#life is just. so incredibly sad and confusing and empty these days

[mossbabie]

🚰

[inbabylontheywept]

"Yeah, sure, and I shit thermite. Be serious."

So. Maybe, he’d gone a little overboard after work that day. He’d admit that. Drinking the sad away wasn’t the most mature way to handle things, but when you got a letter from your dad saying-

Well saying that, you know, maybe it was okay to have a beer or two. In theory. In practice, that meant that two-beers-deep Earl had to somehow have enough willpower to say “naw, I don’t wanna become three-beers-deep Earl,” and then three-beers-deep Earl’s gotta say no to four-beers-deep Earl, and it’s just a bit of a shitshow from there.

Pardon the french.

At least he wasn’t on the clock. The worst thing that should’ve happened to him was waking up tomorrow with a fatass headache and upset friends. Instead, he was in the hospital, surrounded by men with guns, osmotically absorbing the most surreal conversation of his life.

“We’d heard that humans had remarkable healing abilities but this is incredible. Anyone else here would be dead, he’s just showing some signs of esophageal irritation.”

“We got any idea of the culprit?”

“We’re looking over security footage but the culprit must be some kind of ghost. We’ve gone over the security footage at least twenty times, nobody can spot a thing.”

Earl couldn’t help it. He spoke.

“What are you talking about?”

The detective and the doctor jumped at the sound of his voice.

“What the shit-

The doc’s hand went over the detective's mouth, cutting off the oath just a hair too late. The duo looked after each other, before the detective gestured for the doctor to go first.

“I… don’t have very much experience with humans. We thought it’d be a couple of days at least before you woke up. How are you feeling?”

Earl coughed a few times.

“Throat’s raw, head’s pounding, and would kill for anything fried in grease. Pretty standard hangover.”

The detective cut in at that.

“Eh, except for the part where someone poisoned you.”

Earl shrugged.

“Must not have been very good poison.”

The lawman didn't laugh.

“Hydrochloric acid mixed with potassium salts? You can bet your pink ass it’s a good poison. Anyone else here would be dying from a hole in their gut. You been making enemies on the station, colony-boy?”

Earl’s smart alec remark froze as his one semester of biology 101 clawed its way to the front of his brain.

“Oh.”

The detective clicked his pen, ready to start taking notes, even as Earl waved him off.

“No crime here doc, my stomach makes that stuff naturally.”

The doctor blinked even as the detective rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I shit thermite. Be serious pal, there’s someone here out to get you.”

Earl held his gaze, and after a few moments, the detective’s annoyed face transformed into numb confusion.

“...Hot damn, you aren’t joking. You’re telling me you can spew concentrated acid on a whim?”

The question hit a little close to him, and Earl felt his ears burn.

“Eh… not… on a whim. More like, after six or seven beers.”

The doctor grabbed a pad and began filling out forms of his own.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to make sure you don’t do that then. You can’t just go around creating chemical waste every time you get sad. I’m going to have to get in contact with IT, set up some kind of cut off point with the cantina for you.”

Someone down the hall must’ve sanitized something because the odor of strong alcohol wafted into the room. It was all Earl could do to not empty his stomach a second time.

“Aye. That’s fair.”

[seblaineworld]

Hey, Seblainers! Hellooooo, everyone else!

A big life update...

First of all, I'm truly sorry that this is the first time I've posted since Mum went into Hospital. In total since my last post, my Mum has actually spent the sum of 5 days when she was NOT in Hospital...

She sustained a wound when she fell out of bed, and because she is a Type 2 Diabetic it has been healing very slowly and has become infected several times, resulting in my normally sharp as a tack Mum, having temporary confusion and feeling disorientated, which has been so upsetting to witness.

She turned 84, 2 days after being discharged for the third time, and fell into a Diabetic Coma the very next night due to her blood sugar not being properly regulated, which was possibly the scariest night of my entire life, and was terrifying to witness, so the decision was made to take her off her previous oral Diabetic medication and put her on Insulin...That's been a huge learning curve for everyone concerned, and hard to adjust to on top of everything else...

You've all been truly wonderful with your heartfelt messages of support and Love, and I'm incredibly grateful for each and every one. Nobody has come back to me with a date for us to have 10 Days Of Seblaine 2024, and I genuinely thought that I was going to be in a position to host the event, and keep up with my commitments to Mum, but sadly, it's just no longer sustainable...

I've already had to have several of my staff take over many of my own classes so that I can spend as much time as possible with Mum, which has been hard for my students and even harder for me, but again, I'm truly grateful for all the support I'm being given. Until yesterday, I still thought I was going to be able to make time to host 10 Days Of Seblaine 2024 before the end of this year, but I now feel that is an impossible ask..

I'm conscious that I should ALSO be hosting Seblainiversary Weekend 2024 starting tomorrow, but I just can't do it, folks. I know I'm letting you all down so badly, and my heart is breaking having to make this post, but I really hope you can all understand my position. Ysterday, having literally taken the dishes through to wash them after giving her her lunch, I walked back into the living-room to find Mum having some kind of seizure, with a temperature of 41 Celsius, and obviously, I called an Ambulance and she has been readmitted.

Turns out the wound has now become Grade 4, and a secondary infection has set in. She's now on Antibiotics to clear it. I'm sad and upset and frustrated and have cried a great many tears, because of a few medical missteps that have taken place during the last few months, but I need to stay strong for my Mum.

Mum's feisty and a fighter, and all she wants is to feel well again, and as she puts it - to feel completely normal, but she's having such a difficult time, as am I.

Once again, I'm truly so, so sorry that I've completely let you all down. If someone has time to take over the Seblainer event hosting duties until I can take over the reins again, please message me. The last thing I wanted was for our tiny (but always fierce!) Seblainer Fandom to miss out on what's always a fun time, where our many talented Seblainers get their chance to shine. But I just don’t have anything left in me to host anything for the time-being, because I'm literally running on empty..

I love you all so much, and again, thank you for the many, many messages of Love, support, and encouragement that you've all sent me.

Ail 💜

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ || ᴘᴛ. ꜱɪx ||

a/n: The cheese has been cleared for landing. Also, sorry for the late update y'all im so close to collapsing out of pure exhaustion :") Part seven left!!!

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“Hello, everyone! Unfortunately, we’ll be closing early because of a shortage of supplies. You can come back tomorrow for the last day of the festival!” Margaret announces loudly, many of the surprised customers leaving with disgruntled looks. 

She shuts the door, grabbing your limp hand and making you sit on the kitchen chair. “Okay, what’s going on with you?” She asks with her arms crossed as she looks down at your sad figure. 

She has no idea why you’ve been so distant lately, one morning coming over to your store to see you and another stranger giggling with each other, a light blush on your cheeks as you banter with someone in a hooded cloak.

She’s about to enter, only to pause when she sees the smile on your lips that lights up the room. She grins, her gaze soft as she watches you, her older sister figure playfully shoving them away from your side.

Margaret walks away instead, not wanting to disturb your little moment with them.

But today, something’s different. 

Today you seem empty, as if life had been drawn out of you. She watches you rush out after telling you about the criminal that’s been caught, only wanting to pass the time with recent news.

You return with a complexion that’s paler than the new material her parents just brought in from a supplier, and that’s when she gets genuinely concerned. So once she chases everyone out of the store and bolts the door, she turns to your quiet figure, your eyes fixed on the ground.

“Okay, what’s going on?” She’s a little annoyed now with you being all mysterious and avoiding her lately. She’s had enough, and she wants answers. Now.

“Listen,” Margaret sighs, spotting the hesitance in your eyes, “I care about you, Y/n. You’re like an older sister to me; if something’s affecting you, you should tell me. I mean, aren’t we practically family?”

She sits down next to you, holding your hand. She feels small, maybe even unwanted. She wants to help you, so why won’t you let her?

But surprisingly, you part your lips and spill. She listens to every word, disbelief and astonishment building up in her eyes.

“You were housing a criminal??” 

Her words build up into a disbelieving yell, eyes wide in shock as she tries to process the news you’ve just spilled. What on earth have you been doing these past few days??

“And…he’s the one that’s been stealing my pastries.” You add with a sheepish grin, and she just about loses all feeling in her legs. 

“I have to…sit down.” 

You help her take a seat on the chair you were on moments ago, and her hands rest on her lap as her heart beats a million times a minute. She takes a minute, and you wait patiently.

“So,” She looks up at you, her eyes filled with both confusion and bafflement, “The wanted thief of the kingdom is actually a turtle yokai – which are incredibly rare, by the way, and he’s the one you’ve been trying to catch for five years. You’re saying that you finally caught him, made him work for you to pay you back, only to fall in love with him??”

“....Yeah.” You give her a helpless shrug.

She lets out a laugh filled with disbelief. “You’re crazy.” 

What should she do? Should she forget you even told her all this? Is she now an accomplice to your crimes?? 

She hesitates, looking at your timid figure and hunched shoulders, your eyes darting from her to the floor. You’re probably worried about her response, but she doesn’t have the heart to get angry at you.

Besides, she had seen for herself the way you looked at him.

She sighs, standing up. Your eyes widen slightly, waiting for her response. “Well?” She smiles wryly, “Let’s go save your thief.” 

She spots your shoulders sagging with relief, walking over and giving you a quick hug. She squeezes you slightly, holding you close. She feels the tears that spill onto your cheeks, wetting her dress slightly. She doesn’t comment on it, letting you hide your face in her neck.

After a while more, she pulls away, using her thumb to wipe off a tear that remains on your cheek. “C’mon, we should get there before the morning.” Her expression turns serious. 

“That’s when they’re planning to hang him.”

— — — — — — — — —

“Listen, Gary, what use would it be to kill me? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t think ‘killing an innocent turtle yokai’ would be a good record to leave behind for retirement.” 

Leo sits back in his bed of straw, nonchalantly nibbling on a strand of hay with his arms stretched behind his back, his calf propped up on his knee in the picture of relaxation. 

On the inside, however, he’s a panicky mess.

How would he get himself out of this one? His swords are nowhere to be found, that stupid horse having taken them away. 

He grumbles under his breath, peeking an eye open to see Gary shift uncomfortably outside his cell. “I mean, it definitely won’t be such a good thing for your family to be related to a yokai killer,” He calls out nonchalantly.

“Look, man, I’m just one of the lower-ranking guards. The only one that can save you now is the princess, but I doubt she’ll even glance your way,” Gary chuckles.

“Hey, I’m worthy enough to be in her presence.” Leo retorts indignantly with a scowl, not liking the way Gary’s brow quirks in an almost mocking manner. “That’s it. I’ll be submitting a formal complaint against you!”

“As if you’ll still be here in the morning!”

“Am I getting released?” Leo’s eyes widen, a faint glimmer of hope in his chest dying out as soon as Gary barks out another laugh, glancing at the executioner’s stand nearby. 

“Oh.”

— — — — — — — — —

“Plan A: We break into the palace and knock out the guards-”

“Why is it that whenever you plan something, it always includes knocking someone out?” You interrupt Margaret, who pouts at your narrowed eyes and you shake your head firmly.

“Hey, you’re the one who fell for a wanted thief.” She points out, and you feel your cheeks flush with a sudden heat at the reminder.

“Whatever,” You grumble, “How’s this instead: I bribe the guards with cookies-”

“Cookies??” 

Margaret wheezes out a laugh, holding her stomach as she leans on the counter to stop herself from falling to the ground in a fit of laughter. “If they take cookies as bribes, you’d be the captain, not Maximus.”

You reach over, flicking your fingers against her forehead with a playful frown. “Okay, how’s this: We try to get an audience with the king and queen.” 

“Now that’s what I call delusional.” Margaret giggles, but a thought hits her, and she sits back up straight as her laughter dies down. “But that just might work. Okay, here’s the new plan: we knock out the king and queen-”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re not taking me seriously,” You sigh, massaging your temples. “Here’s the thing: The princess and her partner stopped by before the festival extended and before anyone knew she was the lost princess. We chatted, and we’re kinda sorta…friends. I think.” 

You definitely hoped you were.

“So, you plan to use your connection with the princess to get this… ‘Leonardo’ out?” 

“Hopefully, it’ll work. But you know what this means, right?” You glance at the oven with a determined gleam in your eyes. “Bribes.”

Margaret rolls up her sleeves, grabs the flour and gets to work. You look up at the clock, your heart sinking when you realize there are only a few hours before nightfall. 

So you roll up your sleeves and quickly braid your hair, picking up the large wooden spoon you use for mixing your dough. You’re nervous; the race against time already starting to rest its heavy claws on your shoulders. 

You couldn't afford to waste a single second. Not with his life on the line.

— — — — — — — — —

“Well, it’s not every day I see a turtle yokai in jail.”

Leo looks up, spotting a tall, handsome man walking past the cells and stopping outside his with an intrigued gaze. He stands up, brushing off the sparse strands of hay that had made itself home in his shell. 

Walking over, he mimics how the man is leaning against the wall, raising a brow. “Oh, yeah. How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Been good. Y’know, I used to be in one of these myself.” 

“Oh? What’d you get in here for?” 

“Stole the princess’s tiara.” Leo raises a brow, caught off guard by the unexpected response. No wonder the man before him looked familiar — Flynn Rider, the notorious thief on posters plastered throughout the kingdom. Well, at least until he brought back the lost princess and got engaged to her.

“Ah. I almost stole uranium.”

“So you didn’t go through with it?”

“No- I mean, yeah- I mean, it’s complicated.” He stammers, already starting to sweat. How was he embarrassing himself this badly in front of someone he admires?

“Oh, I feel ya. Just wanted a castle. Now I got both the castle and the princess.” 

Keep cool, Leo. You got this. You can speak in words.

“Oh? I wanted uranium, but I got bread.”

Great job, Leo.

“Bread’s good. You know that baker a few streets down from here? Her pastries are great. Y/n’s her name, I think. Rapunzel’s crazy obsessed with her cookies.” Flynn raises a brow when Leo’s eyes widen in surprise at the mention of Y/n’s name. 

“You know Y/n??”

“Yeah, I think I bought stuff from her a couple times. Why, do you know her too?”

“Kinda. I stole some of her cookies for a couple years,” Leo admits sheepishly with a wry chuckle, though a slight smile makes its way onto his lips at the memory of her catching him, “But this year, she caught me.”

“Wait,” Flynn pauses, stepping back as understanding dawns on him, “I know that look. Guards!”

“Wha-”

“Release this gentleman immediately.”

“But sir-” Gary protests, the tip of his spear aimed at Leo. Flynn places a finger on the edge and pushes it down slowly, careful not to cut himself.  

“It’s okay; he’s just like me. Would do anything for our dreams.”

Leo blinks, his cell being unlocked by Gary, whose scowl he ignores. Is that what he thinks it is? 

“Is that an inside reference to your own relationship?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I should get one.”

“Follow me, young dreamer!” Flynn slings his arm around Leo’s shoulder, practically dragging him up the stairs to the palace halls. They walk past various other cells, one with a few bandits that growl at the sight of a turtle yokai. 

He gulps when they pass the room with the executioner’s table, Flynn clearing his throat when he gets reminded of the horror that dawned on him the first(and only) time he got captured.

“Oh wait!” Leo’s steps slowly halt, looking into a room with his swords carelessly thrown atop a pile of stinky shoes and tattered clothes. “What! Now this is just plain disrespectful.” He protests.

Flynn gestures for the guards to open the door, entering with a wince and a gag as soon as the smell hits.

“Sorry, gotta hang onto this in case you try to run away.” As Leo groans, Flynn grabs the swords by the hilts, slinging them onto his waist. First, they get held hostage, and now they’re being carried by another man?? 

This really isn’t his day.

— — — — — — — — —

“So that’s ten herbed loaves, twenty cookies, ten croissants, and two baguettes.” Margaret lists off, almost collapsing onto the floor after piling the goods in two large baskets. You groan when you stretch your arms upwards, all the tension in your shoulders releasing. 

You had spent the past few hours doing nothing else but bake the best pastries for the princess, hoping it’d help…convince her that freeing Leo would be fine. On what basis? You weren’t sure yourself. 

Maybe that he didn’t actually steal the uranium.

You hoist the baskets onto your wrists, arms already screaming in agony as you rest them squarely on your hip. “Well, I hope it goes well. I might’ve helped, but mom would kill me if she knew I was an accomplice.” 

You laugh at Margaret’s remark, bumping your hip slightly against hers as she looks up at you with tired eyes. “Thanks for helping. Wish me luck!” You call out, starting to exit the store and shutting the door behind you.

It’s quiet in the store, Margaret resting her arms on the counter as she processes all the information and what she’s done in the past few hours. She scoffs disbelievingly, shaking her head and groaning again at the ache in her shoulders. 

“Falling in love with a thief. Who knew?”

— — — — — — — — —

You all but run to the palace gates, the guards letting you in once they recognize you as one of the town’s more well-known bakers, some of them regulars at your store during the festival. 

You give them a quick nod, rushing to the staff entrance and sneaking up to the palace hallways. It’s challenging to do so with two rather heavy baskets in your grip, but you somehow make it halfway up the main stairs before ducking behind a gigantic tapestry that hangs from the ceiling.

The loud footsteps recede once the guards finish changing positions for their patrol, and you cautiously peek out from behind the thick fabric. 

Were they gone?

“I love this dress!” You hear a familiar melodious voice echoing from a room nearby, tiptoeing quietly towards it and peeking through the crack in the door. 

The princess stands on a footstool, doing a quick twirl until she pauses, sniffing the air until her eyes land on the door. You yelp when she runs to the door, flinging them open and greeting you with a beaming smile.

“Y/n! What’re you doing here?” She’s delighted by your presence, eyes lingering on the baskets in your grasp.

“Uh…Special delivery?”

She gasps at your response. "Thank you!" She giggles, accepting the baskets you hand to her. "What's the occasion?"

"Well... It's a long story," You admit, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Let's walk together while you tell me all about it!" She grabs your hands, and you follow, stunned into silence. She guides you through the palace, and you fill her in on every detail. 

Including the fact that you may have fallen for Leo.

She listens, pure intrigue and understanding in her gaze. 

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is..." You take a deep breath, turning to face her, "Will you reconsider his crimes? Because he didn't actually steal the uranium, but I'm sure we can work out an arrangement that would benefit everyone."

"I don't know..." Her voice is filled with uncertainty. You take her hands, holding them up as you basically plead.

"Please, I know it's...it's stupid, but being with him...He makes me laugh. He makes every day worth looking forward to. I don't know how to explain it; I just..."

You stop rambling when she places her other hand on yours, a warm smile on her lips as she nods. Your shoulders sag in relief, and she guides you to the grand hall, making your way down the stairs with a reassuring gaze.

However, once you take your first step down, you look up to see the very turtle you had set out to save. (Well, more of beg for his life to be spared but, same thing.)

“Y/n??”

“Leo??”

You stare at each other in silence. Flynn clears his throat, subtly shoving Leo forward. The turtle yelps, proceeding to trip over a missed step and tumbles down the stairs, landing flat on his face with a pained grunt.

“Oh my god!” You hurry down the steps with your heart racing in your chest, kneeling down and helping him sit upright. His eyes are unfocused, and the side of his forehead turns slightly purple. You're still unable to believe that he's right here in front of you, unharmed, and a breathy laugh slips past your lips.

“That…might’ve been my fault.” Flynn winces, yelping when Rapunzel smacks his arm lightly with a scolding look.

“I’m so sorry about that. Does he need any treatment?”

“Nope, we’re all good here. It’s how I get the ladies.” 

The three of you stare silently until your nose scrunches and giggles spill past your lips at Leo’s words. You wrap him up into a sudden hug, burying your face into his shoulder. His entire body stills, looking up at Flynn, who nods approvingly before his hand wraps around your waist and pulls you close.

He holds you tightly, feeling the wetness on your cheeks that brush against his bare skin. He doesn’t comment but pulls you just a little closer; hugs you just a little tighter.

“Aw, they found their own inside joke.” 

“Eugene!” Rapunzel scolds, though her eyes shine with a playful glint. She takes his arm, leading him back inside and leaving the both of you in peace. 

You’re too wrapped up in the fact that he’s here and safe and alive, and oh god, you’ve never felt such a flurry of euphoria before. You refuse to let go even for a moment, and he chuckles when you stick to him stubbornly. 

So he picks you up, holding you in a bridal carry and walks out of the palace past the slightly baffled guards. (Of course, with a smug wink to Gary as well.)

Leo walks to the store, noticing how your tears have already dried. Now, you just keep holding him close because, god forbid, he sees how red your face is.

But he doesn’t have to, the tips of your ears already revealing how embarrassed you are.

“We’re back home,” He chuckles. It’s like honey to your ears, a sound you’ve missed even though it’s been just a day. You finally unpeel yourself from him, refusing to look him in the eyes as he sets you down on your small couch.

He glances at you, noticing how your bangs obscure your eyes like a sheepdog as you stare straight ahead at the wall. 

“You need a haircut real bad,” He practically snorts, entertained by how comical you look. 

You purse your lips with a roll of your eyes and huff, trying to blow the bangs away from obstructing your vision.

“Stay here.” You watch Leo disappear into your room, eyes rimmed red and puffy from all the crying you’ve done earlier. He appears again with candles and other stuff in his hands, placing the candles in small bowls you keep around purely for candlelight. 

He puts candles around the room, lighting each one up and filling the room with a soft yellow glow. It reflects off his eyes like they’re mirrors, and you find yourself unable to look away at the sight. However, once you notice what’s in his hands, you’re suddenly eager to run away.

Your body stiffens, nervous, when Leo approaches you with a pair of scissors. The blades glint, and you wince, eyes widening. “I dunno…this might be a bad idea.” You voice out hesitantly.

“It’ll be fine! Just trust me.” He rolls his eyes playfully and waves the scissors about carelessly, gnawing doubt growing in your gut. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. You can feel his presence nearing until he stops right in front of you. 

Contrary to your expectations, the way he holds your hair is gentle yet hesitant, from not wanting to unintentionally hurt you.

You focus on thinking about the next day instead, going through plans for next year’s Sun Festival, the snipping sounds of scissors cutting cleanly through your hair fading into white noise. 

Your nose scrunches when he lets go of a section he just cut, the ticklish sensation making you open your eyes. Your breath hitches, eyes widening slightly when you register the noticeable lack of distance between you. 

Too Close.

You glance upwards, trying to be discreet. He doesn’t notice, cerulean blue eyes filled with focus as his hands move to arrange your hair. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly shy. Your fingers find a way to occupy themselves by clutching the hem of your dress, and the ground suddenly becomes the most riveting sight you’ve ever seen.

Wow. You had never noticed how many shades of brown there are in the wood. You note the little squiggly lines that run through your floor, trying to not think about his gentle gaze. Your heart felt as if it were humming at a frequency only you could hear, making you worry. 

You had fallen too deep, but maybe you didn’t mind where you are now.

[tlpom]

Chapitre Deux

The next afternoon, when the class just ended, I had to go to the Youth Union office to do some tasks. When I left, the schoolyard was very empty, and my hungry stomach urged me to take my bike quickly to go home. As I was riding my bicycle through the school gate, I suddenly saw Mer: the boy I had known yesterday was standing there and wandering like waiting for someone. An ineffable wave of emotions suddenly rose inside my mind, which confused me. Having managed to look away, I hastily rode my bicycle past Mer. All of a sudden, I heard a girl calling me: "Hey dear!"

"Which girl's voice is that gentle? Why is it so sweet?" I thought.

I squeezed the brakes of my bike right away and was surprised to realize that it was Mer's voice. His eyes were no longer dark and cold like yesterday, there were drops of afternoon sunlight dancing playfully instead. The strange feeling from a few seconds ago returned and bewildered me again.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Actually…" Mer hesitated, "I just want to thank you for helping me yesterday morning…" "Thanks for what?" I was surprised, then understood and giggled, "Ah! That was… nothing!" "It may be just a little thing that is not worth mentioning to you, but it's very important to me!" Mer nodded, then softly said: "Because since my childhood, you have been the only one not to let others make fun of me by calling me 'pédé'!"

I had a feeling that it was very difficult for him to utter the word "pédé". Pain and sadness suddenly appeared in my heart when I heard that sentence. I wasn't who to be thanked. I was the one who needed to apologize because I also had laughed at him with my friends yesterday. The two of us just stood there for a long time without talking to each other. Finally, I hesitantly suggested: "I'll take you home!"

"Don't… You don't need to do it! It will bother you…" "It's nothing! Get on the bike, kid! It's getting dark."

His voice seemed to be lower and more hesitant. Mer's eyes showed that he had something to say, but they were held back. The unspoken words disappeared with a somewhat unstable breath.

"Is he having a problem that he wants to tell me but doesn't dare to say?" I wanted to ask him. However, when I looked at that face, after thinking thoroughly, I quit that thought and moved on to another topic.

On that day, I took him home - a home that gave me incredible warmth.

Since that day, we had been much closer. My life so far seemed to be perfect as I had my family, friends, basketball, and a part-time job, but it always seemed to be missing something indefinable. Mer came and fulfilled that void in me. We rarely met at school but texted each other every night. We discussed everything between heaven and earth! Mer usually had traumatic experiences and often confided in me. I gradually realized that he was a very sensitive person. Being physically weak from a young age, Mer did not like to take part in sports. Moreover, as he specialized in Literature, his only passion was reading books. He hid in the pages of the books to escape from a life full of melancholy and fled to the land of imagination and dreams.

