#so that was easier than going back and forth from the page where I have the post with the questions open and this page

[yevrosima-the-third]

For the ask game: 1, 11, 18, 24 and 29 :)

- Parlerenfleur

Hey :)

No. 1 - favourite place in my country. Place, place, place. That's hard. Oh right! Sombor. Best town I've been in. Just so beautiful. Going there made me realize why someone would want to stay in one place, in the place they were born in, their whole life.

No. 11 - My favourite native writer/poet is Vasko Popa for sure. He's my favourite poet in general. His poetry feels like a wind that goes through you. In the original at least. Never read any translations

No. 18 - Do I speak with a dialect of my native language - Well yeah. I mean, everyone does, right? But my dialect is like. The one they use on tv. So the most basic one. Still recognisable though. People kinda hate us lol. Hm, sometimes I sound sort of Bosnian because I have some family that's from there

No. 24 - What other nation is joked about most often in my country... You know, I actually have no idea. I know there are jokes about our neighbours, Montenegrins and Bosnians, and I think we joke about Germans. But most joked about? Not a clue

No. 29 - Well my region, or rather, city, doesn't exactly have beef with anyone... Everyone else just kinda hates us lol. I live in the capital of my country, so, yeah, I think that's kinda common - everyone hating the capital. It gets a lot of attention and a lot of resources while other parts of the country are neglected. Unless the elections are nigh, of course :))))) Also, people from here can be quite... Entitled? I can't remember how to translate bahati. When they visit other places in our country as tourists. So like, it's justified, it's not without reason that everyone hates us. Also, people from here tend to look down on people from other places, I even catch myself doing it sometimes. I try not to.

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”  

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked. 

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head.  So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the  canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

 You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions.  Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

 Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,  

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering,  you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.    

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t. 

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left,  the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega.  An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do.  You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.   

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.  

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.   

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.  

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

˙

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.  

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic.  Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.  

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.  

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished.  “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most­–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does. 

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.   

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him. 

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines,  remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture. 

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature. 

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh. 

How he had fucking ruined you. 

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him. 

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down,  “I…I-“ 

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you. 

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.” 

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough. 

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You,  the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha�� you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

 He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

[sunkissedchld]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the pink box with a charlie brown theme, pile two is the 2022 letter with a tiger sticker, and so on and so forth.

this PAC details what messages you have been intentionally missing because you don’t want to acknowledge or admit something. parts of these messages may sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be in a mean way - it’s meant to be in a blunt way where you can no longer ignore what you’ve been putting off.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 📨

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Muwop" by Latto (feat. Gucci Mane)

"Dynamite" by Gallant & Brandy

"Guns and Ships" from Hamilton the Musical

"Talkin' Bout" by Loui (feat. Saweetie)

"Champagne Poetry" by Drake 

Cards:

Seven of Cups, Ace of Wands, Eight of Pentacles, Eight of Cups, The Lovers (Rx), Eight of Wands

Reading:

Folks of pile one, you may have a lot of choices at your fingertips. These choices could have to do with what school you should go to, or what career should you pursue; should you change jobs, or should you pursue a promotion; should you continue in the beliefs and way of thinking you've already established, or should you look into new philosophies? Intuitively, these choices have to do with the new and the old - do you continue doing something you've developed a routine of doing, or should you try something totally new and out of your comfort zone? Some of these choices seem dreamier than they actually are and that's possibly what's causing you confusion. For most of you, you're being asked to choose the new over the old; in all, this collective is being told to go for the choice that stirs up motivation, enthusiasm, and inspiration in you - make the choice that brings you happiness. 

With 888 being shown by the cards, you're being told to trust that everything is falling into place for you. Do you trust your guides the way you say you do? One line that sticks out comes from the final shufflemancy song, "Champagne Poetry" by Drake, when he says "still managed to moonwalk straight through a minefield". Some of you may be learning the skill of faith - and not just the kind where you say you have it. The changes you're being asked to make will lead you to better circumstances in your future, but you have to take the leap to accept them. There's a need to see your loss of the old or your comfort zone as an opportunity for more; I'm reminded of that one Facebook meme when a little girl is holding a small teddy bear and telling Jesus that she doesn't want to give it up, but Jesus has an even bigger bear right behind his back that he's ready to give her when she gives up what she's used to. If you continue on the path you're on right now, you will continue to feel the disappointment, confusion, and imbalance you've been experiencing for a while now. 

The easier and more willing you are to give up the old, the quicker you will experience movement towards the new. Trust the process of your growth.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Everytime" by Smarty Baby (feat. Spool)

"NASA" by Ariana Grande

"She Knows" by J. Cole

"Cash Race" by Tinashe

"So Far So Fake" by Pierce the Veil

Cards:

Queen of Cups, Seven of Wands, Six of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Empress, Knight of Cups, Four of Cups, Queen of Swords

Reading:

The majority of energy surrounding you, pile two, is connected to your emotions and intuition. You may be very used to caring for others and giving them your all. You may be known as the "parent" friend that is always caring for your friend group and nurturing others' wishes and wants. With "NASA" and "She Knows" as shufflemancy songs, I get the feeling you're being asked to stand up for yourself and figure out what you need from others instead of constantly giving to them. You may be very used to persevering and pushing through your emotional highs and lows on your own while others often turn to you to burden theirs. The lyrics from "She Knows" stick out the most when Cole repeats, "I can't be what you want from me" and also "only bad thing 'bout a star is they burn up". You can't give anything to other people if you don't first take care of yourself because if you do that, you will burn yourself out - one way or another. 

You're being asked to communicate your needs in relationships to those you care to continue to have one with. Now is the time to bring in new ideas about communication and your ideas of how you'd like to experience a relationship - friendship, romance, work, and more. You need to speak up. You may worry that if you rock the boat so to say, then you'll experience conflict; you're worried you will lose people you consider important; you may worry that no one cares for you the same way you care for everyone else. The thing is, you have the ability to bring abundant and nurturing energy to not only others, but also yourself. Everything blooms around you - because of you. It's okay, and it's time, to put yourself first, especially since for so long you've done the complete opposite. You should likely do some meditation and thinking about what it is you need in order to feel appreciated in a relationship, and if people are not willing to meet said needs, then it's time to cut yourself free and find independence from those who are not willing to meet your needs. 

You deserve to have people around you that make you feel safe and supported. Relationships (of all kinds) are not one-way streets where you should be the only person driving. They need to be reciprocal or else you're just giving yourself away until you're withered down to nothing, and that is not sustainable. Not now; not ever.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"What Are We" by Inayah

"Treat You Better" by Shawn Mendes

"Know Better" by Tinashe

"Lost One" by Jazmine Sullivan

"break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (live)" by Ariana Grande

Cards:

Six of Cups, Seven of Swords, The Hanged Man, Nine of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Page of Swords (Rx), Three of Cups, The Magician

Reading:

You might be feeling very nostalgic right now or as of recent. You could have feelings for a childhood or long-term friend or this friend has feelings for you. You could have recently gotten back into contact with them and they realized their feelings or you realized yours. One person may be trying to make a move towards the other, but the other person is closed off, possibly lying to themselves about how they actually feel about the person who is being honest about theirs. This could also apply differently in that one person is in a relationship where they're being lied to, manipulated, or cheated on. The other person could realize what's happening and think, "they don't deserve that; I would treat them so much better - I wish they could see that". In both situations, there's a feeling of suspension and restriction in some way. Someone could be afraid of making a move or falling for someone else. 

The way this message came in for you, pile three, was different from the others since technically only two songs are considered shufflemancy; the other three were channeled during a time I wasn't doing a reading. To me, this means this message is a little more urgent and that you need to make a move or decision quicker than those who chose other piles. For those of you who may be thinking, "maybe this isn't for me", some other signs this could be for you are 7/77/777, heavy Sagittarius and Leo energy or placements, heavy or significant Saturn transit aspects, and/or someone with Jupiter in retrograde in their natal chart. 

Moving on, you're being asked to have some courage and gather the strength needed to face your fears. For those of you who are in a relationship, maybe your current significant other isn't who you think they are; maybe they've broken your trust many times, or held you back from things that make you happy, or create an environment of love that isn't safe or preferred in some way. You deserve (and can receive) a better type of love and commitment from other people than the person you're with right now if you're feeling they aren't appreciating you. Be willing to demand more for yourself because you deserve it; you are worth it.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

Shufflemancy:

"Still Into You" by Paramore

"Water Me" by Lizzo

"Miss Murder" by AFI

"Love Killa" by Monsta X

"Sicko Mode" by Travis Scott (feat. Drake)

Cards:

Page of Swords, Five of Wands (Rx), Seven of Cups, King of Wands, Judgment, The Sun, Two of Wands

Reading:

Choosers of pile four, you're being asked to be willing to share your ideas and feelings more than you are currently. You are entering a new phase of life where not talking and keeping your thoughts to yourself will not serve you. You may be receiving new opportunities of different kinds (jobs/internships for some of you, new friendships and relationships, etc.), and there's a need for you to no longer avoid confrontations in order to have peace, but instead you need to speak up and find a compromise for you and the other person or people. There's a way to have both of your needs met rather than just one person's. 

Moving on, you may need to make quick choices soon. Some of you may have been dreaming about working in a certain field or meeting someone specific, and that wish could be coming to fruition. There may be a vast array of options, but make sure you're making the right choice and not falling for the illusionary and fanatical ones; go over what your options carefully. When you finally make a decision, be bold in it and don't waver - someone could try to persuade you to do something other than what you want, but you'll need to stand up for yourself; this could be why you're being told to speak up more now. Be willing to take action and be a leader when it comes to what it is you want to achieve. 

When making this decision, follow your intuition, logic, and heart. Think of what it is you want to come out of what you've wanted for so long; what are your true desires? What is it that you want to experience? Have confidence in your abilities and also in the thought that everything you want and dreamed of could absolutely happen for you. Have faith in yourself. Allow yourself to experience the happiness you dreamed of and always wanted. Be willing to make moves forward in your life. Don't allow others or yourself (as a result of anxieties) to hold you back from your potential.

[petrichal]

Look, I really love KobyLu, but specifically KobyLu where Koby is a marine and Luffy is a pirate and nothing else, because I LOVE seeing how people handle Koby's inner conflict while also maintaining his dream in canon.

Lead this up with Luffy being himself; he's not fazed by what other people think of their relationship, doesn't give two shits about it, but he's emotionally intelligent-- he goes along with Koby's insistence that they talk away from prying eyes (and isn't it such a pirate thing to do, to duck and hide and whisper under the canopy of leaves, to steal away treasure under the dead of night? Luffy's selfish and possessive of those he loves, so he's gleeful that there's a world where he can see a side of Koby no one else can), and *absolutely no one* would think to ask Luffy about love or dating so it's all the more easier for him to not slip his secret, this back-and-forth meeting with a marine upstart, the first person he had met from when his journey had just begun.

