#moral of the story: smoking is bad stay in school

[sealrock]

SCOLDED.

ask meme

cw: depiction of corporal punishment

(ty for the ask @abalathia!)

The unnatural humidity clung to his hair as he sat by the riverbed. His clothes unpleasantly stuck against his skin, meaning he would have to take a long bath afterward. The now lonely moon peeked through the canopy every now and then, its white glow illuminating an old pipe held between shaky hands. The trees were silent. He scratched at the still-healing tattoo near his cheek. The evening song of cicadas, crickets, and toads grew louder as the minutes passed. Thirsty mosquitos bit into Achille's bare arms and exposed lower legs with vigor, leaving behind swelling welts as he contemplated in solitude. 

No one's around to see me, it's ok. 

Everyone else's doing it.

Nel and Nilo'ya keep making fun of me. They call me a bloody altar boy. They piss me off sometimes.

If this was so bad, why do adults smoke it? Seems to be pretty good, I'd imagine.

A warm summer night such as this, especially deep within the southern parts of the Shroud, should be spent listening to bard tales around campfires with friends and family—on any other day and not in the aftermath of an apocalypse, not hidden away in the thicket of the forest alone... Alone. That's how Achille spends most of his nights recently. His foster father, Chiron, began working evening shifts at the mines after they moved to Boughbury roughly a few moons ago to escape the permanent winter that fell upon the lands when Dalamud fell. But Boughbury was not home—home was up north, in the crisp, open space of Coerthas. Besides his two only friends, Achille hated Boughbury—and the feeling's mutual with the older locals.

Chiron wasn't due home until late into the night. Achille was independent enough to make his meals and look after the cottage, and Chiron trusted him not to make a mess of things now that he was older. Achille had his chores to keep him busy—clean Talona's pen, feed Talona, scrub the floors, wash and fold the laundry, and inventory the food stores. But menial tasks led to boredom, which quickly led to mischief, and Achille found himself leaving the relative safety of his home to partake in youthful disobedience—such as drinking, stealing, and smoking.

Achille considered robbery immoral, and drinking dulled the senses. He tried a mug of ale once, it was disgusting. His peers, those he tried to integrate with, would hurl all kinds of names at him for his perceived self-righteousness, and Achille would respond with harsher insults and physical violence. But Chiron raised Achille with concrete morals and beliefs, like a true monk he once was. Chiron refused to indulge in these activities; to indulge in the base excesses of man would be to sever the connection to the Destroyer. He raised Achille to follow the same beliefs: he must never drink, smoke, or use violence for the sake of violence. Chiron had broken the creeds in the past, and he toiled every day to make up for it.

Unfortunately, this would make Achille the target of social pressure; as the new kid on the proverbial block, Achille was an outsider looking in. Nel and Nilo'ya, fellow outcasts in the tumult hierarchy of adolescents, saw Achille as a kindred soul. They, too, followed the rules set by their elders... When they were being watched, of course. Nilo'ya, a rambunctious Keeper boy with a blinding smile, gave Achille the initiative after snatching his grandpa's smoking pipe and tobacco for Achille to try out.

While Nilo'ya tends to snort the stuff as dried snuff, he considered this to be "too easy" and that "the reward must equal the risk." Achille was reluctant at first, but after watching Nilo'ya make smoke rings as effortlessly as he skipped stones across the water, Achille was quick to change his mind. Alongside Nel, a lively Duskwight girl as tall as Chiron, they taught Achille the know-how of pipe smoking. His heart hammered in his chest with excitement, but Achille's stomach rolled with anxiety. He drew in a few deep breaths to steady his hands; Nilo'ya would cry if he were to drop his grandpa's pipe into the water and lose it. From his front pocket came out a tiny pouch of fresh tobacco; it reminded Achille of mulch.

As instructed, Achille carefully packed the bowl with at least three pinches and packed it down with his thumb. He tested the draw once, twice—it was just right. All that was left to do was light it. He took a glance behind his shoulders on the off chance there was someone nearby who could spot him. He had walked a suitable distance away from the village, and no one besides his friends knew about this particular spot in the woods. It's now or never.

He clutched the mouthpiece between his teeth as he struck the match, watching the flame sway in the light breeze of the night. His hand was still trembling as he watched the flame dance across the top layer of tobacco. He could hear Nel in his ear telling him not to inhale the smoke as soon as it hit his tongue, just let the vapors roll around in his mouth before he released. Nilo'ya said to draw in small puffs to keep the embers lit, or else he would have to relight. Achille blew out the smoke slowly. It disappeared into the night air.

Achille took another draw, and before he knew it, he was smoking as if he'd done so for years. The flavor was something to get used to, however. It had a bitter taste as it sat on his tongue, and it almost put Achille in the mind of Gysahl greens. How did Achille know what Gysahl greens tasted like? He ate some on a dare once; he had to clean up the vomit before Chiron came home.

Thankfully, Achille didn't get hit with a sudden wave of nausea. The tobacco, or at least the thrill of smoking, calmed his nerves and settled his stomach. Achille couldn't find any reason not to smoke now that he was doing it, displeasing taste aside. But, like all things, Achille would get too bold and disregard consequences. Thinking himself a master, he drew in a deeper puff he wasn't ready for. The smoke reached past his mouth, slithered deep into his chest, and burned his insides. Achille dropped the pipe as a coughing fit overcame him, his eyes stinging with tears the more he hacked and wheezed up the smoke, his throat crackling from the dryness. Desperate for relief, Achille took a few gulps of river water, careful not to let the pipe roll away from where it fell into his lap.

"Who goes there?"

Achille nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice—he knew that voice. He tried to speak, but his throat was still raw. A flurry of coughs spilled from his lips instead, thus making the voice come closer to his location. In his blurred vision, Achille could make out a large and dark figure in the low light, and it carried a small ball of light that swung from left to right with every footstep. Achille rubbed at his eyes to see Chiron standing before him, confused and shocked to find him sitting here in the dark. Soot and dirt dusted Chiron's clothes, and the lamp he carried cast a deep shadow across his face, revealing a drained appearance.

"Achille? Seven hells, what in the world are you doing out here this late at night?"

Achille couldn't answer. His foster father must've got off early, of all the nights. He could feel his face burn from embarrassment, his ears drooping from being found out. Achille tried to hide the pipe from sight, but he couldn't conceal the lingering stench of tobacco.

Chiron sniffed at the air. He narrowed his eyes, "What are you clutching?"

Achille hummed in ignorance. Chiron set his jaw.

"Show me. Now."

Chiron's tone of voice was something not to argue back to. Achille had only heard it a few times in his life, and he could count on one hand how many instances Chiron was this cross with him. Unable to talk his way out of this situation, Achille shamefully gave the pipe over to the now greatly disappointed man before him. Chiron's shoulders sagged as he inhaled a steady breath, his nostrils flaring and eyebrows pinched. Achille awkwardly rubbed at his neck, his mind flailing to find an excuse, an apology perhaps. But no amount of pious posturing would make up for this latest act of rebellion.

"Achille," Chiron started, voice low, "I raised you better than this. I've tolerated your behavior because I can understand what it's like; becoming a man in this world, especially the world we have now, is not easy. A boy's coming-of-age is full of many trials. But this crosses a line that I cannot accept. You have disrespected me, my rules, and my teachings. We monks must keep our bodies and minds unclouded, and we must be diligent in our pursuit to become one with the Destroyer. You have used our techniques for petty squabbles and disregarded our truths as fiction. It's dishonorable."

"But Baba, it wasn't me, it was-"

"Not," Chiron's eyes grew dark with rage, making Achille shrink back, "another word. You will go home, and you will wash off this taint... And you will prepare the salt."

Achille's eyes grew wide in fear. He shook his head in a panic as he began to plead and beg, but Chiron grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and ordered him to walk. Achille only experienced this punishment once when he was younger; he acted particularly ornery one day and said something he shouldn't have. Punishment was swift—kneel in a line of salt until his kneecaps bled. The monks in Ala Mhigo used this against new initiates to fortify their resolve, a type of thick salt that could cut through flesh. But Achille broke down after ten minutes in tears and wails. It was an experience he wouldn't forget for as long as he lived.

The second time around was worse. Achille had done what Chiron requested: he washed away the stench and prepared the salt. The whole while, he willed himself not to cry. His fifteenth nameday was approaching, and men did not cry. Chiron sat at the kitchen table, his face stoic and hands clasped on top of the wood surface. Dressed in his smallclothes, Achille stared down at the salt before he lowered himself on top. The pressure from his weight allowed the sharp salt to pierce the skin almost immediately.

Achille bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. His back stayed rod straight, and his hands were clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His face started to turn scarlet from the pain, but he kept his eyes on Chiron with an unwavering stare.

"I hate to make you do this," Chiron had a tinge of guilt in his voice now, "but you know the rules, my son. You must endure it, embrace the pain."

My son. Spoken with the unconditional love of a parent. They weren't related by blood, but Chiron never saw Achille as anything else.

Achille wanted to cry. The more the crystallized salt dug into his bleeding wounds, the more Achille's resolve shrank. He felt himself double over, his nail-bruised palms flying out to keep him from falling facefirst into the hardwood. The fringe of his red hair kept his watery eyes hidden, but the tremble of his shoulders gave him away. The sob that threatened to spill from his lips caught in his throat; it was getting harder to keep his composure.

The dam finally broke when Achille adjusted his legs to keep the numbness away—the overwhelming pain was too much. His forehead met the planks of the floor as he wailed, tears and snot and drool staining the wood. Achille lost track of how long he stayed on the floor, but he wanted it to end. He screamed himself raw:

"Make it stop, Baba! Make it stop! Please!"

Before he knew it, Chiron lifted Achille into a tight hug, the air of the room cutting into his bleeding wounds. He openly sobbed into Chiron's shoulder much like he used to do as a child—he still was a child. Chiron shushed his sobs as he walked to the bathroom to clean and treat the wounds.

"You're alright... You're alright, my son. It's over, it's all over."

Achille continued to cry, breathless and wracked with exhaustion. He felt Chiron's hand card through his hair, making Achille curl into his chest in shame. Chiron held him close; he said nothing for a long while until he whispered:

"You may think me cruel and even hate me for this now. This seems fun for your friends, and you think I'm being too hard on you. But please understand, my son, I made a promise to someone when I found you: I promised to keep you safe. Don't give in to the temptations of man, for you will be lost. I wouldn't be able to live with myself watching you go down the path of wickedness. You will overcome this, I have no doubt."

Achille had calmed to sniffles as he listened, his eyes swollen and face splotchy. His head throbbed. He let the words of his foster father—nay, his father, sink in. He didn't have the energy to talk.

"Everything will come together in the end. I'll be right here with you. I love you, son."

Achille felt his heart stutter. He swallowed back tears and buried his face into the fabric of Chiron's work shirt. His words were muffled and small, but the message was clear.

"... I love you, too, Baba."

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

Becoming Enemies with Gojo Satoru (BEEF Series)

(JJK SPOILERS BELOW)

description: mentions of recent jjk spoilers, gojo unsealing. this post was originally going to center around my girl shoko because what did our girl go through??? and also I added the reader as a sort of moral support for her and since she's a caring friend she sort of ends up having some 'beef' with gojo (maybe I should call it that).

additional tags: slow burn (series), enemies to friends to lovers, future mentions of mental health struggles (not in this chapter), and witty conversations to come.

warnings: mentions of drinking and smoking. Enemies to friends in this post. idk what this is btw, it's like a mix of head cannons and a story so enjoy!

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru starts before meeting him. It starts in the manifestations appearing in Shoko’s face. The bags under her eyes, the slight change of mood, and the new cigarette box you spy from the corner of your eye. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru feels justified, reasonable to hold dislike at the world’s strongest when a fellow friend of his dwells in the past, in stress of bringing him back. You assume if he was this bad of a friend, then surely he’d be a terrible partner. 

You grow to resent the man. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru leaves your stomach with an unsettling feeling. You mentally throw profanities at the man while you pick up Shoko from the bar, nudging her to get some rest. Her hair is disheveled and you begin to worry if she’s emotionally in the now or then. 

It doesn’t matter as long as he returns, she says that drunken night. He has to return. 

You worry if she’s doing it for her sake. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru has altered your concept of time, you feel as though you’ve spent years hating the man burdening your friend. 

“We’ve found a book,” shoko tells you one night, “It might work.”

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru means that you’re not there for him. You’re not there when he’s unsealed. You’re not there when he defeats Sukuna or Kenjaku; you’re a busy woman with an occupied schedule working alongside Shoko. If no one has, you have made it your personal goal to stick beside her. Even as much as she may grumble, you know deep down she appreciates you. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru has centered your life. You hear daily news in the jujutsu world that the man has been acquainted with a young man who is believed to be immune to something (you don’t pay enough mind). “There’s still a chance for you to get out of this world,” Shoko informs you one sunday night, “Being a jujutsu sorcerer can bring you pain, so it’s not too late if you wanna call it quits.” 

You lean forward and squeeze the hand of your friend. 

“I’m not leaving you in any world.” 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru comes with the luxury of not having to think about him for a few days now, until you walk in on him and Shoko conversing inside a patient room. Your friend calls your name, “This is Gojo. Gojo, this is my friend and colleague.”

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to smile and shake his hand. “Pleased to meet the pretty lady.” The white haired man grins, “Let me guess, you also cheated your way through med-school?”

You wished your hand were made of fire. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru makes you raise your guard. He has been visiting Shoko’s lab for a few days now, and while you won’t ask Shoko why, you hope he’ll leave soon. His face is starting to tire you and his height makes you wonder if he could really lift you. His hands seemed strong enough. 

Maybe it was best to consider a vacation. 

Or a date. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru is harder than you’d like to admit. You think this one late night. The lab was busy and paperwork needed to be filled, so you offered Shoko you’d stay to finish. 

“Hey!” a long hand waves, calling your name. “You’re Shoko’s friend. What are you doing here late at night?”

You feel yourself deflate, great.

“I’m going home,” you answer coldly, hoping that he’d get the message to leave you alone. 

He doesn’t. 

Becoming enemies with gojo satoru turns to tolerating his presence, including his jokes.

“Do you normally get out of work in these ungodly hours?” you ask, enough for the man to know you’re not happy with his presence. 

“You mean cursed-ly hours.” he laughs to himself as if it were the funniest thing to have crawled out of his mouth, “but not always. You see, curses linger during specific hours of the day, generally defined by their grade level. So you can have a grade 1 curse one night, and a special grade for another.”

It was like you were being schooled first grade math. 

“Uh huh,” you nod, not really impressed by what he had to say, “So what grade did you get this time?”

He grins, “Special grade.”

Oh. 

 “So you made it back in one piece.” you say, half sarcastically, motioning to him with your eyes.

The sorcerer beside you is quick to use the scan you give him to his advantage. Yup, all arms and limbs intact. Pity. 

“Why?” he asks, teasingly. “Wanted to check me out?”

“Absolutely not.” 

“Then… why are you blushing?”

“I’m wearing blush, idiot.”

[adrian-xp]

-- ✦JEREMY ALLEN WHITE, CISMALE, HE/HIM ✦ ADRIAN PARRIS the THIRTY ONE year old has been in Hidehill for TWO YEARS and was a STRANGER to Carter Thompson, one of the shadows. Whispers on the streets are that the PARALEGAL/LAW STUDENT who lives in HADLEY PARK are said to be INSIGHTFUL and PARTICULAR but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves.

To tell the story of Adrian Parris, we have to start with the story of Timothy Beau Alexander. Timothy, or Beau, as he was more commonly called, spent his childhood the son of prominent political figure, a republican senator from Nevada, their home state. Beau and his three siblings enjoyed all the privleges of their fathers position, and the familial wealth inherited from the generations before him. They spent more time with nannies than their own parents, but in the eyes of the media they were that perfect all-American, catholic, republican, sinless family. 

The Alexander children were all expected to follow in their father’s footsteps, at least the two sons were, but Beau was quick to see through the lies of his father, and his father’s entire moral compass. His rebellion started small enough, smoking pot and one-night stands, all easy enough to hide from the voters. Beau went to college, much to his father’s approval, on a pre-law track at a less-than Ivy League university after a Harvard deferral. It would be wise to assume his father knew of Beau’s rather… liberal.. tendencies, but he must’ve ignored them, hoping the allure of following the funding would sway his son towards the right. It never did.

In fact, Beau almost didn’t complete his college degree, after being derailed by a heart break, and turning to drugs to cope. He never made it into law school, and instead skated by on his trust fund, as his parents hoped they could at least pay him enough money to stay away from his father’s upcoming presidential campaign in 2016. That didn’t work. With not much else to live for at that moment, Beau redirected his life’s focus into derailing his father’s campaign in any way necessary. Intentionally being spotted leaving casinos with call girls, getting arrested for public intoxication, the occasional spontaneous protest at his father’s rallies. His father was quickly cut from the nomination pool, but two years later, Beau’s reputation continued, sullying his father’s image enough to leave him the blame for his father losing his representative seat. 

That was the final straw for the Alexander’s, and in exchange for promising not to turn him in to the police and press charges for all the crimes they’d been aware of, Beau signed away his rights to his family name. From there, he joined another family, a crime family, one that promised to support Beau and his girlfriend, to protect them, in exchange for Beau picking up a few more responsibilities. The former casual drug dealer, was now in much deeper than he thought he’d be. Despite knowing that his current girlfriend was the love of his life, there had been many threats on both his life and hers, so he let her go. Not long after that, a deal gone bad had him in a cell at the LVPD, where he promised to tell-all in exchange for a trip to rehab and a new identity. 

This is where we meet Adrian Parris, a man from California, moving to Hidehill for a “fresh start” (and certainly not to hide in a place frankly unreachable). Once “graduated” from rehab, he decided to return to all the things he’d planned for himself before the drugs entered his life. With no connections and a whole new backstory, he worked from the ground up to find himself finally achieving the goal of attending law school. Now, he spends most daylight hours in a library or a classroom, working as a paralegal to gain both the experience and rent money, or volunteering to pass out harm reduction kits to the nearby Nashville unhoused population.. In the brief moments he has time off, you might find him throwing a ball for his dog, Mr. Breakfast, at the beach, or writing in his journal (which he thought was the dumbest idea at the time, but has found truly does help maintain his sobriety).

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #35: “Trigger” | October 24, 2008 - 12:15AM | S03E05

Trigger is a return to form, and I mean that in the most neutral way possible. I guess what I mean by that is that the formulaic episodes and the more experimental episodes of Moral Orel roughly have the same hit percentage, so really I’m just making note that “hey, this one feels like an older episode. It’s been a while!”. For starters, this one starts off with the actual regular opening sequence, and it ends with the usual “Orel making a stop-motion movie” sequence. It also is largely self-contained, with only the details of the plot having to do with the larger story of the hunting trip. This one is about Clay teaching Orel how to shoot. This could be a season one episode where they are preparing for A hunting trip rather than THE hunting trip. 

Doughy, numbed by a lack of parental love (see Courtship), starts becoming a nihilistic loner type. When he shows up to Orel’s house during target shooting practice, he ends up picking up a gun and demonstrating an impressive proficiency at gun-shooting. Clay begins to give Doughy lots of attention, much to Orel’s chagrin. Orel, wracked with nerves, continues to shoot like absolute shit, constantly shooting things he’s not supposed to, many instances narrowly avoiding tragedy. This is bad, as he’s forced to bring his gun everywhere with him, even school. That last bit is maybe the episode’s edgiest joke, but I don’t think Columbine ever happened in the Moral Orel universe, which is important to keep in mind. 

Doughy enjoys the attention and develops a sadistic streak when dealing with Orel. He gleefully rubs it in Orel’s face when Clay threatens to take Doughy on the hunting trip instead of Orel. Orel is eventually affected by this to the point where he too becomes nihilistic and numb, which also makes him become a good shot. Clay reneggs offering Doughy a spot on the camping trip, telling him it was just a ploy to get Orel to shoot better. “You could be Lee Harvey Oswald and I still wouldn’t bring you on that trip with me”.

Okay, so I’m pretty sure Columbine didn’t happen in this universe, but I could be wrong about that. JFK’s assassination seems to have happened, and I’d say for the most part the world of Moral Orel is frozen in time roughly around the time of that event, which is interesting to think about. I’m guessing the reference just exists for the joke; I don’t think Moral Orel considers itself a Venture Bros style show where every joke needs to be explained retroactively by lore. But the idea of an America that split off into right-wing Christian fanaticism during the mid-20th century and roughly stays that way is interesting. It also sorta matches the time period of Davey and Goliath which THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT A PARODY OF HOW DARE YOU. 

This one has a lotta funny jokes. It’s conceptually dark but, but the entire series has towed this line. I just mean it handles the balancing act more like a pre-Nature season two episode. Like when Doughy feels dejected and his parents are gleefully using up the band-aids and refusing to let him have one even though he actually needs one is hilarious. “I promised my dad I’d help him hug me” is another very funny “actually a joke” line. Clay also memorably teaches Doughy how to smoke while a jealous Orel eavesdrops on them. This one feels like a very solid season two episode, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

44 NIGHTS OF OREL

Just Courtship aired between this and the last premiere. I complained about them not airing Courtship in front of Alone. How short-sighted of me.

[fortuna-majoris]

I imagine one day the conversation is going about the least mischievous Robin and every one of the batkids (except Jason):

Duke: It was probably Dick, I mean he is Bruce's Golden Child?

Dami: Yes, Grayson is too morally and legally proper to not be the least problem causing Robin

Steph: I mean, Bruce always talks so fondly about him

Tim (knowing all about Dick's shenanigans): Yeah, Dick was probably the most obedient Robin

Jason (dying in the background): Dick, what stories have you told these poor innocent kids?

Dick (sheepishly): I mean...

Jason' nonono no, I am not letting you fool these innocent children. You tried to get me to smoke weed at 12. Drove a batmobile into the Gotham Harbour almost monthly. Had that ridiculous deep neck. Taught me curse words in 20 different languages by pretending that they were 'hello' I still don't think Bullock has forgiven me for calling him a little bitch. You literally dropped out of Business school. (Btw, he is ranting like he has gone mad by the end of it)

Dami: I don't believe you. Grayson would never do this

Steph: Yeah, Jas I need receipts

Jason: Why would I record Dick offering me a blunt when I had homework?

Steph: Too bad then

Afred: Master Jason, I believe I have a few recordings of Master Dick attempting to teach you on how to be a, quote, "Rebel". But in return, I want to you to attend next week's Gala with Master Bruce

Jason (defeated l): Fine Alfie, tell the old man of my attendance

Alfred: Very well (then proceeds to show them of the above scenarios)

Steph (dazed): wow, you were the most well behaved Robin?

Damian: Grayson, why haven't you passed on these skills to me??

Bruce suddenly enters: What are you guys talking about?

Dick: The most well behaved Robin

Bruce: Oh yeah, that was definitely Jason. Dick was a menace to the society and almost killed a man at 9 years. Tim blackmailed me into accepting him. Steph talked back too much. Dami carries a sword. Meanwhile Jason wanted to stay home and do homework or read.

Jason, with a self-satisfied smirk: Hah! See?!

Steph: What happened to you now?

Jason: Death and Joker.

Bruce coming home one day to find Robin Jason clinging onto a chandelier with Dick below him cheering him on.

Bruce: Jason what are you doing?

Jason: Dick said that you missed his antics after he moved out and so he’s teaching me how to be a better son

Dick: After this we’re going to drive the Batmobile into the bay :D

Jason: We’re going to what? I mean yeah! Right into the water.

Jason trying to whisper to Dick: Dick I can’t swim though

This just further fuels the chaotic dynamic of Dick and Jason during a time where Dick was still going through his teenage angst and was absolutely not a benevolent role model LMAO

I mentioned it in this post, but it's just so funny to me to imagine a Jason who grew up with an absolutely WILD Dick Grayson as an older brother, while the younger batkids grew up with a more mellowed out and mature (arguable but when measured against the other kids, he wins by a landslide) Dick Grayson.

Robin!Jason era:

Dick: You wanna go out and get high?

Jason: I can't, I have homework.

Dick, sputtering: HOMEWORK?

----

Dick, about to do an elaborate (and totally not dangerous) acrobatic move in the manor: Watch this, littlewing

Jason: You shouldn't do that, it'll make Bruce upset.

Dick, on the brink of angry tears: Why are you like this.

----

Jason, dejected: Listen, I know you don't approve of me because you think I'm not good enough as Robin, but-

Dick: Not good enough as Robin? I don't care about that, I just think you're a little bitch

----

Dick taking Jason out on a hangout for the first time: OK, looks like I got my work cut out for me. Take out a notepad and write everything down. I will NOT have my successor embarrass me like this. So what you wanna do to piss of Bruce-

---

[Years later, Jason returning to Gotham with the fury of a thousand suns and the chaos to match it]: I'm gonna make your life a living HELL, Bruce

Dick, older and relatively more chilled out: Okayyyyy, maybe let's just– calm down a lil, haha, no need for the theatrics

Jason, betrayed, observing a Dick Grayson who is teaching his new younger siblings to behave and be mature: Dick, what the FUCK

-----

Present!Dick, mentoring Tim: Make sure not to be too impulsive, don't wanna raise Bruce's blood pressure

Red Hood!Jason spying on them from afar: Who even ARE you??

-----

Jason: So you teach me ALL of that, only to turn into the ONE thing you despised so greatly all those years ago

Dick, sweating: Well-

Jason: I'm ASHAMED. How can you be worthy of being called my PREDECESSOR?

[pedigreecatfood]

Trap Tales vol. 1

Real trap shit. This is a real trap story, no cappernick.

One time in college, this dude took some acid and lost his shit. Bro got completely Butt ass naked and started walking through the dorm hallways talking to himself. The homies had just went to go smoke but for whatever reason I stayed back in my room. I’m hearing these weird ass sounds and I think I’m trippin. I look out the peep hole hella hard and in the corner of my eyes I see this naked dude walking all wonky through the halls. I’m like “bro what the fuck”, shit caught me by surprise like a mfr. The more I’m watching, the more I realize I know this dude. I had served him in the past 🤔. I’m thinking like shit, should I help him out and try to calm him down? But nah, he was making so much noise I figured somebody had to be alerted. Plus he was naked and I’m like nah, not tryna deal with all that. I just watched this dude as he bugged out all through the halls talking to himself. Then he went to the other side of the hall and eventually went down to the girls side of the dorm floor. I never saw what happened to him, but the next day, my friend Jenna said she saw him tryna talk to some chicks and he ran up and tried to hug a girl (still naked as fuck). Apparently the cops showed up and tased him to subdue him cuz bro wouldn’t relax. I’m pretty sure they kicked him outta school, because I don’t recall seeing him ever again after that. I feel bad sorta but also, that’s some expulsion worthy shit, so fuck it, ya know. Some people can’t handle their drugs. And dude’s friends kinda suck, cuz they left him out to dry like that. Like if my homies gonna get naked and go for a stroll, I’m gonna try and have him not get arrested and put on a list. I suppose there’s no moral to the story, other than that u gotta be smart. Some people’s minds just can’t handle hallucinogenic drugs. Some people are inclined to get naked when they’re turnt (I think this is a whit dude thing).