🧡You can read the original version on Wattpad here or wait for more updates with bonus content on this Tumblr blog.

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[danmichelspsychotherapy]

Bring All Your Parts An Introduction to Parts Work

I often have clients in Couples Therapy and Counseling that might say to their partner: “part of me feels so much love for you and another part of me really hates you.” In Individual Therapy, this past week I had a client say: “part of me really loves my father. I admire him, he has taught me so much about life, about how to be a man. Yet another part of me feel resentful to him because he didn’t teach me how to be a sensitive, emotional man.”

We all have parts of ourselves that have different thoughts, feelings and opinions about the same thing just like this. We may have conflicting feelings about our spouse, our family, our job. We usually all find some kind of equilibrium with these conflicting feelings to a relative extent. Some days we might feel one way more than the other and the following day could be the opposite.

These inner conflicts can lead to a considerable amount of confusion and anxiety, especially when they remain unexamined.

Many modalities in psychotherapy directly work with this such as Internal Family Systems and Gestalt. Broadly speaking, it is often referred to as “parts work”. This post will be a brief introduction to what parts work is, how it can look in session and its benefits.

The essence of doing parts work is facilitating conversations between these different, conflicting parts of ourselves. Let me briefly describe what this might look like in an actual session of Individual Therapy. This can look a variety of ways, however, I often set up an empty chair directly in front of my client and I will sit off to the side. Then we will identify the different parts. In this case lets say that one seat represents unconditional love for your father (chair 1). The other seat will then represent all the anger, rage, disappointment, and resentments you might have towards him (chair 2). While sitting in one chair you are directly looking into the empty chair opposite you. While in chair 1, you will speak to you father from that place; from that perspective. You might say things like, “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me” or “I love you dad” etc. You will then move to the opposite chair and embody that perspective and felt sense. From that place you will speak to your father from the anger, rage, sadness etc. I will have you move from seat to seat, and facilitate a real time conversation between these two different parts. Within this framework you can speak to different parts of the self or can speak to a projected version of a person in your life such as a parent. In that scenario, you will speak to a parent as if they were actually in the room. Depending on a variety of factors, you might occupy the seat of a parent and feel what it is like in that seat and then speak to yourself as your parent. This can be incredibly profound and transformative. This process will build increased empathy and compassion for not just different parts of yourself but also for people that we project upon such as our parents and intimate partners.

I am consistently amazed to see the transformations that take place when people immediately sit in a new chair. They often feel very deeply into that place and many begin to sob immediately upon sitting down without even saying a word. We might be familiar with these conflicting feelings in our own minds to a relative degree. But parts work helps to facilitate and deepen conversations that we don’t do on our own.

There is always a deeper clarity and resolution as a result of this process. However, this is not a battle where one feeling or perspective wins over another. This may happen in certain circumstances such as deciding whether or not to continue dating a significant other. But more often than not, these different perspectives continue to live in us whether they remain examined or not.

Parts work simply allows for us to listen to these different aspects of ourselves more deeply and more thoroughly so that we can better know their subtleties and the unconscious beliefs they hold.

Parts work has a number of different benefits. First off, we are deepening our understanding of our own thoughts and feelings. Getting more clarity in this regard is always beneficial. We may connect some dots between present thoughts and feelings to past events or situations, which will also increase our clarity of who we are and how we got that way. Another component of doing parts work is in increasing our capacity for greater complexity. There is a correlation between how much complexity we can hold and how adaptable we can be psychologically. Adaptability and flexibility in our feelings and thinking is actually a sign of increasing maturity and intelligence. We can be effective in a multitude of different situations; we can be more skillful in our interactions with a diversity of people. A healthy psychological system is one that embraces and knows its multiple parts and sub personalities better. As a result, there is an increased capacity to fluidly shift between these different parts; to feel more comfortable and powerful from within each of them.

There are many fields of psychotherapy that facilitate parts work; the major fields being Internal Family Systems (IFS) and Gestalt. These branches of psychology are well documented and if you are interested in knowing more then researching those are a great place to start! I will also be making more posts about parts work such as shadow aspects of the self, archetypes, and IFS in particular. Stay tuned!

To learn more about my Boulder, Colorado practice, visit my website at danmichels.com.

[lady-azarashe]

Story time! It's funny but also kinda sad at the end. Last night I got a surge of energy for once in months and I decided to finish setting up my old desktop computer at my current desk. Im still not sure if I will actually do anything with it, but it's been rotting in a box for almost a decade and I thought I might double-check what's inside. Thought I could always chuck it into the recyclable trash bin, after all. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

After pulling it out of the cardboard box I noticed it was dusty as fuck and something rattled real bad inside, so I grabbed a couple of screwdrivers and a vacuum cleaner and went to town on it's innards. I had to recruit some help from my partner because, even though I single-handedly set up this thing in 2010 I am notoriously dumber nowadays and couldn't tell where some of the wires went. When it was peachy we plugged it in, and after a couple tries (defective ON/OFF button, it was like that before too) it beeped back to life.

This little guy used to be quite powerful. I saved up birthday and Xmas money for a couple years and asked my supposedly " 1337 h4ck3r" friend for help on picking parts for a computer I could use to run games on. When they arrived from a shady-as-fuck website I set them up Geronimo-style, and to my surprise it worked!...Sort of. My script kiddy friend was on a Microsoft-hating binge and installed some random Linux distro on it, so I couldn't play most games I wanted and I couldn't type the @ symbol for some unknown reason. Couple months afterwards it got wiped TF out, got some Windows 7 thrown in, and I finally could get to my purpose of playing WoW, Minecraft and specially TF2. The dispenser is a Spy. Hooray.

But that wasn't meant to be it's only purpose. I was pretty isolated IRL due to circumstances outside of my control, and being a friendless child living in the middle of bumfuck nowhere while dealing with the dumpster fire of my parents' divorce, I had little chances of socializing. So I turned to the Internet for comfort, friendships, and to live vicariously through cool YouTube videos and GaiaOnline. Oh, and sick as hell desktop wallpapers too. And that's the story my old bookmarks are telling me today. And it feels so fucking heartbreaking, because I'm getting a glimpse of what were the golden days of old now laid in ruins. Dozens upon dozens of websites are gone. The fortunate ones display a 404 page, the unfortunate ones have been absorbed by bigger corporations or turned into some sort of clickbaity entrepreneurship bullshit. Most (if not all) the webcomics and webtoons I used to follow have been abandoned, tons of YT videos I watched religiously are unavailable, and not a single forum survived. The closest thing I have left is a GaiaOnline guild where I used to post very cringy teen stuff, and its last post is from 2011. Hell, even a lot of useful Reddit posts I had saved have been deleted over the years. And it's sad, and somewhat beautiful at the same time, but for the most part it makes me question something. Is it just me... or does the Internet feel incredibly dystopian and empty nowadays? Mainstream social media sites which became the Internet itself are rapidly on the decline due to their own hubris or falling prey to enshittification, I don't feel comfortable returning to Reddit, and Discord confuses me just as much (if not more) as Tumblr does. I really don't know where to go from here.

If you're reading this, my apologies for the massive wall of text. Do me a solid and give me ideas of what can I do with an old computer? I barely use my laptop nowadays, not sure what I can do with this old ark beyond formatting it and upgrading a couple of it's internal components. :/

[lavendersiic]

thoughts on persona 5 bc if I didn't write them down i'd explode

After 250+ hours I feel such a mix of emotions, the ending was bittersweet, inspiring, and heartbreaking. I’ve been feeling it especially today, almost an emptiness and sadness knowing that I’ll never experience the game for the first time again. I have to say goodbye to the characters and story I’ve spent time with almost daily since November. I’m feeling especially reflective and tender with all of the thoughts and questions that the game has left me with, from thoughts about how I can be a better friend and community member, to Big Thoughts™ about free will, happiness, and the nature of reality - this game has left a lasting impression and is something I’ll carry with me for a long time.

The Experience: 

Persona 5 Royal is incredibly successful in delivering a captivating and emotionally resonant story. I felt immersed in the world, empowered with meaningful choices, and continuously engaged through its meticulously crafted game loop. The narrative was so engaging and evocative, through the combination of art, music, writing made for a special first-time experience. There is room for improvement in accessibility, but overall this game is kind of a masterpiece. 

On my second playthrough, I did feel a bit of repetitiveness in some of the palaces. Many of the palace rulers were painted as purely evil villains. Madarame gains some nuance as we go through Yusuke’s confidant, see him grappling with the conflict between the truth of Madarame’s vanity and the fact that he did care for him. This clear cut moral view of the first few antagonists is an indication of the way the Thieves’ view the world. As teenagers, it is understandable that they would have a more simple view of morality, but you can see that evolving throughout the game. By the time we get to Maruki's palace, we are given a deeper exploration of his character and the morality of his motivations and actions are treated with more nuance. I think a big part of this is the fact that Maruki is more of an antagonist than a villain, though I think it also hints at the Phantom Thieves' maturing perspective on morality.

Friendship and Forgiveness:

There’s something about the nature of a social sim that really brings into focus how straightforward it can be to show up for those I care about. It can be as simple as investing time, listening and validating their experiences, and making memories together. It can be easy for me to overcomplicate things, to feel like I need to be doing more for the people in my life - but in reality just making time and space for people can be enough. 

I couldn’t talk about this game without talking about Akechi (best boy). He was instantly one of my favorite characters. It was just nice to hear someone with a different opinion at first, up until that point it felt like we were in a bit of a Phantom Thieves echo chamber. I believe that it’s important to have people around you who support you, but there is also value in having people who challenge the way you think. Before the reveal, he really is a breath of fresh air, he’s charming and goofy and even though you can tell he’s not being 100% honest, there’s something really special in the growth of your relationship as he slowly lets his mask go. 

After the reveal, I felt so heartbroken and confused - and mostly I just wanted to hug him. I just wanted him to be free and happy. In the moments where we reach rank 9 and 10, I remember just wanting him to join us - I was quick (maybe too quick) to forgive all he had done. I spent two in-game days mourning his death, revisiting the places we spent time together, and reflecting on our relationship. 

At the beginning of Third Semester, I was overjoyed to see him alive, even if it meant he would be in prison for his crimes. I was so happy that he was alive and that we had a chance (even outside of the game world) to continue growing our relationship. As third semester continued I just enjoyed having him around, his chaotic one-liners made me smile and it was nice to see him being authentic to his darker side. His evil laugh brought me so much joy. 

When we meet with Maruki and it’s revealed that Akechi actually did die in Shido’s palace, and that he was brought back by Maruki because we essentially wished it to be, I lost my marbles. Akechi’s willingness to die in order to be the master of his own fate was equally heartbreaking and inspiring. I wanted to accept Maruki’s deal in that moment just to have a happy life with Akechi, but I wanted even more to respect his wishes. 

When I think about what drew me to Akechi’s character, I definitely related to his experience of feeling like he always had to present a pleasant mask to the world, otherwise risking rejection. I related to his desire to feel needed, something I still struggle with now. I think that believing what I do now - that everyone deserves to be loved in their wholeness, their dark along with their light - I felt compelled to offer that same love and forgiveness both as Joker and as myself. 

Seeing Akechi’s struggles to find acceptance, and hopefully giving him at least a small sense of that in the time we spent with him was one of the biggest emotional payoffs of the game for me. 

Free Will

The question of free will was a throughline throughout the story, and we are challenged to consider the morality of taking desires, even with good intentions. With many of the other themes and moral questions raised in the game, there isn’t a right or wrong answer. As the player, taking on the role of Joker - unwavering in his view of justice - is exciting, but the game encourages us to still consider the moral implications of their actions, especially with the addition of Maruki’s palace.

The third semester brings up this conflict between the allure of a pain-free, comfortable reality and the chaotic freedom of choice in the real world. Ultimately, I agree with the decision to fight for reality - for personal agency and free will even with the guarantee of chaos and pain. It is a tempting test, even more so than Yaldaboath’s offer to return the world to it’s previous state. It was a easy to decline Yaldaboath, but sitting across from Maruki in Leblanc, I felt truly conflicted for a few moments. I knew in my heart that the right choice was to stop him, but at the same time - it was tempting to accept that world free from pain and suffering.

After watching both endings, I ached for Maruki’s reality. I wish that life could be that simple, but there was an underlying sense of unease at the almost sickly sweetness of it all. It felt like everything we had struggled through was empty. The true ending was bittersweet and heartwarming, and seeing all of the characters moving forward towards the lives they wanted held so much more meaning.

Conclusion

While my sleep schedule might be temporarily wrecked, I don’t regret the hours I invested into this game. It was a really beautiful and thought provoking story, and what I want now is to apply what I felt and learned to my reality, so that I can live a full, free, and connected life. While I'm reluctant to let the world and characters go, I'm excited to turn my focus towards my goals, nurturing connections with my friends and family, and prioritizing self-care and rest.

[rotteddolly]

religion talk below, specifically about my time studying islam.

sorry, i'm having a feeling. it's really long. _(:‚‹」∠)_

man, sometimes i get sad thinking about how happy i was as a hijabi...i felt beautiful and free in khimars and jilbabs, but the homophobia in all the groups i intermingled with and on the site of a local masjid i got in touch with, was hard to see. a woman from one messaged me about joining a hijabi group who do outings and stuff, but i never got a response back when i said that i'd love to. i think it was bc she found my fb and thought i wasn't good enough or something like that. i was heartbroken over it.

i really struggled not having any muslim friends to study with and learn from. community is always so so important especially when starting out. it's so incredibly isolating and confusing. in my case, i was also getting verbally attacked by my mom at all times for even entertaining the idea of converting. she hates the religion, she thinks fundie christianity is the only way, she hates seeing me covered up and "hiding my beauty", she's embarrassed to be seen in public with me, etc etc. she cried once in the car bc she assumed i thought i was ugly bc i was dressing in modest clothing, when in reality, it was the complete opposite. i tried to explain my feelings a million times, but she just never listened. the stares and laughs from ppl in public was also rough. i've gotten islamophobic things shouted at me in the street, and on several occasions had pictures/videos secretly and not so secretly taken.

the pressure i saw being put on hijabis online is insane. men and other hijabis constantly commenting on how you're not a "real" muslim bc "x, y, and z." i'm assuming it could be like that in physical muslim spaces as well, but again, i wasn't even given a chance to experience them. i saw maybe 5 queer muslims while consuming hijabi content, and they were bullied relentlessly. so much in fact, that it made me terrified at the thought of any other muslim finding out i'm not straight.

i struggled with the strict regimens and rules, like praying 5 times a day, but i was happy with myself for doing 1 or 2 bc of mental and chronic illnesses. i thought it was good enough for god bc he knows my heart and my struggles, but the community online said otherwise. i struggled with not being able to embrace the gothic subculture and horror bc it was seen as satanic and again, made me a "bad" muslim. sometimes i wanted to be a hijabi, and other times i wanted to do full immodest goth looks, wig and all. it was like a constant pull on my heart, allah or my worldly love for the creepy and macabre. it was always made clear by others i had to choose, and i absolutely couldn't switch between them when i felt like it. i wouldnt stop praying, or saying bismillah before eating, or abstaining from non halal foods, etc, but the immodesty and goth in me would be rejected as kafir.

i don't know how i feel about god as a being. i don't know if he exists, i really don't know what i truly believe. but it felt nice to believe in those moments when i was alone, and no one was there to comment on how i was doing everything wrong...the days where i was out in the sun in full jilbab, sweaty, but smiling, feeling content and like my life had a purpose, a defined path.

today i feel kind of empty and hopeless. i miss parts of islam, but it's meant to be practiced as a whole (they say), not in pieces...and not by ppl like me.

[empressofthesunwriter]

Friendly Faces Everywhere

Codename Dovahkiin Part 2

Now that the Stick of Truth RPG is over it's time for N.K. to face the normal everyday life of South Park.

She should have known nothing in South Park is ever normal!

Day to day the craziness of this supposed quiet little mountain town she has to combat now.

Thank god, she has Tammy, Wendy, her boys, and her Social Media/Magical Girl Powers on her side.

This gonna be a wild ride!

Main Pairing: New Kid/Kenny McCormick/Kyle Broflovski

Chapter 6: Head empty, only confusion

I can’t believe how time has flown so fast.

In a few days, it’s Christmas.

My family broke their record of staying in one place.

It’s an incredible feeling. Celebrating this year in a town, which has become my home, and not in a stinky Motel room like last year.

Also, it’s the only time in the year I love snow.

Snow on Christmas Day is perfect.

I’m right now with Leo. We are building a snowman together before our houses.

“It’s awesome that we can play today big sis!”, say’s Leo happily.

“I agree. Leo, I’m sorry that I was so distant the last few days just…I didn’t want to make it awkward with me dating Heidi and being close to Stan’s Gang still.”, I confess ashamed.

Yes, call me a coward. I practically abandoned my male friends, because I couldn’t handle the unpleasant atmosphere, which was born between us since I "broke up" with Kyle and Kenny and started dating Heidi.

I did it also in respect for Heidi.

I know she is unsure about my feelings for her since I was so hung up on the two boys.

Being distant seemed the right way.

“No I kind of get it.”, tells Leo. “Kyle and Kenny are really sad about this, but also give the other the fault for this. They had a big fight and aren’t talking with each other.”

I wince at this.

Exactly that I didn’t want to happen, but whatever I do, someone gets hurt.

This sucks ass.

“How are the guys…be truthful to me.”, I beg Leo.

He frowns, while he puts the stones for our snowman eyes on the head.

“Well…Kyle is trying his hardest to save the living room, to get the family together again. I think Stan helps him. Kenny is taking care of Karen and Eric is busy with his Youtube account. I think they are okay, don’t worry so much big sis. You made your decision and they will learn to live with it.”

A soft smile forms on my lips and I pet Leo’s head.

“You are so positive, Leo. Never lose this okay?”

“Don’t worry, big sis. How is it going between you and Heidi?”

Hearing my girlfriend’s name fills me instantly with joy. I can easily forget what emotional disaster I created.

“Pretty good. Really, really good. I’m happy when I’m with her and I miss her when she is away. I think…it can be something for a long time.”, I confess.

“Woah, neato. Could you imagine marrying Heidi?”

…Oh, this is a question I didn’t expect.

Can I image it?

It’s a beautiful sunny day.

Not too cold not too warm.

The cute little church is filled with colorful flowers.

All my friends are sitting on the benches.

I’m holding into my Papà arm.

He leads me down the aisle.

There she waits for me.

Heidi.

A vision in her wedding dress.

But as I reach her, all start to shake and twist and turn.

Heidi isn’t waiting anymore for me at the altar.

It’s…Kenny…and…Kyle!

I see Stan besides Kyle holding a little boy in his arms.

Beautiful red curls.

An adorable cherubic-like face.

One eye is blue, the other green.

The little boy seems to stare into my soul…

“N.K.! Big sis! Are you all right?”

Leo’s voice drags me back from…this vision I had?

What was that?

I blink rapidly at him, and he doesn’t know if he should touch me to stabilize me or not.

In the end, he grips my shoulders.

Whatever I experience right now…it’s gone like fog with the first sun rays.

“Sorry, Leo, didn’t want to worry you.”, I gasp for air, petting one of his hands. “Maybe it’s time to go home. I still don’t like the cold.”

I can see how Leo isn’t convinced. He practically demands that he escort me the few meters to my house.

For that, I ruffle his hair.

He is such a cutie.

We part, with the promise to see us soon.

The next day I’m taking a walk with Heidi.

Hand in hand we enjoy the pretty Christmas decoration the town put up.

“Did you get all your Christmas presents?”, asks me Heidi curious

“Yeah, what I stress I tell you.”, I chuckle and swing our hands. “I…I never had so many friends as I have them here in South Park.”

“You are so strong N.K., I can’t imagine moving so often and leaving all my friends behind. You deserve to have a lot of friends.”

“And a super cute and wonderful girlfriend.”, I flirt.

Heidi giggles cutely, as I kiss the crown of her head.

We walk past the little Eletronik Shop which has like in the movies TVs in the sales windows.

I would have ignored what the TVs are playing if I didn’t suddenly hear Kyle’s voice.

Surprised I stop to watch what is on the TVs.

It shows Kyle in his living room, wearing a white shirt that has written on it #savethelivingroom.

“Please, tune in and help get America's families back in the living room.”

What the fuck, why is Cartman’s stupid commentator window also up? Of course, he calls Kyle a douchebag.

An announcer ends this spot with the words: “It's all live and it's all magical. It's the Washington Redskins Go Fuck Yourself Holiday Special.”

…The fuck?!

“N.K., are you all right?”, ask Heidi worried.

“Just…peachy, love.”

“Are you sure? Your left eye is twitching.”

Indeed it is. I try to stop it.

“I’m just… surprised that’s all. Also, I have a feeling Cartman is planning something, I felt in my gut.”, I admit.

Heidi gives me a look.

“And…you are totally angry that Kyle didn’t ask for your help and has gone to other people with his #savethelivingroom agenda. And now it seems they are using him and you want to start swinging. Especially at Cartman.”

Damn, Heidi is good! She really knows me well.

I sign and lead her away from the shop.

“Let’s just keep going. That’s not my problem what the boys do or not do.”

“I don’t want that you ignore your friends for me.”, she mumbles, facing the ground. Shit, I don’t want her to feel bad! “I know you ignore them mostly for me, but N.K. they are still your friends. You should help them if needed.”

I gulp, shaking my head.

“You are more important.”

“But N.K.-“

“No, Heidi, love, it’s okay.”

In silence, we continue our walk. Anyone tormented with their own thoughts.

Later I’m sitting in the living room looking at Twitter. I can’t believe that the fat asshole is trending so much!

He has nearly a high reach like when I use my Social Media Powers.

Unbelievable!

Mamma steps into the living room and puts a platter of fresh-baked cookies on the couch table.

Normally I would start eating them like a man starved, but…I just can’t.

What, Heidi said that I shouldn’t ignore my friends for her, and the wish in me to help them is going in circles in my brain.

“N.K., gumdrop, you don’t want a cookie?”, wonders Mamma surprised. “These are your favorite chocolate chip cookies.”

I put my phone away, shaking my head.

“Not hungry.”

“That’s your code for: I’m overthinking something and don’t know how to handle it.”, Mamma points out and I whine.

She is right.

“Wanna tell me what is going on?”

Not like I have to lose something.

“Mamma you know that I’m dating Heidi?”

“Hard not to since you presented her to your Papà and me.”

She sits down beside me on the couch stroking my hair.

“Yeah, right of course. You know…I had this huge crush on Kenny and Kyle. I couldn’t decide who I liked better and made a mess.”, I nearly cry, leaning on Mamma. “I know Heidi is insecure that I really like her and that’s why I ignored pretty much the boys. But now I have a feeling they need my help, but I also feel like I will betray Heidi this way.”

My Mamma hmms thoughtfully, hugging me to herself and I fall formally into her embrace.

“Did you talk with Heidi about this?”

“Not in so many words, but she said to me I shouldn’t ignore my friends.”

“Then listen to her.”

“But Mamma-“

“Now N.K. I know you don’t wanna hurt anybody, but if you don’t listen to what others say it will for sure happen. Believe in Heidi and that your relanteship is strong enough to have a friendship with the boys. You choose Heidi so committed to it.”

Tears fell down my cheeks and I huge my Mamma tight.

“Mamma…I think I love Kenny and Kyle…”, I confess in a tiny voice, ready to break apart. “I like Heidi, I really do…but I can’t stop thinking about Kenny and Kyle. I want them so much it hurts…”

“Oh my little princess.”, cooe Mamma kissing the crown of my head. “You stay away from them because you are scared you will cheat on Heidi, is that it?”

I can only nod, crying harder.

Mamma sings softly to me my favorite nursery rhyme from when I was little, rocking me back and forth in her arms.

“My little baby…why don’t you try polyamory?”, ask me, Mamma.

I hear a record scratch.

Did I hear her right?

I look up at her shocked.

“Mamma?”

“I…I never told you this but…I grow up with a mother and two fathers.”, let’s Mamma the bomb drop.

My chin meets the floor.

That’s…that’s the first time Mamma has talked about her family. When in the past I asked about them, she always told me that they are all dead and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Now that she is doing it willingly…I’m just what?

Mamma strokes my hair and continues to tell me this: “You are a lot like your grandma, you know. No wonder you inherit her polyamory tendencies from her too. She told me when I was a little girl that she fall in love with my biological father and my dad at the same time. Your grandma couldn’t decide either who she liked more, because she loved both my fathers equally. So they decide to be together all three. Well, my two fathers never fall in love with each other, but they became best friends, and the love for my mother and then for me united them. Polyamory can also work if two of the party stay just friends.”

This…is a lot to unpack.

My mother notes that I’m practically having a crisis, so she hugs me tight.

“Maybe I confused you more with this…but N.K. I want you to know that if you truly talk to people and let them decide for themselves then maybe you will get what you want.”

“I like Heidi, I really do, I can imagine being with her for a long time. Why should I go for the complicated ones?”, I protest.

“Can you? Who do you try to convince? Me or yourself?”

I can just stare at the floor.

An image of a beautiful little red-haired boy with one green and one blue eye practically manifests before my inner eye.

A tear falls from my eyes dropping down on the couch.

I don’t have an answer.

I’m only lost.

With a loud sniff, I hide in my mother’s embrace.

I don’t want to think.

I don’t want to feel.

I just want to be left alone.

And I don’t wanna hurt anybody.