And as time goes on, they both get stronger, monsters in their own right and maybe more distant. But Koby's a sap so every time he sees Luffy on the newspaper after a dangerous stunt, he thinks he's so reckless but he thinks it with such endless admiration and pride that he thinks his heart might just burst. (On the same stretch of ocean, Luffy sees news of Koby too, rising up in ranks after each new exploit and his excitement grows because Koby's gonna be an Admiral and one day, he's gonna have to chase Luffy too. and if he's going to replace one of those shitty Admirals in office, well, then that's a bonus as well.)

If anyone asks them why they keep looking at the newspapers, always staying at the same page and on the same picture, Koby would deflect. He's selfish in that way too; the longer he stayed with the Marines, the more he knew he had to act against the corruption within, and he wasn't about to ruin his career by claiming he's been seeing the future Pirate King in secret. There was also that promise he made to Luffy, something about "catching him eventually" that Koby should've probably thought about harder in hindsight but remembering Luffy's sunny grin made his admission all the more worth it.

(and Helmeppo would sigh, because he's been with this idiot for 2 years and while he can't see what the hell Koby's been seeing in Luffy, if he sees even a trace of that ratty straw hat on the front page of the news, he's gonna pass it to Koby.)

Luffy, though. Luffy is loud. To people close to him- his crew, his trusted allies- he'd yap their ears off about this shy marine guy with incredible tenacity and potential for power and everyone goes woah so you know him? he's a friend? he's your WHAT and he laughs because no one really asked him before and wow, this really is everyone's first time hearing about this, huh?

(and Law knows Koby- Koby the Hero, who was around during the Rocky port incident- and he turned towards the Strawhats with a questioning, alarmed stare only to be met by the same look. Secret brothers, and now a lover?, they'd mutter under their breaths. Zoro though, he looked like he was simply being told what the day was and raised an eyebrow as if it was no big deal. As if he knew already. what the fuck?)

So when Marine Captain Koby comes to visit (under the pretext of wanting to arrest Luffy), waving his hands like he was greeting a friend rather than an enemy, wide smile on his face to match Luffy's, the crew leans back and sighs, and let him chase their captain all around whatever island they'd be docked at at the time.

And, well, if they happen to settle by the shore after that, entangled limbs and hushed talks of dreams, the world, of what lies after holding hands and chaste kisses- that's Koby and Luffy's business entirely.

[observeowl]

Second Chance | Chapter 15 - Exam Rush

Series Masterlist

A new week, another 5 days to look forward to the weekends. While it was common for projects to have a deadline near the end of the semester, some of them were staggered to release some pressure on the students. Unfortunately for you, your modules were not as kind and were packed all together. With the addition of certain teammates not pulling their weight, causing the rest to have to do extra and rectify their mistakes. Even having to go as far as heading back to school during the weekends in order to make sure everything was done right. The only saving grace was your Archery club standing down earlier than the rest by one week, allowing members to focus on the studies and project. 

You were taking everything step by step, there just wasn’t enough of you to go around getting everything done perfectly. You had to prioritise which modules do you think have the highest chance of getting an A, but at the same time making sure that the others do not fall below a B-.

Using your credits and staying behind after class has become the norm for you. You even went as far as asking Diana if you could stay at her dorm for the next two weeks to minimise having to travel back and forth. Thankfully, she agreed to that. 

After finishing your first slightly easier project which wasn’t very content heavy, you treated yourself to a nice lunch (wasn’t much different from your usual meal) at the canteen in school. 

Meanwhile, Natasha also had lots of projects to do but she had the luck of getting capable people in her team, that is not discounting her own ability, however it does make it a bit easier. “Alright, so we’re left with the executive summary and references. Just make sure you input them in the tool and once everyone is done, I will include them at the back. Is that okay?” Natasha asked. 

“Yup, sounds good to me.” Clint agreed, so did some of the remaining teammates. “I think there’s still more to add for the conclusion, we haven’t met the mark for excellence according to the rubrics.” Maria stated. 

“We have to submit this by the end of today, but if you feel that you are able to finish it in time and within the page limit, then feel free to do so.” Natasha replied after taking a look at the document. 

At the end of the quick meeting, Natasha waited for Wanda to have lunch together since the buildings were close and connected with each other. Vision was supposed to be there as well, but he was trying to handle Tony and his lack of enthusiasm for their project. Poor him…

“Where do you feel like having lunch today?” 

“Just at the canteen today. I have another meeting to catch later.” Wanda replied. Being a social science student meant that she has more projects than finals compared to a few, certainly not to you. Accountant is famously known for having many finals as well as projects. 

“Well, what are you planning to have then?”

“Salad. It’s been a while since I had it.”

“I’ll get the spaghetti then.” 

Lunch crowd was huge as usual and it was hard to find a place if you’re late. They placed their bags on one of the empty tables and queued for their food. Natasha ordered and waited at the table for her number to be called while Wanda was still queuing. The line moves quickly though, as she arrived at the table with her food before Natasha got hers.

“Hey, isn’t that Y/N?” Wanda nodded behind Natasha’s back. Turning behind, it was indeed you eating while looking at your phone. Before she could ask if Wanda would be okay to eat with you, her number rang and she was forced to leave the conversation for later. 

By the time she came back, Wanda was with her bag ready to go. The shock on Natasha’s face was enough to satisfy her. “I know you better than you think, Nat. You want to sit with Y/N, am I right?” 

“You’re… not wrong about that.” Wanda smiled before making her way to you. “Hey, Y/N, do you mind if we sit together with you? We couldn’t find a free place to sit.” 

We? Just slightly to the left stood Natasha with a cheeky smile. And looking around indeed does not have any free sitting remaining. “I guess.” You moved your bag to give them some space. It’s really a small table fit for two, so to have three people on one table was quite a squeeze. “Here, I got ice lemon tea for you. I noticed you didn’t order any drinks so I ordered one for you.” Natasha pushed the drinks closer to you. 

“Well thanks, I won’t reject a free drink.” The rest of the meal was quite relaxing with conversation mostly filled up by Wanda. 

“Hey ladies.” Vision came and Wanda stood up from the table to hug and kiss him. “How did your day go?” She asked. “Ain’t too bad, but it could be better. I couldn’t stop Tony from planning a party for after the finals. He wouldn’t start the project until he finished calling people to set up and plan the party.” 

“How about you join us, Y/N?”

“What?”

“The more the merrier right? Tony always said we could invite whoever we wanted. It’ll be fun! Tony has lots of activities planned when we get together. We are Finance buddies with Thor, we have to stay together.”

Oh, don’t we know it. It always ends with drunk people by the end of the night and some of us have to drag them back to their room. 

“Eh I have to check, but I’ll let you know during the next Finance class.” 

“Great! I have to go now, but have fun!” You watched as Wanda left and decided that it was time for you to leave as well. “It’s time for me to go too. See you around, Natasha.” You threw away your trash and proceeded to your study room that you booked. Today, you have dedicated your time to complete your accounting module project, which involves a lot of reading. The project is rather vague and it is very easy to cross the line of plagiarism as some words just couldn’t be replaced.

You couldn’t understand why your group was taking so long to complete this. Your friends have meetings that last for less than half an hour and yet yours go for as long as an hour and half or even longer. If you’re going to be putting in so much time and effort into this, you better be getting an A for this project. 

You were studying halfway when you noted someone looking into the room with the intent of getting in. Looking at the time on your laptop, you realised that your time was up and started packing quickly. 

The same routine continued for the next two weeks. The school gave students one week to study without any lessons before the final examination started and you officially moved into Diana’s dorm starting monday. 

As usual, you invited Camellia to study with you in school since you required her credits when booking the room too. But you had the room to yourself today since she decided to rest for another day before mugging. 

The first half of the day went great as you looked through your teammates portion of the project and suggested some edits where possible before the meeting later. Not wanting to spend your entire time on this project, you went to have some lunch before coming back to start on another module. 

You were deciding on what you were going to take away when you saw Natasha queuing for some chinese. It took you a split second to think but you decided to go another direction and order some drinks first. 

“One ice lemon tea without lemon please.” You handed them your water bottle for them to fill and paid while they were at it. 

“Hey, I thought I saw you from the corner of my eyes.” Natasha approached you as you waited. “You’re studying in school with Camellia?” 

“No, it’s just me today.” You thanked the worker before walking away. “Which school are you studying in again?” 

“Business.”

“Same! Shall we head back together?” 

“Fine. Let me order my food first.” You ordered some ramen while Natasha stayed a bit behind waiting for you.

“What time are you staying until?” Natasha as you headed back together. “I’m not too sure. I booked the room until 8pm, but usually there’s no one who books after that, so I might stay even longer than that.” You replied. 

“Hmm… I’m studying with Clint so feel free to come whenever you need a break. I sure need a break from him.” You hummed and tapped into your room as Natasha went another direction. You had about two hours to yourself before the meeting started so you did as much as you could while eating. You tried not doing anything that is too brain intensive, just creating your notes, making sure you understood everything for your Strategy Module, noting down things that you could use in your essay. (yes, there’s still projects due during the study week.)

When it came to the zoom meeting, you connected your airpods and logged into the meeting, going through in your head what you were going to say. You weren’t too confident in your suggestion when editing other’s paragraphs. And sure enough many needed to revert back to what it once was, but at least some of them were okay. Condensing was really important as we had to keep it to 12 pages. 

Towards the end of your part, you felt that your heart rate was increasing. Sure, you’re speaking a lot more compared to other zoom meetings when you weren’t confident, but it didn’t warrant such changes in your physical body. You didn’t even feel that bad when you were presenting in front of the class. 

You texted Camellia privately that you weren’t feeling well and might not respond when questions were directed to you. You took off your airpods, hoping to regulate by taking a few deep breaths, but it did not prove to work. Feeling a change in your body, you headed to the nearest washroom to puke your guts out. After staying there for a few minutes, you thought it would be over since it was common for you to feel better once you threw up. So you headed back to your room and informed Camellia that you’re likely to be out for the rest of the meeting and update you where necessary.

You put your head down trying to relax your body, giving it a chance to reset, but it didn’t work. You felt like throwing up again and quickly made your way to the washroom. It proved to be the right decision as your body didn’t wait once you locked the door behind you. You ended up staying there for longer than you did before, throwing up the entire lunch you had. 

After flushing, you sat there for a bit to make sure that was everything, but it wasn’t. You puked even more to the point that you could feel the walls of your stomach touching each other every time you threw up. 

You were sweating bullets with how hot it was in the washroom but that was the least of your problem right now. You washed your mouth before taking a nearer seat outside the washroom, just in case you needed to rush in again. You gave into the desire of laying on the seat, hoping that your body was tired enough to take a nap. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You opened your eyes and saw Natasha’s worried face in front of you. “You’re really pale. Do you need any help?” You wanted to reply to her, but you had to push her aside to make way to the bathroom. “Y/N!” 