More trap tales to come. I got hella stories but I don’t wanna get RICO’d off of tumblr

[anyoneseenadam]

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

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You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.  

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!”  you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

[kiirokero]

Sit and Heal (JJK)

Pairing: Werewolf!Jeongguk x Witch!Reader

Genre: Werewolf!Au, Witch!Au, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to Lovers

Warnings: Panic attacks, overall anxiety from y/n, trust issues, minor betrayal, Moderate body horror (Descriptions of burn scars, cracking bone, etc. There is one part that can be classified as semi-extreme but it’s like one sentence and it's about a burn) mentions of hunting, discrimination (?) mentions of a witch hunt basically, minor character death (Don’t worry you’ll celebrate this one. Sorry to all my Jackson fans) morbid self speech/thoughts, descriptions of blood, i’m probably missing something but there’s nothing overly graphic. 

Word Count: 24k (T-This was supposed to be 10k...)

Note! Note! Note! If you’ve read the teaser, a part of this story is going to be familiar. However!!! There are some details that were added that are important to the story, so please don’t skip parts! I really hope this is good and not a disaster because I’m literally 2 weeks late oh my god-

Summary: “You have scars, Y/n, both on your heart and on your skin. The one on your arm may be healed, but the one on your heart isn’t. Please. Let me lick your wounds,” Or: The wolf that visits you every afternoon is your shoulder to lean on as you realize it's time to learn to love and trust again, even if it’s hard.

   The sun peeked its rays through the canopy of trees that covered the sky of the lush forest you lived in. Green leaves blowing in the light morning wind while the local songbirds started to wake up and serenade the rest of the fauna. Their repetitive song now an alarm clock rousing you from sleep in the morning’s early hours. The sun wrapped the forest in a blanket of warmth, like the embrace of a new mother. The perfect day for sitting outside and reading a book. 

  The small cottage you call home is built somewhere deep in the woods. Old, but stable. The wood creaks and the vines that hug the old planks are there to stay. It’s quite a trip from the nearest town or village. You didn’t mind that though. In fact, you loved being so secluded, nothing but you, your cat, and the forest. 

   You loved calling the birds, laying out food for the squirrels, soaking in the sun, everything. It was comforting to be accepted by something so much larger than yourself, something divine. Living in a world of harmony and becoming a part of the cycle of life felt wonderful. It was healing to you, since others like yourself shunned your entire existence, turned up their nose at you.

  People think witches are short, grey-haired, old women covered in warts. While yes, anyone can be a witch, not all witches were the scaremongering, children eating, demons, fairytales made them out to be. Yes, there are “bad” witches. Witches who don’t have the best moral compass or abuse the craft. But there are plenty of witches, like yourself, who have admirable morals and strive to be good people.

Perfectly normal, pleasant people.

  But winners write history, and witches were the losers. You used to live in a small village just on the outskirts of the forest. You used to have friends and go to school. You used to wave to people on the streets and spend your time at the local, family-owned cafe. You used to. Until they found out what you did behind closed doors. 

  It was an accident, really. One of your friends wanted to surprise you for your birthday and burst into your house without asking, right when you were in the middle of making an elixir for a stray cat. It was medicine, the poor thing was losing fur. 

You call it medicine. But they call it witchcraft.

  Granted, some unexplainable things were happening there. “Normal” medicines don’t poof clouds of purple smoke and sparkle despite the lack of light, but there was nothing malicious. Your friend didn’t care. Their pale face and wide eyes forever haunted your nightmares. Their screams of “Witch!” echoed in your ears in the late hours of the night. Memories flashed before your eyes of you frantically packing your things, grabbing your cat, and running into the woods. The scorch of fire that chased after you, burning through your white hanbok and leaving a pink, wrinkled burn scar on your upper arm. 

  Navigating the woods was like clockwork for you. It was normal for you to wander in here and forage for fresh flowers and herbs. It would calm your spirit and lift your mood. But running blindly into the trees with blurry vision, a long skirt that you kept tripping on, and a heavy heart left you more or less lost. 

  You don’t know how long you were running, but eventually, you stumbled across the cottage that you now call home. It was obviously old and needed some TLC, but you made it work. You remember bursting through the door, letting your cat out of your bag, and collapsing, sobbing with your back against the door. 

  You remember the tears that trailed down your face. You remember the hurt, the betrayal, the confusion. You remember your cat trying to comfort you, but he was equally just as confused. The burn. The scorching, torrid burn. It felt as if your skin was melting off, ready to peel and slap against the dirty wooden floor. The cold air against the pinking scar felt like absolute torture.

  But you also remember pulling yourself back together, slapping some tape on the cracks of your heart. You cleaned up the cottage the best you could, dusting here, sweeping there. You remember plopping yourself on the dusty hay bed that was laid in what seemed to be the bedroom, and you remember the red-fiery anger that bubbled up in your chest. 

   But that was 6 years ago. You were no longer a lost 16-year-old with a vengeance towards the ones who scarred you. You were mature, and you would not become the person they thought you were. 

The thought of the past sent a wave of pain through your upper arm. 

You hissed but ultimately ignored it. 

   “Yume! Don’t chase the birds!” You reprimanded the black cat, who replied with a sassy meow. Ironic that a witch had a black cat, but you loved Yume, even if he annoyed you sometimes. The furry ball of black lazily blinked, trudging back to where you were sitting on the grass, a yellow quilted blanket under you as you continued to read. Meow... Yume whined, butting his head against your arm. 

Meow...

  You looked down at him, quirking a brow. “What’s up, bud?” Meow. He replied, firmly butting his head against your arm again. “You’re hungry?” You smiled, scratching under his chin. Meow! He screeched with squinted eyes, and you knew that you should probably do what he asks before he gets cranky. 

  You sighed, getting up and dusting off your yellow skirt before going back into your cottage to get Yume a snack. You clanged around your icebox before you pulled out some leftover rabbit from last night. I should check the snares. You thought as you went back to your diva of a cat. 

  Yume was patiently waiting for you on the blanket, tail slowly swishing from side to side. You sat down next to him, picking pieces of the rabbit and feeding it to him while he laid in your lap. Meow “You’re welcome, bub,” 

  This was what the perfect life was to you. You, your cat, and nature. Sure, maybe it got a little lonely without human interaction, but after the last time you had human friends, maybe it was for the best. 

   “Again?” You sighed, raising a confused brow at the snare which had caught a rabbit, but the only evidence left behind now was some fur and a foot. This has been happening all month. It wasn’t detrimental, but winter was coming up and your storage was running low. 

  You reset the snare, throwing the foot into the woods for the local pack of wolves that stalked the deeper areas of the forest. It wasn’t much, but maybe they could sharpen their canines on the bone. You were pretty sure it was a wolf doing this, but they never came near where you lived. Oddly, they just seemed to stare at you when you caught them stalking the thick tree line, looking at you with curious eyes. So why were they coming near your snares? Were they having trouble finding food?

  You decided that you would worry about it once you got home. You picked up your basket and made your way deeper into the forest, lifting your skirt a bit so it didn’t get caught in the brush. You still had one more snare to check. You trekked through the thicket, stepping over thorn-filled bushes and avoiding blooming flowers, not wanting to disturb them. 

  You were maybe... a few yards away from the snare when you heard a pained whine. Startled, you stopped and looked around for anything that could’ve made the noise, but you saw nothing. Just green. The whine sounded again, and this time you had a better idea of where it was coming from, near your snare.

   Cautiously, you kept approaching the snare, and you gasped at the sight that greeted you. There, in the trap, was a rather sizable wolf with beautiful golden chestnut fur that tapered into a light brown. One of its muscular legs was stuck in the snare, and it was kicking violently at the rope. The wolf was obviously too big to reach back and free itself, yet it tried, writhing and squirming, trying anything to get free. 

“Oh no...” you whimpered out.

  Suddenly, the wolf whipped its head around to look at you, boring its sharp yellow eyes into yours. It bared its teeth, letting out a snarling growl that shook the Earth, locking you in place. 

   “I-It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you,” you stuttered out. The wolf did nothing except growl some more, lips back in an intimidating snarl that would make anyone run. But instead of running, you took a small step forward, kneeling down on the grass a safe distance away from it. Once you were able to calm down your pounding heart, you took the time to admire the details of the wolf’s fur. The subtle grey and white patches on its face and neck, its piercing golden eyes, its sharp teeth. 

  The wolf was no longer squirming. Its actions halted by your sudden appearance, but it continued to growl and snarl, trying to intimidate you. It was working, no doubt. It was a giant wolf. Looking at it, you could tell that if it was sitting, it would reach your waist in height. But despite the fear that clawed at your chest, begging you to run, you stayed, wanting to help it. 

  “I-I know you’re scared... I’d be scared too,” you called to the wolf. You knew your words would go unheard, but hopefully, your tone could calm it down, show that you weren’t aggressive. It worked for a lot of the creatures you’ve encountered. (Although they were mostly little creatures)

   The beast tilted its head to the side slightly, no longer snarling. Instead, it seemed confused, eyes wide like a puppy. “I’m sorry you're stuck. The snare wasn’t meant for you. Let me help you, please? I’m sure you have a home to go back to.” You smiled, never taking your eyes off its yellow ones. The wolf stayed still, looking at you almost incredulously before it laid down. It was still watching you, but now it was watching and waiting. The way it acted so... Consciously... confused you. 

   You’d dwell on it later. Right now you had a mission. You reached into your boot, rummaging around for the small knife you carried in there. Once you found it, you unsheathed it, causing the wolf to immediately let out a loud, deep growl, baring its teeth at you once again. “Hey hey hey... I know it looks bad, but I have to cut the rope,” you said, holding up your hands in surrender, hoping that the wolf would get the idea. 

  Slowly, it stopped growling again, letting out a huff and laying back down. You slowly approached its leg, keeping your eye on the wolf’s face to look for any sign of aggression. Its face was unchanging, it just kept an eye on you as you were to it. Carefully, you took the knife and grabbed the rope, cutting the wolf free. You quickly backed away once it was out, in case it turned hostile again. 

  Instead, the wolf did the same as you. Running a safe distance away before it turned back, looking at you once again. It looked at you for what felt like an eternity. Time seemed to slow, the slight wind seized, the forest turned quiet. Nothing broke the trance you seemed to fall into. It was just you and the wolf right now.

  “Go home. You have others waiting for you, don’t you?” You spoke, your words coming out as a slight whisper. The wolf turned back towards the forest, where the trees grew thicker and the brush became more unforgiving. Again, the wolf looked towards you for a second before it ran into the thicket. Gone. You felt like you met a ghost.

“Goodbye...”

Meow

“No, Yume,”

Meow

“I don’t care if you’ve been through worse, it's cold,”

Meoooww

  “Yume, it’s raining. You can’t go outside,” You scold the cat who is currently eyeing you while you prepare supper for the night. You caught a chicken the other day, so you were happily making some chicken soup. Or you were trying to if it wasn’t for the black cat who was currently whining his heart out next to you. “You’ll get snatched up by that wolf if you go out there,” you playfully threatened.

  Yume grumbled out an annoyed mew, already familiar with the wolf you met and had previously rambled to him about. It’s been about 3 days since your first run-in with the chestnut-colored wolf, and everything's been relatively normal. You did your daily spell work, foraged until the days turned to night, checked your snares with hope in your heart.

And you never saw the wolf again.

But life goes on, and you’re hungry.

  Meow... You sighed, dejected, tired of explaining to the cat that it’s cold, wet, and dark outside. Not the best weather for outside time. You knew he understood that, yet still... Meow. You put the spoon that you were stirring the soup with down, turning to the black furball with your hands on your hips. “Alright, out,” you groaned, shooing the cat away from the kitchen towards the living room. “It’s warm here, your favorite kind of temperature. Just lay down until dinner, okay? I’ll even put more wood on the fire,”

  You did as you promised as Yume begrudgingly got on the couch, still boring his green eyes into the back of your head. You grabbed some wood from the stack that laid next to the brick fireplace and threw it in. You cringed as you flicked your wrist, watching as red-hot embers came flying out of your hand towards the wood, causing the embers to revive energetically as it painted the living room in a serene orange glow, illuminating both you and the black cat behind you. You slightly shied away from the flames, not too eager to be so close to such a large fire. 

  You dusted off your hands, turning around to give Yume a kiss on the forehead. “Maybe tonight we can do a tarot reading for the two of us, yeah?” You bargained, earning a content meow from the cat. “I knew you’d like that,” You chuckled, scratching behind the familiar’s ear before you went back to the kitchen.

  The rain furiously beat against the windows of your small cottage; the wind howling as it whipped against the old wooden boards. The house creaked and groaned under the power of the storm, but you knew your protection charm wouldn’t allow anything to happen to the cottage. Luckily, there was no thunder booming or lighting running bright white cracks in the dark grey sky, it was just the rain and the wind.

 You were humming the tune of a folk song you remember your mother singing as you chopped up some carrots and plopped them in the soup, unaware of the cat that was currently sneaking towards a window. Yume jumped up on the windowsill, expertly avoiding the terracotta pots filled with different herbs and flowers. The window was unlatched. An error on your part, but a perfect stroke of luck on Yume’s.

  Yume bumped the window open, causing the shudders to catch in the wind and bang against the wall. You jumped, dropping the spoon into the pot, splashing the soup around the stove and onto you. You hissed at the feeling of hot soup on your cheekbone. You turned off the stove and walked back out into the living room, an annoyed look on your face.

  An icy chill met your skin as you entered the room, causing your skin to rise with goosebumps. You shivered. The fire was now back to a low ember and the curtains furiously whipped around in the harsh wind, rain seeping in and dripping onto the floor. You groaned, realizing that you probably forgot to latch it. “Just my luck.” You sighed as you closed and latched the window, turning to go tend to the fire again.

  That’s when you stopped mid-step, swirling around to look at the couch, noticing a lack of a Yume. “Yume?” You called out into the quiet house. No answer. Yume may be your familiar, but he was also a cat. It wasn’t like he was going to say “Hello” back, but he would come if called. Nothing. “Yume!” You shouted, a bit more panicked. Again, no sign of the furball. Quickly, you rushed through the house, checking every room. You looked under your bed, behind the dresser, under blankets, everywhere. But there was no Yume.

  Anxiety seeped into your veins like viscous tar, clogging up your lungs and throat. “Y-Yume...?” You choked out, your mind and heart running a mile a minute. You felt tears well up in the corner of your eyes and they burned as they ran down your cheeks. You sat down on the couch, covering your face with your hands as you tried to calm your breathing. With each inhale you choked, coughing with trembling lips.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Yume probably went outside. He’s a smart cat, it’ll be okay,” You whispered to yourself in a shaky voice, taking in a few more gulps of air. You willed yourself up on trembling legs, stumbling over to the coat rack. “It’s okay,” You sighed out once more, throwing on your coat and boots, stepping outside into the ferocious storm.

  Wind licked the wet trails of your tears as rain battered against your body. Trees bent over to the will of the storm, looking ready to snap, as their leaves rustled together, producing an eerie symphony that made your hair rise. The sky was void of any light from the stars or the moon, covered in a thick layer of intimidating grey clouds. “Yume!” You called out into the night, desperate to see any sign of the lean cat. Nothing again.

   You continued to call for Yume, walking deeper and deeper into the dense forest. It was getting darker the further you walked away from your cottage, making it hard to see the sharp stones and slick moss that covered the muddy forest ground. You reached into your pocket, fishing out the amulet that you always had on hand. It glowed. It didn’t give off light like a flame, but was enough to light your way.

  The amulet let out a soft green hue as you continued to call for your cat, voice progressively getting more desperate. You treked deeper and deeper into the woods, the warmth of your cottage getting progressively farther and farther away. You couldn’t see it anymore. “Yume! Please!” You shout with a trembling voice, the biting cold and gripping fear threatening to push you down to your knees.

Meow!

  You gasp, whipping around in a circle, trying to spot the source of the noise. You felt dizzy as you continued to turn, straining your eyes to peer through the thick trees and bushes. “Yume!” You yell again, continuing to turn in circles. “Yume! Please... Baby please,” You cry, bending to the will of your aching heart, falling to your knees. The wet, sloppy mud seeped through your coat and thin nightgown. The rain splashing dirt on your face. But you couldn’t care less. “Yume...” You sniffled.

Meow

  Yume called back, his call sounding just in front of you. You looked up, expecting to see just your little black cat with his green eyes and soft fur, but what was actually in front of you threw you into a living nightmare. You froze, your heart dropping as you hyperventilated, lung burning from the cold. You couldn’t move. Your eyes locked onto the scene in front of you, like a cruel form of torture.

There, Yume was hanging by his scruff, in the mouth of a giant wolf.

  “Yume!” You shrieked, finding your voice again. You reached out for the black cat, shying away when you registered that a wolf was right there. A big one. “Nonono, Yume, please...” You lamented, covering your mouth as sobs threatened to bubble their way out of your throat.

  But instead of the wolf dropping a dead carcass at your feet, it gently let Yume down, allowing the cat to run over to you and lick at your tears with his scratchy tongue. You sniffled, reaching out a shaky hand to pull Yume towards you. You buried your face in Yume’s fur, letting out the sobs you were desperately choking down.

  Yume let you hold him in the chilling rain, licking your face to comfort you. “You’re okay... You’re okay,” You choked out, hiccuping on air. Mew... Yume spoke up, nudging his sopping wet head against your cheek. “Okay” 

  Even if in your brain you knew everything should be fine now, that you should stop crying and get back home, you couldn’t move. Your tired heart chained you in place like a rock sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Meow... “Save the sorry’s for later... Just let me hold you.” You whispered, holding Yume tighter. 

   It felt as if all the strength you were fiercely clinging onto while you wandered through the forest had slipped between your fingers like sand. You wanted to lay there in the mud and stay there until morning, but you knew you had to get yourself together. Yume was shivering, you were shivering, and it was dark. Yet you couldn’t move. You sheltered Yume inside your coat as you tried to pick up the scattered pieces of yourself.

Whine...

  You lifted your head from where you buried it in the wet cat's fur, catching the eye of the wolf you’d forgotten all about. It looked at you with drooping ears and a bent head, like a scolded puppy. It whined again, lifting one of its paws like it was going to step forward, but opting not to, hesitating. “You found him,” You whispered out, voice scratchy from the sobs that had wracked through your throat.

  The wolf tilted his head in confusion. You would’ve too. Why are you talking to this animal like their Yume? Yume was special in a witchy way. He was your familiar. Like a loyal companion, but sassier. Yume was in tune with your emotions 9 times out of 10. Yume played around with you when you were happy, snuggled you when you were tired, comforted you through times of panic and sadness, Yume even “talked” to you, his meows weren’t for fun. Yume understood you because he was made for you. 

A wild wolf wasn’t

  Yet that didn’t deter you as you continued to speak. “Thank you...” You sniffled, looking the wolf up and down, running your eyes over its soaked fur. The same golden chestnut fur, now soaked and illuminated in a hue of green from the amulet that currently laid in the mud. Despite the lack of light, its yellow eyes seemed to glow. “Ah, you’re that wolf that was stuck in my snare...” You said, and the wolf took your friendly tone as an invitation to get closer.

  Slowly, it approached you, ears and head still down to look less intimidating. You were too emotionally exhausted to be scared again. That, or you subconsciously trusted the wolf more than you thought. “You must be cold,” You commented, staring at the wolf's saturated coat. The wolf nudged at your own soaked coat, as if saying, “You too,” and you softly chuckled. It nudged you again, this time on your side, trying to get you to stand up. You didn’t. You couldn’t find the energy too, but the wolf kept nudging.

  You gradually stood on trembling legs out of annoyance, tiring of the wolf’s persistence. You held Yume in your arms, still under your coat, as the wolf tugged at your dirty nightwear. You took a step forward, and the wolf went on ahead until it realized you weren’t beside it. It jogged back, pulling on your clothes again. “You’re a weird one,” You mumbled out, indulging the wolf by following it.

   The wolf led you through the rain and mud. Looking back occasionally to check if you were still there. You didn’t know where it was leading you, but the trees thinned out, meaning you were moving away from the thick parts of the forest that are easy to get lost in. The storm continued to beat down on the three of you, creating a thin veil-like fog that hindered your ability to see.

  But the wolf seemed unfazed as it continued to walk without fault, walking until an orange glow pierced through the mist. Your eyes widened when you realized it was your cottage. The wolf had led you back to your cottage. “What? How did you...?” You breathed out, looking down at the wolf who was now looking at you.

  The wolf was definitely odd. It seemed more aware than the average lupus, like it could hear and understand you. Like it knew what you needed. Strange, no doubt, but you were a witch. You experienced strange things all the time. Hell, the entire forest you lived in was renowned for being supernatural and “dangerous” as in, magical.

  Birds often brought you pretty stones and flowers, the squirrels liked to share their food with you, and the plant life seemed to come alive around you. Nothing in your life was “normal”, it was all strange. The wolf was probably like the birds and squirrels. A forest helper of sorts.

So with that rationalization, you left it be.

  You walked up to your porch, opening the front door and letting a wet Yume free in the house. You turned around, locking eyes with the wolf once again. It was a few yards away, sitting in your front garden, looking even more humongous next to your tiny daisies and tulips. It was waiting for you to go inside. “It’s cold...” You said, “And you're wet...” The wolf tilted its head once again, unmoving. “I have towels... And a warm place to sleep until the morning,”

The wolf stayed seated.

“Come on,” You coaxed, patting your leg as an invitation for the wolf to move closer.

  Slowly, the wolf stood up, trotting up to you and cautiously stepping into the house. You led the wolf to your living room, motioning him to stay put while you went to the linen closet to fetch some towels for the three of you. When you came back, you saw the wolf sitting awkwardly by the fireplace across from Yume, who stared at it unbothered. 

  You walked over to Yume, drying him off quickly before you turned your attention to the wolf who was dripping rainwater on your hardwood floors. “Here,” You said, opening the towel, offering the wolf to come closer so you could dry it off. The wolf padded over, its wet paws slapping against the floor. It turned around so its back was toward you. 

  You threw the towel over it, gently patting its fur down. Its fur soaked up the rain like a dehydrated sponge, causing the towel to saturate not even 2 minutes later. You threw the wet towel in a corner somewhere, grabbing the one that was meant for you. 

  However, when the wolf noticed this, it moved away, whining. “What’s wrong?” You asked in a soft tone. The wolf went over to the soaking wet towel that you discarded. It pushed it with its nose, looking back at you before repeating itself. “What? It’s wet, bub,” You chuckle, patting your leg in hopes that the wolf would come over to you. 

  Yet again it whined, going over to nudge at your still wet, heavy pajamas. “I’ll be fine. I have extra clothes, but you don’t have a spare coat, now do you?” You chuckled, wrapping the wolf in the towel. It huffed, begrudgingly letting you dry it off completely. “You’re a very pretty wolf,” You commented, running your hands through its fur. 

 The wolf leaned more into your touch, letting out a content sigh. Meow, Yume spoke up, “A boy?” You questioned Yume, who let out another mew. You turned towards the wolf. “You’re a boy?” You asked the wolf, looking slightly up at it. Its eyes were closed in relaxation, Yume meowed again in conformation. “So you would prefer being called a handsome wolf? Or do you like pretty?” You asked, not sure why you were doing so, but you talked to Yume all the time and he could answer back. Maybe it was just a habit. 

  The wolf didn’t answer, obviously, so you settled on using the two terms interchangeably. “Pretty or handsome, your fur is really soft,” You smiled, grabbing one of Yume’s pet brushes that sat in a basket next to the couch, beginning to brush the wolf's fur. Mew... Yume grumbled. “Oh hush, you have plenty,” You said, continuing to brush. The wolf slowly laid down on the plush living room carpet, being lulled to sleep by your gentle touches and the warmth of the cozy fireplace. 

After a few beats of silence, you turned to Yume, a question rolling off your tongue. 

“You went out there for a reason, didn’t you, bub?” 

  Yume hopped down from the couch, cautious of the sleeping wolf that laid next to you. Meow. “Alright, I’ll change, but then you better give me an explanation,” You stated, carefully standing up and padding over to your bedroom to peel the damp clothes off your body and getting dressed in new ones. Yume followed you, patiently waiting on your bed. 

“Spill it,” You said as you sat down on the edge of the bed next to Yume. 

Meow.

  “I know you're a cat and you technically can’t have a conversation with me, but you can do other things,” You said, crossing your arms. Meow, Yume bit back. “I can understand you, yes. However, our bond only allows me to hear singular words from you. You say meow and I hear love. I can interpret that as “Aww Yume you love me,” when you could be saying “I’d love to kill you,” I just don’t know,” You explain. “Come on Yume, you know how our bond works.” 

  Oh, Yume did. And it annoyed the hell out of the familiar. The bond between a witch and their familiar is special, something that can’t be broken throughout time. Hell, Yume’s lived 6 different lives, all attached to a different you. Familiars can do a lot. They can help with spell work, protect you, guide you, and talk to you. Kinda...

  See, Yume doesn’t meow just because. He’s actually talking. All that screeching he did earlier in the night before he caused this complete catastrophe? Outside. Outside. Please. Yume’s meows were still meows to your ear, but your mind conceived them as words. 

However, one singular word couldn’t possibly explain this situation. 

  Yume jumped over to where you kept your oracle cards, all neatly stacked up next to your piles of books. The cat poked around at the cards a bit before picking up one in his mouth, hopping back to where you were. He dropped the card on your lap, looking up at you expectantly. You picked up the card. 

Amaranth

Healing

Seems like you’d get a one-word answer anyway.

   “Amaranth?” You inquired, looking down at the black cat. Yume said nothing, not making a single peep, just slowly blinking at you. “Healing... Cryptic you are, huh?” You chuckled, standing up to clean up the cards again. 

Meow

“Jeongguk, Y/n, his name is Jeongguk”

“Jeongguk?”

  The forest brush scratched against the delicate skin of your legs as you ran through the trees. You constantly checked over your shoulder, searching behind you for any sign of your pursuer who you could hear just a few feet away from you. Yume ran beside you, easily keeping up with your fast pace. Meow, Yume said, looking up at you. “I can’t go faster, Yume, I’m in a skirt!” You chuckled, continuing to run. 

  A spine-chilling howl rang through the forest, along with the heavy thumps of paws. You pushed yourself to run faster, expertly dodging the low-hanging branches and the sharp rocks that laid on the forest bed. You’ve run through the woods with a heavy skirt before, you’d be fine. 

You just had to push your legs to go faster.

  Suddenly, a clearing flooded your vision, only a few feet away. You could taste the sweet taste of victory on your tongue as you pushed yourself, hoping that the approaching march behind you was just far enough away that you could get to the clearing first. Thump. Thump. Thump. The thumping against the damp forest floor was getting closer...

And closer...

Until...

   “Haha!” You cheered once you stepped into the beautiful forest clearing. The flowering grass was tall enough to reach your knees, and you enjoyed running your hand through the white daisies. You were about to turn around to face your pursuer, but the giant wolf tackled you to the ground instead. You let out an “mph” as the wolf playfully licked your face and rubbed its head against you. “Guk!” You chuckled, scratching the big wolf behind his ears. 

  The wolf energetically got off of you, jumping and bowing around, waiting for you to get up so the two of you could play more. You sat up, watching the wolf bound around with a smile on your face. “I’m tired, Guk” You puffed out, still catching your breath. The wolf, Guk, huffed, bending down playfully, still trying to get you up and playing. 