After a while, I calm down. Mamma tries to apologize if her words were too hard, but I just wave it off.

Maybe I needed to hear that.

That doesn’t mean I know what do to.

Defeated and done with anything I go up in my room and fall on my bed.

We may have a place at Christmas we finally can call home…yet I’m miserable.

Didn’t help either that polyamorous tendencies are genetic in our family.

I wish I meet my grandma…and my two grandpas.

Maybe they could help.

I pull my blanket over my head, closing my eyes.

I want to be alone and in silence for a while. Not to think about all this emotional chaos I have.

Later, I will join later my parents to celebrate Christmas…

I don’t know how I know but I’m in a place called Denny's Applebee's Max. Around me are all the people I know from South Park. Anyone is older.

It’s a big Christmas Celebration.

I’m sipping some champagne and looking around the room.

“Nice party, huh?”, says Tammy to me.

I turn to my best friend.

She…Tammy is also an adult. She still has long hair with blond highlights and wears a really simple black dress with some heels.

“Yep.”, I pop the p with zero enthusiasm.

Tammy signs and places a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry N.K., I really am.”

I snort and down my drink.

“You are not the one who crashed their own marriage.”, I remind her bittersweet. Careful I look around. “You don’t see her do you?”

She shakes her head.

“You told me yourself that she left you for her boss. They are probably at the Bahamas or some shit getting drunk on coconut milk.”

“Only because I didn’t work on our marriage!”

“N.K. you are a motherfucking Superhero who saved this shitty world more times than we can count. Heidi should have been more understanding.”

“I don’t wanna talk anymore about that.”

Like a coward, I walk away in search of a new glass of champagne. I can’t even talk anymore with my super best friend.

This job is killing me.

It killed my marriage.

Now it will kill my social life.

Why did I agree to serve the government?

That’s when I see how Stan, freshly returned from the Mars colony, enters the restaurant and gets hugged by Kyle and then Kyle’s two adorable children.

I feel pain in my chest.

After I started dating Heidi I distanced myself from Stan’s Gang. The pandemic in 2020 didn’t help either.

Kenny joins them and all three friends laugh and talk with each other.

At least they are happy…

That’s when my phone sounds and I get help but sign.

I should have known I couldn’t celebrate Christmas again with my friends and family.

My duty comes always first.

I pick up the phone.

“Commander? Who is invading us now?”

I step out of the restaurant, alone, without someone who will wait for me to return.

“You saw one way you life could go? Would you like to see another one?”

YES!

I don’t know how I know but I’m in a place called Denny's Applebee's Max. Around me are all the people I know from South Park. Anyone is older.

It’s a big Christmas Celebration.

With an I whine I rub the spot on my belly where the baby kicked me.

That may be my fourth pregnancy but this child confuses my insides for a football.

“Mommy, is my little brother naughty again?”, ask me my little Naomi.

She is tucked to my side, rubbing my belly too.

Her beautiful red hair falls in long curls to her hips and her brown eyes shine like amber. She is tall for a five-year-old.

“A bit, but I can handle it, maudeleh.”, I reassure her.

“Mamma!”, calls my oldest daughter for me. 15 years old, tall, golden locks, and with brown eyes. She walks over to us like a top model. “Do you know when Uncle Stan and Aunt Marianne will be here?! I have to tell Ariel the newest gossip from Earth! Can’t believe they stayed for nearly a year on Mars! I miss my super best friend!”

“Layla you will survive these few minutes. You did it for a year.”, deadpans my oldest child and son at her. At 20 years, he is a young adult, but still, my little baby I fought so hard for. Styled red locks, one eye green and one eye blue in a devilishly handsome face, which makes all swoon.

“Don’t be a dick, Alexander!”

“Layla Tammy Broflovski, what did I tell you about such langue!”, scolds Kyle her, giving me a kiss on the cheek and petting Naomi on the head.

“That it’s not okay to call my siblings dick but anyone else is free game.”

Besides Kyle, we all snort, while he sends a look at the blond man who is coming towards us.

“She got that from you, Kenny!”, he accuse our husband.

Kenny grins cheeky, giving me a forehead kiss and Kyle one on his cheek.

“And yet you married my foul langue speaking ass.”

Kyle rolls his eyes at him, while Kenny picks up Naomi and puts her on his shoulders.

“Well my babes I agree with Lala-“

“-Daddy!-“

“-Over there. When are the Marshs coming? I wonder how big little Jamie got.”

We hear how someone nears us.

It’s Tammy, also pregnant, her husband behind her, holding their little three-year-old girl in his arms.

“Madam President-“

“-Tammy you are my best friend and my right-hand woman stop calling me that even in private!-“

“-You are the president of the United States what do you want from me sis? We have an Alert, I’m sorry.”

Alexander groans while I pet his head.

“I’m sorry, bubaleh, till I’m knocked up with your little brother I can’t go and fight.”

“No Ma it’s okay, I just hoped I could have at least said hello to Uncle Stan and Aunt Marianne.”

“Someone called our names?”

I can’t even look that fast as Layla formally jumps her best friend and my niece, Ariel Marsh, both girls hugging and jumping around like crazy kangaroos.

“Oh hamburgers, someone is happy!”, gasps Marianne and hugs little two-year-old Jamie to herself.

Alexander and Naomi formally throw themselves at Stan, Marianne, and Jamie, who return the affectionate gesture. After Layla and Ariel are done with each other, my daughter hugs her aunt, uncle, and cousin too.

I and my husbands also join the group hug.

It’s so cute seeing Stan, Kyle, and Kenny together, while I shower my little sister and my nephew in kisses.

Our big family is together again.

It’s so amazing.

At this moment I look up and meet the eyes of Alexander.

He gives me a tiny smile.

“Are you happy Ma? Is this all you ever wanted? Will you choose this way?”

With a gasp, I sit up on my bed and look confused around.

What kind of fever dreams did I just have?

Never in my life was I so confused.

There is a knock on my door. Still reeling I call for the person to come in.

It’s Mamma.

“Ah, you woke up. Papà and I were getting worried. Come let’s have Christmas Dinner.”

I can just nod, following my mother.

My parents tell me apparently I missed how Cartman tried to take world domination via his Youtube channel and was then stopped by PewDiePie.

What can happen when one takes a short nap.

Only one thing is clear.

I’m more confused than ever.

If someone wanted to help me…this was a spectacular mistake.

Christmas fucking sucks, my dudes!

*Twirls my fake mustache like a villain*

I can’t wait to hear your theories my loves. ;D

Next

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[your-sweet-cookies]

🎲

The kiss roulette

And your lucky number is... 35!

A kiss against the wall

It was unusual for Kukki to have an outburst of anger like the one she had just now, but even she had a patience limit that if crossed, she wouldn't have been able to hold back her emotions any longer. This must've been the hundredth or thousandth time Niragi came back badly injured from one of the games, acting as if nothing was wrong or bad in the world, worrying her sick in the process, and Kukki kind of reached her limits with his soo uncaring demeanor.

When was he going to finally understand that his carelessness towards his own safety and life was hurting her? Couldn't he see how much he meant to her and how worried she was every time he'd be running late from one of the games or when she saw him coming back covered up in blood?! Even if she was still shy about it and she didn't really know how to express her feelings that well, Niragi meant the world to her and Kukki felt that if she were to lose him, her life would lose all its meaning too! So it broke her heart seeing him like that or knowing how little he cared if he'd die or not.

But this time... This time he had went too far! When the last car of the night returned and Niragi was still nowhere to be seen, Kukki's anxiety and desperation reached such a high level that she felt as if her world was going to start crumbling down before her eyes. All she could do was fall to her knees, staring blankly at the now empty car, while hearing the other militants, who'd just returned, talking in passing that tonight's games were incredibly brutal: an 8 of Spades, 9 of Clubs and a game of hearts she couldn't remember what difficulty they mumbled about. What if... What if Niragi had lost his life in one of these games?

The question still lingered in her mind as Kukki stood there, frozen in place, for what must've been hours. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cry, she just felt extremely... empty. And in the end, when the fatigue caused by all that anxiety finally reached her, the silver-haired woman fell asleep, still propped against the giant metal gates of the resort.

And thus, the first rays of the morning sun found Kukki still in the same place, but at least the dawn of the new day brought with it the good news she was starting to lose hope of ever hearing. "Morning princess! What's up, decided to camp outside for the night?" The familiar sound of the deep, raspy and husky tone of the voice she knew oh so well startled Kukki awake, as she blinked confused and stared baffled at its owner.

Staying now in front of her, leaning on his rifle as a makeshift cane for support, was none other than Niragi. A pretty roughed up and beaten up Niragi, but an alive one nonetheless. "S-Suguru?" Kukki's voice trembled when she finally recognized her lover and realized he was indeed real and not an illusion created by her heartbroken psyche, her eyes now filling up with tears of happiness and relief.

"Yours truly." Niragi snorted and tried teasing her, as Kukki didn't wait any additional second and jumped up, throwing herself at him for a very tight hug. "I-I am soo glad you're finally back! I-I was so worried! When that car came without you... I... I..." She could barely form coherent sentences in her erratic speech as she sobbed, squeezing the man even tighter as if she was afraid he'd disappear from her grasp if she didn't hold him strong enough.

Hearing her say that and feeling her trembling little body pressed like that against him brought a slight smile to Niragi's tired features. "It's okay princess... Now I'm back here, so you don't have to worry anymore." His roughed up hand pat her gently on the head, while the other rested on her back in a half hug. "I'm sorry I made you sad... Last night's game was truly one hell of a bitch! Got a broken leg after falling in a fucking ditch and the idiots I was with didn't even bother to check if I was still alive! They just upped and left. But fortunately, I don't have any intentions to meet the Devil yet, so I made my way back on foot, limping, but still in one piece." The man explained and let out a slight chuckle, anger laced in his words remembering about his useless teammates.

"For fuck's sake Suguru! You should've used that goddamn walkie talkie to call for help!" Kukki snapped back at him, rendering Niragi confused. "Walkie talkie?" It took him a slight moment to remember that indeed, Hatter required of them to have one of those on hand in case something were to ever happen and they'd need assistance, but he never gave a fuck about what that crazy bastard had to say. No one told Niragi what to do! So he never bothered getting one for himself. "Ah, that... I don't give a shit about Hatter's stupid toys, so I never got one."

A loud thud could be heard as Niragi's tall body got slammed with rather surprising force into the wall opposing them, as his answer seemed to have really rubbed his girlfriend the wrong way. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! DO YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE?! HOW CARELESS CAN YOU BE?! YOU COULD'VE DIED! AND FOR WHAT?! BECAUSE YOU DON'T WANT TO FOLLOW HATTER'S RULES?!" Kukki screamed at him in a way he'd never thought her capable of. Not that Niragi would have ever thought her capable of pinning him to a wall either, but looks like Kukki really kept true to her promise of always being unpredictable.

"Oh wow... I never thought you had this much force in those delicate arms of yours..." Niragi laughed nervously, still a bit in shock from her reaction. "What if you wouldn't have been able to make it back?! Or worse, what if your wound would've been much worse and the lack of medical assistance could've costed you your life?! Don't you care if you were to die?! DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT ME?!" Kukki continued on, her eyes filling up with a new stream of hot, bitter tears.

"Why can't you understand that your life means much more than you think?! And that your death would break those who care about you, especially me?! Can't you see your actions are hurting me deeply?! When will you understand how much I love you?" With those final words and the tears rolling down her cheeks, Kukki grabbed his collar and pulled him into a deep, messy and sloppy angry kiss, but one in which she tried her best to encapsulate all her feelings and strong emotions she harbored for him. The young woman then didn't let go of him until they both ran out of air. "I don't want to fucking lose you! If you'd die, I'd lose the only thing that keeps me going and the only person I've ever loved and loved me back... If you leave me, there would be nothing else worth fighting for anymore! What would be the point? I love you more than anything!" Kukki then continued crying and buried her face in his chest.

[britishsimp]

Not meant to be

Warnings: Swearing, sad ending

Not my story it was created by my friend

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's nice to fall in love, not until you finally hit the ground.

The spotlight is on us now, we are dancing in the middle of so many people, It's his 21st Birthday, in those 21 years, I've been by his side for 12 years, and I've loved him for 12 years.

You know the feeling that you both know that you're not JUST FRIENDS but at the same time you can't call what relationship you have as LOVERS because there is no label, no assurance, no commitment held.

But I'm fed up, I'm fed up with our set up like this; owning, blocking, flirting, even though it shouldn't be. It shouldn't be because there are no rights, There are no rights because we don't have any – I'm not his, He's not mine.

I'm going to confess.

We swayed to the rhythm of the music, and I couldn't help but be mesmerized by his smile. It was as if nothing else mattered in the world but the two of us on the dance floor.

As the song came to an end, he spun me around, we then continued to look at each other's eyes

''h/n, I li-''

''I know'' He said, cutting my words off

I was so confused, he just smiled at me.

We go back to our place earlier, he'll blow candles first.

It's okay! I still have a lot of time, the night is still long.

After blowing his candle, he took the mic, and there he began his speech ''Good evening to all of you, and thank you for being here tonight to celebrate my 21st birthday debut. I am honored and grateful to have you all here to share this special moment with me. Turning 21 is a significant moment in any young person's life. It marks a transition from adolescence to adulthood, and it comes with newfound responsibilities, privileges, and opportunities. I want to thank my friends and family who traveled from near and far to be here tonight. Your presence means the world to me, and I am truly grateful for the effort you all made to celebrate this milestone with me. And of course, I want to thank my parents for organizing this incredible event. Without their guidance, I would not be the person that I am today. Without them– I wouldn't be able to live this comfortable life that I lived my whole life, but as I grew up.. I realized that living a comfortable life without purpose is not what I really want,''

Everyone at the event looked at each other and whispered

''after a few days, I will go to Paris, I will live there and I will continue my studies. Mom, dad I'm sorry but... I'm stepping down from the position as heir to the company''

His mother's mouth was covered, while his father's eyebrows were already meeting

''A lawyer, that's what I want to be. I want to help people and be able to make changes. For me, being able to pursue that is better than living this comfortable life, this comfortable life where I can get all the clothes I want, I also studied at one of the most expensive schools in the country, every morning someone prepares something to eat, wear'' Until now, he was still smiling "I believe that sometimes we need to let go of the past and start anew. Again, thanks for attending my birthday party everyone-''

I can't seem to finish his speech anymore, I ran crying, I heard our other friends calling me but I ignored them.

I'm now in an empty hallway

Someone grabbed my hands ''y/n wait-''

''What is that, h/n? Are you not done yet? Are you going to reveal something else?'' I said, trying not to cry

''I'm sorry, I like you too but I'm not yet ready..'' he said

I couldn't stop myself from crying

I was ready to risk it all but I guess I'm not someone he's worth risking for

He stepped closer to me then he hugged me "God damnit h/n"

At least once in your life, have you ever considered choosing me?

Can't I be there while you chase your dreams?

Can't we chase each other's dreams together?

[ecrireverie]

wait actually! i was thinking about this the other day, my mother has early-onset alzheimer's and as horrible the disease is there are a few wholesome things i've discovered that just make me adore humans and how the brain works. for awhile now, she has gone past the point of recognition for her loved ones and she cannot carry out conversations, so keep in mind that circumstances where we are able to actually communicate effectively with each other are rare. but over the years i've found ways that are a little unorthodox.

one of my favorite things ever is that like what OP showed through their experience, music is still preserved in the memory of people with dementia. my older sister told me that before my mother was diagnosed, she loved the titanic soundtrack as well as church hymns, and my mother would have her play them on the piano. i had no idea she loved titanic when i first learned the soundtrack on the piano several years later and her alzheimer's disease had progressed significantly (at that point nobody had touched the piano for years). even if she didn't remember us and couldn't talk to us coherently, she would light up at the sound of me playing and she'd sing along to the lyrics word-for-word.

the same goes for church hymns. we hadn't gone to church in awhile and my sister hadn't played the piano in years, but the first time my sister played again, she'd sing along and her face would just change? the disease took her so young but at that moment she'd never looked younger, and when our eyes met, hers weren't empty- it was pretty incredible to see. she would come back to life, singing along with us and appearing anything but hollow. music is so, so beautiful and when i experienced this it just became more meaningful.

my mother has also still retained her empathy. this might be my favorite. i remember i'd been crying and it was just me and her at home. i didn't bother pretending i was fine when she found me because she was so far gone it wasn't like her brain would register that i was crying anyway. i just felt her standing in front of me (i was sitting by her bed), and when i looked up after a few minutes, i was surprised to see her staring at me and actually crying too? she was opening her mouth and trying to say something coherent, but she would often fall short, her words not making sense, but i could see in her eyes that she was confused and really, really sad as she watched me cry, and it was like she was trying to reach out but didn't know how to.

i've read a bit about mirror neurons before- the neurons that get activated for empathy. i wonder if they are among the last to go in alzheimer's disease. and if this is true, how cool is that?? how amazing is it that even if we can't comprehend someone else's pain in this way, we can still feel it by a mere look. i never really thought about it before.

this final one is a little more subtle. my mother still squeezes my dad's hand when he holds it at church. maybe it doesn't mean much. but i think it does because she really needs assistance for her movements. we have to spoonfeed her meals, tip the cup to her lips when she drinks water, bathe her, change her diapers. it's a very small thing to squeeze his hand back but it makes me smile every time i see it, because she doesn't do anything on her own except roam around aimlessly at home, and it's like she's losing her instincts.

My grandpa with mild dementia is so funny, it's really funny that he lives in the middle of a lush valley, and he still has the urge to roam

It's a symptom apparently for dementia patients to roam so he ends up usually finding himself next to radios and places where people have mariachi bands playing

It's really sweet how he still loves music and it brings him joy, it makes him incredibly happy

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

So, I’m no writer, but I have an incredibly sappy idea for the ending to Stranger Things.

I know some others have suggested that the series will end with Joyce and Hopper’s wedding, which I think is a good idea. A celebration of love is the perfect way to cap off a story of pain and survival with a message of healing.

Let’s assume that the first dance has already occurred (any suggestions on what Joyce and Hop would dance to?) and the reception has settled a bit, people starting to mingle and dance. Will is just content to sit at the family table and relax, happy to have peace after so long. He’s chatting with El, who mentions Mike. 

Will looks over to where Mike is sitting at a table with his family and the Sinclairs. Lucas is turned around in his seat in conversation with Max and Dustin, who are seated at the next table, but Mike isn’t really taking any part of it. In fact, he looks bored and a bit sad. He looks over at the family table, only to quickly look away when he sees Will and El already looking at him.

The opening notes to George Benson’s Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You start to play. El smiles and gets up to walk over to Mike. Will sadly smiles and looks down. It’s been hard lately. Mike has been back to treating Will like he used to, the way that made Will fall for him, but he’s still spending a lot of time with El. Alone time. 

If I had to live my life without you near me The days would all be empty The nights would seem so long

Will glances over to the pair. El has pulled Mike away from the table and is talking to him. Mike is rapidly shaking his head with a flustered look on his face. Will scoffs and turns to make a snarky comment to his brother, only to see that Jonathan isn’t there. Oh, he’s pulling Nancy out onto the dance floor. Will looks down at his drink and plays with the straw. He doesn’t notice Mike looking over at him. He doesn’t notice Mike visibly swallow and slowly move towards the family table.

With you I see forever, oh, so clearly I might have been in love before But it never felt this strong

On slightly shaking legs, Mike reaches the table. Will doesn’t notice he’s there. He’s in his own head, thinking about a dream he’s had as long as he can remember.

Our dreams are young and we both know They'll take us where we want to go

Suddenly, a hand enters his field of vision, palm up. He stares at it in confusion for a moment before looking up. Mike is looking back at him with a scared, but hopeful, expression. Will doesn’t understand, and he cannot find any words. Mike musters the courage to jerk his head in the direction of the dance floor, his outstretched hand shaking, but determined.

Hold me now, touch me now I don't want to live without you

Realization strikes Will. Realization and more confusion. He looks over Mike’s shoulder to where El is watching. Curiously, she seems excited, like she’s about to burst. Dustin, Lucas, and Max have also noticed. Dustin has his head cocked like a curious puppy, and a smirking Lucas is leaning over to whisper into Max’s ear, probably telling her what’s going on. 

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you

He sees her smile before saying something back to Lucas. He catches eyes with Will and gives him a look (”What are you waiting for?”), as he takes Max’s hand and leads her to the dance floor.

One thing you can be sure of I'll never ask for more than your love

Will takes Mike’s hand, and the boy visibly relaxes. Will gives him a look (”Are you sure?”). Mike swallows and nods, afraid, but determined. On the way to the dance floor, they pass a confused Hopper and a beaming Joyce. 

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you The world may change my whole life through But nothing's gonna change my love for you

The hear a few gasps as they reach the floor. Mike simply sets his jaw and tightens his grip on Will’s hand. Will squeezes back before turning to face Mike. They laugh as they try to figure out where to put their hands. The awkwardness broken, they begin to dance.

If the road ahead is not so easy Our love will lead the way for us Like a guiding star I'll be there for you if you should need me You don't have to change a thing I love you just the way you are

Will settles his head on Mike’s shoulder. Mike peers up and sees Jonathan and Nancy dancing nearby. They’re looking back at him and Will. Nancy smirks and gives Mike a nod, but Jonathan stares down Mike. Jonathan mouths “You better not hurt him” to Mike, but then smirks and nods at him. Nancy gives him a good natured poke before turning him away from her brother. 

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you One thing you can be sure of I'll never ask for more than your love

Will has never been more content. He looks over Mike’s shoulder and sees his mother smiling back at him. She gives him a thumbs up, to which he rolls his eyes before returning back at her. Next to her, Hopper is watching with exaggerated dismay. He gives Will a look (”Really? Wheeler?”). Joyce slaps him on the arm before leaning in and pressing her face to his shoulder. Hopper gives a dramatic sigh before putting his arm around his wife. Will laughs. Mike pulls back to ask him what’s so funny and their eyes lock. 

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you The world may change my whole life through But nothing's gonna change my love for you

Mike breaks first, glancing down at Will’s lips. Will gulps and looks down at Mike’s lips. They lean in. 

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you One thing you can be sure of I'll never ask for more than your love

Unbeknownst to the couple, Karen Wheeler has been watching the whole time, confusion on her face. She glances over at El, who is talking with Dustin, then back to the boys, trying to piece everything together. She turns to her husband, who isn’t paying attention. Ted looks at her when she elbows him in the side. She jerks her head to the dance floor, and Ted turns and sees his son and Will gently kissing. Ted shrugs and turns back to his shrimp cocktail. “Stranger things have happened, dear.” Karen sighs, but turns back to her son. A small smile grows on her face as she sees Mike and Will looking at each other like they’re the best thing to ever happen to each other.

Nothing's gonna change my love for you You oughta know by now how much I love you The world may change my whole life through But nothing's gonna change my love for you Nothing's gonna change my love for you

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | One | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 3,432

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Heavy world building, funeral scene, mentions of death (elderly), brief mentions of toxic relationship between reader's mother and grandmother (not too serious), mentions of ailing mental states of the elderly, physical altercations (Jimin and reader fight this is action fantasy ok), Jimin is toxic (hard to understand what he wants, is prone to some violence), threatens to kill/ dismember reader (EMPTY THREATS HE THINKS HES TOUGH), mentions of daggers and swords, use of magical abilities, sexual tension, Fae Jimin is a warning in itself. 

❀ Published: May 25, 2022

❀ A/N: I am so thrilled to be writing this finally. Fantasy writing is my element - I feel like I write fantasy genre so much better than any of my other content. I do find a lot of people are as enthusiastic about it, but I really hope you enjoy this. Please note that this story is only 5 full chapter long - this means that each chapter I write will ALWAYS be around 20k-30k per chapter, because I'm doing this as a mini series. I find it much easier to do large works like this because it's less likely I lose motivation.

This first chapter does not have smut - I hope that does not turn you off, however I wanted to establish the dynamic between Y/N and Jimin before I really played up that part. I do promise for those of you just looking for some filth that it will be in the next chapter.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Series Playlist |  Next Chapter

You know that funerals are meant for crying, but you find it difficult to produce tears. The folded chair beneath you is damp with the rain misting under the black umbrella held tightly in your hand. A morbid thought crosses your mind as they lower the casket into the freshly dug grave - it looks exactly like a scene from a mafia movie. The gray sky swollen with rain, the clusters of dark umbrellas catching droplets. 

Next to you, your mother sniffs, wiping her tears away. You can’t imagine what she is going through, but you think there is guilt there. Guilt for not being there in her mother’s last days. Guilt for writing off the ramblings and confusion of an old woman. 

In her last days, your grandmother was a nuisance to your mom. An old weight stressing her out with ailing health, a reason to take off numerous days from her incredibly important work as a fashion designer and owner of her own company. 

The fact that she is crying tells you how little your mother knew about grandma in her dying days. She wouldn’t want anyone to cry. She was old and lived a full life, and she had wanted peace in her last days. Waiting to join your grandfather, who had died much earlier. 

So you don’t cry. For your grandmother, for her legacy. Because though you’re sad, and though you will miss the soft stories whispered at your bedside as a child, you know that she’s wherever she was meant to be. 

That’s enough for you. 

Funerals, as expected, are a bleak affair. The gathering after is even worse. Catered food that is colder than it should be, dishes made in haste by neighbors and mourners. Escaping the stale perfume of your mother’s friends and those who knew your grandma is imperative. 