You almost didn’t make it in time and Natasha had managed to squeeze in before you closed the door on her. “Hey hey, it’s okay. Stay here, let me go get water for you.” You managed to find her arm without looking and hold her back. “I need… I need you to help me buy some medicine.” 

She nodded. “Medicine? Okay, just don’t move. I’ll be back.” 

So you ended up staying in the cubicle for longer that you would have liked. Thankfully, there was no one using the washroom at this time and you did need to puke a few more times. It was endless really, not knowing when you were going to stop. You were so tired, but there wasn’t any place for you to lean your body. 

Finally, Natasha came back with a handful of things. “Ok, come on, take this. If you’re not stopping anytime soon, we really have to bring you to the hospital.” She opened the bottle and gave you two tablets to swallow. You settled for a while, thinking it was really all over, but you turned away from her, feeling unwell again. 

“Hey, I don’t think it is good if you continue here and study. Why don’t I take you home?” Natasha rubbed your back and gagged continuously. You shook your head and Natasha misunderstood your meaning. “I really don’t think you’ll be getting anything else done.”

“No… I meant that I’m staying with Diana for the week until finals.” 

“Alright, let’s pack your bag and head to her dorm then.” She helped you up when you were sure you were done. “Be careful.” She warned when you were stumbling. The dorm was within the school campus and there isn’t any transport for students and Natasha has to guide you through all the way back. She kept checking if you were okay, assuring you that it is okay if you needed to take a seat for a moment.

In the end, you weren’t able to last the whole way and had to find a place to sit. Natasha was getting worried that your illness had taken a drastic turn, but you assured her that you just had no energy and you’re feeling fine other than that. A short break turned into a long one as Natasha realised that you fell asleep on her. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she texted Clint that she was taking care of you and would not be heading back so soon. 

“Alright, come on.” She carried you bridal style and carried your bag for the remainder of the journey. Thankfully you had Diana’s spare card hanging around your neck and she was able to quickly tap and enter the building without dropping you. Using her memories from the first life, she knew which level and room Diana was located. 

She tried knocking the door just in case Diana was inside and she didn’t want to intrude, but there was no answer. Hence, she used the card once again to unlock the door. 

Nat moved the cover away and placed you gently on the bed. She touched your forehead for a temperature and thankfully, you weren’t running a fever. She found a thinner blanket and covered you with it, also making sure there was a bin next to your bed. 

“I miss you.” You mumbled and Natasha paused as she was writing a note for you and Diana. 

“I miss us too.”

Series Masterlist

@queen-of-chaotic-surprises @esposadejoyhuerta @gemz5 @natsxwife @dyslexic-dreamer @unexpected-character @eternalnight410 @leenasayeed @oh-thats-sad @skz-xii @gay-frogs-dancing-around @justspance

[txttletale]

bundletober #12: greetings from ______

alright technically this counts as 'earlier' than yesterday. tomorrow i swear to fuck i'll put this up at a normal time. and also reblog all of the last couple ridiculously late night bundletobers. but anyway today i'm looking at greetings from ______ by c.r. legge, a clearly wise and intelligent user of the classic 'two initials' naming schema.

so the coolest fucking thing about this game is that it's a map-making / worldbuilding game that can be printed out and folded into the shape of a brochure. how fucking cool is that! what an incredible, inspired use of format. its colours are ugly and weird in a very 70s way, which gives it a wonderfully dated travel brochure feel. A+ for layout.

the game is pretty simple: you start with a 6x6 grid, put each player somewhere on that grid, and then take turns moving to new squares and describing what's there. there's a really ingenious use of space here--the game uses a set of descriptors to prompt you, and while in the one-page version of the game they're all inelegantly piled into a big unappealing square, in the brochure version they surround the map on all sides, outlining the edge of one side of the brochure. it's a really neat touch that pushes the brochure version of the game out of being a format gimmick and into being, imo, the superior version of it.

if i have one criticism of greetings from ______, it's similar to what i said about locum tendons yesterday--that when you use precious space in your single-page rpg's layout to make a table to roll on, that table better be all hits. i see what c.r. was going for, with the table (designed to be rolled on with 2d6) putting less remarkable landmarks on the numbers that are easier to roll. but the job of a table should be to prompt you to say something you might not have otherwise--"a place where people live" is a boring and bizarrely vague result.

i think this table could have leaned heavier into being more evocative and vague or more specific and interesting. it's in an akward middle space between the two. that said, the concept of walking around the map creating things and saying what's there is really good and the layout makes it a real standout. if i ever run this, i'll probably try and narrativize it a bit--this seems like it would be a standout game to play in epistolary format, in-character travels and postcards flying back and forth. honestly something i might consider hacking for the next time i need to worldbuild for a longrunning campaign!

so yeah despite my criticisms i think it's fair to say any game which i'd consider hacking has done something very very right with its design--or at least, very very interesting.

greetings from ______ can be purchased as a digital download through itch.io

[itsmistyeyedbi]

of plants and dresses

Pairing: F!Detective/Farah Hauville

Word Count: 1,4k

Prompt: Fix (and Fall)

Warnings: There's nsft content in the last half of this. Nothing crazy I think, but it's there.

Tags: @happyhauvillebday

Summary: One of Zuri’s plant pots fell somehow, and Farah decided to fix it. This is nsft so minors dni!

Zuri’s apartment is full of plants.

Seriously, they're everywhere.

Farah remembers the first time she saw it. After Zuri found out about the supernatural world and the truth about Murphy, Unit Bravo were put on watch duty.

They spent ages squished into her tiny, silver hatchback with her and Nate sitting up front, giggling at her fighting for space in the back with Adam and Morgan. And once they were free of that hell, they went up two floors, took a left and spent a good minute going back and forth over house rules while Zuri psyched herself up to open the door.

When she finally did it was nothing but greenery.

They lined the windowsills, sat on counters and tables and her bookshelf, hung off the walls and ceiling. They're in the kitchen, the living room, her bedroom, her bathroom. One day Farah asked for a tour and got to learn some of their names. She even got to name some of the new ones!

Humans love to talk about the afterlife. If there’s one for plants, Zuri’s apartment was it.

She just needs to… rethink where she puts some of them. Or the type of pots she puts them in at least.

Farah is in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor and staring at the pieces of an orange, ceramic plant pot on the coffee table. They are glinting in the light from the lamp she turned on - she doesn't need it to see better but it doesn't hurt to be extra careful.

The pieces have been cleaned and I did a test run on what Frankensteining them together will be like. Now to glue.

Nate glances over the top of his book, eyeing the super glue in her hands from his seat on the couch. “Perhaps you should put more newspaper underneath the pot. Just in case.”

“No way! What if it gets stuck on it? I won't be able to rinse it off, it'll ruin it. Besides, you,” she narrows her eyes at him and purses her lips, “are supposed to be reading and not hovering over me.”

“I'm not hovering, I just-”

“Don't worry, Natey, I won't mess up your precious, antique coffee table. Now shush, I wanna have this done before she gets here.”

She turns her attention back to the task at hand, ignoring Nate's sigh and waiting for him to turn a page before taking off the lid of the tube in her hand.

She reaches for the biggest piece, turns it delicately in her hand. She can do this, she knows she can do it. There aren't that many pieces. She just needs to take it nice and slow. With a deep breath she squeezes the tube and applies the glue on the jagged edge; she puts it down, picks up the piece that aligns with and holds them together for a few seconds.

And that's it.

Well then.

That was easier than expected. She didn't even realise she stopped breathing.

It's fixed in less than an hour. Nothing broke, nothing got stuck to things it shouldn't and she managed to add a little pizzazz to it too. After a final inspection, she stands over the ceramic pot and dusts off her hands.

“Done at last,” she grins and puts her hands on her hips. She looks over at Nate and bends at the waist to catch his eye. “And your table survived. It got a little decorated, but survived.”

Thud.

Huh. That's the fastest she's seen him close a book.

“Excuse me!?” Nate puts the book down beside him with some force and stands up to make his way to the table. “Decorated? Why would you do- oh.”

He gives her a deadpan look. Farah laughs and nudges him with her elbow.

“Come on, you've gotta have more faith in me than that. I've just gotta remove the newspapers and it'll be squeaky clean.”

He huffs and shakes his head before looking at the plant pot. He tilts his head a bit, smiling softly while nodding in approval, “It looks good. The stitching detail you added makes the cracks look intentional.”

“I know, right? I really hope she likes it.”

Their heads swivel towards the direction of the entrance as their ears catch the sound of Zuri’s car slowing to a stop outside the warehouse. A thrill of excitement runs through her. Just in time.

Nate returns to his seat, leaning back with his book in hand as he raises a brow and asks the questions she's been trying her best to prevent him from asking. “How did it break, anyway? Did something happen?”

“Oh, well, something would have to happen for it to fall over wouldn't it? It wouldn't fall by itself,” her voice pitches up as she speaks and she takes a few, frantic steps away from the coffee table. She laughs sheepishly and rubs the back of her neck with her hand. “So yeah, something happened. Obviously, but it wasn't bad…”

-

“Keep this on.”

Farah shudders as Zuri whispers in her ear, brushing her lips against it before sucking gently. The hands on her waist trail down to her hips, gripping them tightly and pulling her in, keeping them firmly against hers.

Farah can barely remember how they got here, the events of the day are all lost in a haze. She can vaguely recall going shopping and sending Zuri pictures of herself in a new sundress, some of them were steamy… It hardly matters now. All she wants to do right now is to get as close to her as possible. She wants her kisses, her hands, her.

She wants her. And she wants her to show her just how much she appreciates those pictures.

Farah lets out a breathless laugh and cups the base of her head. “I don't think I'll ever take it off with you reacting to it like this.”

“Oh, I'd like it off at some point,” Zuri walks her backwards until the back of her knees hit the window seat, her nose brushing against her skin as she slowly moves down to the place her neck meets her shoulder. Her lips tickle her skin while she speaks. “It's gorgeous, especially on you, but I don't think I could stand having anything between us for long.”

“Then you'll have to make the most of me wearing it now.”

“I plan to.”

She slowly coaxes her to sit down. Farah keeps her arms around her to pull her down with her. She doesn't want anything between them either. But the dress can stay for now, it's just thin enough for it to not really be in the way. Zuri’s touch is just as effective at turning her into a puddle with it on.

Her feet are off the floor the moment her ass touches the seat. She spreads her legs and just as she goes to wrap them around Zuri, her knee knocks into something and-

Crash.

From the wall to the seat to the floor, a potted plant falls.

They freeze, eyes darting from the broken plant pot to each other. Shit, she didn't mean to do that. Aren't those plants usually mounted higher up on the wall? She swears it wasn't there before. Farah braces herself for some kind of scolding or an expression of disappointment, but instead-

Zuri’s shoulders shake with laughter she's trying to keep in, and then her face scrunches up and she wheezes.