   Meow, Yume spoke up happily, his tail swishing back and forth gracefully. “Well I’m glad you 're not tired, but I am,” You chuckled, scratching the cat behind his ear before laying down on the grass. Guk calmed down and laid down next to you and resting his head on your chest. Guk let out a noise that sounded like a roar and a whimper mixed together, telling you that he was content. “You attached to my hip now, huh?” You teased, petting Guk’s head. 

It was funny...

After that night in the rain, the wolf just kept coming back...

  At first, you’d spot him watching you from the treeline whenever you and Yume were relaxing outside. Then he’d sit in your garden whenever you were inside. And eventually, he approached you one day while you were sitting on your quilt, reading a book. 

   “Oh, hello!” You smiled, looking up from your book to give the wolf your attention. He was standing just a few feet away from you. “I’ve seen you around lately. Are you my little guardian now?” You teased, resting your head on your hand, your elbow sitting on your knee. The wolf didn’t move, but lifted his paw like he wanted to. “It’s okay to come closer. I know you’re a nice wolf,” you reassured, and the wolf stepped closer. 

  And the rest was history, a pleasing memory to look back upon when the days dragged along like the march of elephants. The wolf went from visiting you weekly to twice a week, to every day. Eager to spend his day with you and Yume. 

Once the wolf started coming around more, Yume insisted that you call him Jeongguk. 

   “Wolfie! You came back!” You giggled, kneeling down to give the big wolf a hug, burying your face in his soft chestnut fur. His fur always smelled so nice. Meow! Yume shrieked, startling both you and the wolf. “Jeez, Yume, I know. You’ve been saying that name all the time now. Is Jeongguk some deity I don’t know about that I’m supposed to worship? A spirit?” You sighed, one arm still wrapped around the wolf. 

  Yume walked up to the wolf, now standing directly in front of him. Meow! He yelled again, nudging his head against the wolf’s chest. The size difference between the two of them was absolutely comical. “Wolfie? You want me to call Wolfie... Jeongguk?” You asked, confused. Meow. Yume affirmed. But Jeongguk just sounded too... Human... “How about Guk?” You reasoned, “Do you like that?” You asked the wolf, to which he butted his head against your own. “I think that’s a yes,” you chuckled. 

  Now Guk is a part of your daily life. He hunted food for you, slept next to you while you read your books, chilled with Yume by the fireplace while you worked on your spells. There was this one time you were making a potion for someone who came by, asking for your help against nightmares. (You guess legends are still being told about you throughout town) You were stirring the ingredients in your cauldron, freakishly bored as you waited for the camomile to steep properly, and Guk noticed. Guk began playfully bounding around the room to try to cheer you up. And it worked.

 Just a bit too well...

You thanked your late mother for making you study those water spells.

Since then, whenever you had the odd person come by asking for assistance, Guk just silently stayed by your side.

  What you didn’t know is that Jeongguk didn’t trust those people. He could smell it, the disgusting stench of fear that wafted off of their bodies whenever they spoke to you, and how it became more potent once they saw him. The smell of dirty ice and sweat. He knew that they also scared you, the way you fidgeted with your fingers and avoided eye contact. The smell that wafted off of you was awful. Jeongguk didn’t like it. 

He only wanted to smell your sweet scent of honey and lavender that you had whenever you were happy.

Jeongguk remembered exactly what he was doing when he got trapped in your snare that day. 

He was stealing. 

   It was his turn to hunt for the rest of his pack, and he was... Slacking, to say the least. He’s been slacking for a while now. Ever since Hoseok found his mate, Jeongguk has been feeling left out, and it’s making him less like himself lately. Jeongguk was the only one in his pack that hasn’t found his mate yet, and it’s throwing him in a slump.

  Yes, Jeongguk enjoyed hunting, but he hasn’t been feeling up to it lately. He hasn’t been feeling up to most of the things he enjoys. Hunting, singing, playing with his niece and nephews. Nothing. But what he knew right now was that he was supposed to get food, so he will. 

  The way you set your snares has always impressed Jeongguk. Not only were they practical, but you made them pretty... somehow, and they smelt so good. He knows about you vaguely from his hyungs. Every now and again, Yoongi or Namjoon would go out to watch you, making sure you weren’t doing anything that could be a threat to them. You never were. 

  Namjoon had even commented on how you seemed to just... fit in the natural ecosystem of the forest effortlessly. Your presence never bothered the animals, and your hunting never caused any disturbance to the cycle of life here. It was like the forest had adopted you, accepting you as one of its many children. 

But Jeongguk wasn’t worried about that right now. Right now, he needed to raid your snares and get back home so everyone could eat. 

  Jeongguk trotted through the forest with no urgency, easily finding his way around the trees and bushes, spotting one of your snares in the distance. It had caught a rabbit. Unconcerned, Jeongguk wandered its way. Only to get caught in a snare himself. “That wasn’t there before...” Jeongguk thought to himself, kicking the rope, expecting it to loosen. 

It didn’t.

  Try as he might, the rope didn’t relent. He kicked, wiggled, and whipped around, all to no avail. Jeongguk panicked. What was he going to do? Sunset was soon, and he needed to get back home to his pack. 

    He started to think about everything he’d done wrong in the past month. He should’ve played with Yunho that one time, he never should’ve growled at Namjoon that one winter night years ago. God, how dumb was he to never verbally remind his hyungs, niece, and nephews just how much he loved them?

  Rationally, Jeongguk would be fine, whether or not he made it out of the snare. One of his hyungs would eventually come looking for him, laugh at the situation he was in, and help him. But Jeongguk wasn’t thinking rationally. Jeongguk could only think about what he did to deserve to perish alone in a stupid bunny trap. He was an alpha for heaven's sake! And a flowery bunny trap was what thwarted him? Not only did he feel like he was going to die, but he felt like his death would be a humiliating one.

“Oh no...” He heard a soft voice whisper behind him. 

    Jeongguk whipped around, his yellow eyes landing on your soft figure. You had a basket in hand. Several types of flowers were woven into the delicate straw braids. A white cotton cloak rested delicately on your shoulders, and you also had flowers in your hair. Your light pink blouse, skirt, and apron made you look cute in his eyes. 

Growl...

He wished he could appreciate it more. 

  You may look and smell absolutely ethereal to Jeongguk, however you were still a stranger, and he was in such a vulnerable position. What if you were like a siren? Luring him in with your beauty to get him to let his guard down before you struck... Or a secret sadist? Or worse, what if you were a trick of the fae? It sent a shiver down his spine and a growl out of his mouth. 

Home. Home. I have to get home. 

Forget about the pretty fae-siren-whatever lady. 

  The wolf inside him was frantic and confused, running around his mind on overdrive and channeling his frenzied emotions into unfounded anger. Jeongguk couldn’t help it. He was scared. It didn’t matter if rationally he was half the size of you. He was scared, and he felt threatened. 

   “I-It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you,” You stuttered out, but Jeongguk had cotton in his ears. Your words didn’t reach him, so he continued. Growling and snarling like some wild animal. Well... He was half a wild animal, but he was still human, he still had a conscious. And that conscious was screaming code red. 

“I-I know you're scared... I’d be scared too,”

  Your voice felt like a sweet melody once it reached Jeongguk’s ears. You were soft-spoken. He liked that. Having enhanced hearing meant a lot of simple things gave him pounding headaches. But your voice felt like a warm blanket to him. Sweet honey and soothing lavender. Jeongguk stopped growling, looking up at you with curiosity. Where’d you get such a pretty voice? Why hasn’t he heard it before?

“I’m sorry you're stuck, the snare wasn’t meant for you. Let me help you, please? I’m sure you have a home to go back to.”

  Why are you even talking to him? Let alone apologizing? For all you knew, he was a wild wolf, incapable of comprehending the Korean language. Yet you were still talking to him in that saccharine voice. Let me help you, please? He inwardly chuckled. Were you really going to get close to a wolf? 

The answer was yes because you ended up delicately cutting the rope around his leg.

    Jeongguk quickly put a good distance between you and him, still somewhat running on adrenaline, and it looks like you had the same idea. Jeongguk looked at you, your figure framed by the vibrant flora and the towering trees. You looked... welcoming. Everything made you look so small and you just seemed to fit like his hyung had said. 

You were exactly what he imagined every time his hyungs mentioned you. 

“Go home. You have others waiting for you, don’t you?”

  But Jeongguk didn’t want to. He knows he was a bit... hostile at first, but now that he’s calmed down and has gotten a better look at you, now that he’s heard your sweet voice, he wanted to stay. He wanted to stay and pick flowers with you or something. You looked nice, and Jeongguk wanted to see if he was assuming correctly. You have others waiting for you, don’t you? He does, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean he likes it. 

Reluctantly, Jeongguk trots off. 

I’ll be back.

And he kept his word.

He did come back. 

   Every day he greeted you with an inner-smile and left you with a lick goodbye. Every day he wished he could stay for longer, that he could stay with you throughout the night. He dreamed about wrapping you in his arms and snuggling you until the sun came up, making breakfast with you in the kitchen, and reading with you in the morning sun’s rays. 

   And sure, it scared him just how quickly he grew attached to you, but it felt so right. He’d play with you during the day and dream of you at night. He’d tell his hyungs everything about you and get teased for it, but he didn’t care. He’d write a book on you if he could. 

“Hyung, you should’ve seen her! She looked so pretty in her yellow skirt.”

“Hyung, she can grow flowers! Like, with magic! Namjoon hyung would love her,”

“Hyung, do you think she’d like my singing?”

   Every day Jeongguk had a new thing to gush about. He’d wake up early to run to your house, spend the afternoon with you, and come home with stories about the adventures he had with you that day. He’d ramble on and on about your outfit to Seokjin because “Seokjin hyung likes fashion,” and rave about your amazing magic to Namjoon and Yoongi who both knew a spell or two. Hoseok would listen to him when Jeongguk retold the fairytales you’d read aloud, and Jimin and Taehyung would ask him about anything he’d left out.

 Nobody complained, in fact, they encouraged it. They were happy because Jeongguk found someone. 

  “Guk, you talk about this girl a lot. Is there something you want to tell us?” Hoseok had asked him one day at dinner after Jeongguk finished explaining why he came home with a bandana delicately wrapped around his neck that smelt so sweet. “What do you mean hyung?” He asked, stuffing a spoonful of rabbit stew into his mouth. 

   The rest of the boys looked at each other, and Seokjin suddenly stood up, gathering all the kids and taking them upstairs to get them ready for bed. “Guk, have you ever thought that maybe you bonded with her pretty... Quickly?” Namjoon asked, trying to make Jeongguk connect the dots. 

   Jeongguk quirked a brow, “No...?” He said and Taehyung groaned, facepalming. “Think about it a little harder,” Jimin said, but Jeongguk shrugged once again. Taehyung rolled his eyes, “One word, Guk, four letters. Mate.” He explained, getting tired of beating around the bush. Yoongi smacked Taehyung in the back of the head, whispering out, “Don’t be rude,” through clenched teeth. 

   Jeongguk snickered. Taking Taehyung’s comment was a joke, but stopped once he realised that nobody else was laughing. “Haha... What?” He asked. Namjoon took a deep breath. “Think about it for a second Guk, like really think about it. When you think about Y/n, what do you feel?” 

   Well, that was an easy question. Jeongguk feels happy when he thinks of you. He feels all warm and fuzzy, like he was wrapped in blankets in front of a fireplace. He woke up cheerful, ready to see you every morning and went to bed content, thinking about what the two of you would get up to tomorrow. You made his heart happy with every smile, giggle, and hug. Everything you did made Jeongguk feel... Alive. Like all his life, he was running on fumes and now he finally found his fuel. You.

    “She makes me feel like all my life I was colorblind, and it wasn’t until I met her that I could see the beautiful colors of the world. Like I was deaf and now I can hear. She’s... There isn’t a word to describe it.” He gushed, a woozy smile plastered on his face. All the others looked at each other, having a silent conversation. 

   Jimin cleared his throat. “Um, Guk... You know that’s how we’d describe our mates right...? So it’s possible that... You know,” He cautioned, chuckling awkwardly. Jeongguk paused, shooting his head up from where he was playing with his soup to look his brothers in the eyes, “No... You don’t think...” 

“Oh we definitely think,” Taehyung mischievously smiled. 

   “B-but she doesn’t even know who I am. I’m just a random wolf to her,” Jeongguk rambled on. “Why don’t you just, tell her?” Yoongi asked, and Jeongguk groaned. “It’s not that simple! She doesn’t like people. Like, they scare her...” He explained with a pout. 

   The rest of the boys rose a brow. “So, you 're just going to pretend to be a wolf for the rest of your life?” Yoongi asked. Jeongguk sighed, “I mean, I guess-” “That was not the right answer to the question!” Jimin interrupted with a groan, but Jeongguk groaned even louder. “What am I supposed to do? Shift one day and say ‘Hey I’m Jeongguk and I’m actually a werewolf. By the way! You’re most likely my mate, meaning we’re destined to spend the rest of our lives together!’?” He asked sarcastically, not noticing Seokjin who stood behind him with an unimpressed look on his face. 

“Well, you better figure it out. Before you get hurt.”

   Jeongguk jumped out of his skin, whipping around to look the eldest in the eye. Seokjin didn’t wait for Jeongguk to answer, “Mates are serious Guk. Once you’ve found them, you’re bound to them for good, no take-backsies. You get hurt, they get hurt. Just... do the right thing, okay?” He said, sitting back down in his seat so he could finish eating. 

   Jeongguk felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. Seokjin was right, mates were serious. It was like the “red string of fate” fairytale that grandparents told grandchildren. The two of you were like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together, even if you didn’t realize it. Meeting your mate just kinda happens. There’s no shocking touches or overwhelming clarity that happens when you meet, you just know. Jeongguk guessed that always knew, even if he didn’t put a name to it. 

“Once you’ve found them, you’re bound to them for good,” 

Just do the right thing. Alright, simple.

Jeongguk has no idea what to do. 

   You laid in the middle of the clearing, ignoring the slight scratch of the grass below you as you basked in the morning sun, a content smile on your face. You were glad to give your legs a break from the good run you had only 5 minutes ago whilst being with your two loves. Yume was cuddled into Guk’s stomach while Guk rested his head on your stomach. To an outsider looking in, you’d look like a happy family.

  “I’m glad you got caught in my snare that day, Guk,” you whispered to the wolf as you gently pet his fur. Guk blinked and looked up at you, tilting his head slightly as if he was questioning you. “I mean, I’m not glad that you were scared and were stuck in the first place, but I got to meet you,” you explained, smiling down at the wolf, scratching the spot behind his ear that made him melt in your hands. 

   Guk just nestled into your stomach farther, letting out a soft huff. His chestnut fur looked vibrant against the soft green grass, like wispy brushstrokes of the most delicate oil paintings, elegantly blowing in the wind. Yume looked utterly adorable, curled up in his stomach. The sight of the two of them relaxing soundly in the afternoon sun made your heart happy. 

  You sat up slightly, rousing Guk from his light sleep. “Sorry, bub,” You whispered, reaching over to your upper arm to gently scratch the scar that was getting a bit irritated. You were happy that you decided to wear a sleeveless blouse. The scar was acting up lately. It was getting sensitive to clothing... Again.

Whine

  You looked down, raising an eyebrow at the wolf, who now looked upset. “What’s wrong?” You pouted. You hated to hear him whine. Guk sat up, cautiously maneuvering around Yume as to not wake him up, before nudging his snout against your upper arm. “What?” You chuckled. 

  Guk nudged your upper arm again, and this time you looked down, letting out an ‘ah’ sound before sending the wolf a small smile. “It’s a burn scar,” You said, feeling slightly disheartened. Guk tilted his head slightly, nudging the scar again. “Someone... burned me,” You explained, not necessarily feeling too sensitive about the situation since Guk can’t understand. It’s nice to talk about it every once in a while. Even if it was to yourself.

  You lightly touched the scarred skin, running your fingertips over the pink bumps and lumps. “I was chased out of my village for being a witch. It was actually quite ridiculous, I mean, who actually grabs a torch and a pitchfork to chase down a witch? I thought that only happened in fairy tales.” You snickered, trying not to think too hard about it and unintentionally trigger the phantom pain. Humor was always an easy way to deal with the pain.

  Guk whined again. You cupped his pouting face and gave him a sad smile. “It was 6 years ago, bub, I’m okay. It still hurts sometimes, but if I stay away from triggers, I’m good,” You reassured, giving him a kiss on the forehead before laying back down in the grass.

  Jeongguk looked down at you from where he was sitting up beside you, feeling... Well, he doesn’t know what he was feeling but it wasn’t good. How could someone hurt you? Y/n? You were literally as sweet as the honey and as soft as the lavender you smelt so strongly of, who would permanently scar such a wonder like you? 

   You fed the birds and squirrels whenever you had food to spare. You talked to the flowers in your garden. You freed a “wild” wolf from on you your traps. Who would think that you were anything less than a gem? People were disgusting. That’s what Jeongguk concluded. That your village was full of disgusting people who probably made fun of newborn babies. 

What Jeongguk is trying to say is that those villagers were assholes, and he’d hunt down those assholes if he had to, just for you. 

   “Come on Guk, lay down. Let’s nap for a bit,” You beckoned with your eyes closed, opening up your arm to invite the wolf to snuggle up next to you. How could Jeongguk ever deny you? Guk laid back down, resting his head on your chest with a content sigh. “That’s better.” You smiled, wrapping an arm around him. 

Meow...

  Yume grumbled, annoyed at the fact that the two of you were so selfishly leaving him out of the cuddle party. He stretched out his back a bit before he moved in closer, laying next to your heads. Meow. “Quit whining, Mr. Grump, and nap,” You playfully scolded, reaching over to give Yume a couple head scratches before you put your arm back around Guk. 

This was nice. 

This wasn’t nice at all. 

   Jeongguk wasn’t planning on falling asleep. He planned on snuggling you until you either woke up or he had to go. But he messed up. Your soothing scent of lavender lulled Jeongguk into the world of dreams before he could realize it, and now he was being jolted awake with a sharp, stabbing pain. 

   He bit his tongue. Jeongguk felt like his skin was crawling with bugs. Like the claws of a falcon were digging into his flesh and tearing it away in chunks. A deep, burning pain shot through his bones, spreading outwards through his muscles like a hot poker. He wanted to claw his skin off and throw it into the woods, shed it like a lizard. Your once soothing embrace was now suffocating.

  Why was he feeling like this? Simple. Werewolves have 2 forms, human and wolf. Werewolves can stay in their human form for however long they like unless something triggers them to shift, whether that be the full moon, a rise in aggression, or something agitates them. However, they cannot stay in their wolf form forever. Much to Jeongguk’s dismay.

  Different werewolves can stay shifted for different amounts of time. Like Yoongi, he can stay shifted for a week straight, the complete opposite of Jimin who can only stay shifted for a maximum of 8 hours. 

  Jeongguk’s shifting abilities were on the shorter side, 12 hours. He always meets you in the morning and parts with you at a reasonable time in the afternoon, so he’s not forced out of his furry body. But he fell asleep... for the entire afternoon. 

   His bones cracked and popped, poking against the inside of his skin, forcefully shifting him into his human form. His flesh stretched and morphed, bending to the will of Jeongguk’s reconstructing anatomy. His snout shrunk, paws grew into hands, and ears retracted. Usually, shifting went by smoothly, with little discomfort. But Jeongguk was trying to go against his body's natural will to change, making the process unbearable. 

   You were still asleep in a faraway dreamland with your arm wrapped around Jeongguk’s body, oblivious to his agony. To Jeongguk, you looked so beautiful sleeping on the grass. Tiny flowers framed your delicate face, and the sun’s rays laid across your vibrant skin like the most expensive silk. Jeongguk wished he could admire the way your eyelashes rested against your cheeks or the way your tousled hair acted as a halo, but he was couldn’t. Not now. 

Please, Jeongguk thought, please not now. 

  Cautiously, Jeongguk wiggled his way out of your grasp, doing his best not to wake you or Yume. Crack. His spine started altering itself, elongating and stretching his skin, sucking in his fur, hiding it away from view. His hold on his furry body was loosing its grip, and he started to shift faster. Jeongguk probably looked like some hairy human abomination and not the pretty kind.

  You stirred a bit, face contorting in dissatisfaction once Jeongguk had slipped out from under your arm. Jeongguk froze. He stood statue still, praying that the sickening snaps and cracks that came from his body weren’t loud enough to wake you or Yume.

  You mumbled out some incoherent words, scaring Jeongguk enough to scramble away from you. He watched with his heart in his throat as you stirred some more, only a foot in front of him. You shifted so your back was to him, finally getting comfortable enough to enjoy your dreams again. He felt a wave of relief wash over his contorted body. But that relief didn’t last long. 

  Suddenly, another bone in Jeongguk’s body forcefully cracked into place, catching him off guard enough that he let out a painful groan that woke Yume up with a start. The black cat turned, his eyes widening at the sight of the currently deformed Jeongguk who was trying his hardest to hold back his transformation, although he was more human than wolf at this point. 

Breaking bones, stretching skin, huffing, claws and teeth where they shouldn’t be.

  Yume was more surprised that Jeongguk looked like a Lovecraftian monster while he was mid-transformation rather than the fact he was a werewolf. Meow? He yawned, utterly confused, but not surprised. “H-Hey... Yu-Yume...” Jeongguk choked out in a whisper. It was getting harder and harder to hold back his groans and grunts of pain as his bones twisted and skin ripped. 

  “Ack-” Jeongguk let out a growl-like yelp, biting harshly down on his tongue, causing it to bleed as his fangs pierced the pink flesh. He let out another yelp and curled down into a ball of pain, panting into the grass. Meow! Yume yelled, running over to check on the groaning werewolf, who was now mostly transformed back into a human, except for a few patches of fur and some claws. His muscular body and smooth, golden tan skin now fully on display.

Both Yume and Jeongguk didn’t notice you start to stir again.

  You slowly blinked your bleary eyes open, hissing at the harsh rays of the orange sun that invaded the comfort of your irises. “Wha-” You grumbled, voice scratchy. You shifted, noticing a lack of body warmth and ticklish fur laying next to you. “Yume? Guk?” You called, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up, unconsciously covering your scar on your upper arm, which was red and irritated from the grass.

   You heard a strangled groan sound from behind you, and you looked over your shoulder with squinted eyes. You gasped, suddenly feeling wide awake when you saw a very naked man sitting only a foot away from you. A scream bubbled its way out of your throat as you crawled away backward, now breathing just as heavily as he was.

  “W-Who- What?” You blubbered out, “Who are you?” You trembled, feeling that familiar feeling of shackling anxiety beginning to muffle your senses. The stranger looked up, immediately catching your eye with their pained, yellow ones that screamed of silent agony and fear. You looked away, the power his eyes gave off became too much for you. But as you did, you spotted your fuzzy familiar nudging his head against the stranger's leg.

 You froze, “Yume!” You yelled, grabbing the cat's attention. “What are you doing- Did you not learn after the last time? Get over here!” You barked. Meow! Yume yelled back, not budging from his spot. “Guk?” You echoed the cat, furrowing your eyebrows. You anxiously looking back and forth between the man (who was now in less pain) and the disobedient furball. 

Meow!

“Man? Yume-” 

  You stopped, realization suddenly dawning on you like a mallet to a gong. The startling sound bounced off the walls of your skull. There was no Guk. There was Yume, but no fluffy wolf, just this random man. Guk wouldn’t leave you alone when you were sleeping. When you were vulnerable, he was practically attached to your hip until he went back home. He growled when squirrels got to close to you.

  You pieced together the broken fragments of Yume’s explanation. “Man... Guk... What? No-” You mumbled, your confusion quickly turning into a sense of shrouding fear. “Y/n- I can explain,” The man said in a strained voice, still choked from the amount of pain he just went through. “H-How do you know my name?” You stuttered, curling into yourself out of defense and fear.

“My- My name’s Jeongguk... Or Guk, as you call me...” 

  If the world revolved around you, it just came crashing down, right on top of your head, giving you a concussion. It felt like the comfortable reality you had built for yourself, full of pretty flowers and furry friends, was now cracking and crumbling on the floor at your feet. Sharp shards of broken dreams and hopeful wishes sinking painfully into your soles. You were bleeding out your happiness and hope. 

  No... Not again, you thought, tasting the bitter flavor of anger on your tongue. The taste oh so familiar. It was the only thing you could taste as a lost 16-year-old, betrayal fresh in her mind. “Jeongguk... Guk... You’re- You’re not Guk,” You chuckled bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief. “No... Nonono please tell me this is some cruel dream... Please... Guk is a wolf, he’s just a wolf...” You lamented, finally looking the man in the eyes again. 

  Those eyes, those goddamn yellow eyes that once softened your heart, now stabbed it with a dull, jagged knife. “Guk...?” You asked, hoping that it wasn’t true. Hoping to the deities in the sky that you would wake up, and find your furry friends sleeping next to you again. That he’d say no. The man nodded slowly, a look of shame plastered on his face. “Y-Yes, I’m Guk,” He said. “Guk- Jeongguk- You... lied to me?” You sniffled, your anger boiling down into nothing but... pain. “What? No- Y/n, I didn’t lie-” 

“Then what did you do?!” You cut Jeongguk off, letting your tears fall. “What did you do Jeongguk? Tell me,”

“I- I just didn’t tell the truth...” He murmured. 

  You scoffed. “You just didn’t tell the truth... What are you, Jeongguk? A mimic? Were you trying to gain my trust so you could one day- I don’t know- stab me in my sleep?” You accused. “What? No, I’m a werewolf...” He explained, trying his best to give you space since 1) you were getting frantic and 2) he was still naked. Meow! Yume yelled, and you broke. 

  “Don’t tell me to calm down, Yume!” You spat, now recognizing how comfortable he was with Jeongguk. Unbothered, he just sat next to him. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” You asked in disbelief, completely gobsmacked at the idea of your own familiar hiding such a huge thing from you. When he knew just how intimidating other people were to you. “Oh my god...” You breathed, unable to wrap your head around the fact that the wolf who you’ve been hanging out with for the past weeks was not what you thought they were. 

  He could hear you, he could understand you. Everything you said or told the wolf, who you thought couldn’t comprehend a peep of what you were saying, understood. He knew more about you than you wanted anyone to know, and now you realized that everything you thought you knew was a lie. Or maybe half the truth. But still, not the truth. 

He knew everything about you, but you knew nothing about him...

  He was a man. Guk, or Jeongguk, was a man. He was... Half man, half-wolf. A werewolf. Guk was Jeongguk and Jeongguk was a werewolf. You’ve heard a bit about them, you knew the basics, but you had no idea and when you looked back at it, all the subtle human-ish things Guk did that were now sending you huge red flags. You felt stupid. Absolutely naïve. 

  You stood up, avoiding the stares you were getting from Jeongguk and Yume as hot tears rolled down your face. “Y/n!” Jeongguk called, reaching out for you. “Y/n please, let me explain-” You stepped away, “Don’t. Don’t say my name. Don’t come near me. Just... Goodbye.” You seethed, sending him a sharp look as more tears fell from your eyes. You turned that look down to the familiar, “I’m mad at you... But come home soon.” 