Your grandmother’s house is old, built in the 1800s with nooks and crannies and rooms leading into rooms in a dizzying maze. It’s well-kept, though some of the porch out front leans and the screens in the windows could do with replacing. 

It doesn’t matter. The home holds sentimental value to you. You wander up the creaking, carpeted stairs. It still has shag carpet, holding in every smell familiar to you as you climb. Your room is on the second floor facing the north and front of the yard, in the rounded part of the house above the reading room on the first floor. It’s quiet upstairs as you pause in the hallway, looking at the frames mounted in the hall, a wall of memories.

Your childhood stretches behind each piece of glass, contained within the woodwork and cardboard backing. 

After admiring each fragment of your history, you trail to your room. The door creaks when you open it. Gray light filters in through the window, the gossamer curtains pulled back. Dust motes float in the room. It is completely undisturbed. Your old twin bed is tucked neatly in the corner of the room, pink sheets tucked neatly. You sit on it, feeling the bed springs give under your weight. 

A mural painted with your grandmother’s careful hand stretches on the wall opposite your bed and around the wooden door leading to your closet. You look at the greenery and the vines crawling up old castles, faeries and sprites dancing around under the moonlight. A glowing sword held by a warrior maiden with a circlet of moons and stars around her hair. 

The painting is a collection of hundreds of stories your grandmother has told you growing up. They all revolve around land called Faerie, where creatures beautiful and deadly exist. The maiden in the story was always your favorite character, fashioned in the likeness of your grandmother herself. 

Sighing, you finally feel the threat of tears. You swallow past it and lay down on the bed, content to be in the room again. The bookshelf with the music box is untouched, but free of dust. Though time seems to freeze the room in place, you can tell that your grandmother kept it clean. The thought makes your lip wobble.

Instead of crying, you turn on your side and close your eyes. You imagine that she’s there next to you, brushing your hair with her soft hands and murmuring, There once was a princess without a crown. Don’t worry, she got her crown eventually, but she had to fight a monster to earn it… 

-

Darkness covers the room. You groan when you stretch your limbs, sore and cramped from sleeping on the uncomfortable bed. You’re still dressed in your funeral clothes. Grabbing your phone from next to the fairy lamp, you click your lock screen open. It’s near midnight. 

You see texts from your mother and roll your eyes. Of course she thought you left early - she hadn’t even bothered to check the rooms upstairs. Groaning, your joints pop as you get out of the bed, shuffling to the center of the room. Slipping your shoes back on, you make to leave the house and head back to your apartment. 

The hallway is night-still. Your steps break the silence as you use the screen of your phone to navigate the hall. Nearing the stairwell, you pause. You don’t know why, but something makes you turn and look at the opposite end of the hall. The small door that leads up the stairwell to the attic above your room beckons you. 

Something in you buzzes. The urge to walk to the other end of the hall and open the attic takes over. You don’t know where it comes from, only that you haven’t been in the attic in years. You were never allowed up there alone - it kept some of your grandparents most prized possessions. 

The world seems dull as you take a step towards the end of the hall and away from the stairs. A dull buzz enters your ears as you take another step, eyes fixed on the door. It would take only a moment to go up and look at what is there again. Trinkets and curiosities that you always loved to admire under the strict supervision of grandmother. 

Suddenly you’re outside the door. You reach for the knob and it feels like a tremor of electricity vibrates down your arm. Up up up your hand goes, closing around the brass knob and-

Your phone ringing makes you scream in surprise, dropping it entirely. You press your hand to your chest, heart pounding. The adrenaline shoots through you like an arrow, immediately making you feel sick from the sudden fear. 

Spell broken, you reach down, shining the phone face toward you, blinding you. It’s so much darker in the hallway than you remember. 

You slide your finger across the screen. “Hi, Joon. Yeah - sorry, I fell asleep after the funeral. I’m going home now - let’s have dinner tomorrow? Sounds good.”

You rarely blow off your best friend, but Namjoon is the kind of person who understands people the way you wish you could. He reads you like a book, always anticipating when you need space and always knowing what to say. He has been your rock during your grandmother’s ongoing health issues and passing - and he’d have been with you today, if you hadn’t assured him that his presentation at work was more important. 

The attic is forgotten about as you shake off the tired feeling. You head back to the stairs, jogging down them and shoving your phone in your pocket. Yawning, you lock up behind you and leave your grandmother’s old house standing alone in the night. 

-

Fabric clings to your shoulders uncomfortably. The blazer you’ve pulled on for your meeting is too tight in the arms, not allowing you to reach too far upward and feeling awkward as you shuffle out of the car. You reach to close the door, the sleeve straining against you. 

Formal wear isn’t your forte. You find it uncomfortable and you rarely need to use them unless you’re doing a signing or something official. Your usual clothes involve anything comfortable for writing children’s stories, weaving the tales from your childhood. Your grandmother had helped illustrate more than a few.

The thought makes you smile as you shift in the padded seat of the reception room of the legal office. You check your watch - the lawyer in charge of divvying up your grandmother’s estate is late. But so is your mother.

Next to you, the door opens. Your mother breezes in, dressed in a wonderfully tailored pantsuit and heels. She looks effortlessly beautiful, smiling when she sees you. You stand and press a kiss to her cheeks. You always wished you looked like her when you were younger - lithe and graceful with a sort of effortless movement. 

Now you’re happy that you look exactly like your grandmother - commanding and firm. You’re not graceful, but you’re strong. People listen to you when you speak, though that’s the one thing you share in common with your mother. 

“You look nice,” she says, sitting down next to her. You accept the comment, though you hate the outfit. “You should dress like that more often.” 

You love your mother. She is a strong woman who raised you primarily on her own while creating a fashion empire around herself. Though your childhood was filled with living at your grandmother’s when money was tight and more often than not having your grandparents keeping you during fashion weeks and long-weekends, your mother loves you. She isn’t unkind, and she tries to be supportive of your whimsical dreams. 

It’s just that you’re nothing like her. You’ve inherited the wandering mind from your father, his enchanting fascination with worlds of fantasy. And though that had attracted your mother to him in the first place because it reminded her of her mother, after your dad passed, her passion for anything magical vanished.

The struggle between wanting you to do something corporate and letting you live your dreams was constant for her. And you knew that she tried - she bought your books and she asked you about them. But the pinched brow and the twitch in her mouth always told you that she was disappointed. Because you reminded her of her late husband. Reminded her of the struggles with her own mother.

So you let the comment pass. It’s not an insult - she just wishes you were more like her. Carried you for nine months, she would joke. All for you to come out like grandma and your dad! 

“How’s your new book doing?”

It’s a question to broach the silence. You answer anyway, “Good. I’m glad grandma was able to illustrate for me.”

“She loved that you made her stories your own. I don’t know if you realize how much that meant to her - means to me.” You look up at your mom. For a moment, her face is older than you remember, more open and vulnerable. She touches your hand and you feel emotion well up inside you. “I’m glad we have those, for her. So thank you.” 

When the lawyer opens the door, the moment is gone. But you’re glad that it happens. 

Standing, you smooth your blazer and follow your mother into the man’s office. It’s stuffy and you feel claustrophobic. It smells like peppermint oil and tea tree. You notice that there are crystals lining his bookshelves, your eyes recognizing obsidian, tigers eye, smoky quartz. 

The lawyer himself is wire-thin and skittish, pushing his glasses up his pointed nose and apologizing profusely. He was dressed in jeans with paint stains and a shirt tucked in, evidence of a donut on his collar. You don’t know why, but he makes you smile as you sit down. You immediately imagine him as a willow man from one of your stories, a type of dryad made of willow bark, as flighty as the breeze. 

“I apologize for the delay,” he says again. “The lock box and papers went wandering off on their little feet - critters drive me nuts!”

You raise your brows. Your mother raises her hackles, fingers digging into the arms of her chair. “You almost lost my mother’s belongings?”

“Not permanently!”

Her nose flares. “Make this brief, please.” 

The lawyer - Mr. Willow, which makes you suspicious of your own mind - goes through the papers outlining your grandmother’s estates. It’s mostly split evenly, with certain heirlooms and keepsakes going to your mother. You can tell your mother is struggling with some of the items mentioned, something personal and meaningful to her.

The surprise comes when you get the house and specific belongings inside of it. You recognize objects kept in the attic that Mr. Willow goes over. Your mother goes rigid for some of them, and though you don’t know why, you find yourself nodding along. 

At the end of the meeting, you are much wealthier than you imagined being in your lifetime, and you have a house full of curiosities and memories.

Outside, the world is gray. It has rained most days since your grandmother has passed away. The imaginative side of you feels as though the world is weeping for her loss. The realist in you knows the rainy season is approaching. 

A touch on your wrist draws your attention to your mother. Her mouth is pinched, and nostrils are flared, sure signs of her annoyance as she tightens her hold. “You should sell off those items in the attic. No good comes from them.”

You frown. “Why?”

“They’re trinkets that inspired the delusions of your grandfather - grandmother too, in the end. You should be rid of them. They have sour memories.”

“I love the attic,” you protest. “I loved when grandma took me up there.”

“I can’t make you do anything, but you should think about what I’ve said. Objects have a weird way of holding memories that warp the mind.” She lets go of your wrist. It’s the most she's ventured to imply that objects can be mystical in years. “Try not to get lost in the stories. They’re nothing more than that.” 

With a firm kiss on your head, she turns and walks away. People look at her as she passes by them, heads turned to watch her go. She has always had a magnetic beauty, drawing people to her wherever she went. Your grandmother had that same quality, moving about the world with an intense gravity. 

Your drive through the city is aimless. You have nowhere to be. Nothing to do. The music is so low that you turn it off, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Your hands guide you on instinct until you’re driving through winding hills toward your grandmother’s house. It isn’t until you’re stepping out into the silver moonlight that you realize you’re there. 

Pulling your phone out, you text Namjoon the address. You’re supposed to meet for dinner, but you want to explore a little. The house will be less creepy with him around. 

The house is dark. There are no lights in the window as you close your car door, a noise so loud that it makes you flinch in the silence of the night. You don’t move for a while, just examining the house. Vine climbs up the side of the house and tangles in the eaves. There’s a porch on the front, a single swing still hanging. Above it is a large balcony attached to your grandmother’s room, the furniture and plants still waiting for her return. 

Your eyes drift to the rounded front of the house - the reading room on the first floor, your room on the second, and the attic on the third. You used to have dreams about creatures slipping through the floor of the attic to come through your ceiling and fall on you while you slept. 

The dreams you had when you stayed with your grandmother were always strange. Filled with something other and always like you were waking from a memory, you sometimes recalled pixies and brownies creeping on the edge of your mind, speaking to you in hushed tones at the foot of your bed. 

Now, you’re alone without having one of those dreams in years. You walk up to the house, letting yourself in. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, though it legally is. You cross the threshold and stare out at the dark home. Most of the things inside belong to you, a reality that seems far away. This will always be your grandmother’s home. It will always have her things. 

Your mother’s suggestion to sell off the items in the attic gnaws at you. Flicking the lights on in the home so you don’t feel so alone, you ascend the stairs. The clock in the reading room ticks loudly, a steady staccato as you climb the stairs, footsteps quieted by carpet. Your fingers trace the flowered wallpaper, some of the edges peeling where it meets the next panel. 

A memory comes to you and you smile. There was a time when you were around five that you got in trouble for drawing near the crown molding, sitting on the stairs with your Crayola and pressing the waxy tip into the wallpaper with vigor. Your grandmother had not been bothered and your mother was mildly annoyed until she saw the subject of your drawings: a warrior queen with stars in her hair.

You don’t remember what her and your grandmother fought about, but it had been loud and you waited in your room with tear-stained cheeks for it to be over. 

Hundreds of memories echo in the home. You feel them all as you open the attic door, looking up at the dark stairs. You flick the light up before taking the stairs carefully. They creak under your weight and you see the way the cobwebs dance as you walk by. 

The ceiling is low and you can see the little black spiders spinning away, wrapped up in their own machinations. You leave them to their spinning, sweeping your gaze around the room with a mix of excitement and sadness. It’s been years since you’ve been in the attic, and you don’t know where to go first. 

Following your own whims, you brush your finger along an old book collection. There’s dust on them, old folklore books and poems that your grandfather used to read often. Your grandmother had no interest in them when he passed, but she always kept them. Your finger tapped the cracked and aged spine of The Knight of the Cart, trailing to The Song of Roland. 

That one makes you smile. You imagine yourself as the Knight Roland, wielding his mighty sword Durendal, or sitting at the round table. 

A heavy chest with artfully crafted metal leaves and a gilded latch sits in the corner. You know it contains objects you were never allowed to see - a heavy lock keeps the polished leather lid shut. You go to it anyway - you’re sure there’s a key somewhere, perhaps in the safety deposit box you were given. Your fingers are curious as they trace the metal leaves. They're artfully done, with jewels set in, a green that is so vibrant you swear they’re emeralds. 

Your favorite part of the attic is the old school boudoir. You sit on the cushioned stool carefully, worried that the old wood will crack under your weight. The mirror is covered in dust. You carefully trace your finger through the dust, instinct guiding you before you realize what you’re doing. 

Mirrors can lead to other worlds your grandmother had whispered once. Maybe even different places of the afterlife. 

So you trace a single sentence on the mirror. I miss you. An oidche. 

You hope that wherever she is, your grandmother receives the message written in dust. 

Nudging around the items at the table, you pull open a drawer. Dust clouds out of it, making you wave your hand back and forth to try and clear it. Inside are some perfumes and a lethal looking letter opener. You take out the letter opener, eyebrows raised. It’s a little larger and heavier than normal - you dare to call it a dagger - with an ornate grip decorated with silver stars. The blade is thin and dark silver. 

Static crackles in the air. You feel something sizzle in your palm, sparking your skin. You yelp, dropping the letter opener to the floor. It clatters, but you ignore the dagger, looking at the palm of your hand. You swear theres a pink, faded outline where you gripped the handle, but when you blink, your hand is normal.

Picking up the letter opener from the floor, you put it back in the drawer. You start to close the drawer, but a velvet box captures your eye. You pull the midnight-blue box from the back of the drawer. It’s velvet and obviously a ring box. You pop it open, curious. A simple band of metal is inside, stars carved into the metal. You pull it from its snug seat in the box, holding it up toward the shotty light to examine it.

The band looks too large for your fingers. The metal is dark like the letter opener, almost black and yet shimmering somehow. The stars aren’t like the normal five-pointed drawings in popular media, but bursts that are all unique and beautiful in their own way. 

Experimentally, you slid the ring on your pointer finger on your right hand. It’s too loose at first - you blink in surprise. The attic is not brightly lit, but for a moment you swear the ring pulsed and grew smaller. It’s snug on your finger now, not too tight but not loose. You hold your hand up, admiring it. It isn’t full of diamonds or jewels, but there is something about it that glows from within. 

A tremor goes through you. You flinch and look around the room. You swear you felt something like a pulse of energy shiver through you and outward. The room is dark - your vision fades in and out for a moment as your eyes adjust from staring at the ring so much. 

Nothing seems amiss, but you feel… off. 

Shrugging you pull at the ring, ready to return it. The metal doesn’t come off. You frown and pull harder, but it doesn’t budge. You try a few more times, but the ring fits snuggly. You look at it again, frown deepening.

“What the fuck,” you mutter. 

No matter what you try, the ring won’t come off. You pull open other drawers, looking for lotion of some kind to help slide the ring off your finger. You find none. 

Something makes you acutely aware of the silence in the room. You look up at the mirror - it’s still dusted over, not showing a true reflection, but you see a figure in the corner near the door. Screaming, you shoot out of the seat and turn around, crashing backward into the boudoir. 

“Woah woah woah!” Namjoon holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself against the wall. “Relax it's just me!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“You texted me to meet you!”

Oh yeah. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and the sudden urge to vomit from the terror. You close your eyes, letting your breathing regulate. When you open them again, Namjoon is still waiting for you. You relax, letting the breath woosh from your lungs. 

“Sorry, I think I’m just paranoid,” you say finally. 

“House is a little creepy at night.”

“A bit.” Shrugging off the weird thoughts of the ring, you cross the attic and beckon for him to follow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

-

After a few days, it’s easy to forget about the fact that the ring won’t come off. On closer inspection, it appears that it’s made of something like iron. At night, you lie in bed and stare at it, hand held above you. It seems to glow whenever the sun sets, coming alive in the night. 

Though you never feel the same pulse of energy you did the night you put the ring on, you feel something. You can’t put your finger on it, but it lingers in the night. Though you were always a night owl, a new kind of insomnia slowly begins to take over. You find yourself inspired the moment the sun vanishes from the sky to write, creating your grandmother’s stories into something else fuller, more expanded. 

You’re suffering from another battle of insomnia as you stand in the kitchen, sipping chamomile tea in the dark. The ring reflects the night light hauntingly. Your eyes drift to inspect it again, following unknown constellations mapped in the metal. 

There are seven stars on the metal, dotted carefully. Something prods your mind. You narrow your eyes, staring at the constellations. They suddenly look familiar, almost like a distant memory. It’s on the edge of your thought, lingering there as you rotate your hand, holding it close to your face to get a better view.

Seven stars. Each burst its own shape and size. Your frustration mounts like an itch you can’t scratch, a pressure building as you struggle to think of where you know this pattern from, where you know those stars. 

You blink and almost drop your tea. You set it down quickly and rush to the light in the kitchen, flicking it on and making yourself flinch. When your eyes adjust, you hold your hand up, mouth agape as you count the stars. 

One star for winter, the first in the skies

One star for spring, when winter dies

One star for summer, cold winter’s twin

One star for autumn, when the veil is thin

One star for day, the brightest glow

One star for night, when the world is slow

One star on high, to rule alone

The soft rhyme your grandfather used to whisper to you comes back to you with a wave of emotions. You clutch the counter, trying to catch your breath as the rhyme circles your mind over and over again.

The seven stars of the faerie realm. You remember both of them telling you about it, the way each star represented a court. Those stories were your favorite. Your grandmother always wove beautiful stories about the warrior princess of the Night Court who fell in love with a knight of the Summer Court. You remember their story, remember the way they united to banish the power of the High Court, an ancient court draining the power of the six courts.

Grabbing your keys, you don’t even think. Trees and headlights blur by as you drive to your grandmother's house, hands twisting on the steering wheel. Something settles over you - a sense of foreboding that begins to twist in your stomach. You know what you’re going to find. 

And yet when you run through the house and up to your old bedroom, falling to your knees to inspect the mural your grandmother has painted you, you’re surprised. The warrior princess with stars in her hair holds her sword high over her head, ring glowing on her finger with power. 

You look down at your hand. It’s the same ring. 

Rushing up to the attic, you’re already convincing yourself that you’re going mad. Your grandparents were huge storytellers - your father too. It was something so consuming to them, their world of fantasy and mythological creatures. You wanted nothing more than for it to all be real as a child. 

You think of the way your mother purged your home of stories and fantasy when your father passed. How she hated any time your grandmother filled your head with those lies and fantasies. Of the way your mother told you to toss the items in the attic out.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there is a madness that runs in your family, a sickness of the mind that weaves fantasies and makes you think they’re real. There is nothing wrong with your grandmother having a ring she’s painted in your old room. There’s nothing wrong with a ring that won’t come off - it happens all the time. 

Upstairs in the attic, you’re rooting around the bookshelf for the tiny journal your grandfather kept with poems and pages filled with his delicate, slanted writing. You don’t bother to turn the lights on, spying it and snatching it. You crack it open, the yellowed pages familiar as you pace, flicking through the pages. 

You find the entry you want, stopping your pacing to pause and read the poem over again. It’s there, the seven courts of faerie, all ruled by the powerful High Court. You trace the words, shaking your head. Their twisted imaginations are so much more than you could have thought. Their stories are so heavily intertwined that it feels… real, like some sort of past they have shared.

But that is not possible. You write children's novels, inspired by your grandmother’s bedside tales, but they are nothing more than that. You can’t… you can’t fall into delusion that this is real, that these little snippets of this world they spoke of are tangible. 

You know it is. You don’t know why, but the word real pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart. Real real. Real real. Real real. 

It’s all real. 

“Has this world erased any sense of self-awareness you have?” 

The voice makes you scream in surprise, clutching the journal to your chest as your heart beats so wildly you think it’s going to explode. The soft purr belongs to a man standing in the corner of the attic, staring at you with keen eyes. 

“Do not come any closer!” You scream at him, the first words that come to your mind. 

He looks amused. “You were always a brat, but you’re in no position to order me around anymore.”  

Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You stare at the man who stands with his hands behind his back in the corner of the attic. He looks entirely out of place - a shirt made of a soft material that is almost see-through hangs loose on his narrow frame. It’s the shade of cotton candy but somehow brighter. The collar is open, revealing smooth skin and layered necklaces with pearls and other small jewels. His pants are tight fitted, something similar to leather and tucked into supple boots. 

There is a circlet resting on his silver head - something that would look ridiculous in any other situation but now commands power. It looks right on him - makes him look otherworldly and deadly.

His eyes are green, nearly glowing in the shadow of the attic. He looks out of place here, a being that isn’t made for your world. He steps forward and it’s soundless. The aged and cracked floorboards don’t dare to make a sound under his feet, the dust of the attic doesn’t move.

A pretty face belies something dark. Something terrifying. His face is beautiful but alien, like something about the features are too sharp. You feel unsettled by him, heart hammering as he edges soundlessly to you, like the air doesn't stir when he moves.

He’s not human. That’s for sure.

Something pulses in you. You stare at the strange intruder, ethereal and lost in his eyes but there’s something else you can’t place. You fight the urge to cross the space to him, something pulling on you like an invisible force. Your breath quickens as you fight something that feels like a physical tether pulling you toward him.

He watches you. Silver hair delicately styled back, his circlet like moonlight spun among the strands. There’s jewelry dangling in his ears, more exquisite than you’ve ever seen. An emerald dangles delicately, reflecting light so much that it almost pulses. Your eyes drifted up the silver cuff, made in the style of vines to the top of his pointed ears.

Your breath is stuck in your chest. 

Faerie.

Your mind races to put together the pieces of the tales your grandmother told you, of a world not your own. A world with sugared candies and blood oaths, of drinks so sweet they’d kill you but music and dancing so wonderful you could cry. 

The faerie watches you, head cocked to the side, a predator examining its prey. You clutch the book tighter in your hands, knuckles bone white.

“Why do you look so afraid, Yvaine?” 

You suck in a sharp breath. This faerie knows your grandmother’s name - thinks that you’re her. You’ve been told countless times how much you look like her - young portraits nearly identical. 

Every story she ever told you as a child comes rushing back to you. The way she described a knight who loved her deeply, the way she learned to wield a sword and go on glorious adventures. 

The fae are fickle beings, she once told you. Cruel and intelligent, but with the capacity to love and create in ways that you can hardly imagine. Never trust them implicitly, and always keep your name close to your chest.

“You startled me,” you finally answer. If he knows your grandmother, perhaps he’s one of the good fae she spoke of. You try to relax visibly. “It’s not every day-old friend appear in attics.” 

His eerie eyes drop down to your hand, zeroing in on the ring on your finger. You cover your hand with your grandfather’s journal, shielding the ring from his view. His eyes flash and he smiles. It’s not kind - it’s something else entirely that makes you want to back away from him. 

The faerie tsks, siren eyes dragging back up to fix on your face. “You’re not Yvaine.” 

“What a ridiculous notion.”

He scoffs. “Nothing startled her, much less me. And,” he adds with a saccharine grin, “Yvaine would hardly call me a friend. Pray tell, who are you?”

“Grandma told me to never speak names to the fae.”

His smile sharpens, teeth on display. He is beautiful and terrifying. His teeth are too sharp and his smile is too big. When you blink, he looks normal again. Glamour, you realize.

The faerie tilts his head toward you. “A good piece of advice. How about I introduce myself first: You may call me Jimin.” His eyes go back to the ring you’re hiding. “And you’re wearing something that does not belong to you.” 

“Everything in this house belongs to me.”

“That ring is not from this house.”

“Well it’s where I found it.”

“It does not change the place of origin.”

“Finders keepers,” you sneer at him. 

He frowns. “I am unfamiliar with the meaning of that phrase. Is it perhaps a greeting among thieves?” 

“So you admit you’re a thief.” 

Jimin is so painfully beautiful that only your fear keeps you snapping at him. You retreat backwards slightly, bumping against the boudoir. You remember the letter opener, positioning yourself so that your hand is behind your back, slowly opening the drawer. 

“I’m many things, a thief among them.” His eyes are glittering as he walks around the room, observing the bookshelf. You take the distraction as a moment to put your hand in the drawer, searching for the letter opener. It’s missing. “Looking for something?” 

Your eyes shoot up. Jimin is standing in front of the bookshelf, letter opener in hand. Your anger flares through you and you feel an energy ripple through you again. Jimin’s face twists, becoming unsettled as you yell, “See, you are a thief!”

“This belongs to me. Show me your hand, girl.” 

“Give me my letter opener.”

He makes a sour face. “Letter opener? This knife has belonged to An Oidhche for millennia. It is hardly made for opening letters. It was my-”

“What did you just say?”

“For Makers sake,” he growls and moves forward across the attic. He’s fast, faster than your eyes can follow before he’s in front of you. He smells like orange blossoms and a summer’s night, nearly hypnotizing you. Up close he is so angelic that you fight the urge to sink to your knees and bow. “Give me that ring, girl, or I will rip it from your dead hand, allegiance to Yvaine be damned.” 