Farah must make a funny face at that because she bursts into laughter, and she can't help but join her. Zuri rests her forehead against hers, braids falling onto Farah's chest. She lets her laughter peter out and watches her with a grin. She's always thought Zuri was beautiful but she always manages to stun her into silence in moments like this, where she's laughing and smiling and happy, genuinely happy. And she'll never get over the fact that she's the reason she is.

Eventually her laughter stops and Farah takes the opportunity to say something. “Sheesh. I forget how flexible I am sometimes. Sorry, babe.”

“Don't worry about it,” Zuri giggles, shaking her head and cupping Farah's face. “That's hardly something to apologise for. And it's not too bad, I can fix it later.”

“Or you could leave that to me.”

“Hmm?”

Farah shrugs, wrapping her legs around her and putting her hands on her back. “I could fix it for you. Like you said, it's not too bad.”

“That's sweet, but you don't have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Zuri strokes her cheeks with her thumbs, pursing her lips in thought before smiling at her with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Okay. But you'll have to let me show you how thankful I am for that at some point, in whatever way you want.”

“Deal.”

[art-missy]

Part 1

Subtility had never been Percival's forte. He had been going back and forth from your workshop since you started working on a new prototype this morning. He kept coming back to ask you if you wanted a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, a snack, if you needed a tool and so on. But his eyes always lingered on your opened journal, quietly trying to decipher your sketches, diagrams and notes without getting close or in your way. He then admired the evolution of the new weapon you were tinkering.

It has been a few days since you helped him with his last invention and you sometimes thought of the moment you had shared in the workshop. You could rant and share your interests without feeling judged. For the first time of your life, you felt like you were being understood instead of being ostracized. Percival and you debated, talked, learned from each other. You could keep talking about your passion without feeling or caring about judgmental eyes glaring in your back. You had great knowledge and ideas. Percival had a keen eyes for details and a great forge mastery. You spent hours together in the intimacy of the workshop.

And grew significantly closer.

Shy touches and fleeting caresses, everything was new for the both of you but so welcome.

So when you heard the soft knock on your door again, and the hinges slowly creaking, you paused your activity and took off your protection goggles and to look at him.

"H-Hi !" he said, slightly overwhelmed by your eyes boring into his. "I found this purse full of screws and thought you might need them."

A small and discreet smile appeared on your lips. He looked like a shy child proud of his discovery. Or a small puppy waiting for praises. With a crooked finger, you beckoned him closer. Clearing his throat and his eyes widening slightly, he obeyed without forgetting to close the door behind him.

"Thanks, Percy," you said as you took the small purse. "That's sweet." You then handed him your new prototype. "Any thoughts ?"

He took your invention, weighed it in his hands with an awe reverence and then eyed your opened journal. His eyes widened when he saw the words written on the page.

"You made a flame-thrower ?"

You nodded then shrug.

"Well, it's an evolution of one I made in the past. This one work with black powder and a few runes instead of gas. The last version used to have a backpack connected to it and it wasn't really...practical," you sat down on a chair and watched his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "This prototype is better. Easier to use, to hide and to transport."

Once again, you saw that excited child instead of the serious gunslinger. And a blink of your eyes later, the gunslinger was back. You found him endearing. The heat of the passion in his eyes warmed your heart and you found yourself wanting to feel the weight of his critical eye on you.

"The weight is surprisingly lighter than a pepperbox," he noticed. "And the handle is more firm. However, the trigger is too stiff and the canon seem to sensitive to heat."

You nodded, agreeing with his words.

"That's what I thought," you sighed. "I can't find the right design or the right material for the trigger and the canon."

Percival put the prototype on your work table and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Anxiously avoiding eye-contact, he cleared his throat.

"I might know a place where you could find what you need," his voice sounded croaked to his ear. "We could...go in there and find what suits your invention better."

You noticed his ears reddening and found it endearing. How could someone with a mind as brilliant as his be so nervous in asking someone out ?

"Sure," you smiled and contained a chuckled when you saw the relief on his face. "How about tomorrow ?"

"Perfect !" he said with a sudden enthusiasm that he quickly hid with a cough. "I'll come get you in your room."

"Okay."

Percival felt something bloom in his chest at the unexpected fondness in your voice. He felt his cheeks warming with an alarming speed and his palm sweating.

"I-It's settled then !" he stuttered as he rushed towards the door.

Once outside, Percival's knees almost buckled under the buzzing weight of his excitement. He was nervous, but couldn't wait until the next day. Scanlan would call him a simp, Grog would ask if he was aroused but he did not care. Sharing moments and conversations with you was something he didn't know he missed until recently, and he wanted to savor it.

[sunkissedchldrecon]

✉︎ .•°⟡˚ ༘ °⟡˚ •. ✉︎ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the pink box with a charlie brown theme, pile two is the 2022 letter with a tiger sticker, and so on and so forth.

this PAC details what messages you have been intentionally missing because you don’t want to acknowledge or admit something. parts of these messages may sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be in a mean way - it’s meant to be in a blunt way where you can no longer ignore what you’ve been putting off.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 📨

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Muwop" by Latto (feat. Gucci Mane)

"Dynamite" by Gallant & Brandy

"Guns and Ships" from Hamilton the Musical

"Talkin' Bout" by Loui (feat. Saweetie)

"Champagne Poetry" by Drake 

Cards:

Seven of Cups, Ace of Wands, Eight of Pentacles, Eight of Cups, The Lovers (Rx), Eight of Wands

Reading:

Folks of pile one, you may have a lot of choices at your fingertips. These choices could have to do with what school you should go to, or what career should you pursue; should you change jobs, or should you pursue a promotion; should you continue in the beliefs and way of thinking you've already established, or should you look into new philosophies? Intuitively, these choices have to do with the new and the old - do you continue doing something you've developed a routine of doing, or should you try something totally new and out of your comfort zone? Some of these choices seem dreamier than they actually are and that's possibly what's causing you confusion. For most of you, you're being asked to choose the new over the old; in all, this collective is being told to go for the choice that stirs up motivation, enthusiasm, and inspiration in you - make the choice that brings you happiness. 

With 888 being shown by the cards, you're being told to trust that everything is falling into place for you. Do you trust your guides the way you say you do? One line that sticks out comes from the final shufflemancy song, "Champagne Poetry" by Drake, when he says "still managed to moonwalk straight through a minefield". Some of you may be learning the skill of faith - and not just the kind where you say you have it. The changes you're being asked to make will lead you to better circumstances in your future, but you have to take the leap to accept them. There's a need to see your loss of the old or your comfort zone as an opportunity for more; I'm reminded of that one Facebook meme when a little girl is holding a small teddy bear and telling Jesus that she doesn't want to give it up, but Jesus has an even bigger bear right behind his back that he's ready to give her when she gives up what she's used to. If you continue on the path you're on right now, you will continue to feel the disappointment, confusion, and imbalance you've been experiencing for a while now. 

The easier and more willing you are to give up the old, the quicker you will experience movement towards the new. Trust the process of your growth.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Everytime" by Smarty Baby (feat. Spool)

"NASA" by Ariana Grande

"She Knows" by J. Cole

"Cash Race" by Tinashe

"So Far So Fake" by Pierce the Veil

Cards:

Queen of Cups, Seven of Wands, Six of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Empress, Knight of Cups, Four of Cups, Queen of Swords

Reading:

The majority of energy surrounding you, pile two, is connected to your emotions and intuition. You may be very used to caring for others and giving them your all. You may be known as the "parent" friend that is always caring for your friend group and nurturing others' wishes and wants. With "NASA" and "She Knows" as shufflemancy songs, I get the feeling you're being asked to stand up for yourself and figure out what you need from others instead of constantly giving to them. You may be very used to persevering and pushing through your emotional highs and lows on your own while others often turn to you to burden theirs. The lyrics from "She Knows" stick out the most when Cole repeats, "I can't be what you want from me" and also "only bad thing 'bout a star is they burn up". You can't give anything to other people if you don't first take care of yourself because if you do that, you will burn yourself out - one way or another. 

You're being asked to communicate your needs in relationships to those you care to continue to have one with. Now is the time to bring in new ideas about communication and your ideas of how you'd like to experience a relationship - friendship, romance, work, and more. You need to speak up. You may worry that if you rock the boat so to say, then you'll experience conflict; you're worried you will lose people you consider important; you may worry that no one cares for you the same way you care for everyone else. The thing is, you have the ability to bring abundant and nurturing energy to not only others, but also yourself. Everything blooms around you - because of you. It's okay, and it's time, to put yourself first, especially since for so long you've done the complete opposite. You should likely do some meditation and thinking about what it is you need in order to feel appreciated in a relationship, and if people are not willing to meet said needs, then it's time to cut yourself free and find independence from those who are not willing to meet your needs. 

You deserve to have people around you that make you feel safe and supported. Relationships (of all kinds) are not one-way streets where you should be the only person driving. They need to be reciprocal or else you're just giving yourself away until you're withered down to nothing, and that is not sustainable. Not now; not ever.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"What Are We" by Inayah

"Treat You Better" by Shawn Mendes

"Know Better" by Tinashe

"Lost One" by Jazmine Sullivan

"break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (live)" by Ariana Grande

Cards:

Six of Cups, Seven of Swords, The Hanged Man, Nine of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Page of Swords (Rx), Three of Cups, The Magician

Reading:

You might be feeling very nostalgic right now or as of recent. You could have feelings for a childhood or long-term friend or this friend has feelings for you. You could have recently gotten back into contact with them and they realized their feelings or you realized yours. One person may be trying to make a move towards the other, but the other person is closed off, possibly lying to themselves about how they actually feel about the person who is being honest about theirs. This could also apply differently in that one person is in a relationship where they're being lied to, manipulated, or cheated on. The other person could realize what's happening and think, "they don't deserve that; I would treat them so much better - I wish they could see that". In both situations, there's a feeling of suspension and restriction in some way. Someone could be afraid of making a move or falling for someone else. 

The way this message came in for you, pile three, was different from the others since technically only two songs are considered shufflemancy; the other three were channeled during a time I wasn't doing a reading. To me, this means this message is a little more urgent and that you need to make a move or decision quicker than those who chose other piles. For those of you who may be thinking, "maybe this isn't for me", some other signs this could be for you are 7/77/777, heavy Sagittarius and Leo energy or placements, heavy or significant Saturn transit aspects, and/or someone with Jupiter in retrograde in their natal chart. 