And then you left. 

   Jeongguk could only watch with a broken heart as you walked away, heading back home. He wanted to chase after you, to explain himself, to tell you that he never meant to hurt you, but his shins haven’t snapped into place yet. So he was left helpless on the itchy forest floor with his heart in his throat and a cat who really couldn’t help in this situation. 

  Reality had not dawned on him yet. Everything felt so surreal. This was the most cliche but horrible situation he could ever be in, and it felt like a bad dream, a nightmare. Soon he would wake up and have enough time to give you a lick goodbye and then run back home, just in time for lunch with his hyungs. 

But this wasn’t a hopeful daydream. This was reality. 

And in reality, you left. 

He hurt you and you left.  

  “No...” he whispered, “Nonono,” Jeongguk could feel the weight of reality start to push down on his shoulders and press on his head. Panic quickly came back to him and settled itself in his bones, shaking him to his core. Jeongguk clawed at the soft Earth below him, pulling himself up to his feet. 

  He only took a couple steps before he collapsed again, feeling the aftereffects of trying to fight his transformation as white-hot pain shot through his legs and up his spine. Meow, Yume cried, trying his best to get the man to sit down and take a breather. “No, Yume, I can’t- She’s gone- I can’t-” He sobbed, now acutely aware of the streams of tears that ran down the soft skin of his cheeks. 

  “Please...” He croaked, not sure who exactly he was begging to, but he hoped that something would pity him enough so they would snap their fingers and make everything okay again. 

  Jeongguk pressed his forehead into the dirt, pulling harshly at his brunette locks while his tears flowed like rivers. What was he going to do? You obviously didn’t want to see him again, and it broke his heart. He loved the time you spent together, running through the grass, working in the garden, listening as you read to him. He developed a bond with you, a strong one, and now it’s broken.

Just a tattered dream surrounded by the shards of broken hearts.

Two weeks. 

That’s how long it’s been since you found out that Jeongguk was a werewolf.

Two weeks. 

    You would like to say those two weeks passed by smoothly, but they went as smoothly as crying late into the night could be. It was madness. Everything in your tiny cottage reminded you of Jeongguk, and even worse, the entire forest did too. You couldn’t even check or set your snares without thinking, “Oh, yeah, I hope the rope didn’t burn his skin,” It was torture, really, how your once calm, safe haven turned into a memory graveyard full of grief. 

   The wind whispered his name to you, the sun reminded you of his warm fur, the rain brought you back to that night, that one night, when he became a part of your world. It ached, everything ached. Your heart, your body, your mind. You trudged through day and night, with a heavy body and a fried mind, just trying your hardest to even stand up straight. 

   Even worse was the pain. Now and then waves of red hot pain would shoot through your body, causing you to break out in a cold sweat. Late at night you would grovel in pain. You thought the phantom burn from your scar got worse, but that didn’t make sense since it was more than your scar now. Nothing seemed to make them go away, and you tried every potion in the book, every spell in your grimoire. Nothing. 

But this wouldn’t be the first time random waves of pain shot through your body.

   You were slowly learning to live with it, even if it felt like you were constantly missing something. You didn’t know what you were missing. You were training yourself to live with the pain and emptiness, but if you were being honest, it was getting worse, and it was happening quickly. It got harder and harder to get out of bed or walk around the cottage. It felt like you were a flower, slowly wilting... 

For the sake of your sanity, you chose to overlook that fact and live life like you always did, doing the best you could to erase Jeongguk from your memory. 

   But there was the persistence of Yume, who begged you to talk to him, which never happened. Each time you heard his name muttered out of the cat’s mouth, you sent him a melting glare. 9 times out of 10 he would leave, but there was a 10% chance he would stand his ground and bug you until you left. Your own familiar, who was like a platonic soulmate, was turning on you. 

Without Jeongguk you felt lost, like something important was taken from you.

But at the same time, the thought of him filled you with hurt and a sense of betrayal.

“Should I talk to him?” 

“No- Yes- No he hurt you- Yes. Don’t lie, everything felt warmer with him around”

It was turmoil. 

   When you cried into the late hours of the night, you weren’t quite sure what exactly you were crying for anymore. Did you still feel betrayed? Or were you grieving the loss of him in your life? Did you regret those harsh words you spat at him or not? Would you take them back if you could? When the bushes rustled, was that hope in your heart or anger at the thought of him being there?

   You didn’t know, but why didn’t you know? You were supposed to hate him. He betrayed your trust. He didn’t tell you the truth. He could’ve revealed himself many times, the sooner the better. You’re not ready for a human relationship yet, you 're not ready to have human friends, or half-human friends. You weren’t ready for people. You can’t do it, you can’t trust them. 

No, not after last time. 

It would only end with you getting burned. 

No, you would erase him from your memory, even if that felt grossly wrong.

   A heavy knock at your door startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up from your cup of tea to look at the door, seeing a shadow at the bottom of it. At first you thought it was Jeongguk, so you stubbornly left it be, anxious at the thought of seeing him again. But the person knocked again. And again. And again. Reluctantly, you got up and answered the door, readying yourself to confront the werewolf. Maybe chew him out or wrap him in an embrace, but to your surprise it was a stranger, not Jeongguk. 

   He had dark brunette hair and even darker brown eyes that contrasted against his perfect, slightly tanned skin. You assumed he was older than you due to his sharp and mature features, like his shapely jaw and nose. He wore a dark blue tailcoat with a silk vest underneath that matched in color. The white shirt that peeked out was clean and pressed, hugging his chest tightly. He was dressed oddly formally, from his regency scarf to his polished shoes. He stood out. Maybe he was from a nearby kingdom? He definitely wasn’t from your village since hanboks were the style of dress there. 

His obvious wealth and status made you feel awkward in your light, pale pink skirt and blouse, and it didn’t help that the apron around your waist was dirty. You swore to do your laundry after this. 

   “Oh, um, hello?” You asked, somewhat suspicious of him. You knew that every now and then people got lost in the woods or came looking for witches, but they rarely looked... Rich. Then again, it wasn’t like your huge village witch hunt was a kingdom secret that only the middle class in your tiny little village knew about. The man’s face contorted into an eerily delighted smile that sent an icy chill down your spine. “Hello!” He chirped.

  Your brows furrowed. “H-Hello...?” You asked again, waiting for him to tell you why he was on your doorstep. You felt the soft fur of Yume grace your ankles and you calmed slightly. “Are you perhaps Y/n?” He asked, leaning forward. You leaned back, closing the door just a little bit more. “Who’s asking?” You questioned, not particularly eager to give out your name to just anyone, let alone confirm their suspicions. If he already knew your name, he most likely knew the entire twisted story the villagers liked to tell to their children to scare them from entering to forest. 

   His smile delved into a smirk for a second before he schooled his features again. “My name is Jackson, and I’m in need of a potion, one that can cure sickness,” he explained, his accent and way of speech sounded foreign and high-class. “Sickness is a broad term and there is no one potion for it. Does this sick person have scurvy? Tuberculosis? I need to know,” You pressed. You were used to people coming by for a “cure-all” potion that could cure anything, but different sicknesses require different potions. 

   The strange man, who you now knew as Jackson, coughed awkwardly, “It’s... Dysentery,” He explained, and you internally cringed, feeling the sudden urge to make a trip to the nearest river and take multiple baths. “Ah... Yes... Dysentery. A nasty disease, but I have a cure for that,” You said, watching the way his eyes slightly lit up with hope. 

   “You do? Well, that’s amazing, what must I do?” He asked. “Well... Um, it’ll take some time to complete, so come by at around sunset today and we can discuss payment.” You smiled sweetly, hoping that you appeared as professional as possible. His face scrunched at the word “payment,” for a moment, before smiling again. “Of course,” He drawled, “I’ll be sure to see you at sunset tomorrow. Good day, pretty lady.” He said as he bid you farewell. 

    The pet name made you feel gross and making that trip to the river sound 10x more appealing, but bit your tongue and waved goodbye to him kindly. Once he was far enough away, you closed the door, making sure to lock it. Meow... Yume whined in a worry tone. “I know, my anxiety is through the roof as well, and he was a bit sketchy, but I need the distraction.” You admitted, heading straight to your workroom. 

   Yume chased after you, swinging at your heels with his paws. Meow! He yelled, doing his best to grab your attention. To warn you. You ignored him like you usually did nowadays. It’s not that your bond or friendship was strained, it was still the same, but you needed something to get your mind off of... the recent incident... This was the perfect opportunity to do just that. 

   You opened the door to your workroom, scrunching your nose at the dust that covered the bookshelves filled with ingredients, your desk, and your iron cauldron. “Has it really been that long?” You thought aloud, taking your finger and swiping it through the dust on your desk. You sighed, snapping your fingers and watching with a smile as the broom in the corner started to sweep and the duster started to dust. 

Magic was really convenient sometimes.

   You giggled, letting them do their thing as you gathered your necessary ingredients. Your spell book opened and flipped to the necessary page when you passed. You smiled at it. Technically, it wasn’t alive; it was just connected to your magic like the broom and duster, but it still felt alive to you. Like company.

   “Alright, that should be everything,” you said, dropping your armful of glass bottles on your desk and filling the cauldron with water. You stepped back, flinching as you lit the wood under it with a flick of your hand. Once the water was boiling, you organized the ingredients and look towards your book for the first step. 

   You stopped suddenly when a wave of pain shot through your body. You winced, grabbing the table for support. It felt like the devil's period cramps, but all over your body. Muscles contracting and bones aching. Yume ran over, coaxing you down on the floor to give your wobbling legs a break. “It’s okay, Yume, I’m fine,” But the cat cut you off with a seething meow. 

   You don’t know what's wrong with you, but Yume does. But you 're just so fucking stubborn and he can’t communicate it properly to get you to understand that you are dying. Slowly but surely your wilting petals of life will shrivel up entirely. You needed Jeongguk, not just because Yume thought it was time for you to heal and have someone else besides him to talk to, but because you were bound to him, and Yume knew this.

Yume knew a lot of things. 

   You let out a shaky breath once the pain subsided and reached up to grip the table, using it to support you as you stood back up, groaning at your now stiff leg muscles. Yume whined, watching as you continued from where you left off, a slight limp in your stride. Yume could only watch as you worked, humming that same tune your mother used to sing to you before bed. 

And for once in his long, long life, Yume was scared. 

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since you found out that Jeongguk was a werewolf.

Two weeks.

Those two weeks were hell for Jeongguk

    Before he met you, Jeongguk was a bit off, but now he was a husk of his former self. There was no part of his body that didn’t ache and burn with silent pain that made him wake up in a cold sweat and writhe around in his bed until the sun rose. Even the feeling of the soft sheets underneath him felt like sandpaper on his clammy skin. 

   His breathing was constantly heavy. He huffed and puffed through the night, swallowing down pained howls and biting his tongue. You were constantly on his mind. Jeongguk didn’t realize just how tightly he bonded with you without even saying a single word, but he did. Your name was constantly on the tip of his tongue and your smiling face ran through his mind on repeat. 

   Jeongguk could do nothing but groan as his heart was held in a tight vice of regret and hurt. His mind was hazy, like he was being blindfolded with a strip of cheesecloth, and his ears were plugged with cotton. Over time, his toes and fingers grew numb, and the tip of his nose was constantly cold. If he knew just how awful it felt to sever a bond with a mate, he would’ve revealed himself to you sooner. 

He would’ve told you the truth sooner. 

   His hyungs could one watch idly as grief ate away at their youngest brother. They could only ease his pain with cold cloths on the forehead and force-feeding him soup. Logically, they knew he brought this upon himself, but that didn’t mean they wanted to see him die over it. Jeongguk could only take so much before his body gave in and shut down, and they were desperately trying to avoid that.

   “We have to do something, Hyung. He’s not getting any better...” Jimin had whimpered somberly one night with tears in his eyes outside Jeongguk’s room after they had just fed him some dinner. Namjoon sighed, “I know... Like I’ve been saying, the only thing I can think to do is go to her and beg her to help him,” He stressed, he’s been repeating this idea for a while now but nobody would listen to him. Just like he predicted, Jimin shook his head. 

   “Remember what Seokjin Hyung said? ‘Your hurt is their hurt’ or something. She’s probably in pain too. Besides, why would she? Jeongguk said she doesn’t trust humans and at this point, I don’t think she’d trust anything. Let alone werewolves,” Jimin pointed out. “But they’re mates, she’d come,” Namjoon rebutted, not believing that you would let Jeongguk suffer, even if he hurt you. Jimin was not as hopeful. “How would you feel if Hyejin lied to you from the beginning? That everything you thought you knew of her was a lie. Would you immediately run back?”

   Namjoon sighed and shook his head. He was tired of seeing Jeongguk in pain when there was a solution living in the same woods as them. But his brothers were stubborn, not eager to grovel at the feet of someone they barely knew and leave all their hope in the palm of a stranger's hands. No, they thought that they could fix it themselves without his mate, which was a stupid sentiment. Werewolves were prideful creatures, and it was their deadliest flaw. They were desperate to prove that they weren’t helpless in this situation and they could do something for the youngest, who was like their baby for as long as they all could remember, but they just couldn’t.

   The only way to save Jeongguk was to save his severing bond with you. No matter how hard they tried and how much they hoped, losing a part of yourself ate away at you until the end. All of his brothers were so pessimistic. Namjoon’s gut was telling him that no matter how much you should justifiably hate Jeongguk, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. 

   “Jimin just stop. We can’t help him, the only person who can, is in those woods somewhere. Swallow your pride and realize that this is bigger than us,” Namjoon pleaded through gritted teeth. Jimin frowned, his cute eyes scrunching in anger and outrage. He didn’t say anything, because he knew Namjoon was right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. None of them were ready to admit that they were useless and helpless. Not even Seokjin, who knew for sure that they absolutely had to. He just turned on his heel and walked away, the sounds of Jeongguk’s pained whimpers like a dog whistle on his ears. 

   Namjoon watched him go with worried eyes before he knocked and entered Jeongguk’s room once more, getting hit with his sorrowful scent of rotten roses that became so familiar nowadays. Jeongguk rolled over on his side to look at whoever just entered his room and slumped a bit when his eyes caught Namjoon’s. “Hey,” Namjoon greeted, coming over to sit on the edge of his bed, softly playing with his tousled hair that was saturated with sweat. 

   Jeongguk let out a low hum of acknowledgement, closing his eyes to seek any sort of relief from his pain. Namjoon’s eyes drifted to the hand-drawn pictures that his kids, along with Yoongi’s little girl, had given him to give to Jeongguk when they told the children that he was sick and that they couldn’t see him. He remembered the worried look on their small faces, and the promise of “He’ll be okay,” that he told them felt like acid on his tongue. 

Because he was slowly losing hope in his own words. 

  “I’m sorry, Guk,” He whispered to the youngest, watching as his moonlit face curled into a weak frown before he peeked one of his eyes open. “What for? It’s my fault that I’m like this. I lost her...” He sniffled, grimacing as another wave of pain shot through his body. “I just wish I could make it better,” Namjoon said, eyes tearing up. He was unable to look at Jeongguk’s dishevelled appearance anymore and opted to look at the night sky outside the window next to Jeongguk’s bed, his blackout curtains drawn open. 

The sun had gone down not that long ago...

  “But I could help, I could go get her and she would help- No, I will go get her, I promise” Then everything will be okay is what he wanted to say, but he honestly didn’t know of that was the case. “You think she’d see me again?” Jeongguk asked in a gruff voice, peering up at the elders side profile with pain-filled eyes. “I hope so...” Namjoon whispered, staring directly at the bright white moon, praying a silent prayer. 

   Jeongguk coughed, “I hope she’s okay,” He whispered, and Namjoon felt his heart crack. Of course Jeongguk is still putting you above himself, it’s Jeongguk. Jeongguk would gather an army for you... Namjoon was about to open his mouth and reply with the sad truth that you probably weren’t, that you were probably in pain too and that would be another good reason to go get you, but a scream of terror ripped through the silence of the night, cutting him off. 

   Jeongguk immediately sat up, ignoring his body's protests. “Guk, what are you-” “That’s her, that’s y/n... Something’s wrong,” Jeongguk said, cutting Namjoon off. His mind was on code red again. Y/n’s hurt, not safe, danger. The wolf that lived in Jeongguk’s mind, no matter how bloody and tattered its fur was, or how tired its bones became, it would push through it all. 

Jeongguk would push through it all.

   Before Namjoon could stop him, Jeongguk lept out of the bed with the last of the strength he had and ran out into the night with nothing but his pajamas. Passing by his other baffled hyungs who thought they’ve seen a ghost. 

“Jeongguk!”

   “Alright, I just need the rue...” you said, reaching over to grab the last ingredient off the table and plop it into the bubbling cauldron. You stirred the mixture with a large wooden stick, mesmerized by the glittery swirling liquid. It was a nice shimmery pink color that reminded you of the tip of sunset roses and it smelled like wet earth. 

   Once you were sure that all the ingredients were mixed in properly, you took an empty glass bottle from the shelf behind you and dipped it into the pot, filling up the bottle with the pink potion. You corked the bottle and checked outside the window. The sun was about to meet the horizon. Perfect timing. That Jackson man should be here soon. 

   You cleaned up your workroom until it was back to the way it looked before, making sure to be careful with the glass. Once you deemed it suitable, you grabbed the potion and walked out into the living room, sitting on the couch, resting against the wooden backing. Yume was relaxing on the other end. But once he saw you sit down, he instantly came over to check on you, making sure you were okay. You just smiled and let him do his thing. 

    Once he deemed you okay and safe, he lied down next to you. Mew... He sighed, butting his head against your arm. “I know Yume, everything seems scary nowadays,” you chuckled somberly, scratching him behind the ear. Meow? “Am I worried?” Meow. You sighed. “I’m worried about a lot of things. Myself, you... Jeongguk,” You admitted, causing Yume to whip his head around towards you. 

   M-Mrow? He choked out. “Yes. I’m worried about Jeongguk. I’m still... Upset. But I’m also worried,” You explained, fighting with the angel and demon that laid on your shoulder who were arguing with each other.

“He doesn’t deserve our attention. He lied,” 

“But there must’ve been a good reason, right?” 

“A good reason to lie? For all we know he could’ve killed us.”

“But he’s had plenty of chances, yet he didn’t. That says something, doesn’t it?”

    A sudden knock sounded at the door, startling you out of your character vs self conflict that was going on in your head. You and Yume exchanged a glance, feeling the air around the two of you shift suddenly. Meow... Yume said. “It’ll be fine... Yeah. I’m sure it’s nothing and we’re just paranoid,” you reasoned, standing up and grabbing the potion before making your way to the front door. 

   Jackson was there in the same clothes he was in this morning, with the same smile. “Hello!” He chirped, smiling even wider. “Hi...” You mumbled. He was just as oddly chipper as before. You wonder if his breakfast is laced with... Something. “Nice to see you again. Is it ready?” He asked. You nodded, “Yep, I uh, have it right here.” You lifted up the potion so Jackson could get a look at it. He watched the swirling liquid with bright eyes, his smile stretching wider. 

   “Perfect!” He exclaimed, and you waited for him to pull out something like a pouch of coins or a trade offer, but he did neither of those things. “Um, I think 5 coins will be enough.” You coughed awkwardly. But Jackson didn’t move or reach for anything. “Y/n, darling.” He drawled, “Can you make an exception just this once? Why do you need common money, anyway? I mean, it’s not like you can go back to your village and spend it,” He smirked. 

   You were taken aback. You’ve had customers who thought that your prices were too high, even if you thought they were pretty low considering you were basically selling magic in a bottle, but you’ve never had a customer passively aggressively insult you to your face. What he said wasn’t even true. You couldn’t find everything in the forest. “I-I’m sorry but one, it’s none of your business what I do with the money. Two, I don’t make exceptions. Three, please don’t call me that.” You frowned. 

“How about I make you an offer, you give it to me and I give you a good word in the village?” He asked again. 

“No,”

   And for the first time since you met him, Jackson frowned, looking less than impressed. He chuckled, but it wasn’t humourous at all. You backed up a bit, hiding the potion in your pocket, quickly becoming more and more uneasy as the air thickened. “No?” He laughed bitterly. “Dear, you must’ve been in these woods for a long, long time. Don’t you know who I am?” He seethed. You backed up even farther, but this time Jackson took a step forward.

   “Jackson Wang. Prince of Gwangju. Pleasure,” He quipped. “And I don’t really appreciate being told no,” He said with a fox-like grin. You never considered yourself meek, per se, but having Jackson tower over you with less-than innocent intentions made you feel like the bunnies you caught in your snares.

   You’ve heard his name before. Jackson Wang. He ruled the entire Gwangju kingdom, the kingdom which your village resided in. You remember your mother telling you that the capital was a whole new world, that everything was different yet the same. Their Korean was different, yet you could understand it. Their clothes weren’t the hanboks you grew up with, but they were still respectable garments. Their food was different, but you could taste the familiarity. 

But the one thing your mother warned you about was the royal family who ruled with iron fists

 Yet, you didn’t want to back down and surrender belly-up. 

   “Well, I’m sorry, your majesty, but you’ll have to pay,” you said with the scraps of confidence you haphazardly picked up and pieced together. Still, your voice shook. Jackson took a big step forward, causing you to back up until you were completely in your house again. “What a shame, really. All this time spent secluded made you forget how to talk to people like me. Sad.” He fake pouted, stalking closer. His tailcoat gave him a sharp and threatening silhouette. 

   You back up further until you were eventually back in the living room. Yume stood up from his position on the couch and quickly ran over to you, sensing that fear that was radiating off your body. He was about to ask what you were so afraid of when his eyes caught sight of the tall man. Yume immediately growled low and threatening, his fur sticking up and tail hung low. 

   Jackson scoffed, upturning a lip at the cat. He looked between the two of you, as if gauging what to do next. “Are the rumours true?” He asked suddenly. “W-What?” You breathed out, unable to take your eyes off of him in fear that he would strike. “The rumours, you know, the ones about the witch in the woods being deathly afraid of fire?” He smirked.

   You felt your body freeze at the insinuation. Your muscles locked up and your hands became clammy. You couldn’t move. Fire. The word sent a chill down your spine and bile up your throat. “Aww, poor witch,” Jackson pouted patronizingly. “You are, aren’t you?” His eyes lit up when he saw the fear embedded in your eyes. Yume suddenly hissed when Jackson took another step forward and he kicked the cat to the side in return. 

   Yume hit the floor with a painful thump, groaning out a choked meow. “Yume!” You yelled, but before you could run over to check on him, Jackson grabbed you by the arm. “Give it to me,” He demanded, resisting the way you fought against his hold. “No!” You retaliated, desperate to get the man off of you and take care of your cat. You were in fight of flight mode, and for Yume, you’d surely fight. 

   Jackson got tired of your squirming and threw you down on the ground. You also landed with a thud, feeling dull pain shoot through your body. “I really didn’t want to do this, but I need that potion,” He seethed, flicking his wrist in a awfully familiar manner. You were reminded that it was the hand motion most commonly used to summon flames once his hand erupted in angry red embers. 

   You screamed, frantically crawling away from the man who held one of your worst fears in the palm of his hand. “Poor witch,” He sneered again, taking his time to waltz over to your paralyzed figure. Meow! You heard Yume wail. Go! You shook your head, “No, I can’t! I can’t leave you...” Meow! He screeched again. 

  You reluctantly gave into Yume’s request with teary eyes. Grabbing the nearest object, which so happened to be the potion, and chucking it at Jackson. You missed, but your effort was enough to distract him for a second, allowing you to scramble to your feet and run out of your back door into the woods. “You bitch!” You heard Jackson roar, and you didn’t even need to turn around to know that he was running after you. 

   The sun had completely set by now, leaving you alone in the dark once again. You squinted your eyes, doing the best you could to navigate with what little light the amulet around your neck gave off. After last time, you decided that wearing it would be better in case there was an emergency, and you're glad you did. 

   You ran under the cover of darkness, vaguely aware of the slight illumination that came from Jackson’s hand as he chased after you. You jumped over rocks and powered through thicket, doing the best you could to weave through trees in an effort to lose him, but it wasn’t working. Jackson was still hot on your tail. 

   Tears burned their way down your cheeks, and you felt the prickling of phantom pain begin in your toes and upper arm. Another wave of pain was coming, both the new pain and the one your burn scar gave off, and at the worst possible time to. Still, you pushed on, your breath getting progressively heavier. “You can’t run forever!” Jackson called from behind you. He was closer than you thought. 

   Try as you might, you really couldn’t run forever. Eventually the dull phantom pain became full blown, and you were forced to your knees by an invisible executioner. Just as you were falling, a fireball whizzed its way over your head. You screamed, scrambling up against a tree away from the burnt grass. You choked down a sob, watching as Jackson came closer and closer with his flaming hand and frustrated expression. 

   “You’re giving me a lot of trouble over a potion,” He snapped, huffing and puffing along with you. “Magic is sacred you asshat!” You snapped back. The pain in your bones and upper arm was bringing out your aggression. Jackson snarled, sending a fireball right beside you. A warning shot. You screamed again, unable to hide your terrified sobs. 

   Jackson clicked his tongue. “We can make a deal, Y/n. I can spare your life and in return, you can make me another potion. How does that sound?” He asked, and you could tell this was his final offer. But you’d rather die than do business with a man like him. “To hell with that,” you seethed, the phantom pain in your bones slowly started to dissipate as exhaustion took its place. 

   You rested your head against the scratchy bark of the tree, watching as Jackson raised his hand, ready to fire. “Well, at least I can get the honor of killing Gwangju’s infamous witch,” He snickered. You closed your eyes, letting your tears flow as you anticipated that familiar white hot burn to resonate on your skin again. You waited to burn and melt.

  Your body, exhausted and paralyzed, gave up, unable to pull itself back together to get you out of the situation. So you accepted it. readying yourself for the end. You thought about everything you’ve done up until now, all the things you did and didn’t do and whatever lied between. 

Is Yume okay? If I die, he dies, so I guess it doesn’t matter. What will we be reincarnated as next? I’d like to be a dragon.

How will it take until people realize that I’m gone? That the witch is no more?

Jeongguk... What about Jeongguk? 

...I’m going to die.

   You waited, and waited, and waited for the fire to meet your skin... but it never came. What came instead was the gargling sound of Jackson screaming in pain and the familiar grunts and growls of a wolf. A very familiar wolf. You shot your eyes open, catching sight of a gigantic chestnut wolf whose jaw was embedded in Jackson’s neck. 

    You could only watch as the angry yellow eyes of the wolf glistened in the low burning embers of the fire. Blood flowed out of Jackson’s neck like a freshwater stream, dripping down his expensive tailcoat, staining the forest floor red. His face twisted into a look of pain, and you could see the life slowly drain from his deep russet eyes. That’s the last thing you saw before Jackson’s fire completely dissipated, leaving you in the small green glow of your amulet.

   Darkness quickly surrounded you in a suffocating hug, delicately covering your eyes and smoothing over your figure, like a mother protecting her child. You were left with nothing except the sweet embrace of the dark and your small green glow. You could only shake like a winter’s leaf as you listened to the piercing sounds of Jackson’s screams and the low roar of the wolf. Of Jeongguk. Before the screams stopped and familiar sickening pops and cracks filled the air in their place. 