“An Oidhche - that’s what my grandmother called me.”

“Congratulations.”

“What does it mean?”

It seems Jimin has met his tolerance for you leaning away from him. He reaches for you, lightning quick. Before you can defend yourself, energy ripples out of you. It hits him and you smell something sharp and metallic as he’s stunned backwards, nearly losing his footing. He looks up at you, eyes round and plush lips open in surprise.

“There’s no way,” he whispers, his lip curling. Shocked, you look at the ring on your hand. It’s glowing, a tingling sensation vibrating up your hand. “Iron?” 

You use his shock to your advantage. Grabbing whatever you can reach, you launch items at Jimin. He’s fast, but not fast enough, his shock still dulling his senses. A bottle of perfume hits him in the head. He snarls, the sound feral and deep as you bolt past him. 

Jimin is quick to recover. There’s a soft whistling sound before you're ripped backwards, a loud thwack startling you. You turn your head to see that Jimin threw the dagger at you, catching your shirt and pinning you to the door. You scream in frustration, pulling at the dagger. It doesn’t give as Jimin smirks, swaggering toward you.

“You tried to kill me!” you scream at him, enraged. Whoever this faerie is, he is clearly not one of the nice ones your grandmother spoke of. “You fucking bastard.”

“Told you I’d pry it from your dead hands.”

Jimin is only a foot away from you. Your instincts scream. You don’t even think. You kick out with your foot, hitting him in the chest. He hardly moves, pain shooting up your shin as though you kicked a wall. It doesn’t stop you. You scream at him, kicking out the other foot, pushing against the door for leverage as you aim higher at his head.

Jimin catches your foot this time, yanking you and the door forward into him. You use the momentum to throw your head forward, slamming your forehead into his face. Jimin curses as pain explodes through your head, stars blinding you. 

Pain. Dreadful, swelling pain spreads through your head. You’ve never headbutt someone before, but it looks so easy when the Avengers do it. You’re dizzy, the room spinning on a crooked access. You go limp against the door, unable to focus on anything but the way you can barely focus on Jimin in front of you.

Your vision is hazy on the edges as he holds a hand up to his nose. It comes away crimson. His green eyes are glowing, brighter than they were before. He surprises you as he begins laughing, tilting his crimson and moonlight face up to the ceiling as he laughs, full-bellied. The sound is like trickling water, trilling and beautiful.

“Fuck, you are certainly of Yvaine's bloodline.” The words reach you like they’re spoken through syrup, sticky and slow. “I cannot believe you headbutt me. And you did it all wrong. You used half your brow bone- oh lovely.”

You feel Jimin’s hands smacking your cheek lightly. You can barely register the touch beyond the pain. You feel sick - you know you’ve damaged yourself. At the least you’ve given yourself a terrible concussion. You feel heavy as you blink, Jimin swimming in your vision.

Jimin reaches for the ring again. You moan, trying to ask him to stop, to leave you alone. He doesn’t. His fingers brush the ring and he curses, yanking his hands away from it. “Fuck,” he spits, nursing his fingers, now tipped red. “Hey – come on, are you alright? Girl? Don’t pass out on me.”

A part of you is smug knowing you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he asks. Because being left alone with him after he’s attacked you is the last thing you want to do, but your vision is fuzzy on the edges and you feel a voice sweeping toward you to swallow you whole. 

“Fuck off,” you manage to slur, going slack against the door and letting the darkness drag you down.

-

Lilac skies stretch overhead. The water around your ankles reflects the same color. There seems to be no horizon in any direction, making you spin in a slow circle. Your feet don’t disturb the warm water as you shift. 

It’s hard to tell what is up and down, forever twilight everywhere all at once. 

“Where am I?” you wonder out loud. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

You whip around at the voice. Your grandmother stands a few yards away from you, younger than you ever remember. She’s in a gauzy dress, the material swaying in a breeze that isn’t there. She looks beautiful, face glowing as cool, silver eyes regard you. 

“Grandma,” you whisper.

“We must be quick.” You take a step toward her and she shakes her head, holding a hand out to stop you. “You must not step further into the twilight. You do not belong here.”

“Where is here?” 

“The twilight between life and death. I felt your pull when you entered the In Between.”

“I’m dying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re at the space between worlds - the road between Faerie and Earth and other realms.” You swallow and nod. At least you’re not dying. “You are with Jimin.”

“He’s awful.”

Her smile is fleeting. She looks so much like the woman she painted on the walls of your bedroom - she is that woman. “Jimin is a product of his environment. Given the chance, he usually chooses the lesser evil, however he is ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his. I am fond of him, in a way, but don’t mistake me - Jimin is cunning and not to be trusted. What is he after?”

“This.” You hold up your hand. Your grandmother’s eyes widen, and she takes a hesitant step forward. 

Suddenly, you’re freezing cold. You shiver, the tips of your fingers trembling with the biting cold.

“Oh Jimin, what are you doing?” Your grandmother whispers. In a rush, she says, “Get away from him as soon as you can. Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. He will portal you south of his court near Hoseok’s home. If he takes you to the Night Court, you will not escape. You must not let him introduce you to Seokjin – the faerie who can lie.”

Again, cold douses you and the world around you dulls. You feel yourself moving away from your grandmother, the twilight shaking itself free of you. You cling to the image, begging, “What? What is that supposed to mean? What is this ring?”

“It isn’t about the ring anymore,” her face is pained. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you - just get away from Jimin and don’t let him take you to Seokjin. Jimin won’t realize the mistake he’s making, he doesn't know that Seokjin isn't who he thinks – he doesn’t know Seokjin killed your grandfather-”

Freezing cold water burns your face. You sputter, gasping for air. You choke on the icy tendrils, wiping your eyes with numb fingers, shaking. The dream - the place of twilight between life and death - vanishes and you’re stuck somewhere unknown dripping with cold.

Jimin is crouched at eye level, hypnotizing face fixated on you. He looks perfect as ever - the blood is gone though it stains the collar of his gossamer shirt, and there’s no bruising. No evidence you hit him at all, wiping out any satisfaction you have.

The cold is so bad it claws at you, head throbbing where you headbutt him. There’s a dry, bitter taste in your mouth. You cringe, unsure why you’ve woken up with something like hangover mouth parching you. 

“Finally,” Jimin mutters. His hands come to cup your face. You flinch away from him, earning a curled lip and a feral growl as he forcibly holds you face, tilting you upward to examine your forehead. Your eyes go upwards to look at the sky and the breath leaves your lungs. “Swelling is going down. You’ll be fine in a moment - forced some tonic in your mouth. I’d apologize for the bitter taste in your mouth, but I’m not actually sorry.” 

You ignore the rude comment. The pull toward Jimin is there again, making you stare at him for a few moments in silence. He lets you, eyes wandering your face, though you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

True to his word, the pain begins to fade in your head. Jimin stands up next to you, trailing towards a massive horse. You gape. It’s beautiful with a midnight coat and dark, leather saddle. The horse’s mane and tail are silver like starlight, silky and smooth as Jimin adjusts the saddle.

“Your horse is beautiful.”

Jimin’s mouth twitches. “Thank you. Her name is Umbriel.”

You look up at the sky. Constellations and colors like you’ve never seen swirl above, the black sky saturated with purple and pink stars, swirling galaxies that make your head spin. It’s so beautiful you can’t look away.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. You drop your gaze and look around. The forest is dark, but there are bioluminescent plants swaying in the breeze that smells like jasmine. A glowing, white butterfly brushes by you and you smile, despite yourself. “Everything glows?”

“It’s the Night Court,” Jimin grunts as though this is a huge fact you should have known. “Of course everything glows. Now get up.” 

Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. Your grandmother’s words ring in your head as you slowly stand. Your limbs are still cold. You spot a slow-moving stream a few feet away - perhaps the source of the freezing water Jimin doused you with several times. 

Jimin rolls his eyes when you stand, steady on your feet. He gestures to the horse. “Come on, human. We don’t have all day.”

“It’s night.”

“It’s only night here. But it is day in your scope of time.” 

“What direction is south?”

Jimin pointed behind you, face pulled into a sneer. “Do all human women ask such ridiculous questions? Now let’s-”

You don’t care what he’s saying. You pivot and run. Your shoes aren’t made for athletics - you’re still I fluffy slippers, leggings and a baggy sleepy shirt. The right shoe comes off and you leave it. The ground is soft under your feet, springy and damp. You lose the other shoe, arms pumping at your side as you race downhill. 

Colors blur on either side of you. You don’t hear Jimin behind you as you nearly trip over a vine. Your breath stings in your lungs and - 

A body slams into you. You screech as you crash into the bushes, the breath leaving your lungs. The world is a kaleidoscope of neon as glowing things flutter from the bushes, flying upward in panic as you wheeze in the bushes. Jimin’s grip on your wrists is like iron, pushing your hands into the foliage as he straddles your waist. 

The prince is gone. He is replaced with an angry, wild faerie, Jimin’s canines sharp as he snarls at you. There’s something alien about his face - he’s no longer the beautiful man who was standing in your attic. His eyes seem sharper and his features are too lupine to be anything but faerie, shocking you straight from panic to utter terror. You cringe away from him, screaming on top of your lungs. 

A hand clamps over your mouth as he growls at you to shut up. You squeeze your eyes shut, kicking underneath him and crying under the vice grip he has on your mouth.

This has to be a nightmare. You will yourself to wake up, for the weight of Jimin to vanish. You hope you’re just sleeping in your room, thrashing at the sheets as this strange nightmare continues.

Maybe your mother was right. There was some sort of twisted sickness in your family, an obsession of the mind with fantasy and creatures, and your mind is poisoned now. 

“You’re going to get us both killed if you don’t stop screaming,” Jimin seethes, his voice darker than you remember. You open your eyes as his grip on you lightens a fraction. He’s no longer the terrifying face he was a moment ago, but he’s serious as he lowers himself further to murmur, “The Dreadwolf is probably prowling about these parts. I’m not trying to hurt you.”  

Slowing your breathing, you try to run through your options. Jimin is faster than you and stronger than you- not to mention he has Umbriel at his disposal. He’s armed- you now see the dagger at his waist, next to a sword you did not see before. His grip on your wrist is bruising and he’s looking at you, waiting to see what you’re going to do. 

You’re not going to get away from Jimin. That much is clear. You swallow thickly.

You can’t remember the name Jimin. Your grandmother has talked about many names, but Jimin is unfamiliar to you. But you’re in the Night Court - Jimin said that himself. The place your grandmother told you not to let him take you to - or perhaps she meant it's a palace. 

The Night Court brings up a shiver as you gaze up at him. You remember your grandmother’s words, saying the Night Court is both the most beautiful and one of the deadliest places. A place where it is always night and glowing, full of magic and ancient fae. The Court of Mystery it is also known as - it is the second court to exist in Faerie after the High Court, home to the oldest fae. 

“Are you ready to listen to me?” Jimin’s voice is velvet again. It has a soothing effect on you and you melt into the ferns and nod. He removes his hand slowly, palm hovering over your bruised lips as he waits for you to scream again. “You cannot scream in the Night Court,” Jimin murmurs. A micro-expression you cannot decode flits across his face for a moment as he brushes your hair from your face. “There are things that live off of screams here. I don’t wish to introduce them to you.”

“Don’t you want me dead anyway?” you shoot back. 

His face doesn’t show a single reaction. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. But if you fight me, I’m going to have to. I don’t… know how else to do what I need to do.”

“Maybe try telling me what you need and being partners instead of kidnapping me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I won’t kill you. I believe Yvaine will haunt me into eternity if I kill you. Grandmother, you called her?” You nod. His eyes are searching your face. “You have her beauty - not her eyes, though. What was your grandfather's name?” 

You hesitate. “Oberon.” 

Pain. Acute pain flickers across Jimin’s face as he rolls off you. It’s so fast you blink in surprise, a world of stars and sky greeting you. Jimin is several feet away from you, running a hand over his face. For a moment, you just watch him. His composure slips for only a second - and then he’s facing you again, giving you an impatient expression, hand on his hip. 

“By all means,” he gestures. “Lay in the ferns. You should know that you crashed into a massive web of spiders.” 

Alarmed, you roll to your feet, brushing yourself off anywhere you can reach. You hop around barefoot and disheveled, running your hands through your hair trying to free it from any creepy crawlies. Jimin whistles and beckons you. “There weren’t really spiders there, but at least you’re on your feet.” 

“I thought the fae couldn’t lie.” 

He arches his brows as you approach him. “So you do know of the fae.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I didn’t lie. I said you crashed into spiders - I wasn’t specific about where and when. It was when we portaled here, landed right on the web earlier. I omitted the time.”

“Art of deception,” you mumbled. “Where are we going and what do you want with me? I’d give you this stupid ring if I could, but it won’t come off.” 

His smirk is rueful as he gestures to the horse. Though he’s shorter than Namjoon and floats like a wraith, he’s still taller than you. Dancer thin, but strong, muscles moving under his breeches and - you drag your eyes up, face red at the way you were drawn to the tight pants. 

“It won’t come off unless its maker takes it off you.” 

“Then why did you try?” 

“I had to be sure it was the ring I was searching for.” 

“What does a faerie want with an iron ring anyway? Isn’t it like kryptonite to you people?”

Umbriel is far too tall for you. You put your hand on the horn of the saddle, struggling to lift your foot. Jimin grabs you by the waist and lifts you like you’re nothing, placing you on the horse. He frowns as he hauls himself up behind you, setting your cheeks aflame and heart racing. “Like what?” 

“You don’t spend much time on earth, do you? Kryptonite - the one thing that can kill superman.” 

“He doesn’t sound very super if this… kryptonite can kill him. Iron won’t kill me, it just hurts.” He lifts his chin slightly. “And of course I don’t visit earth. I’m a crown prince of the Night Court, the Evening Star and heir to the High Throne of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re not surprised - Jimin was obviously a prince. But of the Night Court - and the High Court? From what you can recall, the High Court had long since been removed as the seat of power in Faerie. There had been a dark king who was abusing his power over the courts. That power had been taken away - by your grandmother and a knight of the Summer Court, if your grandmother’s tales had been truthful. 

So did that mean… your eyes dart down to the ring, thinking about the way it showed the seven stars of the courts. The pulse of power you felt when you put it on, the way Jimin said the ring was his... 

A nasty feeling twists in your gut as you swallow, knowing there is only one reason Jimin could want the ring so desperately as the heir to the High Throne. 

“This ring has the power of the old High King, doesn’t it?” Jimin says nothing. He clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward. “Why else would you want it - as an heir? You said it was yours…” 

“It does - and it is.” 

“Then why is it made from iron?”

He sneers. “Because your grandmother is a clever little witch.” 

“She was not a witch!”

“You're right. She was a wicked little half-fae who became a hero.” He heaves a sigh. You feel the air expand in his chest before he lets it out. “But look where we are now, living the consequences of her actions. Her fix, however noble, was temporary and made without thought of the future. Of my future.” 

“My-” you shake your head. “My grandmother was not half-fae. She was human, like the rest of my family.” 

“Of course she was. Why do you think she lived in Faerie at all? Where did she get her gifts? Or how does she have fae artifacts in that creepy little room? The only reason you lived portaling here is because you’re part fae.” 

“Me?” 

“Is there an echo out here? Yes you - do you know nothing about her? You know things about the High Court and you don’t seem completely perplexed about where we are, but you know nothing of your history? Your grandmother was the bastard daughter to the old king of the Night Court and your grandfather was Oberon, one of the greatest knights this realm has ever seen. Ever.” 

You blanch. “We’re related?” 

“What?” He seems disgusted, pulling away from you slightly. “No - King Samar was not my father. Yvaine was whelped by Samar and a human housemaid whose name no one remembers. Queen Eun was my mother. My father was…” Jimin searches for the words. “King Malik of the High Court. He was once the High King of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence as you ride. You picture your grandmother and father as… fae. It seems both ridiculous and yet, your instincts don’t rebel at the thought. You think about how you’ve always had dreams of strange places and creatures. How sometimes things happened around your grandparents that didn’t make sense - you always blamed it on your overactive imagination. 

“I didn’t know that about them,” you murmur. “They were only ever human to me.” 

“Well, settle in. You’re about to learn plenty about your family tree.” He glances at you. “You still haven’t given me a name.” 

You hesitate and decide to give him only your first name. He nods after hearing it, humming. “Beautiful,” he says so softly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t give you time to second-guess the compliment. “Sleep if you wish, Umbriel and I will not let you fall. We have a bit of a ride to Hoseok’s cabin where we can rest.”

-

You can’t sleep. You settle for uneasy silence, watching the world around you. You spot pixies and dryads floating between trees, and you hear things skitter underfoot.

Once in a while, Jimin reroutes Umbriel. Once, he even hissed at a dark alcove as you passed a copse of trees. The trees grow thicker, moving downhill as you enter a forest proper.

It’s hard to stay focused when you’re pressed against Jimin – he’s warmer than you expected, and he smells like orange blossom and late nights. 

You don’t care. You remind yourself that he’s a liar – in fae terms. And he’s kidnapped you, despite the draw you feel to him and despite his beautiful face.

The world around you has your attention instead.

The sky is a mystery in itself, shifting colors of dark twilight. You can’t get over how it looks like the entirety of space and all of the worlds are suspended above you, shifting with the ebb and flow of the aurora borealis back in your home realm.

Everything around you is both dark and glowing. The shadows are thicker and longer, but the world is line with soft color. Your hands brush branches as you ride – flowers vanish into their stalks at the touch of your fingers, lichen grows bright green at the heat of your hand.

“Stop touching the trees. You’ll wake them and I’ll have to threaten them to keep our passing to themselves.

You frown. “For a prince you’re not very nice. Aren’t you supposed to be polite to your subjects?”

“They aren’t my subjects,” Jimin snaps. “The Night Court answers to my adoptive brother.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you-"

“No. My mother, who was my only claim to the throne is dead. Jin lets me act as an emissary because I am little threat to him. He’s a Shade- only true heirs of the Night Court command the shadow flame.”

“Is he nice?”

Jimin doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, he offers, “The High Court are my people by blood. They’re why I need that ring that refuses to come off of your finger. Without the power of their court, they’re dying. Their lands are poisoned and being consumed, and neighboring courts are taking advantage of that. They’re-” He breaks off and growls, the sound vibrating through your back. “They’re hurting the high fae and they’re abusing them. I want that power back. Not for me, but for the faeries who are dying without it.”

“Isn’t that power what got them hurt in the first place because it was abused?”

“King Malik was sick. He didn’t deserve the power of the High King, but what’s happening in his abandoned lands isn’t right.” Jimin’s knuckles are bone white on the reigns. “A court is only as strong as the power in their lands. They High Court has nothing and no one, and the only heir of Malik doesn’t have so much as a drop of high fae glamour.”

“Oh. You weren’t born with it?”

“It was taken from me the same day it was taken from my father.”

Sadness stirs in the pit of your stomach. On one hand, Jimin seems to generally want you out of harm's way, despite his actions. Though he can deceive, the root of his goals is to protect his people. It’s obvious he cares for them, the way he grows angry at the thought of their suffering.

“You pity me.”

It wasn’t a question, but you shake your head. “I just wonder what you could have been if things weren’t taken from you. You sound like you have the potential to be kind.”

Jimin says nothing.

Instead, there’s a long, terrible howl that shatters the night. You suck in a sharp breath as Jimin stops Umbriel, who begins dancing back and forth nervously as Jimin swivels in the seat. The howl lowers, but the world feels colder now. A breath of wind tickles your face, blowing your hair northward.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, turning in the seat. He wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you to his chest. “Hold on to me. The Dreadwolf knows we’re here.”

Umbriel takes off faster than any horse you’ve ever ridden. Her hooves are like thunder, echoing in the forest as the world moves past you impossible fast. You dig your fingers into Jimin’s arm around your waist, letting him hug you as the horse picks up speed, guiding herself through the trees with little nudging from Jimin.

Panic begins to seize you when you hear the howl again – it’s further away, you think. You’re not sure, clutching to Jimin and trying not to unseat yourself as you turn to look over your shoulder.

“Sit still!” Jimin snaps.

You obey.

The rubbing of the saddle chafes you as Jimin navigates through the forest. The world drops dramatically into a dell, and he slows the pace, navigating Umbriel carefully down the slope. You feel him turn around for a moment, but you don’t dare look behind you. It feels like it’s been almost an hour since you’ve heard the Dreadwolf.

The name sounds so familiar and yet… you’re unable to place the label of something so dark that it scares Jimin.

A tiny, log home sits on the edge of the dell’s rise. Green smoke curls out of the chimney, the lights inside the windows a muted gold. Jimin leads the horse around the home, soundless. He stops at the front of what you suppose is the yard, sliding off gracefully and helping you down. You almost thank him but decide against it as he murmurs to Umbriel in a language you can’t understand. She takes off running and you make a sound of distress.

“She’ll lead the Dreadwolf away.” Jimin looks at you as he walks towards the steps leading up to the home. “Don’t worry – he won’t harm Umbriel. He’s rather fond of animals. If he so much as hurts my horse, I’ll give him hell.”

You scramble after him, trying to mute your steps as you cast your eyes to the owl watching on top of the roof. It’s so black it’s nearly invisible. You wouldn’t have seen it if not for two glowing eyes of gold.

At the front of the home is a small porch. There are plants hanging from the eaves and lining the windows. A small chair next to a table ringed with water stains stands alone.

Jimin raps his knuckles on the door thrice. There’s silence surrounding the home, the unsettling kind that has you shifted from foot to foot. The owl on the roof hoots loudly, making you flinch. Jimin eyes you from the side but says nothing, lifting his hand to knock again when the door opens suddenly.

“You’ve brought the Dreadwolf to my lands,” a hushed voice says. Jimin yanks you inside the cabin.

Quickly you feel warmth seep into your bones. You don’t realize how cold your extremities are until you feel the heat of the fire. You’re drawn to it, holding out your hands to feel the licking warmth of the green flames.

“These aren’t your lands,” Jimin huffs.

“I tend to them when your brother does not. Therefore – my lands.”

“Sounds like the human’s ridiculous phrase of finders keepers.”

You turn your head to look at the stranger whose home you’re now in – he has on a cloak and he’s rushing about the house shuttering the windows and blowing out the candles. It’s a small room with a single bed, a kitchen table, and a humble kitchen. There’s a door that leads to another tiny room, but it’s firmly shut as the man rushes past you to shutter the windows facing the dell.

All that remains is the green fire – dimmer than you remember it being – and a single orb of fire hovering over the man’s shoulder.

When he turns to greet you, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Like Jimin, he’s wonderful to look at. Smooth skin and high cheekbones, kind eyes that are playful and light brown. His ears are tipped with the sharpness of the fae and when he gives you a quick smile, you see the pointed teeth. Still, he does not terrify you the same way Jimin does.

“They call me Hoseok, though you may call me Hobi.” He bows at the waist before meeting your eyes with a smile. “I apologize we must meet under such circumstances.”

“And what are those circumstances?” Jimin asks. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s lounging in the bed, legs spread wide as he gives Hobi a pointed glare while leaning back on his hands. He is every bit the arrogant prince now and yet… painfully beautiful. “Go on, Hobi.”

“Ignore him. I usually do,” Hobi says to you. He brushes past you and touches your shoulder gently. “Let’s get you a change of clothes.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Um – you can call me Y/N.”

“Oh I know,” he assures you. He opens a heavy trunk at the foot of his bed. Jimin watches with a silent glare and something verging on a pout. You’re pleased by this, for some reason. “You look just like Yvaine.”

“Why do you know her name?”

“I know more than you, Your Highness. That’s what watchers do – we watch.” Hoseok stands, clothes folding in his hands. He holds them out to you. “It’s spider silk,” Hoseok explains. “Tough, but light enough to travel quickly. The cloak is lined with fur – you’ll find it warm but light. You can change in the washroom.”

You don’t accept the clothes, eyes flicking up from the clothes to him. “They are lovely, but I don’t accept this gift.”

Hoseok lights up like a fire, smiling at you as he looks at Jimin, laughing with unfiltered glee. You’re unsure why he’s so happy – you’ve rejected his gifts in an attempt not to bind yourself to him. Another lesson from your grandma: never accept gifts from the fae. Acknowledge that they are lovely, and politely decline to accept them.

“She knows of the fae?” Hoseok asks Jimin, turning to you. “I offer these with no bargain, Y/N. These are gifted freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

You hesitate. Jimin groans. “Faeries cannot lie, human.”

With a growl, you accept the clothes and storm to the washroom.

The moment you close the door to the small washroom, you hear whispering on the other side of the door. Hoseok sounds angry - you can’t make out what they’re saying, but even after thirty minutes of spending time with Jimin, you can recognize the softness of his voice. 

A shiver wracks your spine unbidden. You shove away thoughts of the prince just beyond the door and turn to look in the small mirror framed with antlers. You look disheveled and dirty. There is a slight bruise on your forehead, but Jimin was right - there’s no lump from where you tried to headbutt him.

The thought makes you smile. Causing him any amount of grief has quickly become your favorite thing to do. You don’t hate anyone that you can think of, but you already hate Jimin. Hate the way he ambushed you, hate the way he spoke to you, hate the way he looked down on you.

But most of all, you hate that he’s kidnapped you and brought you to Faerie- and that it excites you above all else.