Moving on, you're being asked to have some courage and gather the strength needed to face your fears. For those of you who are in a relationship, maybe your current significant other isn't who you think they are; maybe they've broken your trust many times, or held you back from things that make you happy, or create an environment of love that isn't safe or preferred in some way. You deserve (and can receive) a better type of love and commitment from other people than the person you're with right now if you're feeling they aren't appreciating you. Be willing to demand more for yourself because you deserve it; you are worth it.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

Shufflemancy:

"Still Into You" by Paramore

"Water Me" by Lizzo

"Miss Murder" by AFI

"Love Killa" by Monsta X

"Sicko Mode" by Travis Scott (feat. Drake)

Cards:

Page of Swords, Five of Wands (Rx), Seven of Cups, King of Wands, Judgment, The Sun, Two of Wands

Reading:

Choosers of pile four, you're being asked to be willing to share your ideas and feelings more than you are currently. You are entering a new phase of life where not talking and keeping your thoughts to yourself will not serve you. You may be receiving new opportunities of different kinds (jobs/internships for some of you, new friendships and relationships, etc.), and there's a need for you to no longer avoid confrontations in order to have peace, but instead you need to speak up and find a compromise for you and the other person or people. There's a way to have both of your needs met rather than just one person's. 

Moving on, you may need to make quick choices soon. Some of you may have been dreaming about working in a certain field or meeting someone specific, and that wish could be coming to fruition. There may be a vast array of options, but make sure you're making the right choice and not falling for the illusionary and fanatical ones; go over what your options carefully. When you finally make a decision, be bold in it and don't waver - someone could try to persuade you to do something other than what you want, but you'll need to stand up for yourself; this could be why you're being told to speak up more now. Be willing to take action and be a leader when it comes to what it is you want to achieve. 

When making this decision, follow your intuition, logic, and heart. Think of what it is you want to come out of what you've wanted for so long; what are your true desires? What is it that you want to experience? Have confidence in your abilities and also in the thought that everything you want and dreamed of could absolutely happen for you. Have faith in yourself. Allow yourself to experience the happiness you dreamed of and always wanted. Be willing to make moves forward in your life. Don't allow others or yourself (as a result of anxieties) to hold you back from your potential.

[armoricaroyalty]

some dialogue tips

Okay, I expanded a bit on my thoughts from earlier and wrote...like 800 words? Here’s a collection of largely-unrelated thoughts about writing dialogue. I’m not an expert wordsmith by any means, but I’ve been doing simblr stories for about 2.5 years and writing creatively for much longer, so I hope some of this is helpful!

Read your dialogue out loud. In my opinion, the most important quality in dialogue is flow. Does the back-and-forth feel natural? Is the conversation stilted, or does it feel like something people might actually say? When you’re reading words on paper, it can be difficult to identify the rough patches. Your eyes are a different instrument than your ears and your brain processes speech and written text in different ways. If you’re stuck, read your dialogue out loud. The clunky phrases will jump out and be much easier to correct than if you left it on the page.

Different people talk differently. Dialogue is a tremendous vehicle for characterization, and I feel like I don’t see people discuss that point very often! What a character chooses to say and how they say it can tell us a lot about who a character is, where they come from, and what they value. You don’t need to strain yourself to come up with a completely unique voice for every single character, but if you remove dialogue tags and can’t tell whether a given line belongs to the 19-year-old stoner or their 65-year-old grandparent, you’ve missed an opportunity to imbue your characters with a lot of flavor and personality. Consider your characters’ personalities and ask yourself whether they’d use slang and profanity, whether they ramble or get straight to the point, whether they use complicated professional jargon or simpler and more accessible language, whether they hold back in conversation or say everything that pops into their head…

Most utterances are pretty short. In real life, it’s very rude to monologue or dominate a conversation without giving the other person a chance to reply. If one “line” of dialogue is more than one or two sentences long, the character will probably come across as if they’re delivering a monologue, not having a conversation. Break up longer lines of dialogue and include a bit of back-and-forth to keep the conversation flowing.

If a character is talking for a long time, spread the dialogue up across multiple screenshots. This is a personal preference thing, but if I’ve got a character who is talking for an extended period of time, I like to break the dialogue up across multiple screenshots. A screenshot with 4 lines of text is visually cluttered and makes it seem like the character is saying the whole thing in one breath. The same four lines of text distributed across 2-3 screenshots is visually neater and has a greater sense of pacing and rhythm.

Real speech is unpolished… There’s a joke among journalists that you can make anyone seem stupid by quoting them verbatim. In ordinary conversation, people often pause for thought, use filler words, and talk over one another. In my writing, I make heavy use of ellipses and em-dashes to try to give a sense of how the character is speaking, in addition to what they’re saying (perhaps I overuse them…) If you’re trying to represent ordinary conversations between ordinary people, including those kinds of verbal errors can bring a lot of life to your dialogue.

…but don’t strive for realism (strive for verisimilitude instead). Actual, real-life conversations are almost unlistenable (said the guy currently listening to a podcast). In real life, people often repeat themselves, interrupt one another, say the same things over and over, go on tangents, and say the same things multiple times in a redundant fashion. If you include too many of those kinds of markers in your written dialogue, your story can quickly become unreadable, even if it reflects a “realistic” manner of speech. In general, your dialogue doesn’t need to be realistic, it needs to feel real. (Verisimilitude basically means a sense of truthfulness [as opposed to realism] in fiction.)

People rarely address each other by name... This might be a unique-to-me issue, but when I reread my old writing, something that jumps out to me is how often I have characters use one another’s names in casual conversation. In real life, people very rarely use titles and names except in greetings and introductions. In general, if you have characters heavily using names mid-conversation, you should go back and eliminate a few.

...with some exceptions! In formal and workplace settings, using someone’s name or title is a verbal marker of respect. Characters in settings with formal hierarchies (militarizes, royal families) will be likelier to use titles and honorifics. Using a person’s name can also be a way to emphasize your point or express sincerity. You might also need to incorporate an occasional name or title in a heavy-handed way in order to deliver exposition or remind readers of the relationship between two characters. For example, I’ve got an upcoming scene where I have a character address their cousin as ‘Cousin’ in a very stilted way. I hate that it’s clunky, but I decided it was necessary because I thought readers would need the reminder that those two characters are related.

Conversations should build to something. In a back-and-forth, each new line of dialogue should move the conversation forward. Imagine this back-and-forth:    A: How are you doing?    B: Terrible! my car broke down.    A: It broke down? But you just took it to the shop!    B: I know, the mechanic lied to me about the repairs! The last line in that conversation has nothing to do with the first line in that conversation. If B had responded to A’s greeting by saying “the mechanic lied to me!” they’d seem slightly unhinged -- it’s an abrupt change of topic, but just two additional lines give it context and make it flow. When you’re writing these kinds of exchanges, you want to make sure that one character’s line makes sense as a response. If A had said “It’s good to see you!” instead of “How are you doing?” B’s reply would feel jarring, and you’d need to find a different way for them to introduce the subject of the broken-down car into the conversation.

I love to write guides. I should do that more, lmao.

[lia-land]

A Court of Silver Flames

3/5 stars

Spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames*

How this book made it past an editor is beyond me.

I read a review where someone said that this book felt like reading smut about a cousin and I couldn’t agree more. I can’t connect with Nesta. She will always just be Feyre’s sister to me and not a main character as she was supposed to be in this book. I feel like we were set up to dislike her in the earlier books and that dislike was set in stone for me.

This was kind of like a long fan fiction and had the same vibe as A Court of Frost anf Starlight because there wasn’t a strong plot and it read like A Court of Nesta and Friends. What little plot exists was mainly there to set up for the sex scenes and Nesta’s redemption arc. When a book is over 600 pages, I expect a strong plot, not for things to conveniently happen solely for the purpose of Nesta and Cassian having sex and for her and Rhys to salvage their relationship. The pregnancy plot came across as nothing more than an excuse for Nesta to come in and save the day so that she can redeem herself. I also think we should have seen the pregnancy through Feyre and Rhys, rather than having it happen in a book where they are side characters. Especially since it involved the death pact backfiring. I have many issues with the death pact regardless and it was a plot point that was set up for failure, especially since it was thrown into the end of ACOWAR. In fairness, we did get a bonus chapter of them finding out she’s pregnant, but after three books of their relationship developing, this seemed like a big thing to leave out. Perhaps we’ll get a novella of it one day. Although, it doesn’t seem like Feyre was getting up to much in this book while she was pregnant, so maybe it would have been somewhat uneventful to read about her pregnancy from her POV. Then again, this book is over 600 pages of nothing particularly eventful, so it wouldn’t be out of the question.

As many other reviews have said, it makes little sense that Cassian’s guts were falling out in ACOWAR and he lived, but C-sections do not exist. As I said before, a lot of things were just too convenient for the ‘plot’ so that Rhys and Nesta could have an excuse to mend the relationship. And the whole thing at the end where Nesta quickly throws in that she changed her hips as well so that she can bear a winged baby?? That’s not the sort of execution I’d expect from an author who has published multiple series and has been writing for years. 

The stairs specifically don’t make sense because if Nesta is so tired from going down them, how does she make it back up the stairs every time? Surely going up is more effort than going down. This is a huge plot hole and I don’t understand how not one person picked up on it before the book was published. It’s stated that she is completely drained and doesn’t stop until the can’t take another step down, so it’s not like she’s strategically conserving enough energy to go back up. There’s one occasion where she goes down more than halfway, and then gets too tired so she goes back. Like… would it not have been easier to go down when you’re already halfway there… This bothered me the most out of everything else. The House of Wind in general is a plot hole because as far as I can recall, it’s never stated that there is another way to get in other than flying. So my question is why and how would they use it for their ‘official’ meetings and parties? Do Rhys and co go back and forth to fly all these people in? Especially during those weekly meetings Rhys and Feyre do with the citizens that was mentioned in ACOFAS, because I doubt everyone would be willing or able to go up those 10,000 steps while dressed for a party or meeting.

Also, how did Rhys and Feyre build the River House so quick? Hasn't it only been like 8 months or so since Rhys gifted her the land in ACOFAS? Has the rest of Velaris been rebuilt with this same speed since the Hybern attack? Are there still Velaris citizens living on the outskirts with their houses lying in rubble while their High Lord and High Lady built their fourth house (on the biggest plot in the city, I should add)? Let’s not forget Rhys only purchased the land because the house previously on it was ruined in the attack and the owner didn't want to rebuild. The timing is just in poor taste.

Then there’s the Valkyrie. How do Gywn and Emerie win the Rite after being dragged into it unprepared with a few months of training when we’ve been told multiple times that it is nearly impossible? Even for Illyrians who have trained their whole lives. I could maybe justify it by how it was implied that the Valkyrie had specific training methods and skills, but were those skills really that much more advanced than those of the Illyrian males? So much so that Gywn and Emerie won with only a few months of training? If so, this should have been made more clear, but I’d still find it unrealistic that said skills are so advanced that one could win the Rite with only a few months of training. If Nesta alone had won, I could maybe justify it and think about how her powers made her an exception.