   Soon, the noises ceased, all of them, and the silence was more deafening that the wails. You could hear ringing in your ears, like the loud church bells of the nearby village were playing their beckoning song in your skull. The synchronized pounding of warriors that beat against your head was stomach churning. The world seemed to stop turning. As if Kronos decided he needed to step away from his duties and freeze the world in its place. 

Everything was still.

“Y-Y/n?” a rough voice whispered. 

   Jeongguk’s sunken in face drew closer into your meek light, a look of worry and fear painted on his tired and somewhat bloody features. His mouth was covered in blood, but you didn’t care. All you could do was smile weakly. You couldn’t find your voice, like it was snatched from your throat and thrown into the bleak woods. You croaked out a hum instead. “Oh, Y/n...” Jeongguk sniffled, reaching out to gently cup your face in his hand. You expected yourself to flinch, but you didn’t. You couldn’t move. 

   Unconscious tears continued to run down your face, but you couldn’t even find the energy to care. You were tired. Your body hurt, your mind hurt, your heart hurt. Everything was fuzzy, and the only guidance you had was the warmth of Jeongguk’s hand. You unknowingly leaned further into his touch, slowly letting your consciousness slip. You finally felt safe enough to let your eyes close and succumb to the rough grip of exhaustion that desperately yanked at your mind. Finally.

“Nonono. Hey- Don’t fall asleep. Y/n you can’t fall asleep,” Jeongguk pleaded, and even if you wanted to listen, you couldn’t.

The last thing you remember was ripping your arm out of the invisible shackles that held your body down in order to put your hand over Jeongguk’s. 

“It’s okay...”

  When you woke up, it was just as quiet as before, but this time your ears could properly process the silence. You were laying under a plush, warm fur blanket, and a soft mattress gently cradled your body. Your head laid on a pillow, slightly inclined so you weren’t completely flat, but not fully sitting up either. It was comfortable, warm, safe. 

Wait, where are you?

   You shot up, wincing at the strained muscles that complained at the sudden movement. Your legs felt like hell, and you could tell your eyes were awfully puffy. Your muscles whined, begging you to lie back down, but your spine argued with them. It quite enjoyed the stretch. The different parts of your body fought with each other, some crying in agony and some relieved to be in motion again after becoming so stiff. 

   Something suddenly shifted slightly beside you, and you whipped your head around to see a sleeping Jeongguk, whose head was rested on the edge of the bed. Your eyes widened a bit. He looked better than he did the last time you saw him, less sickly looking. His face was still somewhat sunken in, and he was covered in tiny scratches. Why is he here?

   You moved your eyes off of him to take a look at your surroundings. They were completely unfamiliar. The bedroom was bigger than your living room back home. The floor was a dark spruce color, while the walls were made of nice, polished oak logs. The ceiling was quite high, and it ended in a point, more oak logs being used as rafters. The house was most likely a large cabin style mansion, if this one bedroom was enough to go off of. 

   It was awfully homey. All the furniture looked handmade and the bearskin rugs and blankets looked hand-skinned as well. From where you sat, you could see little carvings in the wood that looked like they were done by children. There were also different medical supplies and clothing strewn about. 

   Looking down at yourself, you realized you were only dressed in your chemise and drawers, but you didn’t mind. They were modest enough. You could tell someone had bandaged up wounds that you were unaware that you had. Bandages wrapped around your knees, ankles, elbows, and waist and little patches of red peaked through the pristine white. There was also a bandage around your burn scar, but it was completely clean. It was like someone knew your scar was sensitive. 

You looked over at Jeongguk again. A small, grateful smile tugged on your lips. 

   A door to your left suddenly creaked open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man who held a tray of food and basic first aid supplies. He gently closed the door, keeping as quiet as possible, but once he looked up and caught your eyes, he almost dropped the tray. 

   His eyes were a similar brown to Jeongguk’s, but when the light bounced off of them correctly, it sparkled with a deep ocean blue. He stood like a deer in headlights. Looking at you like you were a ghost. You slowly scooted away towards the opposite end of the bed, getting more unnerved by his presence as the seconds ticked by. 

   The man noticed this and slowly set the tray down on a nearby table, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Seokjin. I’m Jeongguk’s older brother,” He explained, flashing you a reassuring smile. You said nothing, opting to nod your head in acknowledgement. The man, Seokjin, took your silence as an invitation to continue explaining the situation you were in. 

   “You, um... Jeongguk came home last night, and you were passed out. I took you up here and bandaged your wounds. You’re at our pack house.” He said, and you nodded again after a beat of silence. Seokjin left out the less than pretty details of the night. The blood, the tears, the frustration. The fear in his youngest brother’s eyes. But you were awake, so it was all okay. For him, at least. 

  Seokjin cleared his throat. “May I have a look at your bandages? I brought soup as well, it’s chicken noodle.” He asked. You hesitated. For all you knew, his whole explanation could’ve been a lie. A ruse. He could be like Jackson, using his charms to get on your good side and- “It’s okay to say no. You don’t look to be having an emergency, so I can leave you alone for now. Unless you have any questions,” Seokjin reassured. 

   You looked at him incredulously, eyeing him up and down, He looked tired. Dark circles lined under his eyes, and his posture was slouched. Despite that, he was quite handsome. His dark brown hair was styled into a mullet and he wore a silk white hanbok. He had plump lips, a kind smile, and overall soft features. He looked completely harmless. 

But you weren’t ready, not yet. 

   Suddenly, a familiar feeling of dread dawned on you, and it was like you were thrown back into the rainy woods. You jumped, “Y-Yume! W-Where’s my cat? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay,” You begged, and you could feel your hands start to shake. If you didn’t cry your tear ducts dry last night, you’re sure you’d be tearing up by now. But everything in your body was exhausted.

   Seokjin motioned his hands for you to calm down, letting out a string of soft ‘Hey’s’. “It’s okay. There um, there is a cat downstairs. A black one. He appeared not long after Jeongguk brought you here. Guk said he was yours, don’t worry,” He spoke softly. You laid your face in your hands, taking in a few calming deep breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

“Do you want me to go get him?”

You looked at him and shyly nodded.

   Seokjin quickly scurried out of the room and rushed down the stairs. You could hear the voices of other people, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. You shakily laid back down in the bed, your body was tired of holding itself up, it was time to give it a break. Your eyes felt heavy again, but you were determined to keep them open until your partner in crime was safe in your arms again. . 

Groan....

   Jeongguk stirred besides you once more, but this time his eyes peeked open. You turned to look at him, watching as he was slowly roused out of a deep sleep. His tired brown eyes shot open after catching your own, flashing a golden yellow before they returned to their original color. You expected him to react like Seokjin had and stare at you paralyzed, but instead he carefully raised his hand to cup your face, looking at you like an enigma, like you were a specter.

   You let him. He looked at you with eyes full of regret, sorrow, and surprise. Tears quickly welled up in his eyes, and they eventually overflowed, traveling down his tired face like brackish waterfalls. His face scrunched up as he tried to hold back his tears, but it didn’t work. “I’m sorry,” He croaked out, hanging his head in shame. “I’m so sorry,” He sobbed again. 

   You put your hand on top of his again like you did last night, taking a look into his deep brown eyes that were blurred with tears. “You’re okay right? This isn’t a dream?” He sniffled. You nodded. “I’m okay, this isn’t a dream.”

   You let him cry for a few minutes, softly reassuring him with gentle touches and soothing whispers before you shook him, grabbing his attention so he’d look up at you again. “What are you sorry for, Jeongguk?” You asked. You needed to know if he was truly sorry or just felt like he had to say sorry. “Everything... I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I hurt you... And I’m sorry. Please... Please don’t hate me,” He sniffled, reaching out with his other hand. You took it in your own, and the two of you sat in silence for a second. 

   You sighed. “I should hate you. I should be turning away and asking Seokjin to drag you out of the room,” You said. Jeongguk physically recoiled at your words and looked away, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “But I can’t,” You continued. “I can’t hate you. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that you don’t deserve a second chance and that I should forget about everything. Something tells me otherwise. Whether that be the wind whispering your name in my ear or your figure in my dreams. I just... Can’t.” 

   Jeongguk didn’t look back up at you, but slowly rested his head in your lap, slightly hovering in case you rejected him. Once he realized you weren’t, he sunk down comfortably. “You’ll have to make it up to me, though,” you whispered to him. Jeongguk nodded, taking your hand and placing it on top of his head, a silent plea for you to play with his hair. 

You complied. 

   Not long after, the door creaked open again and a blinding flash of black ran into the room, jumping up on the bed and tackling you into the mattress. Meow! Yume screamed, nuzzling his face into your own. “Hi bub,” you smiled, your voice still sounding awfully dry. You raised your unoccupied hand to pet the shaking cat, who let out multiple mews and cries. 

  Seokjin stepped into the room again, watching the scene before him with a sad smile. Yume sat on your chest, Jeongguk nuzzling into your lap. Under any other circumstance, Seokjin would’ve been lovingly teasing Jeongguk about his show of affection for his mate, and how they looked like a family, but Seokjin knew that this was the one of the circumstances where he couldn’t. He could tell there was still some tension between the two of you. 

   Once Yume settled down, he made himself comfortable by laying on top of you, but not before he turned to Jeongguk and gave him a whack with his paw. It wasn’t meant to hurt him, he just wanted to let the werewolf know he was also annoyed with him. It startled Jeongguk awake from his half-sleep state, and he grumbled, closing his eyes and snuggling into the blanket on your lap, chasing the sweet embrace of sleep. 

   Seokjin rolled his eyes at his youngest brother's actions before he turned to you, giving you that same sweet smile. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’m sure you need it. We can talk more in the morning,” He said. He turned away and reached for the door, but stopped when you called out to him. “S-Seokjin?” You called. He turned around with a raised brow, waiting for you to continue. 

“Thank you...”

“My pleasure.” He smiled. 

So here you are,

    Sat on the bed with Yume next to you, facing three men who sat on chairs at the foot of the bed. Seokjin, Jeongguk, and a man named Namjoon. Namjoon had pretty blonde hair and honey tan skin that was slightly darker that Jeongguk’s. He wore a hanbok that reminded you of the one your dad would wear. A pretty mocha color with embroidered sleeves. You remember wearing them when you were little, but when you got run out of the village, you had to make your own clothes. 

Granted, skirts caught on things all the time. But you tried to make pants once, and it was a complete flop. 

   Seokjin cleared his throat. “So um... We’re here to talk to you about... Something...” He smiled awkwardly. “And you have to promise to hear us out,” You hummed, waiting for someone to continue and tell you what was going on. Seokjin was about to speak again before Namjoon interrupted him. “Have you been experiencing pain? Like agonizing pain? And recently?” He asked, ignoring the pout Seokjin shot at him. 

   You nodded with a raised brow. How did he know that? Why would he know that? Did they have something to do with it? The pain was worse than the phantom pain you got when thinking about your scar... They didn’t look like witches... Can they have done it? “How recent?” He inquired. “About... two weeks ago,�� you answered. All three of them made a face before Jeongguk looked away, ashamed. “What..?” you cautioned. The feeling of worry in your chest grew, taking place of your heart. All this emotional turmoil is taking a strain on you. 

   “What do you know about werewolves?” Seokjin asked, ignoring your previous question. You shrugged. “Not much. I know werewolves exist, they live in packs, they don’t interact much with others outside the pack, and they can turn into gigantic wolves,” You listed off, counting what you knew on your fingers. “Hold on,” Namjoon interrupted, raising a finger in objection. “If you knew werewolves could turn into gigantic wolves, why didn’t you suspect Jeongguk of being one?” 

   You sighed. “The amount of people who meet werewolves is slim. Like, 2% of the population. Who ever thinks that they’re in the little group? The 2%? I may be a witch, but I don’t encounter many magical beings.” You asked in retaliation. Namjoon let out a little ‘oh’ as he put his finger down and slumped in his chair.

   “Anyway,” Seokjin interrupted, shooting a sharp look at Namjoon. “While all those things are true, there are some other things about us. Like, for example, we have soulmates,” Seokjin said somewhat cautiously. This time it was your turn to let out a small, curious, ‘oh!’ “Yes, it’s quite the fairytale situation. But there is also a um... Downside to having mates.” Seokjin sighed. You cocked your head, downsides? Downsides to having love that lasts a lifetime? 

  “Mates are bound to each other by soul since the first time they develop a bond. Whether that be a friendship or whatever. However, if that bond is strained in any way, it’s awfully painful and can lead to... Death,” Namjoon explained for Seokjin, who both side-eyed Jeongguk for a second. “Do you see what we’re saying...?” Seokjin inquired. You shook your head slowly. “No... I mean, I don’t think so...” All three of them sighed. 

    Yume suddenly stood up with a ticked expression on his furry face and whacked your arm, causing you to look down at the familiar with an angry expression. “Hey!” You whined, but Yume ignored you. He scampered across the bed and jumped into Jeongguk’s lap, looking the werewolf directly in the eyes. Meow. He said. The three men looked at each other, confused, eyeing the cat incredulously. “Mate?” You echoed Yume, who turned to look at you with unimpressed eyes. Meow. Yours.

   You looked up at Jeongguk. He looked back at you with eyes that were as confused as they were tired, while Yume continued to completely baffle the other two men with his sentience. “We’re... We’re mates? Like soulmates?” You asked him, and his eyes lit up before he nodded shyly. You took a deep breath, leaning further back into the pillows you were propped up against and allowing yourself to sink in the information. 

“Mates are bound to each other by soul since the first time they develop a bond. Whether that be a friendship or whatever.”

“Wolfie! You came back!”

“Guk! Stop messing with my daisies!”

“However, if that bond is strained in any way, it’s awfully painful and can lead to... Death,”

“Yume, it’s okay, it only hurts a little bit.”

“Yume, I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with pain before, don’t look so sad... Please?”

    You were tired. You thought once you established your life in the forest, nothing interesting would happen to you ever again. No more people, no more betrayal. You would quietly live and then die with nobody but your cat beside you and move onto the next, hopefully better, life. And you were okay with that.

   Sure, you were lonely some- a lot- of the time. Yes, you caught yourself reading fairytales where the prince would come and sweep their lover off their feet and take them to a faraway dreamland without the cold and dark. You would often pretend that there was someone out there who the universe made for you, and that they would find you one day. But it was always just a pipe dream. Something to get you through the days.

   You love Yume, yes, but Yume couldn’t possibly be your everything, and now that your finding out your little pipe dream was actually true and the universe- or whatever magical higher being- made you soulmates with a werewolf who happened to live in the same forest you ran away to... It all seemed so unreal, yet perfect. Your soul was missing a piece, and you didn’t even know it. Was all that yearning and longing a sign? Were you meant to know about this so you could dedicate your life to searching for your other half?

   There was one side of your brain that was on overdrive, screaming red alert and begging you to retreat back to your home, where it's warm and safe, away from the scary reality that is people and interacting with them. It yelled at you that you would be fine if this is how it ended, because at least it was nice and easy being in your little comfort zone. You didn’t need people; you didn’t need a soulmate, everything was fine until he came around. 

But the other part felt like it had just healed its broken wings and flew for the first time in years.

   That side of your brain whispered praises and words of encouragement over the screaming and shouting of its counterpart. “It’s going to be okay, it’s a bit sudden. But we’ll be alright, won’t we? I know it’s scary; I know the thought of relationships is daunting and downright terrifying at some points, but you have to heal, and this is your chance to do it right now.”

“Just sit and heal, no need to rush.”

   Seokjin cleared his throat, breaking you out of your stupour and bringing you back into the real world where a nervous Namjoon, worried Seokjin, and terrified Jeongguk sat, all silently waiting for you to say something else. “That was... That’s what the pain was all about?” was the first question to come out of your mouth. Seokjin nodded, “Yes. But don’t worry, it’ll go away you just have to... Spend some time with Guk,” He explained. 

   You looked at the werewolf in question. He was shaking like a leaf, ready to fall from a tree in the winter. He shied away from all eyes in the room, opting to just twiddle around with his fingers and pretend that he wasn’t about to collapse on the floor like his body so desperately wanted to do. 

   “We’ll um, give you some privacy,” Namjoon said, standing up along with Seokjin and quickly scurrying out the room without saying anything else. It was just you and Jeongguk. “Jeongguk,” You called, grabbing his attention. He slowly and cautiously looked up at you through his brunette bangs that rested softly against his face, obscuring the rest of his features. “Yes...?” He asked hesitantly. 

   “Come here,” You said, patting the space on the bed next to you where Yume was previously. You looked around the room for a second. He wasn’t there anymore... Maybe he went out with Seokjin and Namjoon. You shrugged, that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the scared werewolf man who was sitting next to you, as stiff as a board while he held his hands to his chest so he wouldn’t put them somewhere you didn’t like. 

   You sighed and rested your head on his stiff shoulder, causing him to flinch for a second before his body unwillingly relaxed a bit. “Soulmates, huh?” You said, looking out the open window to the dewy yard where you saw a couple of children playing. “Yeah, soulmates,” Jeongguk coughed, playing with his fingers again. You placed your hands on top of his, getting him to stop and look at you for once in the past 20 minutes. 

   You shot him a reassuring smile. “We can make this work. I... want to make this work.” You said and Jeongguk’s eyes lit up with hope as he gripped your hands tighter. “You do?” He asked with a shaky voice, as if you would tell him your words were a joke. “Yes. Jeongguk, I feel things for you that even I can’t explain, things that are beyond magic. No matter how hurt I was, I still wanted you,” You admitted, looking down at your interlocked hands with a warm heart.

   But you frowned. “I’ll admit, these feelings may be euphoric, but they’re also scary... It dangerous how much I feel for you when I barely even know you. So please grant me this wish, that we’ll take things slow and steady. That we won’t rush into this head first like bloodthirsty bulls,” You pleaded, looking up into his deep russet eyes that shone golden in the afternoon sun that pierced through the curtains. 

   Jeongguk’s face adopted a determined expression, one that you’ve never seen on him before. The way his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed made a smile tick at the corner of your lips. “I promise, we can take it as slow as you want. I would wait years for you Y/n.” He said, boring his eyes into your own. They were filled with passion and loyalty, something you saw in the wolf you used to take naps under the sun with. They spoke words that his lips couldn’t utter, that his throat couldn’t produce, trapping you in silent conversation.

“I’d wait for you through lifetimes, my love. No matter if it’s 6 years or 600, I’d wait for you through it all.”

“Through it all?”

“Yes. Through the pain, through the memories, through the laughs. I’ll be there to cheer you on, and I’ll lick your wounds when you fall.”

“Jeongguk, those are big promises to make.”

“But I mean every word, and I know I won’t regret them.”

“It’s hard to lay out my battered heart. It’s scary.”

“I know. You have scars, Y/n, both on your heart and on your skin. The one on your arm may be healed, but the one on your heart isn’t. Please, let me lick your wounds. Let me make it all better, let me show you love doesn’t have to be scary.”

“Just... be gentle,”

“I’ll always be gentle with you, love.” 

  The sun peeked its rays through the canopy of trees that covered the sky of the lush forest you lived in. Green leaves blowing in the light morning wind while the local songbirds started to wake up and serenade the rest of the fauna. Their repetitive song now an alarm clock, reminding you that it was time to start the day. The sun wrapped the forest in a blanket of warmth, like the embrace of a new mother. The perfect day for sitting outside and reading a book.

But you didn’t want to get out of bed. 

Not quite yet.

   “You’re insufferable,” You said, pinching Guk’s arms as he wrestled you in the bed, kicking up the sheets as he tried to grab and tickle you. “Mmm I know~” He smiled, rolling you over as he straddled your waist, placing both of his hands beside your head. He leaned down to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck, placing tiny chaste kisses over your skin as you tried to hold back the giggles that bubbled up in your throat from his tousled hair that was ticking your face. 

   Jeongguk looked like an angel wrapped in the white sheets of your bed. His tan, shirtless torso contrasted beautifully, drawing your attention to him and only him. You ran your hand down his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him down so he rested comfortably on top of you. He complied easily, happy to cuddle you, skin on skin. 

   Guk gave you another kiss on your cheek before he spoke up in a deep, sleepy voice. “What do you want to do today?” He asked. You shrugged, “I don’t know,” Guk snickered, slightly leaning up, so he was resting on his forearm on the bed. “You don’t know? Today's our 2 year anniversary, lovely. We have to do something,” He said. 

    “Maybe you can take me to that flower field Tae was gushing about? The one that he took Jimin to on their anniversary.” You suggested, mindlessly playing with the blanket that you were wrapped in. “Sounds like a plan. We could take back bouquets for the pack.” He smiled. “They miss you, ya know. They may not be your mates, but they connected with you when you were staying with us.”

“I know, I miss them too.”

    “Well, look at you getting up and walking around!” Seokjin said as you descended the bifurcated stairs that Jeongguk’s pack, which was referred to as Bangtan, had in their house. You looked up at him and smiled, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you down the rest of the stairs. “I’m getting better,” You boasted proudly to the taller man, who treated you like a mother would treat a child. 

   Suddenly you heard the patter of tiny feet running over to where you stood and soon a tiny body plastered themselves to your legs. You wobbled slightly, but Seokjin was quick to catch you and stabilize you before you fell. “Yumi be careful! We don’t just grab people,” Seokjin chided the young girl, but you were quick to step in. “It’s fine, Jin. I’m always happy to see Yumi,” 

   Yumi looked up at you with big eyes. You could see her father in her. She got Yoongi’s eyes and pretty skin; she was also quiet like her father and would rather show than tell. “Hello little Yumi,” You waved. She nodded her head back as a hello before she took your hand and gently guided you towards the living room. You followed without complaint as Seokjin watched with a smile. 

   She led you over to the couch and sat you down next to a sleeping Yoongi, who you weren’t worried about waking since he slept like a rock. She held her hand out in a “wait here” motion before she padded off into another room and emerged with Yume in her arms. Except Yume wasn’t how you left him before.

   Yume was dressing in a pink fairy costume, an unimpressed look on his face. You held back your laughter as she carried the cat over to you and placed him down in front of you, waiting for your reaction. “Wow! Yume you look so magical. Did you make this Yumi?” You asked, ignoring the melting stare your cat was shooting at you. Yumi shook her head and pointed at the hallway. You turned your head to see a proud Hoseok, Jimin, and Seokjin’s son, Yejun, standing there. You thought they must be the ones responsible. 

Especially since they were dressed in costumes as well. 

“Ah, you all look amazing. I’m guessing you want me to join?” 

Yumi nodded yes. 

   You remember thinking that the rest of the pack were scary, formidable foes that would attack you when you slept the first couple of days you stayed at the pack house, but over the months once you actually got to meet the pack entirely, you realised that they wouldn’t hurt anybody unless they had to, and let’s be honest, you are not much of a threat. 

   “You should come visit soon, or, ya know, just move in,” Guk teased, and you pinched his arm again. “I would, but all my equipment is here. All my “magic witchy stuff” as you like to call it, and there isn’t a spare room in the pack house for it, you know this,” You sighed, sinking deeper into the sheets. Guk noticed your change in mood immediately and dropped the topic altogether, knowing that the topic often made you sad. 

But he made a mental note to talk to Seokjin about expanding the house.

   Guk pulled you closer to him and gently rubbed the nape of your neck, looking down at you with a soothing smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” He said, and he kissed the top of your head. You rested your head in his chest as he moved his hand down towards your thigh, lifting up your leg so it was over his waist and you were wrapped around him further. “Remember the first time we snuggled? Two years ago you would’ve killed me for even kissing your pretty face.” He chuckled. 

   You rolled your eyes. “I would not have. Jinnie would’ve killed you because I would have told on you.” You snickered. Guk’s chest bounced as he laughed along with you. “You’re right, but now I get to hold you all the time,” He hummed, giving your thigh a squeeze and pulling you closer even though you were as close as you could possibly be. 

Crickets

That’s all that could be heard in the deafening silence of the night. Crickets.

  You laid down on the bed with your back to the man who rested next to you, trying your best to lull yourself to sleep, but nothing was working. Counting sheep, making up stories, thinking of something boring, nothing was working.

   Four months, that’s how long you’ve been here at the Bangtan pack house, four months. When you first found out that you would be having to stay here for a bit, you thought it would be a week or two. Not four months.

  The pain that was caused by the severed link didn’t go away immediately, and it definitely didn’t help your recovery. You strained multiple muscles in your legs and lower back and even had a few hairline fractures on your feet and ankles. You would be healing fine, but there was still a strain on your body, and it got worse the longer you were away from Jeongguk.

Needless to say, the two of you were spending a lot of time together.

  “Are you awake?” Jeongguk was the first one to break the silence. You let a second pass before you hummed in acknowledgement. “Ah... Me too,” He said. It was awkward. Very awkward. Another beat of silence passed before he spoke up again. “I can’t sleep,” He whispered. “I can’t sleep either,” You responded. You heard Jeongguk shift and turn, and you were sure he was now looking at you.

  He coughed. “I um, I heard that snuggling could be... Soothing,” He said. This time it was your turn to shift around to you were looking the werewolf in the eye. “Oh really?” You said. He grinned back. “Yes, maybe we should try it,” He suggested, but quickly back tracked once he realized what he said. “I-I mean if you want to. You don’t have to, you can just ignore me.”

  You debated it in your tired mind for a second before you scooted closer and wrapped yourself around Jeongguk’s arm. You heard his breath stutter as he stiffened, but slowly calmed down after a minute and laid his head on top of yours. He smelt like petrichor. “This is nice,” You commented, nuzzling your face into his bicep.

“Yeah... This is nice,”

    Guk rubbed your back with his hand gently. “You’ve come a long way. I’m proud, you know. I’m proud of how much you’ve healed,” Guk whispered to you. “Mm, I’m proud of me too,” You snickered, and Guk pinched your thigh. You yelped, jolting your leg and accidentally hitting his lower back. Guk let out an ‘oomph’ sound before you looked up with a flat expression and deadpanned, “What goes around comes around,” 

   Guk gasped in mock offense, but a smile quickly overtook his features. “You’re so mean,” He giggled, and you laughed along with him before someone interrupted your giggle fest. Meow! Yume yelled from his cat tower in the corner, yawning and stretching. Your ruckus must’ve woken him up. “Sorry Yume!” You called, snuggling back into the bed. “What did he say?” Guk asked. “Yume is just being a grump.”

  Funny enough, Guk only figured out that you could actually understand Yume a month ago. He admitted that he thought you just knew his mannerisms well and was able to accurately guess what he was saying. But no, once he found out Yume could sort of “talk” he asks for a translation all the time.

Meow!

   The two of you chuckled at Yume’s annoyed tone, finally settling down enough to enjoy the lazy early morning sunshine that shone through the windows. Guk sighed dreamily. “How’d I get so lucky to have you as a mate?” Guk whispered into the crown of your head, mindlessly rubbing his hand over your thigh. “I could say the same for you,” You whispered back, placing a kiss on his chest. 