Your grandmother told you terrifying stories of human children taken from their bed and replaced with faerie changelings. The children would be brought to Faerie and used as slaves and thralls, pretty pets for faeries to look at and taunt as long as the human lived - which was longer than usual, in Faerie - and how they lived lives both terrible and wonderful.

You couldn’t imagine being raised in a world like this - beautiful, surrounded by so much delicate beauty but filled with so much violence. And you know there is violence ahead. 

Hoseok hasn’t just given you soft leather breaches lined with a thin layer of wool and a long, black tunic - he’s given you a leather belt with a small dagger buckled to it. You slide the breaches on, raising your brows in surprise. They fit perfectly, if not a little long in the ankle. The tunic is long and green, embroidered with gold thread in swirling designs you realize are flames. Your fingers trace the fire on the sleeve.

The cloak is wonderful, thick to keep out the cold but light as a feather. In a sweeping motion, you tie it at your throat. Your hair is tangled, making you pull it up high in a ponytail and out of your way. 

You leave the dagger for last, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink as you take time to wash your face. The water is freezing cold, burning your skin the same way the water had from the stream. There’s a soft linen rag and you use it to dry your face before glancing back up in the mirror. Not perfect, but doable. 

With curious fingers, you pull the unadorned hilt from the weapons belt. The blade is nothing special. It’s made from the same dark metal as the knife Jimin has taken from you. You have no idea how to use it, but a strong piece of advice from Game of Thrones comes to you: Stick them with the pointy end. 

It’s a good piece of advice, you think as you slide the dagger back home. The leather belt is snug around your waist. You’re unsure if Jimin knows Hoseok gave you the knife - somehow you think Jimin wouldn’t appreciate you being armed - so you hide it with your cloak. 

When you step out of the washroom, Jimin straightens on the bed. He goes quiet as Hoseok moves about the small kitchen, green eyes only for you. You swallow and shut the door behind you. 

Jimin’s gaze is unreadable. He stands and crosses the space to you, steps gentle. You freeze in place - not out of fear, but out of the way you feel the pull to him again. You clench your teeth, hating that something deep in the pit of your heart draws you toward him. 

You think it’s because of how beautiful he is. The siren eyes as he stops in front of you, eyes dipping up and down. The sultry curve of his sinful mouth frowning slightly. You avert your eyes, feeling heat creep up your next at his proximity and the tiny displeasure in his expression. 

“You were not made for Summer Court colors,” Jimin whispers. You glance at him, surprised. He brushes his fingers against the flames on the sleeve peeking out from your cloak. “You belong in midnight blue and silver.” 

Jimin doesn’t give you a moment to ask what he means. He drops his hand and brushes past you, joining Hoseok in the kitchen. 

Warily, you watch the two of them prepare a meal. They move in sync, leading you to believe they’re old friends. You hesitantly sit in a chair by the bed, eyes fixed on the pair of them. Jimin, though mostly polite and a bit cold, smiles more when Hoseok murmurs something to him.

Hoseok himself is like fire and warmth. He feels the room with a brightness than you can appreciate, and you feel like if your grandmother knew him, he was one of the good fae that she spoke about. She never mentioned many names, but you wish she had told you about Hoseok.

Other names you’re familiar with. King Samar of the Night Court – ancient and ruling for hundreds of years. Your grandmother always spoke his name with a hushed fear and a faraway look. You imagine now that she was remembering a father – a father, as it seems, who had little time or desire for her.

King Malik is a name you know even more. The High King of Faerie, who ruled for so long that he became mad. If your grandmother's stories were true, the death of his one true love began driving him to madness. He became obsessed with resurrection and violating the afterlife, looking for ways to bring back the woman he loved.

Your eyes trail to Jimin, who is rolling his eyes at something Hoseok says.

Eun. You realize the woman that King Malik went mad over is Jimin’s mother. Despite having a bad taste in your mouth for the prince, you feel yourself soften. It must be difficult, to lose one parent and the other go mad. What you don’t understand is how your grandmother came to take his father’s power, and how his father ultimately came to pass.

The High Court had dispersed after his passing, either becoming solitary faeries or joining other courts.

You wonder if Jimin knew them well. He had said the Night Court were not his subjects…

“Dinner is ready!” Hoseok chirps. “And don’t worry,” he adds at your wary look. “It’s not going to spell you to dance until your feet are blood stumps or sing until your bleeding from your throat.”

“Is that real?” you ask, inhaling the scent of the spiced stew.

“Of course it is,” Jimin answers around a mouthful of cheese. “On Beltane we make the humans-”

Hoseok hits Jimin in the back of the head so hard the prince chokes on the cheese. You widen your eyes as Hoseok levels a glare as he sits down at the small table, pulling a chair out for you. His burning gaze is on Jimin as he says, “We don’t do that anymore.”

Jimin says nothing, glowering as he bites into his bread.

After that, dinner is held in relative silence. Hoseok asks you about your life and your heritage, but you answer in hesitant pieces. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here or what is expected of you. To his credit, Hoseok never asks about the ring on your finger. Never even looks at it.

By the end, you’re full and satiated, drowsy as you help Hoseok with the dishes while Jimin peers out of a curtained window. When you’re done, wiping your hands dry, Jimin gestures to the bed. “Sleep. We have a long ride in a few hours.”

“I thought you said it was day. Shouldn’t I stay awake?”

Hoseok shakes his head, answering, “Asleep at true night in the Night Court is a bad idea if you’re not in court proper. It’s okay.”

Jimin scoffs, but you feel comforted. Hoseok leads you to the small bed, giving you blankets and a cup of tea before he joins Jimin in the kitchen, their conversation too quiet for you to hear.

The tea makes you sleepy. You fight it, too nervous to fall asleep. The bed dips suddenly next to you, making you flinch and open your eyes. Jimin murmurs and apology. Perhaps you’re already dreaming – you imagine that he brushes your hair back as he sits on the edge of the bed and murmurs, Sleep. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

As you drift, you believe the only one who can hurt you is him.

-

A long howl wakes you up. You shoot forward in bed, panting and searching in a fright. You find them both silent and near the window facing the dell. Hoseok looks at you and holds a finger to his lips, then beckons you. A nervous tingle goes up your spine as you cross the space hesitantly, taking place next to Hoseok. Jimin glances at you around Hoseok, frowning.

Perhaps that makes you a fool. You know how easy it is for the fae to deceive humans with false niceties. But there is something about his aura that feels warm. Standing next to him, he smells like citrus and blossom, the same way your grandfather used to smell.

The realization makes your eyes watery, and you glance at him as Jimin peaks out the window. “Are you Summer Court?” you whisper, voice barely audible. Hoseok looks shocked, nodding his head. “You smell like my grandfather.” 

He nods and whispers, “Oberon.”

“Shut up,” Jimin hisses and closes the window. “The Dreadwolf approaches.”

Something deep within you curls in fear.

Suddenly, you remember the name. The Dreadwolf was one of the darker parts of your grandmother’s tales. A faerie loyal only to the king of the Night Court, he was a servant and hunter to the king. Merciless and terrifying, the Dreadwolf could shift forms into a large, black wolf, hunting his prey to the ends of the realms.

Your grandmother assured you that he never lost his prey. Ever. 

Anxiety began to chew at your stomach. Jimin softly walked the circumference of Hoseok’s home, his eyes focused somewhere else, as though he were watching the wolf through some other lens. Your heart skipped in a nervous rhythm, moving from foot to foot as the silence pressed in. 

Jimin stopped walking in front of the door to the home.

Sensing your eyes on him, Jimin looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are dark green, shining at the bottom of a deep lake. His eyes flicker for a moment before he looks at Hoseok and murmurs, “I apologize, Hoseok. I hoped to avoid going to the palace but...”

Hoseok looks as confused as you do when Jimin opens the door to the home. Hoseok makes a startled sound but Jimin is stepping outside, calling “Jungkookie,” Jimin calls as he looks back at the pair of you - regret flashes so quickly on his face, you’re sure you imagined it. “The watcher has found what we’ve been looking for. Don’t touch the girl or I’ll skin you.” 

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok swears, unsheathing his dagger. You do the same, holding it awkwardly in your hand as Jimin steps to the side of the doorway, refusing to look at you. “They will kill me.” 

A deep growl comes from somewhere outside. It’s low, like the churning of hell underneath your feet, the house trembling. Your heart pounds faster as Hoseok shoves you behind him. “You cannot fight here. Go through the window behind us. Run south.”

A figure enters the doorway. Your breath rushes out of your lungs as you stare at the fae in front of you. Black hair hanging in his dark eyes, broad shoulders and ripping muscles. There are dark marks running down his arm, tattoos of glyphs and swirling ink that you can’t decipher. He’s much taller than Hoseok and Jimin, and his eyes are focused on you. He is impossibly handsome, your heart flipping. 

“Hello,” his voice is phantom soft. “Come out from behind Hoseok, won’t you?” 

A flash of blinding heat and flame erupts from the fireplace in the direction of Jungkook. You scream as you turn and bolt for the window. Hoseok is shouting something at Jungkook as he wields flame behind you, a fiery whip in his hand. Jungkook snarls, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You sheath your dagger, clambering onto the dinner table and pulling the window open. You haul yourself through it, trying not to panic with the sounds of snarling and yelling behind you. You freefall for a moment until you hit the ground and roll. Your breath is knocked out of you for the second time that night, leaving you wheezing and holding your arm, sore from absorbing the fall. 

Crawling to your feet, you look up as a shadow looms over you. Jimin frowns. “You’re not very graceful.” 

You don’t think. You let survival instinct take over, ripping out the dagger from your belt and swiping at him. Jimin backs up, dancing away from you with a twitch of his lips. “He gave you a dagger?” 

“You betrayed him.” 

“Court is a game of betrayal, get used to it. Hoseok will be fine. Jungkook won’t kill him.”

“I thought perhaps you were different than you first appeared. Turns out I was wrong – do you even care about your people or was that another twist of words?”

Something like rage heats his face. You manage to get to your knees and swipe out again. Jimin dances away from you as a sharp, animal cry comes from the house. Jimin looks at the window, brows raised. “Good for Hoseok, sounds like he managed to wound the pup.” 

Jimin may not be able to lie directly, but he’s a deceitful bastard. He almost had you, telling you that he was worried about his people, that the absence of the High Court was poisoning the land. Now you knew what he really wanted - the ring, the power at your hand. For his selfish purposes, for the Night Court. 

On your feet now, you feel a tremor in your hand. Energy lights you up from the inside out. It’s a familiar sensation, one you felt when you put the ring on or when you touched the dagger you found in the drawer. It’s something like rage, hot and crackling. You remember how the ring defended you and channel it, launching a hand at Jimin. 

A dark flame ripples up your arm, and though it doesn’t burn you, you can feel a hot, decaying heat. You thrust your hand outward, urging the flame to shoot out at Jimin. It obeys, a blast of black fire licking toward him. He rolls away from it easily, the flame hitting a tree and turning it to… ash. Your face whitens as you drop your hand in shock. Jimin is on his feet again, surprised with his mouth parted. The flame dances along your arms, tingling your skin as you stare at the grayed ash of the tree. 

“Interesting,” Jimin murmurs. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, Shade.”

Somewhere you can’t see, Jungkook snarls loudly, followed by silence. Your flame gutters out immediately, thinking the worst. Terror shoots through you for Hoseok, for yourself.

“For what it’s worth,” Jimin murmurs softly, “I have no desire to hurt you. None at all. I apologize, but this is the only course of action. I wanted to take you to the Winter Court, but we have a new plan. I'm sorry.” 

Before you can figure out what he means, Jimin is in front of you, slamming you to the ground so hard it feels like the world shatters. 

The world fades. 

-

You drift. You search for that place of forever twilight but cannot find it. Your thoughts are nothing at all. They drift, unable to form memories and strings of ideas. You struggle in the space where you drift, unable to remember where you are or where you’re going. What you’re doing, or who you’re with.

There is dull pain. It might be your head, it might be your heart, it might be your toe. You don’t know where the pain comes from, but there is pain as you drift. 

Sometimes you feel almost awake. Other times there’s nothing- not even pain. 

Time is meaningless as you drift. You don’t know how long you’re in that space where there is nothing, but slowly your thoughts connect. You can identify it’s your head that hurts - and the rest of your body throbs. There’s a dullness to your senses like fog - you no longer feel that pulsing energy you located to try and fend off Jimin.

It’s just cold and muted.

With a groan, you open your eyes. It’s dim in the room, a single purple light burning low at the far corner. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth like sandpaper. Movement in the corner of the room catches your eye. Fear seizes you as you push yourself away from the dark figure. You push yourself into a corner of the cot you’re on, sheets tangling you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmurs. “It’s me.”

Blinking away the blurriness on the edge of your vision, you realize it’s Hoseok. 

You’re both in a small room with two cots, end tables next to each. There is a tiny rug covering the stone floor, and a heavy wooden door without a handle. The purple light follows Hoseok - you realize it’s a tiny purple flame, licking the air and snapping next to his shoulder. A pair of glowing, white eyes blink to life in the flame and you squeak, wide-eyed and pushed against the wall. 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok grins, looking at the fire. “I didn’t introduce you at the house because Jimin was there. This is Flare. He’s a fire spirit.” 

“Hello, Flare,” you croak, voice like sandpaper. Still, Flare snaps and pops with happiness, glowing pink at the edges for a moment. 

Hoseok rushes to your end table, grabbing a waterskin and passing it to you. You take it with greedy hands, uncorking it and chugging the cool water. It calms your throat immediately, earning a sigh. “Thanks.” You wipe the water running down your chin with the back of your hand. “Are you okay?”

You look at Hoseok - really look at him. His brown hair is matted and dirty, and there’s a bandage on his neck darkened with blood. You panic, sitting forward to tend to him when he holds a hand with a kind smile. “Already taken care of. That dog almost killed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Jimin is a traitorous bastard and Jungkook gets too enthusiastic. It isn’t the first time he’s bitten me.” 

“I thought you were friends.”

Hoseok snorts. “You never know where you stand with Jimin. He does everything on his own, that clever little mind of his making plots within plots. I think he did what was best in the moment, which meant letting Jungkook take us.”

“Why be friends with him at all, then?”

Hoseok looks sad when he glances at you. “Because he wasn’t always this way. Jimin is a product of his environment. He makes decisions that he thinks are best for his people, even if it puts friends in danger. His intentions are pure, his methods are brutal. But he is a prince of his people, for what it’s worth.” 

You think about that. It sounds like what your grandmother had told you. He is a product of his environment. You assume they’re talking about the Night Court. You think of the brief warmth in Jimin’s face in Hoseok’s home - those had not seemed fabricated, but you knew the fae were famous for mimicking emotion.

It really had been a ploy.

Knowing that bothers you more than you expect. You’ve only known Jimin a day, but something about him being exactly as you expected is incredibly disappointing. You fell for it just like he knew you would, and you’re all the dumber for it.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Hoseok sighs, settling next to you on the cot with his back against the wall. “He may yet still be an ally, who knows. It’s hard to tell what his plans are.” 

“I don’t care what his plans are. I just want to go home.”

“You’re going to have to accept that going home is not an option.” 

“I have people there who are going to freak out that I’m missing.” 

Namjoon. Your mother. Your editor. The list is small, but it’s still a list of people who will look for you.

“Time moves differently here,” Hoseok explains. “What feels like a year in faerie might only be a minute in your world.” He glances sidelong at you. “That being said, I won’t tell you there is a guarantee that you’ll ever go home again. My best advice is to learn how to survive her first. Focus on home later.”

It’s an honest piece of advice. You know this, but it doesn’t hurt any less. You lean against the wall and close your eyes, feeling the urge to cry twist in your throat. If Hoseok notices, he doesn’t say anything. He lets you grieve in silence, mulling over the series of events that have landed you here in a room with him, held against your will.

You lift your hand, examining the ring. It glimmers in the dark, the seven stars looking at you. Tentatively, you pull at it again - it still doesn’t come off. You sigh heavily, dropping your hand to the bed. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask softly, not looking at Hoseok but staring at the door. He nods. “This gives me power, right?” You hold up your hand, showing the ring. “I turned a tree to ash with a black flame. Was aiming at Jimin, though.”

Hoseok leans forward. You glance at him to see his brows knit, head tilted. “You summoned shadow fire?” You nod. “Huh. That is not a power of the High Court. That’s a gift unique to King Samar. You’re his descendent, though.” 

You pale. You hadn’t thought of that when Jimin told you of your grandmother’s heritage. You look up at the ceiling, chewing on the new information. You’ve never done something like that before. When you tell Hoseok as much, he seems lost in thought. 

“Have you touched anything beside the ring that was new? Anything that felt powerful?” 

You’re about to tell Hoseok no when you remember the spark of power you felt when you had picked up the dagger that Jimin now has at his waist. “The dagger,” you whisper. Hoseok looks confused so you elaborate, “There was a dagger in a drawer I thought was a letter opener. Jimin has it - he said it’s belonged to the An Oidhche for millennia.” 

“It’s your grandmother’s.” Hoseok smirks, leaning back against the wall. “A gift from Jimin’s mother to Yvaine on her birthday - a way to tell Yvaine that Eun didn’t hate her. Even if Eun wasn’t her mother.” 

“No wonder he didn’t give it back.”

“When you touched it, you unbound your power. Similar to the ring, but not nearly as powerful as a spell. Have you experienced any other powers?” You shook your head. “Hm. If you learned, you might be quite the fighter.” 

Silence envelops you. Flare floats closer to you, hovering near your face. You smile a little, feeling his warmth as you hold a finger out. He dances around your point finger before settling on the tip, balanced like a small bird. He makes a chattering noise and changes color, turning to a blush pink.

“He likes you,” Hoseok murmurs. “He’s afraid of most Night Court fae.”

“Why?” 

“They are dark.” 

You don’t ask him to elaborate. Instead, you welcome the silence. 

So much has happened in a few hours. You’re unsure how to keep track of everything. The urge to cry swells again. As though sensing your distress, Flare hops up your arm to jump in front of you, hovering just in front of your face as he takes different shapes. 

You watch him - he turns into a pink unicorn, a blue dragon, a purple serpent. Flare is magnificent, a tiny spirit of flame and colors and shapes. You don’t realize you’re crying until he squeaks, a distressed sound as he ping pongs back and forth in front of you, flashing from red to orange.

You laugh and wipe the tears, aware that Hoseok is watching. “I’m not upset,” you whisper to Flare. You hold out your hands, cupped. He lands in them, warming your skin. “You’re very beautiful. I’m crying because even though this is very scary, there is beauty here.” You sniffle. “Because everything my grandmother ever told me… it’s true.” 

-

A loud clang startles you awake. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the room is dark. Flare is nowhere to be seen, and Hoseok is gone. You scramble to your feet as the door opens, a burning torch appearing in the doorway. Jimin appears, settling the torch in an empty sconce on the wall. He slides in the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Hatred bubbles up immediately. You reach for the swell of power, but it still feels muted, like the magic so new to you is locked behind a door. 

Jimin scoffs. “You were drugged so you can’t turn me to ashes, Shade.”

“So you’re afraid of me.”

“I take precautions for even the smallest ant that stings.” Your ball your fists at the insult. 

Jimin is dressed differently. Gone is the silk pink shirt. He’s in all black now, the collar opens loose at the neck to reveal glittering necklaces. The cuffs of the fine shirt are stitched with silver, phase of the moon artfully placed on the material. His dark pants are tucked into soft leather boots. The circlet in his hair is different than before - there are stars and moons in this one, glittering diamonds catching the firelight. 

He looks so beautiful that you avert your eyes, shame coloring your face pink. The draw to him again is so strong you want to bend over at the waist and gasp for air. It’s a magnetic pull that threatens to drive you to insanity, especially when he steps forward. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brows pinched. 

“Like you care.” 

Something flashes in Jimin’s eyes. He straightens, looking down his nose at you, face impassive. “You’re right,” he deadpans. “I shouldn’t care about a half-human brat. Come. You’ve been summoned by the King of the Night Court.”

“I won’t help you. I don’t care if you torture me. You betrayed Hoseok, who was your friend. That bullshit you fed me about helping suffering fae? It was some sort of wordplay, wasn’t it? You want whatever this is,” You hold up your hand, “For yourself. Be honest with me.” Jimin opens the door, staring at you without a reaction. This enrages you further. Of course he’s unaffected. He doesn’t care.

“If you’re done with your speech, there are things to be done. You need to change for the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

Jimin winces then. He turns on a heel and storms out of the door, boots echoing in a hallway. After a moment’s consideration, you hurry after him.

The hallway is long and dark, lit with orange torches. Jimin is several strides ahead of you. You run to catch up with him, falling into pace as he marches, staring straight ahead. There are no windows, but doors line the hallway. You have no idea what horrors could be behind them.

You grab Jimin to stop him and he reacts immediately. You’re pressed against the wall in a moment, torch crackling next to you. You hold your breath as Jimin invades your space, pinning a wrist to the wall as he lowers his face to glower at you. “Don’t,” he growls lowly. “Touch me like that. Not here. Not during the ceremony. If you show an ounce of that disrespect, they will make me kill you.”

“Why should I believe anything you say? You deceive me and your friend and you ask for blind loyalty when you haven’t learned it. You’ve told me nothing.”

“I’ve told you what won’t get you kill. You may be able to lie unlike the fae, but you’re not trained in the world of deception and the practice it takes. Faeries made a game of lying and you have no idea how to play.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re panting with rage, twisting in his grip. Jimin tightens his hand, pressing his waist against you. You freeze as the smell of orange blossoms and night fall over you. It’s hard not to shiver in his grasp, especially with his breath fanning you.

Jimin loosens his grip slightly as he lowers his face further, making sure he has your eye contact when he says, “I am going out of my way to value your life while I complete what I must. I cannot lie.”

You jut your chin out. “Faeries made a game of lying,” you quote back to him. 

“I’m not lying to you. I swear on the Maker and my mother Eun the Lightspear that I am not lying to you right now. I am trying to protect you. You have complicated this in ways you cannot fathom, but I will try to spare you.”

A beat of quiet passes between you to. You see the seriousness in his gaze, the way his breath quickens. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him swear something – and though you’re unsure what swearing in Faerie does exactly, it feels important. It feels binding.

So you nod. “Okay.”

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Jimin sighs as he lets you go. He backs up a few paces and you try not to follow him across the hall. “I mean it when I say I’m trying to keep you alive. But if you behave like that at court, they will eat you alive and call it entertainment.”

“Okay.”

You rub your wrist where he gripped you and his expression softens, just slightly. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Instead of telling him it’s okay, you ask, “What ceremony were you talking about?”

“I’ve claimed you for the Night Court.” Jimin begins walking again and you scurry behind him to keep up.

“What?”

“Your grandmother is Yvaine, Daughter of Samar. She’s the half-sister to my adoptive brother, Jin.” He grimaces. “You have little claim to the throne has a half-fae, but you’re a Shade, which means something to the gentry around here. To save your life, I’ve pledged you to me. You cannot under any circumstances let my brother know that you're a Shade, he will see it as a threat.”

“What does that mean?”

Jimin opens a door at the end of the hall and ushers you through. There’s a set of stairs that you climb together before you’re outside in a beautiful garden. A found trickles in the center, a centaur depicted spitting water from his mouth as he plays a harp. There are birds singing and glowing butterflies flitting from tree to tree.

“It means I’ve claimed that you’re a personal member of my court and that you will swear fealty to me in front of the King and the Night Court.”

You look at him with wide eyes. “The fuck I am.”

“You’re right, how silly of me. Let me skip on up to dearest Jin and tell him that the descendent of Yvaine Darkbringer and Oberon Fireborn who also happens to be a Shade like her grandmother, and who also happens to be in possession of a ring with the High King Malik’s glamour bound to it doesn’t want to be here and we should let her go. That will work.”

You open and close your mouth. He’s using names and terms that you don’t understand. You don’t know what Darkbringer and Fireborn means, or the fact that he keeps calling you Shade. None of it makes sense, but Jimin’s implication is enough: it’s pledge yourself to his court or die as a threat to this Jin he mentioned.

“I’m not swearing an oath to you.”

“What does it matter? You can lie. Any promise of loyalty you make to me means nothing.”

“Fine.” You straighten your shoulders. “But don’t treat me like I’m a child. You will be respectful.”

“Respect given is respect earned,” Jimin quips, walking away from you and toward a maze of hedges. “Come along, Shade. I hope you’re as good at lying as you are at annoying me.”

-

Two fae move around you in a circle, their fingers working on pulling on the gown while the other pulls strands of your hair. In another life, you would appreciate the room. It’s massive, with one of the walls made up entirely of rockface, a waterfall dripping down the cool stone. There are glowing flowers on the rockface, pale in comparison to the side of the gardens below the balcony.

Curtains dance in the jasmine-scented breeze. They’re gauzy and dark blue, twisting in in their holdings. There are no doors that lead to the stone balcony that overlooks a dizzying garden-forest of glowing flowers and chittering creatures.

The main chamber of the room is commanded by a four-poster bed with live glowing vines crawling up the columns, their ends vanishing into the sapphire, velvet curtains secured to each post. The bed is larger than any you’ve ever seen with dark, rumbled sheets that smell like orange blossom and a smell you’ve begun to associate with Jimin.

Jimin.

The name ignites a war within you. It is both full of a bitter tang and a sweet… something that you’re unsure of. The walk to the bedroom was silent after declaring you were to pledge yourself to his court. He explained that if you were bound to his court, you had his protection.