It also didn’t fully sit right with me that Feyre essentially locked Nesta up in the House of Wind after what Tamlin did to her. I know it’s not the exact same situation, but it felt close enough. Even if it was truly and completely the last resort, which it seemed like it was, Feyre didn’t seem very bothered by the decision. I say this specifically because of the scene after the first meeting with Nesta, when Rhys has sent all the servants away so him and Feyre can have sex. Read the room. I get that they were both extra horny from the pregnancy, but I don’t think that scene was necessary. It felt more like SJM just being like 'don't worry! Your favorite couple from the original trilogy are still having lots of sex!' Although, I forget this is the same couple that got it on to ‘the distant cries of the injured and dying' in ACOWAR, so what do I know? At least their characters are consistent in that sense. Is there a situation they won’t fuck in? Now I’m curious about what the limit is for them to say ‘no, it’s inappropriate for us to fuck right now.’

The original trilogy made me want to read slower because I did not want the pages to end and I could read about that story forever. With this book, I ended up listening to the audiobook for 2/3 because I wanted to get it over with because I’d like to know what happens to the characters. I really only got through it because I wanted to read about Feyre and Rhys, but even they were out of character and not enjoyable. Feyre often seemed like she’d aged 30 years in the way she spoke and acted. Being High Lady and the things she went through would undoubtedly have made her more mature, but it’s only been like a year. It would have made far more sense if this book was set 50 or 100 years after the events of the last book. This didn’t feel at all like the badass and sometimes reckless Feyre who escaped the weaver, had water wolves, killed the Attor, and turned the Spring Court on each other—all of which happened approximately under two years before this book.

I would happily pretend that this book does not exist if SJM one day asked for it to be ignored so that certain plot lines could be rewritten. I didn’t like the direction of any character in this and it has not left me excited for the upcoming books in this series. In this case, I think the characters would have benefitted from having their story end in ACOWAR.

I did enjoy the dance scene between Eris and Nesta and I’m excited to read more about Eris and his side of the story. I don’t care much for Mor, though I wish Lucien made more appearances in this book.

Azriel Bonus chapter: Angry Rhys and the whole “My office. Now” is hot, but he was far too harsh with Azriel. He literally told him to go to a brothel if he’s that desperate for sex. I can see where Rhys was coming from, but he straight up threatened Azriel. Not sure how I feel about that, but maybe some justification from Rhy’s POV will help in the future. It's okay for Rhys to almost cause a war over Feyre, but Cauldron forbid Azriel even entertains the idea.

I find the Evil Rhys theory entertaining and this book made me happy in that regard, but nothing else.

The only thing this book somewhat attempted to do well is set up for another book in a different SJM series, which I will not delve into due to spoilers, but iykyk.

2.5 stars, really, but 3 because Azriel called Cassian out for the dining room. In saying all of this, I will absolutely be reading any upcoming books in this series because I love the characters and I’m invested in their stories, but this book was frustrating and slow.

[shuobox]

Heyyyyy *twirls my hair as i make your happy canon life doomed by my narrative *

God. Rewrite aiden in my au. Where do i start w him

In my little rewrite version, he's like. His entire life is doomed from the start. Grew up with a neglectful and pushy family where he felt constantly scared and weak in, making him seek control in other parts of his life (why he's so aggressive and rude, later becoming outright violent)

During sky city, it's Lukas who's fighting against him on the bridge, and after a struggle and Aiden's whole shpeel about Lukas abandoning them (aiden, maya, gill) like nothing for the new order of the stone

Anyway . Copper golems (that belong to the founder) appear and latch onto the guy's legs, and yk the storm during that bridge scene? Yeah. The dude gets struck by lightning with the force of five dying neuron stars and then just... wobbles back and forth.... before the copper golems let go, and he falls off the side into the water

While the blazerods are stuck in Sky City as it is being rebuilt on the ground they find an opportunity to break out and they book it to the portal, get lost for a little bit in the Atlas (remade portal hallway. Imagine those images of like, illusion staircases where gravity is weird. And theres stairs and halls full of portals wherever you look. Like that.) And they pass into like the worst possible place ever that is just CRAWLING with illagers

They get trapped, thrown in jail, tortured a wee bit before maya and gill are taken dor experimentation and Aiden was supposed to be the next (his arms were already cut off, and he saw what became of maya and gill after they got experimented on) but two new arrivals were found so they decided to stop temporarily

I AM NNNOT going to continue the story from there . Because it includes another character and an oc i want to like. Build up towards

In any case, skipping ahead like a few pages when aiden manages to get out and is now travelling with 2 people (one of which is more than happy to use him as bait or a human shield), guy really just wants his arms back and feels stupid and scared without. Arms. Hes losing hope UNTIL they get to a certain dimension with a city full of these advanced redstone-loving folk

In aiden's endless luck they get into the equivalent of the black market and they find people willing to give aiden new limbs for free IF he agrees to the terms and conditions

... the terms and conditions were "we can freely experiment on ur ass for as long as we want :3" and thats. Yeah thats what the tinkerers did. They were super proud of themselves and even slapped on their logo on him

Aiden is completely useless at walking and using his mech spider legs for a long while till he eventually manages to grasp it enough to keep going. Hallelujah !! He eventually gets time to process everything that happens to him lol (he feels miserable for a while)

Other hcs down here vv

- enjoy embroidery. He's kind of shabby at it, but it takes his mind off of things. He also writes small anthology stories in a wee stolen journal he makes up when his mind drifts

- The jacket he's wearing is stolen, lmao

- when his jaw was ripped out and replaced, so was his teeth; they make a loud clank noise if he snaps his teeth. Like a beartrap!! Also a strong bite strength

- i like to think he made a small makeshift funeral for maya and gill despite having nothing of them. It helped him cope a lil

- is surprisingly kinder to kids who aren't like, loud, or overly annoying.

- misses having hands sometimes (misses being able to hold pencils normally, or feeling the fur of animals, or warmth and cold, or holding things, etc etc...)

- Loves fighting without a weapon in stupid amounts. He'll scrap w a skeleton for fun, and it's even easier with his edward scissorhands ass implants. The reason his jacket has that fire charge burn is because he got distracted with "playing" w a ghast

- in a similar fashion, likes play-fighting (i say play-fighting, but i mean like, full-on blood and bruises but without ill intent when i say fighting)

His fav mobs are creepers. Has attempted to get close to one before. In addition, really likes the nether as well.

- Given he can't yell as much anymore (though he will still be the loudest man on earth if something scares him) (think incyn from neocranium streams), he's overly condescening and sarcastic instead.

- His right pupil is all janked up because his face got slashed; the reason why was because he was trying to fight off the illagers that were taking Maya + Gill. Still believes he could've tried harder.

- occasionally loses sleep either because of adrenaline, stress, nightmares, or just because of his already abysmal sleep schedule.

^ not a morning person.

- is, in fact, still super competitive and will brag about any victory ever. Still learning not be a sore loser (its a work in progress, but its there)

- has dark humour in the sense he'll try and joke about things in the worst moments, also a bit grim or rude in the same way. He'll laugh about stupid shit in general, though.

^ when he laughs loud enough and for too long, steam will also come out his jaw vents/mouth (not to the same amount if he was to scream and overload his throat implant, its lighter and not as obtrusive)

- has a really good knack for stealing things and negotiating with traders. He likes doing it, too. He feels awfully proud of himself when he manages to pull it off.

- His little antenna thing at the side of his head emotes (whirrs up and down or twists slightly from side to side. Think warrior cat fanart or something.)

- can come off as rude (and he is, dont get me wrong), but sometimes it is just genuinely being blunt or like, brutally honest with his thoughts. He doesn't even do it intentionally, it just becomes a reflex lmfao

- Will ramble on about the history and art and process regarding architecture if he can. He'll get embarrassed about going off on a tangent for so long and will shut up but like a couple months later he will absolutely start up again

- likes using his mech spider legs to skewer zombies. Morbid stress relief, but it's still mildly satisfying to him.

- has a really bad fear of storms after the whole sky city thing; it makes him have what is essentially flashbacks to everything to the bridge fight and after it (aka, deaths of his previously closest friends). Feels similarly to copper golems and will like, discreetly knock them over or push them away using his mech-spider legs

- wont admit it for the life of him but actually really enjoys feeding birds. Wont say it because he feels like thats something people over the age of 60 do when they're having a late-life crisis.

- easy to annoy thanks to his temper

(Next design will be of a certain .,.. pumpkin-related lady ....)

[w0nslvr]

6. 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒘𝒕𝒗𝒓

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒋𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒇𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 &𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎, 𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒑𝒆𝒏, 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒊��𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 & 𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒋𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒎)

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 ✰ 𝒚/𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒈𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎. 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈. 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅��� 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒐𝒉, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇… 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑨𝑰𝑫 𝑰𝑺 𝑨 𝑱𝑶𝑲𝑬, 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔

y/n sat on the couch eating a plate of fried chicken that danielle brought home for the 3 girls to share after y/n’s SOS message. no matter how much she tried to focus on the chatter from the characters talking on some netflix original they had casted on the television, she couldn’t shake the argument with sunoo from her mind. she knew he was hurting, and that his feelings regarding her were all over the place, unable to control. but so were hers. she was being honest, when she said she would do anything for the pair to get back to how they used to be prior to her leaving. but she was also being honest when she said to her friends that she couldn’t handle the back and forth, her HEART couldn’t handle it. she loved her brother and that will never change. but she needed to protect her heart.

“stop thinking about it babe. i know it’s easier said than done, but there’s nothing you can do right now. he needs his space, and quite frankly, so do you. you have a lot going on and a lot riding on these upcoming exams. not to mention your project with jungwon…” yunjin’s voice trailed off at the end, watching the girls reaction. y/n let out a groan, throwing her head back. “as if today couldn’t get any worse.” danielle took the near empty plate from her before speaking, “y/n, it’s only a few hours and then we all can rot away in the dorm for the weekend together!” she smiles through her attempts to sound cheerful. before she could even respond, a vibration rumbles from under her leg, where her phone sat. “it’s jungwon.” she deadpanned as she read the twitter notification. the girls studied y/n’s facial expressions while she typed away on her phone and their study confirmed that she clearly was NOT in the mood for yang jungwon after the day she’s had.

“remember, just a few hours!” danielle gave a cheerful pat to the girls thigh as she put her phone down with a chuckle. “well he seems to be in a better mood than me today, so hopefully it goes by quickly so i can come home and hibernate.” she mumbles, rubbing her puffy eyes before standing up and dragging her feet along the hardwood floor, to go get ready.