   “I really meant it when I said I was proud of you. I know I say it a lot, but really, you’ve really come a long way. I look back at those days where I could’ve sworn you hated me and they contrast so harshly compared to our days of sleepy mornings and afternoon fun,” He said, and you pulled back slightly to look up at his now golden yellow eyes. You face softened, and you lifted one of your hands to gently cup his face. “I had some help, someone to lick my wounds. Someone to show me that trusting and loving doesn’t have to be scary.” You smiled, leaning up to place a kiss on Guk’s waiting lips. 

It was still as magical as the first time. 

    “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Namjoon hyung takes pride in his garden, it’s like walking into another world,” Guk said as he guided you through the pack garden that was complete with different types of flowers in all different shades. Hedge bushes lined the boarders while peonies lines the paths you were walking. Moonlight shone through the overhanging branches of the forest’s trees, lighting your way. 

   You looked down at your hand that was intertwined with Guk’s as he walked in front of you. You never expected to get this far. When Guk promised to help you, that he’d wait for you until you were ready, you wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that his words weren’t empty, but at the time, you thought that it would take a week, and then you’d be alone again. You were sure that he would’ve gotten tired of you by now.

But he didn’t.

   No matter how many times you shut yourself off or bottled up your insecurities until they overflowed in the form of tears. He did as he promised. He stayed. You used to think it was strictly because of the pain, because even if he tried to hide it, he would get frustrated with you. His face would scrunch up and his voice had a slight edge. But you soon realized that the pain didn’t matter. 

   After five months it was gone. He just wanted to show you that he’d never leave you for some stupid little things like absurd accusations or arguments. That hateful, empty words couldn’t compare to his love for you. Those things didn’t matter, because in the end you’d apologize with eyes full of regret and he knew that you were trying your hardest to be better. 

He could see the progress.

    It took you a month to allow Guk to hold your hand, something he absolutely rejoiced over in private and you did too because, well, it was all you. Guk never pushed you past your comfort zone, he’d always let you decide when you wanted to initiate affection. After several months, you initiated to first hug, cuddle sesion, etc. The only thing left was the first kiss. 

   “Here we are!” Guk announced as the two of you arrived at a torch lit gazebo that overlooked a small pond full of lily pads and lotuses. The gazebo had a small table that had a tea set resting on top of it, and cushions scattered about. Guk helped you up the stairs, still worried about your injured legs even if they were mostly fine by now, and sat the two of you down at the table. He reached behind him to grab a blanket and wrapped you in it, making sure it was nice and secure before he looked at your face, a look of anticipation on his own. 

   “Well, what do you think?” He asked, a blinding, bunny-toothed smile on his face. “It’s lovely,” You said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What’s the special occasion?” You wondered. Guk shrugged. “Does there need to be one? I just wanted to do something nice for you.” He chuckled, reaching out to pour the two of you a cup of tea. 

   You took the cup from him once he offered and took a sip, letting out a hum at the delicious bitter taste of the black tea. “Thank you... I really do like it. The garden is beautiful,” You said, leaning your head to rest it on Guk’s shoulder. The action was a normal one now, so unlike the first few times, Guk didn’t flinch. He just savored the moment like any other time. “Not as beautiful as you,” He said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. 

   You playfully rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable,” You chuckled, looking up at his cute bunny smile. “I know,” He whispered, a look of fondness in his eyes as he looked down at you. “Yet here you are,” You knew you felt things for Guk, that wasn’t even a question, but you never focused on them because every one around you was more concerned about your physical and mental health. 

    But recently, you were allowing yourself to reflect upon them and ask yourself “Are you ready?” Are you ready to officially seal this deal and say “I’m ready to commit to the relationship”? Are you ready to love and allow yourself to be loved? 

   Sure, the two of you have been in this limbo of being in a relationship and just testing the waters. Hand holding and cuddles were you dipping your toes and swimming in the shallow end of the pool. But the two of you never did anything beyond that. No kisses, no exploring touches, no vocal declarations of love. It was all light and innocent. But are you ready to swim into the deep end?

   He said that he’d wait lifetimes for you. Through life and death he’d be by your side, ready to help in any way possible. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Jin?” He would whisper to you when you ached through the night. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I know you didn’t mean it.” He’d reassure you whenever you came crying to him after a fight. “I don’t expect you to wake up one day and be 100%, it’s okay to take your time, my love. Healing takes time,” He’d say. 

Before you didn’t quite have the answer, but now looking at Guk’s pretty brown eyes and plump lips under the light of the moon, your heart made a decision before your brain could, and you leaned in. 

    Guk tasted like rushing freshwater rivers and violet tea, and you were dying of thirst. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like the two of you could live thousands of years and still have love to spare. Your lips danced in a smooth, blues rhythm, twirling around and holding each other close. They never truly parted, even when you needed to pull away to breathe, Guk would chase the warmth of your lips like a man stranded in the cold. 

   “I love you,” He whispered against your lips, pecking them over and over again, making sure every nook had a share of his love. You smiled, leaning in to connect your lips in another deep kiss. Kissing Guk felt like sinking into a hot spring. Warmth and a sense of safety engulfed your entire being whilst silent promises of undying loyalty were painted against your lips. Your heart melted like snow at the first signs of spring as your body felt light, like you were suspended in the air. 

    You sighed in delight as Guk ran his hand over your thigh, lightly drawing patterns over your skin as he hiked his hand higher until he was cupping your face and parting your lips far enough so he could properly look down at your love drunk state. “You’re so beautiful,” He gushed, and you quietly chuckled. “And you’re handsome,” You said back. 

“You mean I’m a pretty wolf?”

“Yeah, you’re the prettiest wolf,”

Meow!

Tags: @ggukkieland @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @daydreambrliever @nch327 @drumsofheaven @ladyartemesia @kimmieloveswho @novusluna @lepau123 @fullmindlady @tainted-alice @makepastanotwar13 @bunnyca @sunnyysunwoo @wooya1224 @jenna-posts @lovra974 @purelyecstacy​ @myloveisafeverlongingstill 

© KiiroKero

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

Tranquille Moments In Chaos (1)

The start of several moments that fill in the gaps of developing a friendship, then relationship, with Hancock.

Hancock x reader/sole.

Find it on ao3 as well!

(1853 words)

“Come with me.”

You had begun to question your sanity before the words fully escaped your lips. You leaned against the wall of the State House in Hancock’s disorganized bedroom, attempting your best not to look like a complete mess inside.

You saw how his blackened, clouded eyes looked you up and down. It was casual, and it reminded you of how the “cool kids” - you deemed them - would look through your flimsy persona back in high school. His dry and malformed lips stretched into a grin, and you could see amusement play across his face.

Hancock let out a short, breathy chuckle, before reaching into his back pocket of his trousers for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. “So lemme get this straight,” he started as if you were merely having a casual conversation. He pulled out his lighter from his other pocket, leaving you hanging off his words, until he lit up the cigarette and took the first drag.

“This is your… what, second week? Roamin’ around the Commonwealth like a stray dog?” That amused look slowly turned into a scrutinizing smirk. “Fahrenheit told me all about how you turned on Bobby. Can’t even hold a gun without the recoil throwin’ your arms all over - and you wanna run with me?”

The heat of embarrassment crept up to your face. True, you still weren’t terribly handy with a gun, despite your ex-spouse having military experience, but you made plenty sure they kept that sort of violence outside the house, what with the arrival of your newborn. Oh, how you would come to regret that rule.

But if there was one thing you were good at, that you honed over your college years, was how to fake confidence. You steeled yourself and pushed off the wall, standing your not-so-tall stance against Hancock. Sure, your cheeks were still very red, but you fronted a coy smile and a raised brow.

“I dunno, Hancock. You said it yourself - you’re soft. I may have been out here for a few weeks, but you’ve been lounging around longer than I’ve been surviving. Are you sure you can run with me?”

You stared into his dark eyes, appearing so sure of yourself. You began to falter inside, however, when his playfully degrading look turned to one that was serious. He took another painfully slow drag, starring you down all the while, then blew a puff of smoke into your face. You suppressed your cough, but the tears from the stinging smoke escaped.

Hancock chuckled darkly. “I can admire a babe willing to stand up to the man. Alright, hot stuff. I’ll tag along and maybe give you a few pointers.” He winked at you then, deciding he was done with his half-burnt cigarette, tossed it down and squished it out with the heel of his boot.

“First I gotta address the people; give ‘em a big mayoral speech. Don’t wait up.” He pressed the tip of his tricorn hat down, as a way to physically show he was switching over to his “business side”, and disappeared through the white door next to the wall you had leaned next to.

You released a sigh. There was no way you could keep up that air of confidence for long, especially around the man who radiates pure confidence. Pair that up with his natural ability to remain cool and keep it all from going to his head, and you looked like a nervous teenager on the first day of work next to him.

You heard the guards that stood outside the door to his bedroom snicker. You didn’t blame them. There was one thing that made you feel a little better about devolving into a mental puddle around Hancock. Irma had told you all about how he used to be a major hit with the ladies, and sometimes the gentlemen, and it wasn’t unusual when a person or two would fall at his feet. Of course, this was all before he turned into a ghoul, and yet…

Something tells you his ghoulification only amplified his charm.

-

He made good on his promise, even if it was made in jest. In your days wandering with this alluring ghoul at your back, he had taught you how to properly hold your 10 mm gun, and when you felt ready for rifles, he taught you how hard to press the stock against your shoulder and how to safely handle them. Although seeming to be intimately familiar with most common place guns, he himself preferred the ol’ reliable shotgun.

You’ve also come to be acquainted with his way of life and his morals. He lived up to his self-proclaimed title of “freedom fighter” with his rebel-rousing, tough guy nature who kept an eye out for the little man. He tried telling you after he shanked Finn to death, but you didn’t quite believe it then. A mayor, fronting as a freedom fighter? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t until one dark day with a downpour to rival a waterfall that would change your mind.

After one particularly bad firefight, you both found shelter in a half-dilapidated, vacant home. You had a friend in this neighborhood many years ago, although he moved away to another town to attend high school.

You sat on a dust covered cushion near a fairly in-tact windowsill, watching languidly as the rain fell heavy. One leg was tucked under you, while you stretched the other so that Hancock could remove the bullet deeply embedded in your thigh. You didn’t feel much of his makeshift surgery, what with the drug concoction he fed you. You were more entranced by the rainfall, and how the droplets pattered on the crumbling road not far from the house. The only light you had to serve was the half burned candles from the last squatter at the residence; five waxy candles that illuminated a warm, flickering orange against the cold darkness of the rest of the house.

“Hancock?” You quietly called for him, never moving your stare from the outside world. He hummed in response.

“Did you-“ you paused yourself. Your drug-filled mind struggled to figure out how to word your question. “Were you… Did you grow up here, before the war?”

Although the pain was completely numbed, you did feel an intense pressure from his work. You felt that pressure stop momentarily, before starting again.

You heard Hancock let out a scoff. It didn’t sound rude, but baffled. “What makes you think I’m one of those pre-war ghouls?”

“You’re a ghoul.”

Hancock laughed quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m in my thirties?”

“Thirties?” You lulled your head, rolling lazily on your shoulders to face Hancock. Your vision was blurred by the pain killers, but still you could see the deep ravines in his skin. His eyes appeared exceptionally black, and where his nose rotted off long ago appeared darker. At the sight of what would have frightened you 200 some years ago, you smiled. “You look amazing for your thirties.”

“You should’a seen me before.” He looked up to wink at you, before reaching for a roll of bandages he kept hidden away in his coat pocket. “Drugs are a hell of a… drug.”

“Drugs can make you a ghoul?”

“Not just any drugs. This stuff,” he blew air from between his recessed lips as his mind dove back into his memories. “they didn’t even have a name for this stuff. Picture it - a vial of this scary glowing liquid that promised to give you a high that was outta this world. And get this, there was only one more hit of it left. You know what I did, doll?”

There was something so charming, so endearing, about the way he spoke. It was old school, but his rumbling voice, no doubt caused by their decay via radiation, kept you enraptured. Your smile grew more silly and enamoured. “What did you do, Hancock?”

“I shot it up.” He began to wrap the bandages around your thigh. “Lemme tell you, there’s nothing else in this whole damn world that’ll make you see - no, feel - the things I did. Everything else pales in comparison.” He tied them off with a yank, and gave your leg a light pat before continuing his story. “‘Course, it came with a price. That price is this gorgeous mug you see before you.”

You giggled at his display of gesturing to himself and giving you an exaggerated smoulder. He shifted over to the cushion that was beside the one you sat on and took his place beside you. You came to an agreement to wait, guns ready, for the rain to pass before moving on. Hancock leaned his back against the wall from where he sat, and in your drugged-up haze, you slumped over against him.

“Good Neighbour didn’t mind a ghoul for a mayor?” You asked, unaware of how your line of questioning came across. Still, Hancock answered freely.

“I wasn’t a ghoul yet.”

“How did you become mayor?” You asked him, moving your head to look up at him.

Seeing no harm in telling you, Hancock regaled you in the bigotry of Diamond City, and the reign of terror Vic held over Good Neighbour. He told you, laughing through it as he explained how the red coat of John Hancock could speak to him, and with the courage of drugs and a take-no-bullshit attitude on his side, he and a group of fed up people stormed the town hall. He went into gruesome detail of gunning down Vic’s men, and how they tied a noose around Vic’s neck and hung him over the same balcony Hancock would give his speeches. It was then, with unanimous decision, that John Hancock became mayor of Good Neighbour. It stayed a safe haven for everyone Diamond City rejected, and the rest was history.

It was then, as you stared up at Hancock with a mixed look of disbelief and admiration, that you truly believed he was, and is, a freedom fighter.

“And you traded a life of gunning bad people down for office work?” You nudged him playfully.

“Hey, I can do both, can’t I? Good Neighbour’s full of good people. They can fend for themselves while their fearless mayor cuts his teeth on some raiders.”

You attempted to nod in agreement, but found your head heavy and comfortable against his shoulder. You let out a yawn, the last thing you remembered, before the haziness you felt finally took over your senses and dragged you to sleep.

Hancock glanced your way and lightly chuckled at your slumbering form. He gently moved your wrist in your lap to peek at the time on your Pip-Boy. It was getting well into the evening, but still it was early enough that raiders and gangsters didn’t roam quite yet.

He reached up to tip his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the wall. There was a long night ahead of you both, and if there ever was a time to nap, a dark rainy evening was certainly it.

“Sweet dreams, vault dweller.”

[not-reagan]

milf: man i love forests

pairing: deforester boo seungkwan x frat boy mirror demon han jisung (side pairing reagan x rainbow)

genre: crack, strangers to friends to lovers, non-idol au

warnings: cursing, brief supernatural elements, i don’t know if this applies but all lcase, and i listened to christmas music and abba while writing this

word count: 2.7k

authors note: happy birthday @miyuuraiura !! i am so sorry about this monstrosity being your birthday gift but you asked for it so it's your fault entirely. i was gonna include some context on this story for those who are not rainbow and i but actually i don't think i will.

seungkwan did what he could to get by. he loved nature, he really did, but sometimes you have to make moral sacrifices to survive. he was a college kid strapped for cash, and when he saw a sign reading “GET RICH QUICK, INVEST IN DEFORESTATION” in the summer going into his freshmen year, he jumped at the opportunity. sure, he would have rather been a freelance singer, hired for bar-mitzvahs and children's parties, but that job market was flooded at the moment.

jisung, on the other hand, had no care for nature. actually, he didn't care for any human things, apart from “banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches”. he hated quite a bit about earth, the worst of all to him being college. as a demon, he had no reason to attend university, but after he was summoned in the bathroom of a frat house by the school’s power couple; rainbow and reagan, he felt obliged to follow the two around and keep them company.

for seungkwan, his main job rarely required in person work. he usually just chose plots of land to demolish, and sent plans to local managers. the only time he actually had to knock down any trees himself was during his summer break. he has a part time job of course, but it didn't provide him enough cash to survive. for someone with a job as a deforester, he truly did do what he could to save the environment. he joined his schools environmental club, becoming vice president his sophomore year because of his work with them. he kept his job a secret, not even telling his parents where the influx of cash was coming from. he kept a low profile and went through the motions of life. he didn't have much of a social life, with his small amount of friends being from the environmental club.

han jisung found joy in witnessing his professors and fellow students lose their minds over his lack of effort in class. he did the bare minimum and still passed with flying colors. most of all, it angered his seatmate in earth science, who happened to be none other than boo seungkwan. seungkwan was a hard worker in everything he did, particularly in school. he didn't get the best grades, but by no means was he the worst. averaging a steady B+, seungkwan spent most of his nights studying or working, rarely going to parties and enjoying himself only through one person karaoke rooms.

this fact upset jisung. he didn't know why, but seeing seungkwan so tired every day made him feel sad(? jisung wasn't sure what it made him feel. it was an emotion he had never experienced before. rainbow told him it meant he had a crush. to this he threw an empty soda can at them). not to mention seungkwan’s upsetting karaoke addiction, which he knew all about the danger of because of reagan, who spent most of her weekends drunk and singing. jisung didn’t know why he took such a liking to seungkwan. what he did know was that he was ecstatic to find that they would be paired together for a project. a project that required quite a bit of teamwork, and a lot of after school work sessions.

seungkwan liked to think that he didn’t hate anyone. he hated evil people, like hitler and stalin and jyp, but he didn’t really hate anyone besides the worst of the worst. that was until he experienced jisung. he wasn’t sure why jisung always talked to him when he was trying to take notes in class. he especially wasn’t sure why he was so excited to be partnered up together for the project that was worth 25% of their grade. seungkwan was less than happy to have to cooperate with jisung for an extended period of time, and he was not looking forward to letting him into his dorm room, or going anywhere near jisung’s frat house. seungkwan had no idea what he was pushed into.

they planned to meet at the cafe on campus at 5:00 pm after class. seungkwan was less than happy. jisung was thrilled. when jisung arrived seungkwan was sitting at a table drinking an americano and working on an english essay. he wasn't sure how to approach him, slowly walked closer before tapping on his shoulder. seungkwan jolted in his seat.

“jesus fuck jisung. you scared the crap out of me,” seungkwan gasped. jisung’s ears flushed as he brought his hand to the back if his neck.

“sorry,” he started, pausing for a second before starting again, “why don't we get started?”. he swung his bag down to the ground as he took a seat. seungkwan offered a small, non genuine smile before pulling out the project’s guidelines.

“let's try to finish this as quickly as possible. im pretty busy and don't have much time to fool around.” seungkwan said. jisung felt his heart drop. did seungkwan really think that little of him? granted, he always dozed off in class but he got his work done on time and in an orderly fashion. he felt his mind begin to wander. if seungkwan felt this way about him now, how would he feel when he found out that jisung was a demon. would seungkwan start to like him if he knew him better? jisung couldn't figure out why he cared so much about how seungkwan perceived him. he had never had an issue with others opinions of him before, so what made seungkwan so different? for some reason, jisung felt the need to connect with seungkwan. if not for himself, then at least to help him let loose.

after working silently on each of their portions of the projects for 3 hours, jisung finally spoke up. “do you want to maybe come to my party next month? well, it's not my party, it's for rainbow’s birthday. i know you're not one for social interaction but it would be cool to see you there. i’ll give you the details if-”

“i’d love to go,” seungkwan cut off jisung’s rambling. to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but he knew it would shut jisung up, and seungkwan valued his peace and quiet. part of him also just felt downright bad for the other. he seemed to be trying awfully hard to become friends with seungkwan, and he wouldn’t admit it, seungkwan had started to warm up to the boy. he really wasn’t as much of an issue as he had thought before, and was actually really respectful of seungkwan’s wishes. maybe i’ll give him a chance, seungkwan thought before going back to his work.

over the next month, jisung and seungkwan continued meeting to work on their project. seungkwan was less short with the other, and jisung was still red faced every time seungkwan decided to talk to him, which became quite frequently over the next few weeks. jisung was starting to realize that the feelings he had for seungkwan were not simply platonic, and that he didn’t just want to be friends with him. with the help of rainbow and reagan, he had come to the conclusion that he really, really liked seungkwan, and that he was going to do something about it. remembering that he had invited seungkwan to the party, he devised a plan to not only tell seungkwan about his whole “i’m actually a demon” thing, but also about his true feelings. it wouldn't be easy, but it was what he had to do.

a month later, seungkwan still wasn’t exactly sure why he had agreed to go to jisungs frat house at 9:00 pm on a saturday night. yet there he was, standing on the front porch of a large house, wondering if he should bite the bullet and walk in, or spare himself and leave right then. he didn't get a choice, however, as rainbow and reagan stepped out of the house giggling while clutching onto each other. both stopped in their tracks when they saw seungkwan. the couple and seungkwan stared at each other for a good minute before seungkwan shook himself from his trance.

“hey rainbow!” seungkwan started, “and reagan too. i know we aren’t super close, but jisung invited me and i thought i’d just drop by and wish you a happy birthday.” he passed her a birthday card filled with $50 bucks and then turned to leave. “i’ll leave you guys now. have a great birthday!” before seungkwan could get very far, however, rainbow grabbed him by the arm.

“hey, i’d love if you’d stay! at least go say hi to jisung. i’m sure he’d like to see you,” she said, silently making note to have jisung pay her back for being a great wingwoman.

“he’s probably hiding in the second floor bathroom. if you don't see him in there, just say his name three times in front of the mirror. he’ll appear.” reagan explained. seungkwan thought she was joking. how wrong he was.

following his entrance to the house, he had to refuse not one, not two, but three different people who were looking to give him bottles or cups of something which seungkwan presumed to be various types of alcohol. navigating through the house was difficult, reaching the stairs to the second floor only after running into numerous people borderline fucking on two large couches in the living room, a smoke circle taking place in what seungkwan assumed to be a dining room, and a very aggressive makeout session against a wall. once he finally reached the second floor, he had some difficulty finding the bathroom, accidentally walking in on reagan and rainbow, who had miraculously made it upstairs faster than he had.

“if you don’t stop shitting constantly i am going to break up with you! also, stop taking feet pics! it’s weird!” he heard rainbow shout.

“at least i can eat seafood! how does it make your head hurt? you’re the weakest link! that fucking seafood platter was delicious. and you know what, i’m glad i didn’t have to share it with you!” reagan responded. seungkwan quickly shut the door, not wanting to get involved in whatever drunken argument was going on there. after a bit more searching, he finally stumbled across the right room. knocking first to see if anyone was in there, he entered, and to his surprise, nobody was there. jisung was nowhere to be seen. seungkwan reviewed his options. he could a) leave the party, or b) continue to look around the packed house. but there was another option. he thought about it for a second.

“what's the harm in trying,” seungkwan thought out loud, before staring directly into the mirror.

“han jisung, han jisung, han jisung.”

nothing happened. that's what seungkwan thought, until a minute later the lights in the bathroom flickered off and the mirror began to glow. “what. the. fuck,” seungkwan managed to squeak out before falling backwards into the tub. first a leg emerged, then two arms, and finally the rest of jisung’s body.

“i feel like the genie in aladin every time i have to get into a fucking mirror,” jisung complained before seeing seungkwan toppled over. to that view, he jumped down off the counter and moved to help him up. seungkwan, aside from falling, seemed to be reacting well to the whole situation, at least in the sense that instead of freaking out he seemed to be in a state of shock. jisung took this as a good sign, and lifted the motionless body up onto the toilet seat.

“hey seungkwan, you there?” jisung waved his hand in front of seungkwan's face as he slowly came to his senses.

“what kind of twisted party trick was that?” seungkwan asked, pretty seriously. jisung just laughed.

“you summoned me from the mirror. i’m like a funny version of michael jackson except i'm a demon and not a man in the mirror.” jisung explained. seungkwan just stared. “are you ok kwan? do you want me to get you some water?”

“it was… kind of sick.” seungkwan stated. he didn't know why he wasn't scared. under any other circumstance like this one, he probably would have shit his pants. for some reason he felt comfortable around jisung. he felt warm. he felt seen. it was something he hadn't felt before. that's when he realized. he wondered why it took himself to long to figure it out. he never hated jisung. he just didn't know what to do with the fact that he made him feel special, and that he felt as though he belonged when they were together. it had hit him why he was so nervous the whole night, why he had wanted to make such a good impression, and why he was willing to embarrass himself by calling out jisungs name as opposed to just choosing to go home. it was because he loved him.

“can i tell you something?” both of the boys said at the same time. jisung giggled and seungkwan flushed red. **authors note! bonus starts here**

“you first,” seungkwan offered. he wasn't exactly sure he would be able to make it through a sentence without getting any redder than he already was.

jisung took this opportunity to finally get his true feelings out into the air, “i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-”

“you're rambling again,” seungkwan told him. jisung flushed a dark shade of pink. “it's a habit of yours. i think it's cute actually.” seungkwan wasn't sure where his sudden surge of confidence came from, but he was glad it came. he was standing up now, holding jisungs hands in his. jisungs heart was racing a mile a minute as he looked down at their intertwined hands and them back up, catching seungkwan looking directly at his lips. “can… can i kiss you?” seungkwan stuttered out. jisung couldn't find his words, so he opted to just nod.

when their lips connected, seungkwan could have sworn he heard fireworks. he did later find out that someone was setting off a firework in the back yard, but it was the thought that counted. their lips melted together perfectly, and seungkwan wondered why it took him so long to admit his feelings to himself. he could have been kissing jisung for a month before this.

once they finally parted, seungkwan spoke softly, “i like you too. i think that's pretty obvious now but just in case you didn't know.” jisung had the dumbest, most confused face on, and seungkwan had the brightest smile he'd ever had. seungkwan had rendered jisung speechless, for once in his life. not long after, they started kissing again, content with their emotions and their new relationship.

seungkwan was never one to believe that good things were permanent. he was overdramatic, stubborn, and hated interacting with people outside his small social circle. that was until han jisung came along. he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could let someone else into his life.

jisung was a simple man. well, not a man, but he was simple nonetheless. he liked banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches. well maybe there was one more thing he liked. he knew for sure he liked boo seungkwan. maybe he loved him. maybe seungkwan even felt the same way.

-fin

**BONUS**

reagan and rainbow leaned up against the door to eavesdrop on their matchmaking work.

“holy shit!” reagan gasped.

“what is it?? tell me what happened. you're hogging up the door!” rainbow hissed.

“our boy is so grown up,” reagan pretended to cry. “put your goddamn ear up here.” rainbow felt her ear connect with the cold door just as jisung confessed his feelings.

“i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-” his next words were cut off on the girls side of the door as reagan squealed.

“shut your mouth! seungkwans saying something!!” rainbow said, obviously annoyed that reagan was obstructing her ability to hear the exchange.

“can… can i kiss you?” they heard seungkwan say. both looked at each other in shock.

“oh. my. god.” was all rainbow could say.

“i think we should give them some alone time,” reagan suggested as she tugged rainbow down the hall.

“i think we need some alone time for ourselves,” rainbow said as reagan pushed her into a random room and locked the door behind them.

[rigmarolling]

Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life. 

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing. 

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime. 

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder. 

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color. 

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying. 

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food. 

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool. 

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue! 

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves? 

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials. 

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital. 

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.” 

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.

[insomniac-arrest]

When my heart felt volcanic

Have you ever noticed that there’s this trend in book titles that go “The X’s Daughter”? Things like The Clockmaker’s Daughter, The Emperor’s Daughter, The Scavenger’s Daughter, The Madman’s Daughter, so on.