Meaning the king – Jin – couldn't murder you for inheriting a power that should belong only to him.

You look anything but unassuming. You stare in the mirror as the fae move around you. You’re unsure what they are – they’re genderless and they look more like moving smoke than human beings. Their hands fade in and out of existence and their eyes are glowing white, like stars. The color of their cloudy skin shifts with shadow, and when they step toward the light, you can see through them.

Unassuming is not the word you would use. They have smeared a shimmering substance on your arms, chest and neck. Your eyes are lined with dark coal, a contrast to the silver glitter on the tops of your cheekbones. Your hair is pinned in a low bun, some curled pieces falling out. There are pins with stars in your hair, a constellation of stairs among the strands that the two smoke-faeries have managed to tame.

You look startlingly like your grandmother. Not the eyes, though – those still look like your grandfather. But the sloping features, the intensity in your gaze and the way you hold your shoulders back with purpose… you blink in surprise.

It’s the way you’ve always wanted to appear like your mom. Confident. Fierce.

An ache starts in your chest at the thought of your mom. You cling to Hoseok’s works and hope that time back home is moving slowly. You’ve been at the Night Court for over two days. Jimin had the heart to tell you that you were in that room for a while after he knocked you out, and even more when they had received Hoseok.

Jimin wouldn’t answer where Hoseok was. You have every intention on finding out.

Though you’re aligned to this plan for now, taking Jimin for the oath that he swore, you’re crafting plans of your own.

It was difficult to memorize the steps to the room, but you’re confident you can navigate down to the garden and the wall of hedges that you passed on the way to the room.

The two faeries step away from you. The motion drags your eyes back to the mirror, focusing on the way you’re dressed. You must admit that you don’t look human at all. Your hands drift to the tips of your ears – still round, though maybe a little pointed, you note. But not faerie ears.

Silver beading makes up the entire bodice of the gown. It’s form fitting, hugging the swells of your breasts with a unique keyhole design, baring the sparkles on your chest. The sleeves cut off at the arm, sheer black material falling behind you at the shoulder like a cape, stars and diamonds catching the lighting.

The beading disperses at the waist, trickling into a twinkling pattern in layers and layers of black material, sheer but soft. It gives the illusion that you’re wearing the night sky when you move, the beading and jewels catching the light to create a beautiful allusion.

You wear no jewelry save for the iron ring on your finger. The pins in your hair paired with the spectacle of a gown command enough attention.

The door opens, making you turn as Jimin enters.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see him.

Jimin is stressed in equal extravagance. There are silver threads laced in his hair, emphasizing the grey of his styled hair. The crown of stars and moons is atop his head once more – you realize it looks exactly like the pins in your hair. The black shirt he wears is scandalously sheer, showing the strong body beneath. You can tell his skin is glittered beneath the shirt, hard planes of his abs catching the light as he approaches you slowly, green eyes pinned to you.

And his eyes. His eyes are lightly kohled, intensifying his already burning stare. There are no necklaces around his throat – where you’re determined to keep your gaze and not trail further to the abs – but he has diamonds in his ear, a cluster of stars climbing up the pointed edges.

Jimin is a dream. He is every lullaby you’ve ever heard murmured come to life. He is spun from moonlight, and he is the light of the stars himself.

Something so beautiful should not be so rotten inside, you think.

“You look exquisite,” Jimin says after a while. His hands are still clasped behind his back, his haunting eyes only for you. “Better than the gold and green of summer, but still not as good as the blue and silver.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jimin smiles – it’s so rare that he smiles that you find yourself opening your mouth in surprise. It’s tiny, but it isn’t filled with malice.

“I brought you something.” He removes his hands from behind his back. There’s a bracelet in his hands, a cluster of stars and planets. You hold out your wrist and then retreat it, eyes narrowing. He chuckles. “I offer this with no bargain. I gift this freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

With a hum of approval, you hold out your wrist. His fingers are nimble and quick as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your skin feels like it's on fire where his fingers brush your skin – more so than necessary when he pulls his hands away, running his fingers along your palm.

“It was your grandmothers.”

You look up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I can show you to her old room, if you like.”

“I would like that very much. You knew her well?”

“Well enough. We were allies, though perhaps not friends.”

“Why not friends?”

His smile is sad. “To save Faerie from the High King, she had to hurt me.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. “I suppose it seems the obvious answer among destruction: sacrifice the one to save the many. But she was warned of the potential consequences.”

“I saw her in a dream,” you mention. “She seemed just as conflicted about you and your choices. Perhaps we cannot judge others with such limited point of views.”

“Keep thinking like that and you’ll die in minutes. There is no time to question if someone is good here.” Jimin steps back from you and holds out the crook of his elbow. “Come. It’s time to tolerate me the best you can.”

You cut him a dull stare. “Aren’t I doing well enough already?”

“I suppose.”

Heat radiates from where you loop your arm in Jimin’s. You steady a breath as he leads you out of the room.

The halls to the main palace were twisting, no room or wall the same. You passed a large courtyard with no ceilings, the night sky shimmering above. There’s a large, black tree in the courtyard, lights like stars dangling from it. There’s a power there, throbbing through the roots and through the floor of the yard. Will-o-wisps flit among the bare branches, dancing among the gnarled arms.

You hesitate as you pass it, looking over your shoulder, fixated on it.

“The Midnight Tree,” Jimin murmurs. “The palace was built around it. It was placed there by our Maker at the beginning of our time.”

“Why would the Night Court be built around it? I thought the High Fae came first.”

The corner of his mouth drags upward. “Someone has been listening. The High Court came first – but the first High Queen – the Maker, for we don’t know her name – was very in love with a handmaiden of hers. The handmaiden was in love with the night and the night sky, so the Maker planted this tree here. The power you feel. It’s what keeps the Night Court in eternal night. The Maker made it for her lover, so that she may live in her favorite scape.”

“That’s beautiful,” you murmur.

A hum of voices reaches you as you walk toward closed double doors. Guards line the doors, two to each side. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Jimin’s sleeve, going rigid. They are dressed in all black, tunic, leather vests and grieves over the dark material, inlaid with silver material depicting the moon and stars of the Night Court. There are swords at their hips, their eyes trained on you.

None of them move to stop you, but a shadow appears down the hall, whistling lightly to catch Jimin’s attention. Jimin freezes. You feel him go rigid as the figure steps into the light of the hall. The guards fidget as Jungkook grins at Jimin, waltzing to the pair of you.

Fear trickles down your neck as you watch him. His long hair is styled back, a single messy strand falling against his brow. You realize the underneath of his hair is shaved, shorter than the rest. The new look lets you spy a small, white brand behind his ear.

Jungkook is not dressed in finery like Jimin. He is in the same black shirt, open to reveal curls of tattoos on his chest that vanish into his sleeves. His pants are tucked into high boots. A belt hangs snug around his narrow waist, knives and a sword belted to him. A leather harness stretches to his leg, holding another sheath, bone handle gleaming.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous,” Jungkook teases, earning flared nostrils and your eyes snapping up to his dark ones. A single earring dangles in his right ear, a dagger at the end of it. He is devilishly handsome, but there’s something unhinged in his gaze. “You’re a pretty little thing when you’re all dressed up.”

“Back up, dog,” Jimin growls, eyes like a dark, green storm. “You might rub your stench off on her.”

“I don’t answer to you,” Jungkook says to Jimin, never taking his eyes off you as he smirks. “I might answer to you, though. You look good enough to eat.”

“I’m not looking to adopt a stray animal,” you smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have fealty to pledge.”

Jungkook drops the smirk, his e expression murder as you grin, pulling Jimin further. Jimin smirks as the guards open the doors for you, casting them open to reveal a room filled with a dizzying assortment of creatures and colors. You focus on Jimin’s low words as he says, “Impressive.”

“Hardly. He hurt Hoseok.” Jimin dips his head in the direction of a humanoid tree that is seven feet tall, his skin nut-brown and patched with bark. He is dressed in green finery, blinking two sleep eyes at you. “You will show me to Hoseok after this.”

“Oh? Will I?”

“Yes. Or I’ll tell everyone here that you’re having me pledge falsely so you can use my shadow fire and new ring to take over.” Jimin growls low in his throat. “Checkmate.”

“I haven’t an idea what that means.”

Faeries and creatures part like a sea as you walk through. You try not to look at the alien faces around you – fae with green skin and big, black eyes, trolls and faeries that look like wolves watching you with predatory interest. There are others who look like Jimin, beautiful and feather light on their feet as they trail after you.

The room is very obviously a throne room, a raised dais at the far end of the hall. The ceiling is... nothing. Faerie light hovers around the room in soft-white globes, but the ceiling is a churning black mass of nothingness. It unsettles you as you let Jimin lead you to a silver throne, a man who looks like an avenging angel rising to his feet from it.

Around you, the whisper of clothes move as the room bows. Jimin bows low at the waist, dropping your arm from his. You do the same, careful not to lose your balance.

When you straighten, the king of the Night Court is watching you. His tan skin is smooth and ageless, ancient charcoal eyes studying you. His lips are sinfully full and pink. Dark black hair is brushed delicately back, a silver circlet of silver with no adornment in his hair. He's dressed in a black tunic with diamond-studded cuffs and a silver tree with stars stitched among them. A single dark cape is on his shoulders, pined to his shoulders with moons.

“She certainly looks like her,” the king says to Jimin. “It’s uncanny. There’s no doubt of her heritage, you’re right.”

“I’m standing right here,” you blurt.

You snap your mouth shut audibly when Jimin stiffens next to you and the king turns his dark gaze on you. You feel hypnotized, unable to look away from him as his gaze sucks you in. His eyes are bottomless and you’re falling, falling, falling.

Suddenly there’s nothing else in the world. There’s just the darkness of the king’s eyes and you feel boneless, alone. The world is muted and you’re lost in a dark sea.

A despair unlike anything you’ve ever felt pulls at you, drowning you deeper and deeper. You begin to suffocate, the world closing in on you-

Jimin’s hand brings you back. The king adverts his gaze with a smirk, glancing at Jimin. “Mouth just like my sister, it seems.”

“Seokjin, please,” Jimin murmurs.

The name rings through you. Your grandmother standing in twilight rushes back, her words. You realize with horror that the man in front of you is Seokjin. You realize every time Jimin mentioned his adoptive brother Jin – it was short for Seokjin. The faerie who could lie. The man who killed your grandfather.

Seokjin grins at you, venomous. “Hello, niece.”

Next Chapter

[eldritch-araneae]

SPARKPULSE X: SPIRE OF THE WORLD

Summary: It is time to take back the most valuable cybertronian artifacts, AllSpark and Vector Sigma. Will it be as easy as it sounds? Journey to the Spire to find out!

Content warning for blood and violence.

Bumblebee's spark chimes in pride, looking at the result of his and Windblade's work.

Their room still looks chaotic, but now it's controlled chaos. He placed essential things such as stimulants on Windblade's eyesight, while other items he organized in logical and easy-to-remember ways.

The last thing is decorating. Despite moving away soon, it's a good thing to make the place they occupy more welcome and cozy. His room was empty and sad as if reflecting his loneliness. Now he's not alone anymore. Their place looks alive, and glow-in-dark stars will make it more exciting.

Windblade is sitting on their bed, organizing her notes regarding their investigation. She's making a list of information they need to lookup in Optimus' archives. A random thought just occurred and she can't help her curiosity.

"So, despite the seal, occasionally, you can remember things," she says, recalling his descriptions of feelings and images in rare cases after he wakes up. "I wonder if it's because of the sheer scope of memory locking the seal must perform?"

"You mean?" Bumblebee asks as he sticks another star on the wall by their bed.

"Like any flexible material. The more you stretch, the thinner it gets to the point it becomes see-through. You possess an incredible amount of memory cells, and trying to block all of them makes the seal worse at its job." Windblade pauses, thinking this through. "Meanwhile, mine covers only a few cells and I don't get any random recollections about possible contents..."

"That feels oddly specific..."

"Indeed."

A star peeled off the ceiling and fell onto Bumblebee, conveniently sticking to his forehead. Windblade lifts her head to see his adorable face and bursts into laughter. "This star looks very cute on you! Have you considered updating your paint job?"

He stares at her for a few seconds before he takes a star from a sticker sheet and sticks it to Windblade's nose. In response, she takes another sheet with a mischievous expression, peels a star, and sticks it to his right cheek. Then he puts another to her arm and her inner gremlin has been awoken.

In the next second, datapads were forgotten as Windblade chased Bumblebee around the room, sticking as many glow-in-dark stars on him as she could. He fought back bravely,  he even landed several stars on her. Bumblebee thought he could win this until he ran out of stars. Windblade holds her last sticker with a devious grin and walks to him slowly.

"You'll never catch me!" Bumblebee dramatically swings his arm to the side, opens the door, and runs out. Windblade immediately bolts after him.

The chase in the corridors continued for several minutes, confusing everyone who accidentally came across. But the minibot always being just out of reach. Windblade decided to end this quickly, as she had one advantage over Bumblebee - she can fly.

"You're finished!" she exclaimed as she used her thrusters to launch herself at him.

Unfortunately, a door on the left has opened, and Prowl stepped into the corridor without checking it first. So Windblade's hand with the star collides with the second-in-command's forehead instead. The loud clank noise echoes through the base, followed by Prowl falling onto the floor unconscious.

Bumblebee stops and turns around to see what happened, and his confused expression met Windblade's shocked one. After silently exchanging looks, they did the most logical thing - take the fallen bot and bring her to medbay.

-----------

Ratchet saw many things in life and knows better than anyone how chaotic Autobots can be. So many bots came to him with the most random and ridiculous injuries. Yet each day brings him more surprises.

Seeing two Autobots, one of which isn't known for mischief, covered from head to feet in star stickers, carry unconscious Prowl with the sticker on her head, sends the medic into the endless spiral of "HOW?!"s. No shenanigans before this moment have prepared him for this.

After making sure that the second-in-command's life isn't in danger, Ratchet turns to the squirming duo. Seeing his piercing gaze, both raised their hands in their defense.

"It was an accident, I swear!" they said in unison while trying to not laugh.

"Bumblebee, you're a bad influence," Ratchet says with a sigh, crossing his arms.

"Me? Noooo, I'm not influencing anyone! Just enabling~" the yellow minibot sings songs while trying to appear as innocent as possible. Ratchet sighs again. No one can resist Bumblebee's adorable face, and he knows it. Much to his annoyance, the medic noticed Windblade being more social since Bumblebee appeared and it's a good thing.

"Fine. Windblade, try to hold your amica back at least for a week? I need a break." Ratchet huffs, motioning towards the door.

"I will!" she takes Bumblebee's arm and both flee the medbay before the medic changes his mind.

-----------

By the dawn, Bumblebee finished tidying their room, and Windblade finished her list. Both are satisfied with their results.

"What's amica by the way?" he asks as he plops into the bed with an energon snack in his mouth. "It sounds familiar, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Amica Endura," Windblade says, studying his expression in case it rings any bells. Seeing it didn't, she continues. "It's a name for one's platonic partner, very similar to Conjunx Endura - the romantic equivalent. The ceremony involves partners exposing their sparks to each other while saying amica vows."

Bumblebee smiles, imagining the ceremony in his mind. It feels incredibly special, and it warms his spark. Then his smile widens. "So, Ratchet assumed we did the ceremony?"

"Not only him, and I can't blame them, considering we are sharing the same room." Windblade settles next to Bumblebee with an adorable giggle. "Chromia thought you're my conjux, but you know me - not feeling the romantic attraction."

"Yes, me too! Romance? I don't know them, nope!". They laugh lightly in solidarity.

Bumblebee leans onto Windblade's side, relaxing as he thinks more about it. It feels nice to belong, to be loved... does he really belong, though? There is only one way to find out before his mind will fabricate the wrong assumption.

He inhales deeply, mastering his courage, before asking. "Do you consider me to be your Amica Endura, by the way? Like, for real?"

"Yeah," Windblade replies so casually, like it was the most obvious fact. Then realization caught up with her. "Yes! Absolutely! You make my life much brighter and fulfilled. With you around, I can just be myself, and I can actually talk to people outside of my profession! Seriously, I had no idea how to interact with anyone, and you do it so easily. And it's just fun, and you're so gentle and I feel safe and content and, well, anything."

She stopped when she saw Bumblebee's expression changed, staring at her with wide optics. He looks like he's about to cry. She got worried that she said something wrong, but he suddenly asked, "Really? Am I so important to you?"

"Bee," Windblade says his name with such tenderness as it was the softest thing in the world and tightly embraces. He returns it, feeling like he's about to melt. "What about you?"

"I feel the same. When I'm losing myself, you're my only anchor. You remind me I don't have to be alone anymore. That I deserve... love?" he looks up at her, seeing a smile of approval. She says this a lot, and Bumblebee is slowly accepting it.

They rest together in silence, just taking in each other's presence. After thinking about it more, he said, "I want to do the ceremony.". He was excited for a moment before he remembered one crucial detail. "But how am I gonna expose my spark if I can't open my spark chamber?"

"We don't have to follow the exact canons. I can open my spark and this will be enough." Windblade says, reassuring him.

"But that means only I get your light, but you won't get mine. That doesn't seem fair..." Bumblebee grumbles, thinking of the ways to fix the situation. "Oh, can we do it in my mindscape? I can imagine my spark opening for you if you're okay with this."

"You're so sweet, Bumblebee." Windblade gives him a warm smile. "We gotta try this, I bet no one tried this before!"

A call from Jazz came to their commlinks, interrupting them. They exchange looks before Bumblebee replies first, "Yeah?"

"Hey, Bee, there is a situation by the Stronghold gates. We need you and Windblade here." Jazz says calmly. There is something in their voice, but it's hard to decipher.

Both mechs looked at each other in confusion before Windblade nodded to him. "Alright, we'll be there in a few minutes."

-----------

Bumblebee and Windblade arrived at the gate to see the Autobot High Command and a bunch of Decepticons, including Clobber, Lockdown, Cyclonus, and Thundercracker. They saw Prowl was being okay, feeling relieved. Noticing her looking at them, they quietly approached her.

"I'm sorry," Windblade whispers the apology, making sure she's not disturbing the conversation between Optimus and Decepticons. "I will be more careful next time."

"Me too." Bumblebee adds as well.

Prowl nods. "Apology accepted. Now, step forward, your expertise is required," she says, motioning with her optics towards the group.

"As you can see, we got an interesting development." Jazz turns to them. "They want to join us, so it would be great to get an insight from you two."

Clobber notices both mechs come in and waves at them. "May I speak to you?"

Autobots exchange their looks, then Optimus Prime nods. The duo walks up to her.

"The reason we're here is that Shadowlurker appeared in my dream several days ago. We talked about Megatron's actions and agreed it won't end well for all of us. He told me you're leaving the planet soon and offered me to join. I took those who are sharing the point of view and sneak out of Kaon." Clobber explains calmly.

All Autobots, including Bumblebee, look surprised upon hearing it. Not because he offered help, but because only Windblade was known for her ability to dive into other mechs dreams. The minibot hums, trying to remember anything from the last sleep cycles.

"Can you confirm?" Prowl asks Bumblebee, going straight to the point.

The minibot doesn't know what to say, so he examines the group's sparks first. He feels like Clobber is genuine, others seem nervous. Out of fear that Autobots will deny them, or because they are trying to infiltrate and scared to be caught too early?

But there is no underlying malice though, and those who are present didn't fight Autobots a lot in the past. He knows well that Clobber and Lockdown are pretty much harmless. And she left her second-in-command post long ago.

Thundercracker always appears to be distracted on the battlefield, like his mind occupied by something else entirely. So he's usually put at defense or guard duties.

Cyclonus was never seen fighting them at all. He heard some rumors from Decepticons that he sneaks out during the battle, but no one knows where or why. Though now to think about it, Tailgate is also mysteriously absent at the same time.

Overall, letting them in doesn't seem like a bad idea to him. But he still needs to answer Prowl's question.

"I cannot tell, as I rarely remember anything from my dreams. But I had a persistent feeling that someone must arrive soon." Bumblebee shrugs. There is nothing else he can say about it.

"Ah, that's right. You warned me about this too. So you asked me to talk to Windblade." Clobber looks at the red VTOL jet. Then she looks back at Bumblebee with curious optic. "I wonder why you looked like a Seeker thought."

"Probably because your mind shaped him like this to protect your psyche," Windblade suggests, still puzzled about Bumblebee's abilities. "I can confirm my friend can't remember dreams. Unless someone else was in it with him, no one would know what the dream was about."

"Is it possible for someone to reach one's dream at such a great distance? Kaon is on the other side of Cybertron." Prowl points out. "As far as I know, Windblade needs to near pull this off."

Everyone went silent, trying to remember any similar examples from the past to confirm or deny.

"I'm not sure, but maybe it's something I can do with Spark Telepathy? My ESPER seems to be attuned to the subconscious as a whole." Bumblebee theorizes, feeling this could be possible. This sounds fun! "It appears to be on the opposite side of the spectrum from Mind Telepathy. Windblade, we have to test this later. I'm very curious!"

"Hm, that makes sense. And we definitely gonna test this! "Windblade smiles, sharing the excitement with Bumblebee." It took a lot of training for me to master entering one's dreams. It's not the same as entering one's mindscape, because my abilities are attuned to conscious by default."

"One can sense thoughts and another feels our sparks. You're a very interesting duo." Cyclonus spoke up. "You can scan me if you want. Got nothing to hide."

"I know about your situation, Cyclonus, so I don't have questions for you," Optimus spoke, which earned some confusion coming from Prowl and Jazz. "I'll tell you later."

"I don't mind being scanned," Thundercracker says, relaxing again at the gate door. "I'm sure you will appreciate my movie ideas!"

"Your ideas are surely interesting, with all drama and interpersonal relationships." Windblade grins at Thundercracker's surprised expression, followed by the blush. She hit the nail on the head. "As far as I can tell, they are all clear."

"Yeah, same from me." Bumblebee replies. "I think it's safe to let them in."

Prowl and Jazz both nod in agreement. Optimus turns to Clobber. "Do you know if anyone else is planning to join us, but hesitating?"

"Slipstream wanted to come." Clobber says. "But something stopped her at the last minute. She looked incredibly stressed and stormed off somewhere. But she said she might come later."

Bumblebee frowns. "I hope she's okay."

As the first rays of sunlight breached the horizon, everyone went inside the Stronghold. The group is following Prowl to finish the integration process. Bumblebee was thinking about one thing and decided it was the right time to ask.

"Since we're leaving, we must take the AllSpark and Vector Sigma with us. And because there are fewer Decepticons left, it shouldn't be hard to do, right?" he looks at Optimus Prime.

"It depends, we need more intel around the location." the leader replies. "Clobber, how tight is security around the Spire?"

"Not really," she says, surprising everyone once again, even other Decepticons. "When Megatron run out of resources to forge more Cybertronians for his cause, he abandoned the building. Save for a few patrols to deploy occasionally."

"That's strange. Why would Megatron neglect to keep two powerful artifacts safe?" Windblade was the first to question it.

"I asked him the same question, but he never gave me a straight answer. 'There is no need.' he said." Clobber replies, looking as confused as anyone else.

"He either believes we won't come after it.... or there is something else we don't know." Prowl thinks it thought. "There must be a trap of sorts, and he's sure it can stop us."

"Perhaps I can sneak in and survey first, and if possible, take the AllSpark and Vector Sigma." Bumblebee proposes, hoping that the High Command will allow this.

"Sending you alone? Absolutely not." Optimus Prime denied firmly, but he has other idea. "But I agree with the plan, it just needs more people."

"Alright, it's getting late for us nocturnals, so you guys go finish the thing. "Jazz stretches as he walks towards his quarters. "Tonight I will assemble anyone. Clobber, Windblade, and Bumblebee, your present will be necessary."

-----------

After several days of brainstorming and planning, the Autobots came up with a relatively safe course of action. They arrived at the center of Vos at dusk to set it in motion. Bumblebee, Jazz, and Windblade are sneaking towards the Spire, while Optimus with his backup army is staying on alert in case of attack. Blaster is monitoring any signal activity while his cassettes are patrolling the area.

It's quiet right now. Too quiet, especially for a place containing two of the most valuable cybertronian artifacts. Bumblebee's group made it to the building with no issues.

"Strange... we made it so far, yet not a peep from Decepticon communication." Jazz checks all radio signals. "Do you sense anyone?"

"No. As if we're just exploring another abandoned area on this planet." Bumblebee shakes his head.

"Same. I sense nothing except our own groups." Windblade frowns, finding this situation suspicious as well. "We have to stay alert."

"We will." Jazz agrees, while staring at the main entrance of the Spire. "That would be a bad idea to get in through the front door. It's a good place to set up traps. I wonder if we can find an alternative way in."

The trio looked around to find any possible entrances until Windblade pointed up at the wall on the opposite side of the building.

"What's up with this wall?" Jazz looks at her curiously.

"I think..." she didn't finish the sentence as she slips her fingers into a hidden socket on the side that isn't visible from a usual angle. Then she clicked a tiny switch and the portion of the wall moved backward and rolled to the side, revealing a secret entry.

"Whoah, a secret door! That's so cool! How did you know about this?" Jazz exclaims as their inner explorer has awoken.

"That's a good question. I wasn't even thinking about it, but seems like my neurowire system recognized it." Windblade says, feeling both surprised... and nostalgic?