“you would have a peanut allergy.” jungwon hands her a latte he picked for her. a scowl placed its self on the girl’s lips before she could even stop herself. “i’m pretty sure danielle is taller than you, nothing you say can hurt me.” she bit back with a sarcastic smile etched on her face as she sat down, placing her bag on the floor next to her chair, beginning to take her laptop and notebook out of it. “touché. although you’re shorter than both of us.” he spoke triumphantly, taking a seat after her. she chose to ignore his comment, not having the brain power to even consider thinking of a comeback, opting to open her notebook to the page of directions given from their professor.

the two discussed ideas on their project, not making much conversation elsewhere. the atmosphere was relatively quiet, one that some might consider awkward but she found the silence comforting. she knew he could tell she was off, not at her best. and she appreciated him not asking again. she didn’t want to talk about it and he respected that.

jungwon on the other hand was uncomfortable. squirming in his seat and he found himself sneaking short glances at the girl, more times than he cared to admit. he never really took the time to admire her softly sculpted features. the way her long dark hair frames her cute chubby cheeks, and flows down her back, or the way her hazel eyes had a slight twinkle to them in the blue light of her computer, bright enough to beat the glare from her big clear glasses. how she sat with her knees comfortably tucked up to her chest while she jotted down research with her pink pencil in her left hand. he finally was close enough to notice the faint dust of freckles painting her sunkissed skin. ‘that might be my favorite part’. he thought to himself, too deep down the rabbit hole of trances to see her look up at him through her glasses, a small smirk playing at her lips. “careful, jungwon. stare any longer and i might believe you think i’m pretty.” y/n teased, taking a small sip of her latte. jungwon sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “or you just have something on your face.” he shrugged. y/n’s eyes widened as she took her small hands and felt around the skin on her face in a panic, worried that she had made a fool out of herself in front of all the library-goers. jungwon let out a chuckle, “i’m joking.”

she huffed, annoyed at his consistent teasing, sending a glare in his direction. “that’s not funny.” she took one of the wadded up balls of paper she crumpled up prior from her research and launched it at him in retaliation, making him scrunch his face up. “didn’t know you had a sense of humor.” she mused, leaning back in her chair after her tantrum ended. jungwon rolled his eyes resting his elbows on the table. “i’d like to think im very funny, peanut.” he stretched out the ‘nickname’ making sure she heard it loud and clear. “let it go i can’t control if my throat closes up when im near peanuts.” she deadpanned. “for someone who supposedly saves gotham city on the weekends you have a very vulnerable condition.” he chuckled, resting his arms on the table. the girl snorted at his words as she shook her head. “the city needs a hero,” she played along.

you could say the two enjoyed their time spent studying together. not to mention they got a lot of work done, learning that they make a good team. jungwon managed to be a distraction from what y/n had going on personally and he could tell. she was much more alive and talkative by the end of their study session compared to the start. and although he couldn’t tell from one hang out, he started to doubt all the dislike he had swirling in his chest prior. he found her funny and not as much of a headache to be around as he thought. although, he still has his guard up, feeling as though her situation with sunoo was still suspicious. he knew it wasn’t any his business but he still felt like he had to keep his distance.

“well we got some good work done, i’m exhausted. i’m gonna head home.” y/n stood up, packing her belongings away into her bag. “it’s late and the girls dorm is quite the walk from here…” jungwon’s voice trailed off at the end of his sentence as he looked up at her with big eyes. she hummed, letting him continue. “well i should at least offer to walk you home, right?” he quizzed tilting his head. she let out a chuckle, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “what a gentleman. i’ll be okay, thank you for the offer. i will, however give you this so we can stop making plans for the project over twitter dm’s.” she slid a piece of paper over to his side of the table before patting his shoulder, “text me when you’re free to meet again.” leaving jungwon to stare at the paper with her phone number written on it as she walked away.

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 | 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕

A/N: i wrote this entire chapter

and scrapped it bc i hated it

and then rewrote it and i’m still not happy with it but finally y/n x jungwon content lolll sorry for

any spelling errors i did not

proofread ok bye reblogs are appreciated 🫂

[thefandomwritersblog]

Ghost of the Ten

Horizon: Forbidden West

Hekarro x Fem!OldOne OC

Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Chapter 20

Part 3: Ghost of the Ten

"It's always been hard for me to tell the difference between denial and what used to be known as hope." Michael Chabon

~~

Day whatever the fuck this is

I've lost track of the days; they all blend together in a blur. Part of me doesn't want to know how long it's been since I woke up, as if not knowing will make this reality easier to cope with. But it’s a fucking stupid hope; I know better. I’m so fucking angry all the time; at myself, at this life I didn't ask for. Shouldn't I have moved past this by now? Done something—anything—instead of wallowing in my own damn misery every single day? Why the hell was it me? Why was I the one put in ice and not Anne?

She could have made a difference here, shaped something out of this chaos. But no, it's just me, and I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t want to be here, there’s no purpose left for me here, nothing worth fighting for anymore. I go to bed and I pray I don’t wake up in the morning. 

I’m always disappointed when I do.

~~

Victoria muttered a string of curses, the charcoal slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the table. She dragged her hands across her face; the journal lay open in front of her, its pages tauntingly blank except for the few lines she had managed to scrawl out. Her attempts at articulating her thoughts were laughable at best—a jumble of words that made no sense even to herself. Her annoyance bubbled up at the thought. This was all just so… pointless.  Suddenly, she pushed back from the desk, the stool scraping across the stone floor while Victoria stood to stretch. She winced as her joints cracked, pacing back and forth on the floor before making her way to the curtained doorway. As she stepped into the hallway, she nearly collided with Beta.

"Victoria!" Beta yelped, stepping back in surprise. Her face lit up with a bright grin. "Glad to see you're up. How's it going with your journaling?"

“It’s stupid, like usual.” Victoria grumbled back.

But Beta, with that endearing stubbornness that Victoria found both infuriating and charming, just gave her a smile. "You'll figure it out eventually.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Victoria crossed her arms, “So, you come here just to bug me about my journaling?”

“No. Chief Hekarro is busy today, so I wanted to see if maybe you’d like to take your walk with me this time.”

“After you then.”

She grumbled under her breath, feeling like a prized pet being taken out for exercise. But she couldn't blame them; she spent so much time in her room anyway that they probably just wanted to see her out and about. But the idea still pissed her off more than she wanted to admit. With an irritated gesture, Victoria motioned for Beta to lead the way,

Beta's enthusiasm was palpable as she lead Victoria towards the crater, her long strides forcing Victoria to quicken her own pace. They followed the outer rim of the crater until they reached a ramp leading down to the floor. From there, they walked towards the large gates that marked the boundary of the museum grounds.

"I have a feeling you'll really like the Oseram,” Beta remarked as they passed through the last set of gates and gazed out at the clearing ahead where a makeshift camp was set up in the distance. “They're some of the most innovative thinkers I've encountered, and it's incredible how their creations reflect some of humanity's greatest scientific breakthroughs."

Victoria furrowed her brows in confusion, "What do you mean? Shouldn't that be expected?"

Beta let out a sigh and stopped walking to look out over the makeshift camp, "It's obvious that human society has regressed to a primitive state compared to your time." As she nodded Beta continued, "But it wasn't supposed to be this way. Knowledge was meant to be one of the last gifts left behind by Elisabet and the other Zero Dawn scientists, but it was taken from them."

"Hekarro had mentioned that the Tenakth had been robbed of their future," Victoria recalled. “What happened?”

“Ted Faro happened.” She waited, almost holding her breath as Beta struggled to find the right words, “One of GAIA’s functions was to hold a vast repository of all human knowledge, everything that was good, bad, beautiful, and horrific. Which included the origins and consequences of the Faro Plague. Ted believed this information was unnecessary for humanity's future. So he completely erased APOLLO and murdered the Zero Dawn team responsible for its creation.”

As soon as Victoria heard the name her blood began to boil. She had never met the man, but she’d heard enough stories during her time in the Air Force, and from Anne, to know he was an asshole with a capital A. After all, it was his Chariot line of robots that was ultimately responsible for the end of the world. And now, finding out that he was also responsible for humanity's age of ignorance only fueled her anger even more. Faro had not only stolen Victoria's future, but also robbed countless generations of their potential.

 How many mistakes could have been avoided if they knew better? How many more would be made until they were given what should have been rightfully theirs?

"It really is remarkable," Victoria muttered, "That they’re still making the same advancements."

"Yes, it is," Beta nodded in agreement as they continued walking, "But it's not all hopeless. A copy of APOLLO was given to Far Zenith and successfully made its way back here from the Sirius System. Humanity has a chance to learn of its history, to grow again. It might be small steps right now, but it’s progress in the right direction.”

Of course, this was only possible if humanity was willing to accept the truth. But Victoria kept that thought to herself.

The Oseram camp was bustling as soon as they entered, the heat of the forges making the already sweltering jungle feel even more unbearable. Victoria and Beta weaved their way through rows of tents and makeshift shelters, passing workers toiling over hot forges with hammers clanging against anvils. Despite the loud sounds of their work, there was an air of camaraderie as laughter and banter echoed from one tent to another. Everyone wore a smile or showed clear determination in their tasks.

A sudden voice called out from a larger tent nearby, causing Beta and Victoria to pause. A woman emerged from beneath the tent, her leathers covered in a layer of soot and dirt. Her eyes were bright and she wore a wide smile on her face, her hair tied back with a bandanna. She stopped right in front of Victoria, examining her with unabashed curiosity as if trying to figure out how she worked. "Steel to my bones," the woman said. "I can't quite pin down what I was expecting, but this certainly wasn't it."

Victoria bristled at the comment, but the woman quickly reassured her, "Oh relax! I meant it as a compliment. When someone says 'Old One', I usually picture some frail elder who can barely walk. But you don't look anything like that. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were Tenakth - that fancy getup of yours notwithstanding, of course.”

A hand was suddenly thrust out, “Petra Forgewoman. I’m the overseer of the camp, and the ongoing work in the arena.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow but didn’t take the hand, "The one who made my journal?"

"The one and only!" Petra beamed, unfazed by Victoria's reaction. She then turned on her heel and gestured, "Let's get out of this heat and grab some drinks."

Beta prodded Victoria forward, following behind Petra as she led them to a large towering building at the back of the camp. It was a mix of stone, wood, and canvas materials and provided a welcome respite from the outside heat. Inside, it was a mismatched collection of makeshift furniture. Tables crafted from scavenged wood filled the space, with almost every seat taken by patrons. The room was alive with conversation and laughter, the flickering light from oil lamps casting shadows on the faces of its occupants

 With ease, Petra weaved through the crowd, making room for them at an unoccupied table.

“Oi, what’s a gal gotta do for some cold drinks over here. It’s hotter than a Bellowback’s backside out there!”

Petra shifted her attention back to Victoria as they both settled into their seats. It didn't take long for Victoria to feel the intense stares of those around them, unlike the Tenakth who were more discreet in their curiosity. Even the server, placing drinks in front of Petra, Beta, and Victoria, couldn't help but sneak glances at her with unabashed fascination.

"Is there something on her face?" Petra snapped after a while, turning to glare at the people around her. "My friend didn't come here to be gawked at like some prized scrap find. So everyone needs mind their own damn business!"

The crowd's reaction was immediate; they all returned to their conversations while Petra shook her head. She gave Victoria an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry about that. It's not every day they see a living Old One, but that doesn't excuse their lack of manners and common sense because of their curiosity." She lifted her mug and offered a toast to Victoria, “To my new friend, didn’t quite catch your name though.”