It’s never called “The Clockmaker” and about just the daughter. It’s always her dad that teaches her how to beat up guys in masks or fire a pistol or fly a fighter jet. Sometimes she even has 7 or so brothers who bully her into being tough and stoic, a boys-girl. You know, like a tomboy but hot and you also never have to deal with any feminine interests she might have. It’s always the daughter.

Well I was the daughter of a narcoleptic. It didn’t make me any more likely to wear short-shorts and kick bad-guys in the chest like if I was in a movie. It also didn’t make me any more knowledgeable about sleep besides the obvious bit about human bodies being mysterious and full of vindictive whimsy.

Mostly, it just made me angry.

For as long as I could remember my dad would be reading me a bedtime story, maybe about Mr. Toad and friends or Harry Potter or the Hobbit. I don’t think we ever made it through a single chapter.

His eyes would flutter shut, sometimes there would be some buildup, like tides slowly easing onto the beach, or sometimes it would be like a light being blown out. And he was gone.

We would be eating breakfast and he would slump down in his chair. We would be watching a movie and he would never know the ending. My mom and him would be at my softball game and I would look back over to the bleachers to see my dad fast asleep with a foam finger on his hand. My mom told me to have some compassion, it was a condition.

But all I knew was that other girls didn’t have to kick their fathers to stay awake at their back to school nights.

Of course, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Some people have it a lot worse: drowsy all the time, barely able to hold down a job, chronically nodding off in a space between dreams and reality. My dad only sometimes was lost to us.

The condition wasn’t that bad he said and he was a doctor after all- the serious type. The type for heart disease and lots of charts on the walls and the reason my mom didn’t have to work either.

My aunt once tipsily told me my dad developed it in college. He worked a job and went to medical classes all at once and he messed with his sleep schedule so much he never really recovered. I suppose that softened my heart a little bit, but then I saw him asleep at my 14th birthday and the irritation seized me all over again.

It was 14 and growing in all the wrong directions- a puzzle with the pieces being jammed in their wrong spots. I was yelling that day.

The car was cramped and smelled of hand sanitizer and yogurt I spilled on the front seat months ago. The air felt yellow with spring heat and a dusty country road in front of us. I threw my hands in the air emphatically.

“I need them.” Most of my family’s serious discussions were had in the car going from place to place. “It’s important.”

My father got that “thinking” look on his face where his features paused and his soft chin dimpled. “You’re young.” He said with dust in his words, “I think it’s a little early to think about drugs.”

I rolled my eyes, “Mom says they’re safe.” I sniffed loudly, “And I bet it would make my grades better.”

My dad glanced at me through his wire-frame glasses, “Grades aren’t everything, bumblebee.”

I rolled my eyes, “You always say that, but do you mean it?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I know about the human body. Teenagers sleep schedules can be naturally irregular. It doesn’t help with the school making you get up at god awful hours.” He complained.

My dad was against most systems in a moral sense. He didn’t like school systems or government systems or even the health care system. But he was also neatly soft-spoken and orderly and a contradiction all by himself.

I crossed my arms over my chest, “It’s not normal.” I hissed because I had sleep problems too and my heart felt volcanic for it. Burning. Exploding. I never asked for this. “I just want to go to fucking sleep for once instead of staring at the ceiling for hours.”

“Language,” He said in the same dusty way and I shook my head.

“Listen to me!” I pulled out the stops as I jerked upright in the chair and gestured fiercely. A tree passed and the rolling fields in all directions gave a certain feeling of yawning loneliness around us. “It’s not your decision. It’s mine. I want to try the pills!”

My father just continued to frown. “What about a more regular schedule?”

“That’s always your solution.” I grumbled, “I don’t see yours helping you at all.”

My father wilted slightly, “Brooklyn…” He said my name as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved a hand through the air. “But I don’t want however it is you live your life. It’s like you’re not even trying to not have it.” Maybe I knew it was cruel at the time. I’m not sure if I meant to be cruel. Maybe I wanted to be, needed it, but it happened all the same.

I had barbs at that age.

My father grew quiet as he usually did when he was hurt and we drove in silence to my doctors appointment one city over. It must have been ten or fifteen minutes when I saw the car start to veer to the side of the road.

“Dad…” I said softly as the car gently crossed the center of the road. I twisted toward him and my eyes flew wide open as his chin was nestled on his chest. “Dad!”

His eyes were closed and the car precariously descended toward a ditch. “Wake up!” I shook him violently but not before the nose of the car aimed into the ditch and sent shock waves up my arms.

“Ah,” I yelped as the seat belt tore across my chest and I bounced back against the seat.

My dad jerked the wheel to the side, but it was too late as the car rumbled down into a sudden stop against the ground. We jerked with a painful lurch and I held onto the seat belt with both hands.

We took deep gasping breaths for a long second as the hood of the car was crumpled and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke leaking from it soon.

My father threaded a hand through his thin hair. “Are you okay?” He turned to me and his voice shook. “Are you okay?”

I nodded again and again. “I’m fine, it’s fine.” He looked off into space and seemed to be seeing something I couldn’t.

That was the first time in my whole life I saw my father cry. He nudged at his watery eyes with his hands and I watched as tears fell like meteorites down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He croaked and he put his head and hands on the wheel with limp wrists, “I never thought it would come to this.” More tears made tracks across his face.

I didn’t know what to say, so I reached over and patted his shoulder weakly as he gathered himself up again. I had never seen my father cry before. I wasn’t sure he could.

That was the year my dad gave up driving. And I started a few trials for sleep problems.

And I forgive them now. I forgive people who walk too slowly on the sidewalk and cashiers that count my money out wrong and people who tell me the same joke three or four times. I forgive people for being late to meetings and others for canceling plans. There’s nothing else to do.

I am The Narcoleptic’s Daughter.

[kdramachitchat]

Episode 4 -- It takes a village to raise a child. Lee’s trial resulted to 30 floggings. We also find out more about Yohan’s older brother Isaac and the story behind the fire.

Episode 4 starts right off with the 1st trial of Lee Youngmin who is the son of Ms Cha. The trial ended and Judge Yohan gave words of encouragement to Judge Oh saying that both of them are a team. With a ecstatic producer, they were able to capture the moment on video. For sure their ratings will sky rocket even more.

Yohan receives a call from Cha and she asks why is he going this far & replies that she should ask her own son instead of him. Yohan added a rhetorical question on why Lee keeps on treating people like dirt. A person going through alot resulting to lose of control with his own temper is not an excuse. Cha defending her son saying he’s not a bad person. Yohan talks back and asks her if she was this relaxed while she’s a prosecutor. Yohan ended the phonecall and Cha demands that they meet in person.

Yohan and Cha discusses the result of her son’s trial

Cha is determined to change the result of her son’s first trial. Yohan says that her son is only being sentenced by the law. Cha didnt believe what he’s saying and says that he’s only doing this to get to her. Cha asks if there’s anything Yohan wants from her and wants a statement that doesnt include something obvious like justice. She knows that he wants power to gain popularity and suggests to give him a better case. He mentioned that there’s a case 19 yrs ago where she investigated a young politician with a bright future for bribery. At the time he hadnt taken any bribes. She investigated him and received a guilty verdict. Yohan mentions that the man is a trademark of morals and sadly took his own life, leaving behind his middle school son. Yohan asks Cha if she ever thought about that case during her career of 19 years. Cha defended herself that the case was legal. If she wants her son’s case to be let go she has to follow Yohan’s orders. Yohan ordered to tell the media the truth of that case.

Ga On asks Soohyun if he could meet the officer who investigated the fire 10 years ago. His call suddenly gets interrupted when Yohan came in the room. Ga On looks completely well but why hasn’t he left the mansion yet? As Yohan said, looks like he’s trying to find something. Ga On tells him that he’s not interested in other people’s business. Yohan then invited him somewhere and chooses his outfit for him.

SRF Party -- Gaon becomes a hit with the ladies & gets introduced to influential players. He also learns more about Yohan and the rich.

Yohan brings Ga On to the Social Responsibility Foundation party and Ms Sun Ah formally introduces herself to Ga On. Ga On then gets flocked by influential women and compliments how handsome he is. He got introduced by the wives of Chairman Park who owns Saram Media, Chairman Min who owns Minbo Group, Kim Sang Sook, Pi Hyang Mi. They complemented him saying that he’s a rising star. The women starts to ask for pictures and he gets extremely uncomfortable with the attention. Yohan observes from afar and seems happy that he’s getting the attention. Yohan saves him from the attention and excuses Ga On. The ladies talk behind his back making comments on how long Ga On can last working for Yohan. SunAh also makes a comment that Ga On is Yohan’s chaperone. He then officially gets introduced to Park Duman (Chairman of People’s Media Group), Min Yongsik (Chairman Of Minbo Group). The President arrives and the event starts. Chairman Seo being the bastard he is touching a server’s lower. SunAh noticed that she’s severely shaking while serving him water, stopped him and punched Chairman Seo in private. During their private conversation looks like SunAh is the leader over the 2.

Yohan makes a speech especially to the President and asks him if it has to be Cha who will protect his fortunes. The President agrees and says that it doesnt have to be Cha who’ll take part on the next presidency. The President says that the next candidate has to be someone who is popular amongst commoners and needs to have a strong background story. What about Yohan? Ga On quietly observes the situation from afar and notices how the huge players are bunch of crazy lunatics.

Ga On stays away from the dinner and has a private discussion with SunAh. SunAh starts discussing about the church fire from 10 yrs ago and mentions that there was a event that day that wasnt reported. Yohan’s older brother wanted to sign a contract stating that he’ll donate his wealth to the SRF. Then suddenly a huge fire broke out that day, coincidence i think not. SunAh tells Ga On that Isaac and his wife died due to the fire. Yohan is alive and the first thing he did after leaving the hospital was to cancel the donations made by his brother. In advance, Yohan brought a doctor’s note saying that Isaac had a weak mind and was incapble of making sound decisions. To think that Yohan did all of this right after his brother died. SunAh gets effected whenever the live show happens because of this situation.

Ga On and Yohan drives back to the mansion in silence. Ga On comments on the observation he made with the rich. Yohan tells him that both the rich and poor are the same when they’re in front of greed.

Lee Youngmin’s second trial

Ms Cha receives a call saying that they want her to deal with her son’s case alone. She also thinks about the choice Yohan gave her during their private discussion. Then a flashback about the wife and husband talking about their son’s case. The husband only cares about their son and not about the titles or the money. He knows that their son wont last a day in prison. The father seem to have more heart than Cha. Cha promises to get their son out even if she has to sacrifice herself. Looks like she has made her decision. Ms Cha then does a press conference and apologizes to the public for damage control. She’ll do this for her own gain and betrayed her son.

The 2nd trial begins with defending the defendant’s actions, citing examples that he grew up alone and the staff were found by him stealing things. With lack of parental love and attention he grew up to become a obsessive and aggressive behavior. They also brought up his results to the screens. They also gave out reasons that the lack of care from the parents resulted him to act that way and mentions for the court to be more generous. Since the prison is made from the tax payer’s money shouldnt Lee compensate to those who are hard working? They made a point and Yohan agreed. Yohan agreed with the statement and came up with appropriate punishment for Lee.

The punishment wouldnt cost any and the defendant will not be isolated from the society, itll only inflict temporary pain. Flagellation. Ga On once again is shocked by the result. Yohan also adds that the society should give the flagellation to him on his parents’ behave. A man once said, “It takes a village to raise a child.”

They show different victims like his own company staff, the restaurant staff, the poor man who he hit and the the rest of the public agreeing with the sentence.

Lee suddenly goes whack and makes crazy comments about the court system. He even knelt down infront of Judge Yohan and apologized. Yohan ofcourse being strict with the sentence announced that he will receive 30 floggings. He also adds that the floggings appears to be the minimum and most humanitarian sentence that he will give. The flogging should be done with transparency and will be watched by the entire nation. The embarrassment.

Ms Cha was also seen signing the sentence agreement with difficulty.

Fire Investigation

Soohyun and Ga On visits a restaurant and talks to Detective Park discussing about the fire incident that happened 10 yrs ago. Park has mentioned that his father goes there for service and Soohyun commented that there wasn’t any service that day due to the charity event that took place. She also added that that there were no records on who attended the charity event. Ga On butts in and asks that the cause of the fire is still unknown. Park mentions that the church was located in a old school building made of wood, nothing was left after it was burnt down. Soohyun asked if he got a statement from Yohan, if he saw anything. The man says that he only visited Yohan once but didnt remember much from the incident which was understandable, saying during the time he was surrounded by chaos.

Once the live court was over, Ga On makes a comment that Yohan cancelled the deed of convent that his own brother wrote. Wouldnt that be a motive for a crime?

Yohan’s cruel past still haunts him

Yohan and Ga On are back at the mansion. Ga On argues with Yohan and says that he’s only doing this for fun. Adding that he only does this to anyone who gets into his way especially his brother. This made Yohan pay more attention. Yohan’s anger becomes explosive after Ga On made a comment on how cruel he is.  Ga On apologized after hearing the story from Yohan. Yohan realizes how people love tragic stories.

Verena Church

Isaac gave out his donation, the people that were involved are the same people who are are part of the live court. The President, Minister Of Justice, etc. Smoke was coming through the door and a fire exploded which burnt down the entire church. Yohan was nowhere to be seen. Elijah calling out for her mother. Who caused the fire? Yohan suddenly saw the church burning and went in and see Isaac, Elijah and Minister Of Justice in scrambles. Isaac is suffering from the smoke while Cha was trying to escape not bothered to save Elijah at all. Isaac saw all of this happening and saved Elijah. Is this the reason why he resents Ms Cha? Yohan tries to save both Isaac and Elijah but they got hit by a wood with fire. Elijah got paralyzed. Isaac didnt survive and before his final breath he told Yohan to get out. Yohan didnt want to but he promises to come back. The fire died down, Yohan survived and saw the same firefighter stealing Isaac’s watch. the firefighter didnt even bother saving Yohan and Elijah or at least helping out to remove Isaac’s dead body. Yohan got out of the church and noticed all of the others who survived especially Minister Of Justice. The cruelty of those people, only saving themselves made Yohan burst into anger.

He’s definitely out to get those influential people who survived the fire especially Minister Of Justice.

[mitsybubbles]

Alrighty, here’s some Enclave Remnants headcannons! This might have a little bit of an overlap with my headcannons about Little Arcade post and my ranking of the remnant’s parenting skills post lol, but this will be focused on the remnants specifically. And maybe also Arcade’s parents. Also this got a little long- oops.

Mark Gannon was a big ol’ nerd. I mean he canonically knew Latin (there’s a quote of him saying a latin phrase in front of Arcade’s character binder). He came off as a soft spoken, affable person but he was brutal when it came to his job as the leading officer in the Devil’s Brigade.

Arcade’s mom was a very witty (and also nerdy) person. She came off as lively, elegant but incredibly cunning. She used to be a scientist in the Enclave. Something with either genetics or mechanical engineering.

Daisy is a lesbian. She was closeted until Arcade was a preteen because of a lot of stigma that was in the Enclave. She was also the first-person Arcade came out to and she helped support him and help him transition.

After the Second Battle of Hoover Dam she became friends with Pearl from the Boomers and then they started dating. They bonded over pilot things.

Johnson was the moral compass in the group. Even though he came to odds with the others when it came to subverting orders, they covered his back and made sure he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Johnson’s first name is Richard.

Judah tries his best to hold the others together but there were times when he felt that he couldn’t really fill Mark’s shoes as the ‘leader’. He'd blame himself if something bad happened to the group.

Daisy helped Arcade’s parents take care of him even before they died. She was close friends with them.

Johnson is bisexual. He also had a teeny crush on Mark Gannon (I don’t think he ever admitted it to anyone- they all just suspected it)

The Remnants homeschooled Arcade when he was little. They didn’t want him accidentally saying something to a teacher or another student- especially in an NCR backed school.

The group met Dr. Henry sometime after Arcade’s mom died. He quit his job working as a scientist in the NCR out of fear that he’d be outed as being formerly Enclave.

Mark Gannon had facial hair (I’m thinking like a long stubble beard)- Once Arcade tried to grow out his facial hair and then Daisy said he looked a lot like his dad. Arcade shaved it off after a minor existential crisis and prefers to be clean shaven cause of that.

Judah is ridiculously good at strategy games. His favorite game is chess.

Moreno threatened to leave the group and join the other members of the Enclave who were leaving for the east coast multiple times when they first left the Enclave. He could never actually bring himself to leave the group though.

I’m really sure Johnson is clinically depressed. Please get him some therapy.

You know what- get all of them therapy.

Henry doesn’t like children very much. He finds that they drain his patience and distract him from his work. He used to give Arcade busy work whenever he had to take care of him so he could focus on his actual research. He still does this whenever Arcade visits him in Jacobstown (much to Arcade’s annoyance).

Johnson and Moreno knew each other since they were teens. They never really got along.

Johnson smokes to calm his nerves.

The remnants gave Arcade a gun when he turned 11 to defend himself. Johnson and Judah taught him how to use it. They gave him his plasma defender on his 18th birthday sometime before he left to study with the Followers.

Moreno had a “tough love” approach when it came to parenting Arcade. Sometimes this led to some…less than ideal parenting situations. He meant well but he isn’t suited to be a parent like- at all. Ex: Once when Arcade was 15, he tried one of Johnson’s cigarettes and Moreno caught him smoking. He then made Arcade smoke the entire box in one sitting as a punishment. Now, Arcade can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke because of the incident.

Daisy keeps in touch with Old Lady Gibson. She sometimes tells her news on what Henry is up to these days.

All of them are awful at giving advice in their own special way. Judah and Daisy would somewhat miss the point, Johnson goes off into a tangent about his own life/What Mark Would Have Done if it was Arcade asking, Moreno would go off into a tangent about the ‘Good Old Days’, and Henry just wouldn’t care. Daisy is probably the best bet for advice in that she is 100% Supportive even if her advice isn’t the most useful.

Daisy’s hair was strawberry blonde when she was younger.

Arcade gets his nose and his blonde hair from his mom.

They used to move around very often when they first left the Enclave, the longest they stayed in a town was 3 weeks tops. They started to attempt to settle down when Arcade got a little older for his sake.

The Remnants were hesitant to completely explain to Arcade why they were always moving and running away from the NCR because they didn’t want to have him think bad about his dad or the rest of them. Johnson and Judah told him bits and pieces because they didn’t want to completely keep him in the dark and Arcade was somewhat aware of the situation just from observing the others but he didn’t know a lot of details about the Enclave or his father. He found out about the extent of the Enclave’s war crimes through stories/rumors other wastelanders told him before he finally got the full story about what happened to the Enclave from the remnants when he was a preteen.

Arcade used to ask Daisy if he could learn how to fly the vertibird for his birthday or Christmas when he was little.

[teacup-crow]

Things That Make it Warm

Zombies Run Secret Santa fic for @whirly-wind! Thanks for organising @runnerzero, @goblinsharkz and @notforconsumption. Spoilers up to S5M24 below the cut :)

Hi Mystery! I was so so so excited to get you because you’re always lovely about my writing, especially my Tom/Jody stuff 😍 this is the story of them getting to know each other (with a Christmas involved, because Christmas is romantic right?)

Apologies that it starts off just a LITTLE bit angsty but it’s these two and angst just happens to them. A writer can only do so much. I promise there’s festive fluff in there!

I hope you enjoy this! Merry Christmas!

((Stole the title from a Cavetown song because I hate naming things!))

*****

“Jody’s running slowly, so she’ll give ‘em a good chase.”

She almost has to swallow a laugh at Sam’s sweet admiration. Jody’s running slowly because everything hurts, because this idea is crazy, because it might be the last run ever gazing at an Abel sunrise, orange and pink flecking the horizon, and she wants to see it before-

Boom. The explosion rattles her teeth, her bones, smoke rising behind her. She doesn’t look back. She knows better.

“Miss Marsh! To me!”

Tom grabs her hand and before she can process anything at all they’re sprinting. Her heart and lungs are burning; it’s been months since she ran like this, weeks since her muscles atrophied, and the pain shoots through her legs at every step until she feels nauseous. But they’re running. At some point, she lets the bundle fall from stiff arms, a pile of empty blankets. Tom whispers something, and vanishes into the dust he created.

***

“We are not leaving you here.”

“Ian won’t kill me. He knows I still have some useful things inside my broken noggin.” His smile is lopsided, his eyes slightly glittery. Jody doesn’t know him that well, really, but that look has never been a good one on him. She pats his arm, and it dulls a little. She leaves her hand there.

“Isn’t that a reason to get you out?”

He swallows. “I can’t… I can’t promise that I’ll…”

“You saved my life. You’re coming with us.”

She knows, even though his sister might protest out loud, that Janine is grateful to her for making the call. She knows her so well she can hear that the woman’s shoulders have dropped just a bit in relief.

***

Tom likes Noah Base.

It’s warm, and enclosed, and safe. He can feel the presence of walls around him at all times. When he whistles, it echoes. It’s familiar. 

When he was younger, being inside used to bore him silly. Paperwork was the worst part of the job; as a boy, Jane did his homework more often than not. Back in Karachi, the memories warm and soft as parchment, he’d play football with the neighbourhood kids late into the night, everyone teasing but good-natured, curious about the white boy who spoke Urdu like a local. The calls of other boys’ mothers rang out as the day grew long until at last they’d scatter at the figure of his father, the ambassador cutting a long shadow across the evening, rumbling “Thomas? Thomas? Time to come home.”

A couple of years later, he lay out on the family’s broad flat roof, breathless - hiding from his sister so she wouldn’t see him crying about their parents, about being ripped away from everything and everyone they knew. Hiding from the men from the embassy, so he couldn’t hear the bad news. So they couldn’t take him to England.  Outside there were birds soaring above him, the sun shining like any other day. He didn’t have to confront reality.

And after that, inside meant dull lessons at boarding school far away from Jane, where he actually had to concentrate to keep at the top of the class, and inside meant stuffy offices with stuffy bureaucrats who would never understand the realities of field work no matter how often they were explained, and then inside was three bare walls of concrete and agony and time.

When the open air was no longer a choice, when life became nothing but a cube, six by six, lights off more often than on, inside became more comforting. There, nobody could sneak up behind him. It was easy to keep one eye open. If you stay in the corner, you’re never surrounded. It’s outside where things go horribly wrong. Outside is where the crawling men eat human flesh. Outside is where Jane and the others left him behind. 

And so, years later, England again, he’d slip off his cuffs in his new cell and finally manage to relax enough to rebuild some of his sanity. He knew now that inside isn’t the problem. Being trapped there is.

Noah Base is safe. He can map out the whole place in his head, learn fourteen different escape routes, ranked from worst to best.

Noah Base is better than safe.

Noah Base has Jody in it.

***

Jody, for one, feels cooped up.

It’s okay, at first. Things were worse than this right after the outbreak. She’d stayed in a Tube station for a couple of nights, only peeking her head above ground to try and get decent reception to call her mum. When her phone gave up the ghost, she trekked it out of London. But sometimes, especially now, she still thinks of the noise, the irrepressible heat, sickness already spreading like wildfire. 

It’s okay, at first. She knits. She stretches. Builds up her core strength again. Takes lectures on strategy. Starts to actually read Janine’s notes, to Sam’s disgust. She keeps positive as morale begins to drop, until one morning she doesn’t get out of bed at all. 

Tom arrives at her door with a plate of cold toast and strawberry jam.

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

Of course. He notices everything.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replies, then bites her lip. If anything, the latest messages from Abel make her far too sick to eat. Steve, inexhaustibly flirtatious, convivial, suave Steve, had sounded shattered. Half-rations. Quarter-rations. Ian’s getting… more unbalanced. Kefi reckons half the town is anaemic.

“Come in if you like, I’m decent.”

“You need to eat something,” he insists, pushing the door ajar and handing the plate up to her. She sits up, back against the wall, and tries to give him a wobbly smile.

“What’s the matter, Miss Marsh?”

“I just… can’t believe we left them.”

And she bursts into tears. He pats her arm.

He doesn’t rationalise anything to her.

He thinks that, just maybe, it’s worse to be the leaver than the left.

***

She’s so strong.

He watches her with a bow and arrow hit one- two- three targets in the centre, more accurate and deadly than his own hand with a pistol. She swings up the climbing frame like a monkey, upside down and ten feet in the air. The gym in Noah Base is cramped - what isn’t? - but training is manageable with the lack of equipment to fill the space. Peter - the man who found them this place, the man with the silver tongue, the man who hurt his sister - is at the weights. He’s always in Tom’s peripheral vision; Jane only puts him there to keep an eye, he knows that.

“Whoop!” Jody swings down from the ropes triumphantly and rolls to a halt. He clicks the stopwatch.

“One-forty-seven. Your fastest time yet, Miss Marsh. That was excellent.”

“You can stop calling me that any time you like, you know.”

“Nonsense. What would I call you then?”

She looks up at him, quite serious. He’s maybe a foot taller than she is. He’s a madman. A murderer. But there’s not an ounce of fear in her gaze, not anymore. When her hair is tied back like that, he can see her face properly, the fading freckles, soft straight hair, her laughing eyes, the cleft in her chin, the birthmark on her cheek.

“...Jody’s fine, Tom.”

“I… yes.” He blinks away in embarrassment. “If you would prefer that name. Yes.”

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable. Anyway, I’m going to try that again. I just know I can beat you.”

“And then you’ll take a break?”

“We’ll see,” she grins, and jogs back to the start.

She’s not only physically strong; she’s been through so much and she hasn’t let it harden her. She looks at every new day like an opportunity, a sunrise, swallowing back the bitter pill of life with orange juice. Not like him. He’s so far past broken he doesn’t even remember what wholeness tastes like; some important part of his soul still lies in that cage, rotting. So how can he be falling in love?

***

It just doesn’t feel like Christmastime.

The last few Christmases have fallen into some kind of routine, at least. They were bare and hard but everyone was together, kids faces lighting up as they decorated the township, people working together to make it as okay as possible. A bit more frivolity, a bit more food. 

It’s December already, and nobody has even mentioned it.

Steve hasn’t sent a message in a good while, and the radio silence is making all of them itchy. Five’s been gone for weeks; Cameo’s probably dead. Everyone she cares about is probably-

“Jodes? Can you help me with this?”

It’s Tom, sprawled on his stomach on her bedroom floor, attempting to darn a sock and failing miserably. She laughs.

“They didn’t have darning as a class at Harrow?”

“Not that I remember, but I can recite some Latin at you if you’d like.” 

“That sounds extremely helpful.” She swings down from the bunk and looks closer. “Have you just been tying knots in this?”

“I was trying to…” he stares at the sock in his hands with a rueful expression. “It appears that yes, I have just been tying knots in it.”

“Okay,” she sits down cross-legged and takes it from him to start unpicking. “At least you’re honest.”

“Where did you learn to sew and knit?”

“Our church hall ran a youth club. They’d do snacks and activities after school most days, and Mum always liked us out doing something; there were four of us and she didn’t want us under her feet all afternoon. I was a big fan of the needlework table. Who knew it would come in so handy, hey?”

“I have underestimated it.” 