"It looks familiar." Bumblebee ads as something in his locked memory has stirred. "I think I passed by this door when I came into being."

Jazz looked at both of them, not sure what to make out of this yet... aside from the fact that both have been here.

In Bumblebee's case, it made sense. He was created here. This is how he avoided being captured by Decepticons. Windblade thought? She was forged on Caminus right before the destruction of the Reef Hotspot. How would she know this? Before diving into digesting this thought, Windblade called for them to follow her.

The group has entered the abandoned tunnel. It's too dark even for three nocturnals to see, so Bumblebee turns headlights on his shoulders on. Windblade, following her intuition, is leading them through twists and turns left by the other ancient civilization. The walls are covered in spiraling patterns.

"To think that Quitessons would build this." Jazz comments as they observed the surroundings. "They weren't the type of making secret passages, given their hive-minded nature."

"Perhaps they knew that eventually the enslaved cybertronians will rise against them, so they build a passage as an escape route," Bumblebee says, with hints of animosity and dismay in his voice.

"That's very possible, but seems like it didn't help them much," Windblade said as she stopped, looking down at something. Jazz and Bumblebee walked closer and saw the entire floor was littered with heavily rusted quitesson armor.

"Okay, so they took it during the Spire assault... and something happened. These walls look old, but I don't see any signs of a fight." Jazz says as their spark speeds up from light anxiety. "That's creepy. I hope we won't fall the same fate."

"Don't worry about it," Bumblebee said calmly, staring at Quintesson remains with deep underlined hatred. But at the same time he's growing nervous. "Whatever killed them is not here anymore. I'm sure of it."

"If you say so." Jazz shrugs. "Is this the way, Windblade? Not sure if I want to walk through all of this."

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be long. This corridor should lead us to the elevator." Windblade says. She notices Bumblebee's grim expression, he slightly clutches his chest. "Are you alright? We can rest if you need."

"My spark is acting up. Those remains are stressing me out. Let's keep moving." Bumblebee pulls the medicine out of his subspace compartment and injects it into his left arm. "I'll be okay."

The group proceeds carefully. Windblade was holding Bumblebee's hand, while Jazz placed their hand on his back, soothing his anxiety. Gradually, his spark stabilized when they left this part of the tunnel and stumbled across an old elevator shaft. The doors are broken, and it's pitch black inside. Bumblebee shines his light inside.

"So, the elevator that would take us to the top," Windblade says, inspecting the shaft, staring right into the rubble of the crushed cabin. There is an opening into the shaft they can use to go up. "Welp, looks like we have to climb."

"Alright, good thing I came prepared!" Jazz pulls out their climbing gear from subspace. "Bee, are you well? Do you need help?"

"I think so? I'm not sure." he shrugs. The medicine worked, but he still feels wonky.

"I'll carry you." Windblade picks him up in bridal style, making him yelp in surprise, then laugh.

"Hey, but what about me?" Jazz asks dramatically, adding more to the amusing mood. They turn on their chest headlights and shoot the cable up to climb.

"Do I look like Nyx, who can just throw Optimus over her shoulder like a sack of bolts?" she snickers, while slowly flying up with Bumblebee in her hands, making sure to not leave Jazz behind. "Besides, a little workout will be good for you."

The trio laughs as they continue their ascend. It doesn't take long for them to reach the top. Jazz attaches the next cable to the top panel, letting themself hand in the middle. The metal creaks in protest. They 'shhh' at it.

"So, where is the exit?" Bumblebee looks around to spot the elevator doors.

"Over there." Jazz points to the right." It looks shut, but I think we can pry it open with some gentle persuasion."

"Usually I hear 'gentle persuasion' from Wheeljack when he comes in with explosives," Windblade says, already preparing for the worst.

"Nah, nah, nah! I have the more elegant solution." They shake their head and pull a crowbar from their subspace. Suddenly, the additional weight became too much for the metal panel and it broke from the ceiling.

"Jazz!" both cried out, but fortnightly Bumblebee caught Jazz quickly because he with Windblade were below them at the moment. Unfortunately, Windblade can't carry two mechs at once, her grip on Bumblebee is weakening and they lose height fast.

In the middle of panic and spinning in midair, she grits her teeth and pushes all the strength she has into her engines to fly up. It gave her enough boost to carry them back to the elevator doors, but the momentum made it impossible to stop and the trio crushes right into it. The impact was powerful it break the doors and throw them into the room, creating a lot of noise.

For a few seconds, they lie on the floor before Jazz speaks up. "So much for 'gentle persuasion'... is anyone okay?"

"Yeah." Both mechs replied as they sit up. Bumblebee wanted to say more, but a sudden tapping noise drew his attention. He went still and stared to the left, where he thought the noise came from.

"Bee?" Windblade looks in the same direction as he is. "What's wrong?"

"I think I heard something skedaddling over there." He replies, but can't see anything nor feel any sparks. "Probably nothing."

"I hope so." Jazz stands up, then helps the other two. "At least we got to our destination."

They were standing in a big round room, the Creation Chamber. It's dark as the sun has set, only illuminated by two moons through many ornate windows that are still intact. They walked to the control panels in the center.

"Let's see." Jazz activates it. He listens to any alarms or anything else that potentially might alert Decepticons of their presence. "No alarms, good."

He types several commands to activate the AllSpark chamber and tells it to bring it up. They watch as the cylinder rises from the floor, lowering each layer of security around it, opens up to reveal that the chamber itself... is empty.

"What?!" Jazz was the first to react and runs towards the chamber to check. Windblade and Bumblebee shockingly looked at each other and run after them. They examine the chamber. It looks intact without a sign of damage. Even the pedestal that was used to keep the AllSpark is in good condition and looks like it wasn't used in ages.

"Dear stars, look down!" Windblade points at the bottom of the chamber. This part looks the opposite, slashed with something sharp, revealing a severed electronic system. It's broken beyond repair.

"That's Vector Sigma!" Jazz recognized the destroyed device. "Someone cut it open and took all the crucial components out of it. This is bad!"

Before the group could start panicking, a loud groaning sound from the opposite side of the room made them stand still. Listening closely to what sounds like sloppy shuffling, they slowly withdraw from the chamber and headed back to the elevator shaft. The noise became louder and out of the shadows came out strange-looking cybertronians, surrounding them.

"Decepticons?!" Jazz steps back. "Oi, chill! You guys look really weird as if you are –"

"Dead!" Bumblebee cries out in disbelief. "They have no sparks! This is so wrong!"

Without a warning, one corpse lunges at Bumblebee, grabbing him by the neck. He struggles to get away from it, but without a weapon, he's helpless. Windblade comes to the rescue with her sword and cuts its head off, spilling the red energon all over the floor.

"I don't sense any consciousness in them either!" Windblade steps closer to Bumblebee, ready to cut down anything getting too close to him. "They're just walking shells!"

"What in the world?! Well, in this case," Jazz pulls a giant hammer out of their subspace." I don't have to hold back!" They do three swings around, gaining momentum, then on the fourth they launch themself right into the crowd. The impact scatters it like flies.

"We gotta go!" Windblade takes Bumblebee's arm to push him forward while slashing at the attacking corpses. She misses one, and it grabs her right arm, letting the other jump on her. She fights to free herself while another corpse is about to stab her with an old glaive.

Bumblebee sees it in time and tackles it to the ground. It was enough for it to drop the glaive, allowing him to catch it before it lands and stab back into its chest. At this very moment, something clicked in him. Followed by a surge going through his spark and processor. It's so powerful. Unstoppable. He's on the hunt!

He tightens his grip on the weapon and, with newfound confidence, he pulls it upwards, cutting the corpse in half, raining more of red energon all over himself and the floor. Then he attacks the one holding his friend, wounding its back and allowing Windblade to break herself free. The minibot takes her hand, and they rushed to Jazz. Hundreds of them are crawling out of broken elevator, so they have to escape thorough the main route.

"Let's get out before we get swarmed!" Jazz motions with their hammer to the main elevator. This one still works and Bumblebee hurriedly pushed the ground floor button, closing the doors right before corpses had any change to jump inside. Jazz is contacting Autobots.

"Prime, come in! We're in trouble! Countless dead bodies are after us. So you read me?" they speak fast in panic. "The AllSpark is gone as well!"

"Yes, Jazz! Did you say dead bodies?! And the AllSpark?!" Optimus replies in disbelief, then he shook his head to change his focus. " We're come to aid you immediately!"

The doors open on the ground floor and they run towards the main entrance. Suddenly, a ground bridge near it has activated. The trio stopped in their tracks. "Optimus, is that you?"

"I'm afraid not." A voice spoke from the portal. The mech stepping out of it is Shockwave, accompanied by Ravage and Lazerbeak. "I see you appreciated my efforts to make the dead bodies useful."

Bumblebee's spark flares with unhinged fury, ready to tear the mad scientist apart. "Who do you think you are?!"

"Nice to see you here. Thank you for making my life easier. Now, instead of tracking you, I can finally study your unique physiology." Shockwave charges his weapon on the left arm, fully intending to capture the minibot.

"The only thing you will study is how it feels to die!" Bumblebee vaults himself into the air with the glaive. He lands right in front of the bigger cybertronian and the next swing would decapitate him if he didn't react in time to dodge. Without missing a pulse, the minibot lunges forward, doing one after another.

Shockwave is trying to fight back, but his shots keep missing. Bumblebee's aggressiveness and the weapon's medium-range are not giving him any chances. He didn't expect the weak minibot to go full offense so quickly!

As Bumblebee presses on, he feels more powerful, more in control, more ecstatic! His prey is in front of him, flailing helplessly, desperately trying to evade death. The pleasure he feels is immense. He hasn't felt like this for so long! His scowl turns into a fanged predatory grin, putting Shockwave on the edge.

Jazz and Windblade are watching in awe as Bumblebee barrages Shockwave with attacks, almost forgetting about Decepticon cassettes being there as well. They block any attempts to aid the scientist while sparing a moment to look at the fight.

From the side, their friend looks like he's dancing, swift and elegant, and his dance is proving itself deadly as Bumblebee almost cuts Shockwave's left arm off. The pink energon spills over his face, making him look even more threatening.

In a panic, the scientist used a flash grenade to blind his opponents. Bumblebee shuts his optics for a moment, and by the time he opens them again, Shockwave is nowhere near. He growls in frustration, then Bumblebee caught a spark moving away that belongs to his target. Without delay, immediately he runs after him.

-----------

Bumblebee is running through the ruins, catching up to his target fast. He sees other Decepticons fighting Autobots already! How did Shockwave even know they were here? Did they trigger the alarm in the chaos of fighting dead cybertronians? Or maybe those corpses were the alarm by itself?

He sees Optimus Prime fighting Megatron, the latter being as dramatic as ever.

"I can't believe she would betray me like this!" he yells as he swings hard with his mace at the Autobot leader. "You cunning bastard, sending your little shadow to lead my honest mechs astray!"

"I didn't send anyone." Optimus blocks the attack with the ax, then pushes him away with force. "If your people are leaving you, then maybe it's time for you to think why. You, the one who lost the AllSpark among other things!"

"Lies! You took it!" Megatron jumps at his opponents, making both of them fall and roll down the hill.

Partly Bumblebee wants to help, but Shockwave is so close! If he kills him now, it will make everyone's life easier.

"Not so fast!" someone yelled from the side and the ground shook under his feet. He lost balance and fell. Grunting, he lifts his head and sees two Decepticon cassettes, Frenzy and Rumble.

"Bhawawa, how's the ground taste, bug?" Rumble gleefully stares at Bumblebee as he did a little victory dance.

"Why do we have to protect that cyclopic slagface, anyway?" Frenzy loudly complains as he walks closer to the yellow minibot. "This guy is harmless. Look at him! Combacticons and Razorclaw were just exaggerating."

Bumblebee growls as he slowly gets up. "I have no time for this!"

He turns the glaive and hits Frenzy with the blunt end right below his chest. The blue cassette yelped from surprise and pain, and curled into a ball. Bumblebee hits Rumble in the same fashion, not giving him a chance to react.

It's a known fact in that spot is located the mechanism responsible for transformation, the T-cog. But little people know that hitting this exact spot hard will cause the curling reflex to protect it.

Thus, Bumblebee leaves two groaning mechs behind to resume his pursuit. Unfortunately, the distraction caused by Soundwave's cassettes worked, and the mad scientist is no one where to be found. Bumblebee curses under his breath.

"Bumblebee!" Windblade's voice drew his attention. She transforms and lands by his side, then quickly puts her hands on his shoulders. She looks furious. "You can't just run off like this!"

"But Shockwave–" he was going to defend himself, but immediately got cut off.

"Risking your life isn't worth it!" she scolds him. "Decepticons are pouring from ground bridges. Megatron is full-on destroyer mode! You could have been hurt or worse!"

Bumblebee's spark sank. He didn't hear anything she said. His mind is registering waves of anger and fear directed at him. He stares at her with wide optics. Thoughts are swirling in his mind, telling him that's it, he's done it, that she hates him now, upsetting him more with each round. Those feelings surfaced on his face, stopping her. Windblade realized what she has done.

"Bee, I–" a high-pitched roar accompanied by thrusters rumble interrupted her. Both mechs froze in place, fully knowing who they belonged to.

She was about to pick Bumblebee up and fly away when something crushed in front of them at high speed. The dust settles, revealing the Decepticon second-in-command, Starscream, in his alt-mode.

A combination of jet and dragon. His body is mostly red, with accents of black, white, and gold. The wings look like jet wings with five sharp digits containing an engine between each. His tail is like a flexible spear. His red optics flare with predatory intensity. Elegant, but deadly. He examines them carefully until his optics focus on Bumblebee.

"Tch, Megatron has no respect for me! Sending me after some tiny 'bot!" He hits the ground on his front legs and flickers his tail in frustration.

"You won't take him!" Windblade steps in front of Bumblebee. Starscream laughs and unleashes his roar again. In such close proximity, a dragon's roar causes pain and glitches in all sensors. A perfect weapon to stun the opponent.

"Ah!" Windblade covers her audio sensors, shuts her optics and falls onto one knee.

Bumblebee reacts immediately and jumps in front of her. He swings his glaive and its tip scratches the dragon's face, effectively shutting him up. Starscream yelps in surprise, not expecting a counterattack. He growls at the minibot, and Bumblebee growls back with the matching. Their optics are locked onto each other and the minibot roars at him.

Starscream's optics widen as he realized that tiny Autobot is a dragon in disguise. Sure, he doesn't look like it, but it's impossible to imitate the dragon's roar. The jet dragon rises his guard, knowing well that fighting his own kin isn't a joke. Two dragons spent a few moments growling and roaring in attempt to intimidate the other.

While they were on that, Windblade adjusted to the noise. Somehow, Bumblebee's voice invigorated her instead of stunning, allowing her to assess the situation. Terrified from seeing Bumblebee standing his ground against the fearsome beastformer alone, she immediately joins his side with her sword ready.

Starscream growls upon seeing his tactic didn't work. He lunges his tail at Windblade. Bumblebee jumps in front of her and parries it. The dragon repeats the attack from a different angle, but the minibot's fighting protocols are sharp. He's done this before countless times. Windblade once again was impressed by his glaive-wielding skills.

She seizes the moment, stepping from behind Bumblebee, and charges at the dragon. She swings at his front leg, landing a successful cut on his shoulder. He counter-attacked with his sharp digits, slicing her left wing. She winces in pain, but doesn't lose posture, and attacks him again. Bumblebee helps her with his offense from the other side, forcing Starscream into the air.

"This is it, we gotta go!" Windblade takes Bumblebee's hand and runs. Starscream makes a circle and dives them from above. She sees him coming in time, embraces the minibot, and jumps to the side, conveniently rolling under the rubble. The dragon lost sight of them and begins searching around. The duo takes a small time of respite to figure out how to get out of here.

"Dead end," Bumblebee says as he looks around, hoping to see any passage they can squeeze through.

"So the only way out is to fend Starscream off. I might try to take the fight into the air, while you escape." Windblade moves her wing to see if it's any good. She winces. The pain is terrible.

"No! If you say that risking my life isn't worth it, then the same applies to you!" he aggressively whispers, then he observes Starscream for a minute, looking for potential weaknesses. "If we could damage his wings, he won't fly as much, but it's also his active weapon. His legs look weak, though. I might knock him on the ground while you attack his wings. Aim for joints."

"Understood." Windblade nods reluctantly. She fears for her friend, but she has to put trust him. He knows what he's doing.

Bumblebee jumps out from the cover. He shoots his arm cable to Starscream's side. The motor pulls him at vicious speed and before the dragon could react, Bumblebee deeply cuts both hind legs, breaks the glaive and leave the blade stuck in the left leg.

"GAH! How dare you!" He roars in pain as he lost footing. Then Windblade attacks his wings. She did a few successful cuts on his wings and even landed a deep cut into an engine until the dragon knocked her over with his tail.  

"So you want to be captured a hard way!" Starscream slowly rises onto his feet, glaring at Bumblebee. "Fine! Shockwave wants you alive, but he never mentioned how intact you should be!"

Suddenly, something shot him from behind. Then a few more shots landed in the places where Windblade injured him. He roars in pain and turns to see the intruder. A blue and purple jet assaults him with all the ammunition she has. "Slipstream! You traitor, what is this?!"

She lands in front of him, while Bumblebee helps Windblade to stand up behind her. "You idiot! Shockwave desperately wants this yellow bot and this can't be good for any of us! He already crossed the line with all the undead!"

"Why should I care?!" he raises his wings, trying to intimidate her. It doesn't work well for him, angering Slipstream further.

"Of course, you won't care! It's not your dead orchestra you loved with all your spark is walking around right now." Slipstream sound both in pain and infuriated. "You egotistical piece of slag, you don't care about anyone!"

Something in Starscream snapped, and he lunges the tail-spear at her. Bumblebee pushed her out of the way without hesitation. The spear that would penetrate her abdomen slices his throat, severing a carotid energon line. His energon spews out the wound like a fountain. The drastic change of energon pressure makes him faint on spot. Both Starscream and Slipstream froze in place, clearly not expecting that.

"BEE!" Windblade cries out in terror, and without thinking, she cuts off half the dragon's tail in retaliation. He screams from horrible pain and retreats, not caring about the order anymore.

Windblade falls on her knees in front ofthe motionless Bumblebee. She cries as she sees his almost desaturated form in the pools of pink liquid. It only means one thing - he's dying.

She takes him into her arms, while Slipstream is standing still in shock. Out of desperation, even though she knows it's futile, she tries to cover his injury with her hand to stop more energon from leaking. But instead of pouring pink liquid, she feels crystals under her palm. Her panic is replaced with confusion.

Windblade takes a better look at his throat. A huge cluster of glowing pink crystals effetely closed the wound. It covers his entire neck and even goes over his chest and shoulders. His nanites did the impossible, he's not losing energon anymore. The commotion even woke him up for a brief moment. He groans but doesn't have any strength to move.

"Shhh. That's okay, you're safe." Windblade whimpers softly. "Rest, okay? I'll take you to Ratchet."

The minibot visibly relaxes and falls back to sleep. This horrible moment in sinking in. He almost died. She yelled at him and he almost lost him! No, she can't lose herself right now. He will live, she must bring him home safely. Windblade takes a minute to collect herself and subside her trembling body.

"We should get out of here," Slipstream says, looking to the distance while trying to not freak out herself. "Can you fly?"

Windblade moves her wings, the pain is still bad, but at leaner her nanites fully closed the wound. "No, my wing is injured. I can't carry him by myself by air, so walking is the only option."

"I see..." Slipstream pauses, feeling doubts, but she chases them away. "I can help you carry him in the air. He took the hit for me after all..."

Windblade wants to reject as she is overprotective, but with Starscream being out of commission right now, it's will be safer and quicker to deliver Bumblebee to medics. She nods and stands up with him in her arms. Then she passes the minibot to the taller jet, and both mechs take off.

-----------

Bumblebee wakes up in the medbay, such a sight became so familiar by now.

"There you are," Ratchet says, seeing his patient regain consciousness as he cleans his tools. "You never stop to amaze me."

"Hey." Bumblebee smiles as he feels relief washing over the medic's spark. "Sorry, I keep giving you more work."

"I'm medic, that's what I do. But you gave everyone a big scare this time!" Ratchet was about to chide the minibot out of habit but quickly caught himself. "Though it's not your fault. Still, the fact you survived after your carotid energon line was severed is a miracle."

"My what?!" the minibot immediately went to feel his throat. He finds bandages and a small ping of pain on the right side. His optics widen from realization. It's a swift death and he's still here!

"Yes, you know what it means." Ratchet reaches for a small glass container with pink glowing crystals. He brings it closer to Bumblebee. "Your energon crystallized and closed the wound. Normally it wouldn't be possible because of the sheer pressure the energon will spill out. Yet your nanites reacted incredibly fast. We had a lot of cleaning to do before I could even reach the injury."

Bumblebee stares at crystals in awe. "That's fascinating! My nanites must have an improved crystallization mechanism that activates faster and in vast quantities."

"That's what we thought. So I'm asking your permission to study your nanites and crystals. We might discover something that will help anyone."

"Permission granted." Bumblebee smiles, feeling useful always feels good. Then he frowns a second later. "I'm sorry about the AllSpark and Vector Sigma... I don't know what to do now."

"This is troubling development alone with walking dead situation, but you have nothing apologies for. And this shouldn't be your priority right now. The High Command will figure out what to do while you must focus on recovering. Now, if you don't mind, you have a visitor." Ratchet says as he walks to the door, letting Windblade in. "I'll leave you two alone."

She walks over and sits on the edge of Bumblebee's berth. She reaches for the hug, being mindful of his neck. He lets a small giggle and returns a hug, trying to be careful around her injured wing. They stay in a warm embrace for a while until Windblade breaks the silence.

"I'm so sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn't have done this." Her voice waverers at the end as tears gather in her optics. "You almost died and to think that could be the last thing--"

"I understand. It was my fault for running away like this. I shouldn't have to make you worry like this!" Bumblebee interrupts her. Before Windblade could protest, he continues. "When I took that weapon in my hand, I felt powerful. Almost invincible. I immediately knew how to use it, so I wanted to finish Shockwave quickly. I completely forgot that you and Jazz were with me."

"Well, your use of glaive was very impressive." She comments as she wipes her tears, and exhales. "You know, let's just forgive each other, but then we stay together on the battlefield from now on," Windblade says as she bumps his forehead with her own. "I believe we should ask Smithing Department to make you a nicer glaive."

"Yeah, alright." Bumblebee smiles, feeling lighter from resolving this conflict. The comfort reminds him of what they talked about before. "Hey... I'm thinking, do you want to do the ceremony? Like, right now?"

"Now? Yeah, you gonna stay in the med bay for a while, so we should hang out in your dream then," she says as settles down his berth comfortably.

-----------

As they planned, Bumblebee and Windblade met in his mindscape. His form is still slowly changing. Now there are four optics on his face and they keep multiplying while his horns branch out, looking like chaotic antlers. Countless whiskers are sprouting from his head and back.

"You look very interesting," Windblade says, walking around him. "Antlers look good on you."

Bumblebee laughs. He doesn't know why it's happening, but Windblade seems intrigued as he is. So it doesn't bother him. Now he must focus on the important part. "So, I just imagine opening my chest and revealing my spark, right?"

"Yep. That's should work," she replies and goes to do it first. Her chest opens, revealing her spark chamber with a brilliant pulsing spark inside. Bumblebee is captivated by the light. It's warm and soft. Windblade smiles at him and nods, encouraging him.

Bumblebee opens his chest, then he opens the protective shell. As it opens slowly the minibot went still with anticipation. But instead of light, darkness poured out of it. His optics widened, then he frowned furiously.

"What is this?!" he throws his hand in frustration. "C'mon, I asked for light!"

"That's unexpected," Windblade says as she stepped closer to take a better look. The darkness is pitch black. It's not possible to see anything behind it. She looks up to see Bumblebee is being so upset that he's about to cry.

'Whoah, whoah, Bee wait, it's not that bad!" she hurries to reassure him. "We still can do the ceremony like this."

"But it's unfair! Why it doesn't work here?!" his voice is shaking, as anger at himself grows even more.

Windblade places her gentle palm on his cheek and lifts his head to face her. "I don't think it's a bad thing. You know that light and darkness belong together. And darkness always attracts the light. Like a black hole!"

This makes Bumblebee snicker. "Really, you gonna pull this on me now?"

"Because this is true! Look how many Decepticons joined us. As if you are the Great Attractor!" Windblade smirks, fully knowing it's gonna work.

"Windblade, please!" he succumbs into a giggling fit. She knows his weakness, the astronomy humor, especially when it has to do something with him.

"Besides, the light shines bright in the dark. You can't argue with physics." She sings songs. Her smile grows wider as he descends into laughing.

"I'm trying to be upset here, and you throw physics at me!?" he tries to sound annoyed, but he barely can speak between laughs.

Both mechs spend severe minutes laughing at the silliness of the situation, coming back and forth at each other. Gradually, they melt into a slow dance, forgetting about vows and the world. His darkness mixes with her light, creating the fabric of the cosmos. The stars chime in pleasant patterns, bringing peace to their souls, and marking their relationship as Amica Endura.

------

Wow, it’s over 8k words, the biggest chapter I made! Now I can focus on Big Bag event. I’m gonna write a big Sparkpulse fic for it <3 What it’s gonna be about? Ohhh you’ll see!~

Thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are appreciated <3