snore.

“ACK! Tasho! What is the lump DOING?” Oaki cowered with terror behind Tasho, who wasn’t doing so well himself.

“R-Run! Let’s go to the Deku Tree! He can help get rid of this thing!”

As the two Koroks fearfully scurried away, the lump in question rolled over and resumed his peaceful napping. The blue of his tunic stood out in stark contrast to the darker shrine underneath him as he gave another snore. It had been a tiring day, after all.