He rests his chin on his hands, intently watching her work. Her fingers are so small and quick compared to his. Her gaze flits between the sock and his face. It’s weathered and worn but she still sees warmth and handsomeness there, between the cracks in his scarred armour. The way he’s kept an eye on her every day since that breakfast, just to make sure she’s holding up. She shakes her head, and passes it back to him.

She can’t fall in love with Janine’s brother.

***

It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and Sam hasn’t let Five out of his sight for more than two consecutive hours since they got back to Noah Base, his hand stuck to theirs with glue. They’d normally protest this, but yet another dusting of horror and shadow under their eyes has cut their counterargument short. They nod to Jody when they see her request, and make some excuse about going to ask Janine about work assignments, hobbling a little on a twisted ankle. She appreciates it.

“Sam! Finally got you alone for a minute!”

“Jody! What can I do for you?”

He’s almost himself again, grinning at her from the chaotic comms desk that he’s tacked a bit of tinsel to. She can nearly forget the sound of his screaming last week when Five practically died in that godforsaken maze. It turns out nobody is better at picking up and piecing back together than Sam Yao.

“How did you know that… how did you…”

She pushes the door closed, and clears her throat. “How did you know that you liked Five?”

 His grin broadens. “Jody, you like someone?”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you didn’t have crushes!”

“I didn’t. I don’t. Well, maybe I do. I don’t know!”

“Well, describe it to me.”

“It’s like…” God, his smile is dopey. “Stop looking at me like that, Sam, you’re putting me off! It’s like… every time I look at him I feel warm, and the world feels a little bit softer, more yellow, and I just want to protect him. Like, I’d die happy if I knew he’d be safe. And his face. His jawline. I… you’re giggling!”

“Tell me more, tell me more!”

She lobs a stack of rotas at him half-heartedly. He ducks.

“He’s just… so clever and so kind. And he’s still hurting, and I wish he would stop.” She sighs, warming to her theme. “Janine will go mad with me if she hears about it.”

Sam’s face goes slack with shock. “Oh my God. You like Peter?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, no! I like Tom!”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense!” He chuckles, and then adds: “You do know he’s still a bit...”

“And Five isn’t?”

It comes out defensive, and she immediately wishes she’d bit her tongue, but he doesn’t get annoyed. He shrugs. 

“You’re right, Five isn’t well either. Both of them have been through… stuff we can’t even imagine. Done things that people maybe shouldn’t forgive.”

“Who hasn’t.” Jody says darkly. 

“Exactly. Their hearts are in the right place, but… just be careful, Jodes.”

Lines like but he would never hurt me and things are different now are not lines she likes to have run through her head. She heard those lines often enough as a little girl, when her brother Cameron was still in nappies and she herself barely out of them but already knowing they were lies. Her mum’s taste in men had got better by the time she’d had the twins, but Jody didn’t forget. She’d vowed to never, ever need anyone that volatile that much. 

And yet - here she is.

“So. How’d you know you liked Five?”

“I just,” he flushes. “One day I woke up and just knew. My heart belonged to them. I couldn’t get it back. When they’re not around… it hurts.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Oh Sam, what am I going to do?”

“You could just tell him?”

“Yeah. No.” She swings around in the office chair as she talks. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I make him uncomfortable? He’s going through a lot still, deep down, and I don’t want to add to it, or put him under any pressure.”

“He’s a six foot three MI6 Commander, Jodes, I somehow don’t think you’ll be pressuring him into anything.”

“I suppose... but you keep your mouth closed, no matter what, okay? I don’t want to hear this anywhere outside of this room.”

“Just tell him you like him!” Sam calls after her as she heads back down the corridor.

***

“You’re coming to me for advice about women?”

Tom’s already realised that this was probably a bad idea, but he can’t exactly back out now. “I mean? Jane likes you.”

“Janine’s Janine. She’s… well, I know she’s your sister but she’s not like other women.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, she’s…” he’s flustered. “She’s amazing.”

“And other women aren’t amazing?”

“Fair point, fair point,” he raises his hands. 

Tom runs a hand through his hair. It’s thinning. When did he get old? So much of his youth was wasted. 

“Jody is beautiful and talented and so good. She’s got this… hope about her. This luck. I feel like nothing could truly go wrong when I’m beside her.”

Peter nods. “And what does she think?”

“I have no idea, but she can do a lot better than me. She’s seen me ranting and raving out of my wits, and I’m ten years older, and… just look at me, Pete. I’m mostly scar tissue.”

Peter does, up and down.

“You’re very good looking to me, Colonel,” he winks at last. Tom snorts. Maybe the bloke isn’t so bad.

“You must have had relationships before, though? Surely? The way Janine always put it you’d think you were James Bond. A different person on your arm every day of the week.”

“I mean, I did. Of course. Lots of people. Nothing serious, but… that was so long ago. Before… before my head became a mess. When I could tell truth from lie as easy as up from down. These days, I’m not even sure if you’re in front of me. If I squint, I might lose you completely.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. Tom’s introspective seriousness has always made him uncomfortable. 

“Anyway, enough of all that rambling. I’m going to give her this.” He proffers a wicked-looking weapon. “For Christmas, I mean. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“An automatic crossbow?” Peter whistles. “Romantic. Right up her alley. She’ll love it.”

He nods in gratitude. “I appreciate you listening. Before you ask, Janey will love the ringbinder full of poetry you put together.”

“How did you know about that!” Peter is ashen, mortified.

“The name’s Bond, James Bond.” Tom throws the line over his shoulder as he wanders away.

***

Their Christmas is a quiet one, but perhaps more festive than anyone expected. Someone dims the base’s lights with crepe paper, and Amelia emerges from her quarters with a bottle of champagne. “Not as a gift, you understand,” she impresses firmly, “but as a service to myself. Being around you lot is making me bloody miserable. Put some smiles on, for once!”

Someone else has found a flock of wild geese and thanks to Jody’s crossbow the residents of Noah Base feast like Victorian paupers made kings. Janine taps her glass, makes a speech about times being tough and the importance of finding the things to celebrate. “I salute you all for your fortitude and bravery. This time next year, we will be with our friends and families again. It’s only a matter of time before we take our home back.” She’s got good at these at this point. They all raise a cheer, at least.

 Tom and Jody talk long into the evening about everything they can think of that isn’t the last decade. Childhood stories, mostly: Tom and his football friends accidentally crashing a wedding and causing a minor diplomatic incident; the prank war with next door that Jody and her brothers got into one summer; Tom, Janine and General Bakari’s three-way chess matches; Jody nearly burning the house down attempting to make her mum breakfast in bed. Debates over Doctor Who episodes lead into arguments over the best Quality Street chocolate until they’re the last people still awake.

“D’you believe in God?” She asks, at some point, hazy under piles of blankets in front of the heater they’ve powered for the occasion. He’s wearing the new jumper she made him (“I’m sorry it’s bottle green, it was the only wool we had enough of but it’ll bring out your eyes, I reckon”) and leafing through the pamphlet of beginners knitting patterns she’d painstakingly copied out and tucked inside it. 

He chews his lip, lost in thought, his mind straying back to Algeria even as he takes her hand in the present. “No. I used to. I was a chorister when I was a boy.”

“Seriously? One of those ones in Westminster Abbey? My mum always used to listen to them!”

“Yes! I loved it!” He laughs. “Only did the Christmas service once, though. I got bronchitis the next year, and after that my voice broke. But it was the first time I started enjoying life in England. When we stepped outside after the service, that was also the first time I saw snow. I thought it was a miracle. Janey told me not to be so ridiculous, so I put a snowball down the back of her coat.”

“I can’t get over how posh you are. Did you have to wear robes?” It’s the biggest he’s seen her smile in ages. He laughs again at the look on her face.

“Yes, I had to wear robes.”

“If there are no photos left of this, I’ll never forgive your sister.”

“What about you? Why did you ask about God?”

“I don’t know: I was just wondering. True meaning of Christmas, and all that. I used to think at the start of all this that if He did exist, he must have a pretty sick sense of humour. But I’m not sure, I don’t think it’s all that black and white anymore. Maybe He’s just tired of us.”

“Perhaps He’s on a long holiday. He’ll check in next millenia. Until then, we’ll have to figure it out for ourselves.”

She falls asleep not long after that, her head on his chest. He loves her so much his ribs ache.

Maybe there is a God, if a feeling like this can exist. If the two of them can find each other, despite everything. If he can leave so much behind, and lose so much, and still be so happy.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Wilford Warfstache - A Personification of Death

Inspired by my obsession with the Hades game, I found myself watching William’s story in the WKM series in a different light. An idea crossed my mind - what if he was somehow connected to Thanatos, the Greek personification of death? This is my attempt to come up with a tale about it, complete with some cheesiness that would work in the context of a myth.

TW  war (story discussion about William’s time in the war), death (discussed frequently), alcohol (mentioned in passing, but alludes briefly to using it to ‘help’)

Word Count: 4,242 (hence the much needed read-more. Enjoy the wall of text!)

-

In modern times, there are often tales of gods who parent children and abandon them to fend for themselves without the support of influential or important figures to help provide guidance for the young demi-god who is thrust into unfamiliar territory.

This isn’t a tale quite like that, for the ‘father’ never realised until it was too late to reach out. Otherwise, Thanatos would have been there all the way. Who can naturally embrace death when it becomes so normal in their life? But worse, how can one expect to approach a mother when she had never met him? Now, don’t take that the wrong way. Thanatos would never consider doing something immoral with any human. Thantao’s ‘parenthood’ is wholly indirect.

-

An ill man had died in his sleep, and Thanatos knew he was the one to collect the soul and bring it safely to the Underworld. The soul rose in the form of a pale blue wisp and drifted toward the figure cloaked in black in the search for comfort. At that, the door was opened by a young lady in the first trimester of pregnancy, the man’s sister. Though she could not see them, she locked eyes with Thanatos before he disappeared into smoke. However, a single black feather had come loose and fluttered to rest beside the man’s head, allowing it to become visible to the mortal eye. The lady, taking this as a sign that her brother was still with them even in death, kept the feather.

It was woven into a necklace she wore every day. It brought a sense of peace she didn’t understand, but could explain as her brother keeping her company like he promised. But it had a second effect. The magic imbued within the feather began affecting the baby she was carrying, giving him a divine connection that would otherwise never have existed.

When William J. Barnum was born, any onlooker would assume his only connection to death was simply through him being named after his deceased uncle. But to anyone who could sense the extraordinary, they would gather the clues and notice a pattern.

As a child, William was drawn to death. He would find abandoned, injured animals in gardens and parks and keep them company until they passed. He held a quiet curiosity about the topic, often asking about it when it appeared in childhood storybooks, questioning why adults were so keen to avoid talking about it. For him, it was something he found comfort in. When others were grieving, William was able to reassure them that no matter what, their loved one was okay. Like Thanatos, the one who gave him this mysterious connection to death, William’s energy was gentle like light ripples in the calm lake. He helped those that were dying accept their fate and face it feeling at ease, and provided a foundation for those left behind to feel comfort despite their grief. Death was no monster, he believed. It would never actively take lives for fun. Perhaps that was what drew him to Celine and Damien when they were children. Their family connection to witchcraft and communication with the dead (even if it was something neither twin touched on) was something that gave William a sense of familiarity, if one were to look beyond the surface. 

As a teenager, this interest in death stayed. He had asked around and had managed to secure an apprenticeship with a local undertaker when he finished school. He was a natural. His calm, methodical approach was grounding when those around him were hurting. His voice was always low and polite, and he even offered hugs to those who needed reassurance. The only thing that stopped him was the war. He hadn’t fully qualified, but he knew he needed to help his country and protect those he cared about. Though he was barely an adult, William enlisted and promised his friends that he would be the only one of the four to have direct involvement with the war.

When there, he was faced with more death than he had ever seen, and how it made his stomach turn. It was loud. Invasive. Impersonal. It drove him to work harder, do everything he could to keep the soldiers he fought with safe. He learned tactics, organised routines, found ways to help keep morale boosted, argued with superiors over their poor opinions in seeing troops as ‘disposable’. It was no surprise that he became one of the youngest Colonels in modern history. He showed wisdom beyond his ages, and a keen sense of observation. He could bring a sense of calm when his men were stressed with the constant reminders of death and pain, and some would later go on to write in diaries and memoirs how William was able to help badly injured soldiers embrace death and pass in a more peaceful state of mind than they might have otherwise. But with others, he would will them on, encourage them to fight and win, and they would.

One winter’s day, when there was an ‘up and over’ order given, William and his troops were keeping the enemies at bay and refusing to lose ground. Something caught his attention, or rather, someone. A man dressed in shining armour and wearing a helmet with a plume of red feathers raised a sword high into the air, which coincided with a sudden rise in violence and bloodthirsty behaviour from the soldiers. Only William seemed to be immune to this, instead briefly distracted by the unusual sight. The man in armour turned his head, and the pair locked eyes. Even with the distance between them, William could see the look of realisation on the stranger’s face before he disappeared into thin air.

In the weeks that followed, rumours began circulating of seeing a man walking along the barren wasteland between the warring trenches late at night. Those that claimed to see him described him as wearing a long black cloak that matched the large wings sprouting from his back. The man appeared to be searching for something, but didn’t seem to notice any onlookers. If the rumour was passed to others, they would discover a trail of red poppies in the area the cloaked figure was spotted, and sometimes a black feather would be found. Troops believed it was the Grim Reaper himself coming to inspect the damage when the dust settled, but William felt it was something more. Was he connected to the armoured soldier William saw? Not only that, the black feathers resembled the one that was woven into William’s necklace (but felt colder, somehow). Unfortunately, he never caught a glimpse of the supposed Grim Reaper.

---

The Colonel earned his reputation of becoming rather eccentric, and it was put under the simple explanation of “war”. But it was more than that. It was being surrounded by a type of death that was foreign to him. He was the unknowing son of the being associated with peaceful death. Despite his best efforts to keep some sort of calmness, the sheer chaos of it all was too much for him. The sudden, violent losses were heavy and weighed down on his heart. It was suffocating. He should have been able to do more. He should have been able to help them. He managed to get his men home with no one dying for the final six months of the war, but it wasn’t enough.

He tried to resume his apprenticeship after the war, but both he and the undertaker agreed he needed a break from death and to learn to appreciate life again. It was both a good and a bad solution. Good in that it helped him recover from whatever injuries - physical and emotional - he endured in his years away.

Bad in that it gave him too much time to think when he wasn’t in the barracks.

He grew up surrounded by death. Excluding the war, he had witnessed far more death than someone his age should have, when his fairly quiet and untroubled upbringing was taken into account. In a way, it almost followed him, or did he follow it? Was he cursed? Death brought about loss, and he had experienced a lot of that in his fairly short life.

All this only encouraged William to embrace the here and now. Life was short, why waste a moment of it? Life needed some madness, otherwise you would regret it when you found yourself lying on your deathbed. Beyond his childhood friends, he kept a distance from everyone else. If he was cursed with death because of the war, he would run the risk of someone dying because they got to know him.

Alcohol helped. For little periods of time, he was able to not think about whatever was plaguing him and enjoy life like he used to. But he had to be careful. William didn’t need to look far to see what a mess a man could become if he relied on alcohol as his only source of joy. No, that was eventually found in Celine… And we know how the story goes.

---

Mark died by William’s hand in a round of Russian Roulette, but the Colonel couldn’t find it in himself to care. The two who were once as close as brothers barely acknowledged the other without an argument breaking out. One of them would have died that night. There was regret in what was done, but William was never one to mourn openly like Damien did. Perhaps that was why they argued in the theatre. It had been years since they both knew someone who had died. Had Damien forgotten that William didn’t cry or openly mourn? Had William neglected to consider that a sudden death would shake the gentle mayor to his core? Words were snapped, and William made the decision to avoid Damien until it was all over.

As the day dragged on, William decided to join in on the ‘game’ that seemed to play out before him. Pulling the Mayor’s friend outside to give an indirect confession, firing his gun indoors to deliberately wind up the detective… Trusting Celine.

When Celine arrived, he didn’t know it would be the start of a chain reaction that resulted in him losing everything. Celine and Damien disappeared. No body, no sign of life. That was the first time since the war that he felt true heartbreak. He had promised to protect them both, and he failed. He didn’t care that the detective was shot, but the poor district attorney should never have been wrapped up in the mess. They never deserved such a horrid death.

It was why William was by their side all night. He spoke gently to them, hoping that they would be alright until he felt the pulse in their wrist die out and their hand freeze. They were the only truly innocent soul in all of this, even he knew that. But what could he do about it now? Everyone that stayed was dead, except for him. Once again, he was surrounded by death, and yet escaped. No matter what he did, the cold hand of the Grim Reaper never reached for him… Unless it was because he was hidden, cloaked under the protection of the black feather necklace. It held a feather found upon death. It might be hiding him from the death he might deserve. He unclipped it and carefully placed it around the attorney’s broken neck. Maybe it would give them guidance to a peaceful afterlife.

Imagine his horror when instead, they rose to their feet as morning broke.

This was no homo necrosis, nor the more intelligent variant homo sapien zombifius. They were alive, right before his eyes! They struggled to rise to their feet and looked around, confused as though they were merely hungover. Their head turned effortlessly to take in the surroundings. That neck was definitely injured, William had checked it! But as he watched, he found the attorney being someone he knew and a complete stranger at the same time, like their face didn’t entirely belong to them. He didn’t dwell on it. In panic, fear, desperation, William clung to the extreme idea that maybe, just maybe, Damien and Celine were still alive. He’d pretend it was a joke, he’d slap them on the back and congratulate them for giving him quite a fright and getting even after all the pranks he himself pulled over the years. Just let them be alive and okay!

No matter how hard he searched, no matter how loud he shouted, neither twin appeared, Never would they come out of hiding. But it was okay! William was okay! Let bygones be bygones. They could all still be friends. He’d forget about this elaborate death prank. 

...

It turned out that it wasn’t the only thing he forgot, but I’m sure you know about that already. This isn’t a story documenting the gradual descent to madness: the alias hopping, the loss of original identity; but rather one about death.

---

Perhaps now is a good time to reveal an important piece of information - death is represented by many beings, not just Thanatos. Many cultures depict an individual who bears the important task of guiding the living to an afterlife. These are all true, but there are more. In recent times, as the population globally has grown, so too has the demand. In America, where William grew up, there is what can be considered a ‘family’ of death. With guidance from Santa Muerte, younger figures from all walks of life with a common link with various aspects of death were found as humans and nurtured to allow their abilities to guide flourish in the Americas. It was only as they noticed a bottleneck of death in a city suburb in North America did they discover that they had a brother whose presence was so gentle, he slipped through the cracks. All it took was the discovery of a discarded necklace outside a derelict manor for Santa Muerte to recognise where the lost child of the family went, and which personification of death gave them their powers.

Thanatos was there within the hour. The moment the black feather necklace was placed in his hand, he could feel the comforting energy that was like his, but was so distinctly not. 

“His name was William,” Thanatos murmured, closing his eyes to let the energy tell him the story of the human who became a kin of death. “He was the personification of the acceptance of death. If war had not broken out earlier in the century, he would have lived a humble life as an undertaker who would bring comfort and calm to those dying.”

“ ‘Was’?” one of the younger deaths repeated in a whisper. Thanatos nodded.

“He died, in a way. Without guidance, the war made him think it was a curse that death followed him.” Some of the younger beings nodded in sympathy. They knew how it felt when they were alone. “Something happened and… he cracked. I need to go to him.”

The plan was simple. Thanatos would be accompanied by several younger entities, but only he would enter. The rest would reclaim the souls that were trapped inside. The facade of the building was a disco, but it could be a trap. If there was a bottleneck where souls of the deceased were unable to pass, it could only mean bad news. William could have turned into an angry, vengeful representation of death, using the souls to fuel his power and cause unknown chaos. For the safety of the humans living in the area, William needed to be dealt with, and his ‘father in death’ was the only one who might be able to calm him down. Thanatos took a slow breath to brace himself, let his wings briefly disappear, and entered the disco.

---

A hand shielded his eyes to allow them time to adjust to the brightness. Slowly, Thanatos lowered it as he examined his surroundings. There was no mania, no anger. It was precisely as it seemed to be - a disco. The mood was jovial as the crowds danced. They were completely lost in the music, and Thanatos had to wonder how long some of them had danced for. As he made his way through the crowd, he noticed a clock over the bar. It worked, but the minute hand never moved when the seconds hand completed its cycle. Were they caught in a solitary moment in time? It would explain how the dancers never stopped for a breather. The song reached the big finale and finished with a spectacle. Thanatos lifted a hand and waved it in the direction of the band. To his relief, the members exchanged looks and decided that yes, a break was needed. They put their instruments down and hopped off the stage. As they did, the dancers began to follow. Thanatos stepped back to try and find the one person who didn’t react to the mob mentality of walking out. Sure enough, he spotted William. In the far corner, he had been finishing a chat with a still-living man in a black leather jacket. Even from here, Thanatos could sense the death clinging on him. Unlike William, the other’s presence of death was latched on the man. He was a soul that was cursed with witnessing the deaths of loved ones over and over. What being decided to leave such a foul mark on that man or his family? It was not something Thanatos could help with, but maybe one of the younger beings might be able to help that poor, tormented soul.

The host of the party turned, blinking in confusion to see someone still there. He said something to the other man, who nodded and made his way out.

"Thought ya woulda gone outside with everyone else," he gestured to the entrance, hand holding a martini glass that wasn't there seconds earlier. Thanatos shook his head.

"I was actually hoping to talk to you. I found -"

"Y'know, I don't think I've seen ya before. New ta th' disco, eh? I'll never miss a chance ta talk ta someone new. Wilford Motherloving Warfstache, a pleasure ta meetcha!" A free hand was boldly offered to Thanatos. Confused, he shook it.

"Wait… Wilford? But I thought your name was -" Thanatos was interrupted again, this time by Wilford tutting and pressing a finger against the other's lips.

"Ya got talkin' ta that detective, yeah? He knows me by a lotta names. But I like Wilford the best." He took a sip from his glass, an act that was interrupted by Thanatos dangling the necklace in the air. "Where'd ya get that?"

"I found it on my way in. Does it belong to you?" Wilford nodded, only to shake his head. Then, after a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"I… I wanna say I've never seen it, but I feel like I’ve been reunited with somethin' precious…" Slowly, Wilford reached out to take the necklace into his own hand. Thanatos noticed how recognition lit up Wilford's face the moment he touched it. 

"This is mine. Had it as long as I could remember. I think it was passed down ta me. Can't say fer sure, memories have been a bit funny fer me." His thumb gently brushed against the feather as his eyes lifted to the stranger. Something clicked, and he froze for several long seconds.

"This… this feather is yers, ain't it? Who are ya? What's going on?"

"I am Thanatos, one of the personifications of Death." A hand was placed on his chest to give a half-bow to Wilford. "And I believe you are one as well."

A silence fell on the pair. Wilford stared blankly at his drink, swirling it around for several seconds.

"Someone spiked my drink," he eventually grumbled, putting the glass on the stage. "I'm hearin' things. Death isn't real."

"It's as real as the necklace you hold."

"Ya don't understand. Of course ya don't. People don't stay dead. They get knocked out fer a while an' then they wake again." He raised the necklace to eye level, gears slowly turning in his foggy mind. "I've seen people die an' get right back up after a few hours. I've spoken ta people who oughta be dead. I've shot people, an' they come back ta find me, like Abe!" All the while, Thanatos was silent. It might have sounded like the ramblings of a madman to deny such a certainty exists, but every word was grounded with experience, with personal fact. "I'm sure yer tryin' ta be nice but… I don't believe in death. Not anymore."

"Then how did you know the feather was mine?"

"I can see yer wings."

"My wings are currently invisible to all but those who are Death."

"Bullshit."

"I've never been here before, so why did no one else stop to ask me about my wings?"

"Ya really think that's gonna bother anyone?"

"I was caught in the middle of a crowd packed together, and not one complained about wings being in the way." Thanatos rolled his shoulders, allowing the black wings spread to their full span before folding in neatly. "Even like this, they would be in the way of a crowd."

"But -"

"Wilford." Thanatos cut through whatever ramble Wilford attempted to start. "How long have you kept these people here for?" Wilford's eyes widened, before his head lowered in guilt.

"They were sufferin' with their problems an’ their struggles. I brought 'em in here so they could be happy. None of 'em deserved this." Wilford gestured around them. "It ain't much, but here, they can be happy, they can have fun. Nothin' hurts here. What's wrong with that?" Thanatos sighed at the innocent question, muttering something about 'another Dionysus' under his breath.

"You might not believe in death… but they do. We aren't supposed to play with lives like they are toys. We help guide them to their afterlife."

"Whoa whoa, time out fer a sec!" Wilford make a 'T' with his hands. "What's all this 'we' talk? I'm just a guy who runs a disco."

"Like I said, you're a personification of Death, just like I am. You've lost your way."

"I think I'd remember bein' some sorta skeletal guy with a scythe, thanks very much." A pause. "Do I have a scythe? That'd be cool ta swing an'-"

"You don't have a scythe. Your role is to help others find death -"

"Which I don't believe in."

"- to help them accept it. That's what you used to do. Do you remember wanting to be an undertaker?" The question hung in the air for several seconds, allowing Thanatos to realise that Wilford wasn't kidding when he said his memory was poor. "You're a good man, Wilford. Have you helped someone who might have been, say, confused lately?"

Wilford turned his head to the entrance. "Abe." One word, one name.

"And what was wrong?"

"He… he was lost in a moment. Hunting me for so long for something I did… He thinks he knows everything, but it fell apart the moment I asked questions that went just below the surface." Lost in thought, his accent sharpened to something more dignified. "No one can survive a bullet to the chest. But he did. But the others -" With wide eyes, Wilford looked back at Thanatos. "They're dead. All of them. I only wanted to help them be happy and have fun. That's not wrong, is it? Am I in trouble?"

"You're not in trouble. You didn't know. But now, they can be brought to the afterlife that suits their upbringing and beliefs - Wilford!" Thanatos hurried after Wilford, who had bolted to the entrance without warning.

-

"Abe!!" 

The cry echoed in the empty car lot. Wilford was alone. He slumped on the top step, pulling his knees to his chest like a child. Not even the cold hand of Thanatos stirred him.

"Abe… Was that the man you spoke to?" Thanatos asked. Wilford nodded into his knees. "I don't know where he is now, but he is still alive. Close your eyes and hold the necklace tight. Can you sense him?" There was a slight shuffle as Wilford followed the instructions. A noise that could have been a content sigh or a relieved sob escaped.

"He's okay…"

"He needs time to heal. I know your paths will cross again one day, but you can't stay here waiting for him. Let's bring you somewhere where you can get a warm drink and a change of clothes. What do you say?"

Wiford has always been one to go with the flow of whatever might be happening at the time. This wouldn't be any different. 

"So how does this work? Me bein' some sorta Death, but not believin' in death, an' even killin' some folks?" Thanatos gave a soft smile as he sat beside Wilford.

"Have you considered that you might be the side of death that gives the recently deceased extra time to process their own death before they are collected?"

"But can Death kill people?"

"No, no they shouldn't," Thanatos chuckled. “But we can work on that problem in time.”

A silence fell as the pair sat on the steps. There was a long road ahead of them. Thanatos knew that Wilford would never be ‘okay’, but Wilford wouldn’t be alone with this. Not anymore.