She scoffed, "It's Victoria." before gulping down her drink from the stein. Letting out a low groan as the sharp taste of beer hit her tongue, she was pleasantly surprised by the familiar flavor and the warmth that spread through her body after swallowing. "Beer? Like real fucking beer?"

Petra laughed, “Surprised?”

Victoria drained the mug and smirked, "Actually? No, not really. I guess it's just typical of humans to figure out alcohol so quickly."

“One of those universal things, huh?”

“Something like that.” She chuckled. Movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention to Beta, the stein of beer in her small hands almost comically large. Victoria frowned and forced the mug back down the table, covering the top with her palm. “Oye, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Having a drink?”

“Cómo fue? No te escuché.” Victoria teased the stein from Beta’s hands, “You’re like twelve.”

Beta frowned, “I’m nineteen! I know Old Ones did stuff like this differently but—”

“You’re damn right we did it different, and for good reason! You’re too young to destroy your liver. Now go get some water, or a fuckin’ juice box, I don’t give a shit.” Victoria waved dismissively, fighting back a grin as Beta mirrored her scowl in return. Victoria watched her leave, eyeing the rest of the Oseram with a scowl before she turned back to Petra. The woman eyed her in amusement, nursing her own drink.

“Nineteen isn't old enough?” Petra teased, “By the forge and flames, I had my first pint at fourteen.”

“I was fifteen,” Victoria admitted, “But just because we could doesn't mean she should. I can handle my drink pretty well, maybe even better than you—” Petra smirked “—but that kid is small. Your drinks would knock her on her ass, and there's hot forges outside. So excuse me for trying to be responsible.”

"You really care about her, huh?" The question hit Victoria hard in the chest, causing her anger to dissipate and revealing the subtle ache of loneliness underneath. She wanted to deny it, to say anything but the truth: that yes, she did care about Beta. Little Beta who always brought breakfast in the morning. Who always showed concern for her well-being, even when Victoria was grumpy. Beta, with her kind eyes that made Victoria feel cared for.

But Victoria couldn't bring herself to say a word, consumed by guilt for caring about something other than her family. How could she even entertain hope for something when they were gone? As if looking for a reason to live was a betrayal to their memory.

Petra gave her a sad smile and continued, looking down at her drink. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing. Look, there's no easy way to hammer it out, right?. You're an Old One. Probably the last one left, and I don't need to tell you how much that sucks. Sure, I may have lost some friends and family during the Red Raids, but I still have my boys and a home to go back to. You don't have that luxury. But what amazes me is that out of everything, you found something worth caring about. Even if it's just some feisty redhead who shouldn't be drinking yet. You're incredible, and you should know it.”

Victoria had no idea how to respond to that. A mix of anger, hurt, and grief battled inside her until she finally scoffed and placed her empty stein on the table. "Just order another round, Forgewoman. It's been too long since I've had a decent drink."

~~

Day whatever the fuck this is,

Remind me to never try and drink an Oseram under the table. I won (and I’m not gonna let Petra tell me otherwise) but the hangover isn’t even close to worth it.

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Matt/Foggy, 13

13. hands around a cold glass (from the SECOND Taylor Swift prompt list) I was struggling with some writer's block a few weeks ago and my dearest Zainab was kind enough to give me permission to write a tiny Matt/Foggy-centric one-shot set in her Great British Bake-Off AU and I absolutely leapt at the chance, because I love this 'verse and I've been bothering her with texts about what these two would be up to in that AU since like January. I think this makes sense without reading her previous entries in the series (which focus primarily on Sam and Bucky, with an ensemble cast of other MCU characters), but you should read them anyway because they're very good and they will make your life better! Cross-posted to AO3 here (with more notes) if that's your jam 🍯

Even though they’ve set aside their evening for the express purpose of making a decision, Foggy waits until they’ve finished the takeout they ordered to the office (neutral ground, so no one has home field advantage) and cleaned up all the various cartons and silverware and settled back at the conference table with each of their second beers of the night before he brings up the thing they’re supposed to be talking about.

“Okay,” Foggy says, setting his beer down firmly and flipping a page over on his legal pad to find where he scribbled some notes earlier. “Reason number one that you should move into my apartment: you love me.”

“You can’t use that as one of your reasons,” Matt replies, tapping a pen against the table in a fidgety gesture that’s unlike him.

“Why not?”

“Because you also love me, which means you should move into my apartment. They cancel each other out!”

“Oh, my bad,” Foggy says, as he crosses it off his list. “I didn’t know we were playing by Boggle rules…”

Matt scrunches his nose in confusion. “I’m not familiar.”

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t know Boggle? It’s like a classic word game, you have these little cubes with letters on them that you shake and—you know what, saying it out loud, it makes sense that you haven’t played it. I understand that now. It would be impossibly boring even if there was a braille version. Moving on! Reason number two that you should move in with me!”

“Okay…”

“I’m super handsome.”

“Foggy!”

“What?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m also handsome,” he says, quietly, after a minute.

“Damn, that’s true,” Foggy says, as if it had never occurred to him.

“Please take this seriously!”

“Fine! Reason number three: I have a lot more stuff than you do. It will take me so long to pack and it will probably make me cry and possibly throw up. You, comparatively, would have a much easier time packing, because you live like a weird, sad monk.”

“Hey! I do not! Just because I don’t like clutter…”

“Until we started dating, you owned one singular blanket,” Foggy points out. “It was a blanket for your bed and your couch that you moved back and forth as needed.”

“It was a perfectly good system,” Matt grumbles.

“Right, but isn’t it better now that you have a bed blanket and a couch blanket?”

“I guess,” Matt admits, as though he’s being tormented. “To be fair, it would probably take you at least a week just to pack up all of your cookbooks.”

“I don’t have that many!”

“You bought three new ones last week! That’s already three more than I own!”

“I can’t help it that my friends keep writing cookbooks,” Foggy objects. “What was I supposed to do, Matt? Not buy Daisy’s book?”

Matt crosses his arms, irritably. “No, but you didn’t know the authors of the other two books you bought. You could’ve skipped theirs.”

“Cookbooks make me happy! I don’t tell you not to…go to the gym!”

“You do, in fact, tell me that all the time.”

Foggy makes a hand gesture that’s meant to convey the sentiment of duh, except that such things are generally lost on Matt, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, well, usually it’s because I want you to stay in bed longer.”

“And I want you to own fewer cookbooks so that there’s room in the apartment for us to actually have a bed.”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “Give me one of your reasons, then.”

“I know where everything is in my apartment,” Matt says, simply, “whereas at your place, I’m always looking in the wrong cabinets for stuff or tripping over things.”

“That’s just because you’re not as used to it. I’d go through the same thing if I moved to your place!”

“You’d still have an easier time of it than me.”

“That’s…fair,” Foggy concedes. “I can’t really disagree with that without being an asshole.”

“My favorite way to win an argument,” Matt replies, with a smile. “Playing the blind card.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You devious son of a bitch.”

“Also, my apartment is closer to the office and my rent is cheaper.”

“I’ll give you the cheap rent thing, though it is only because of that terrible billboard with the crazy LED lights that come through your windows at all hours, which does not bother you but would definitely bother me.”

“I remember you sleeping through three separate fire drills in college. I think you’d somehow manage to deal with the unique lighting situation of this apartment.”

“Fine,” Foggy admits, begrudgingly. “But I absolutely contest it being a mark in your favor that your apartment is closer to the office. I think it helps with work-life balance that my place is a little farther away.”

Matt thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Okay, fine. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Good. Moving on, then. Reason number…whatever that my apartment is better: I live right next door to that bodega with those amazing breakfast sandwiches and the good, cheap coffee you love.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, with feeling. “That’s a really good point.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Okay,” he says, in the tone Foggy’s been hearing him use in court and mock trials and even drunken debates for over a decade now.  It means Matt is currently running through his rebuttal in his mind, devising the best and most efficient way to win this round. Foggy loves that tone of voice, and the expression of intense thought that always accompanies it, even if it usually means he's about to lose whatever argument they're having. He really should be more immune to it by now, but love has made him weak and he's truly not even mad about it.

“My apartment,” Matt says, finally, “has an in-unit washer and dryer.”

That’s a solid point, but Foggy is not going to admit defeat so easily. “Okay,” he says, “but—counterpoint—mine has a dishwasher!”

“I don’t mind hand washing dishes,” Matt replies with a shrug.

“Wait until you live with me to say that,” Foggy says. “I bake all the time! It’s a lot of dishes!”

“It’s still not as bad as having to go to a laundromat and pay whenever you need to do laundry!”

“Well, my landlord says the machines in the basement will be fixed soon, so my laundromat days are numbered.”

“I will believe that when I see it.”

“You can’t see anything, sweetheart.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, smugly. He may have a point. Foggy’s landlord has been saying the washing machines will be fixed “soon” for six months now.

Foggy blows out a breath, making as much noise as humanly possible to express his frustration. “So, where does that leave us? Is somebody winning?”

Matt laughs and distractedly runs a finger through the layer of condensation on his beer bottle, dividing it down the middle with a thick line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels like we’re even, at this point.”

“In the spirit of honesty, then, can I ask you something?”

Matt shrugs, the gesture completely at odds with how tense the rest of his body became at the question. “Sure.”

“You do want to move in with me, right?” Foggy asks, hating himself a little for even needing to. “I know we’ve discussed it, and you said you wanted to, but it’s okay if you’re not ready yet or you changed your mind. It’s a big step—”

Matt leans forward to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, letting his fingers, still cold and damp from holding the glass, brush over Foggy’s wrist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Of course I want to! Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, it’s just—I know you like your space and that you value your independence a lot, and I get that but I also don’t necessarily relate to it on the same level. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something that’s going to make you miserable.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not pressuring me and living with you is not going to make me miserable. It will do the opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not even going to be our first time living together, dumbass,” Matt says, fondly. “You do remember college, don’t you?”

“Very little of it, in fact,” Foggy quips. “I think I was drunk for most of Spring 2010. It’s more or less a blank spot.”

“Still, we didn’t hate living together then, did we?”

“No,” Foggy replies. “One could even argue that we loved living together.”

“And that was with us sleeping in twin beds. Imagine how much better it will be, uh…not in twin beds…”

Foggy stifles a laugh. “Matt, did you seriously get all blushy at the idea of a queen sized bed?”

“No,” Matt says, tipping his chin down to hide his face. "Shut up!"

“You’re so cute. I want to have sex with you immediately.”

“No! No sex! In fact, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not! You love me!”

“Yes, I do,” Matt says, sullenly, “And for what it’s worth, I only got embarrassed because it felt like I was implying that we slept together in our dorm in college, which obviously wasn’t true and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit how big of a crush you had on me back then, I get it,” Foggy says. “Oh, wait, sorry! That was me!”

“Again: shut up!”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me thinking: maybe we should do twin beds…”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

“I don’t want our relationship to be in violation of the Hays Code, Matt!”

“Well, we’re both men, so that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid…”

“I’m just saying: if it’s good enough for Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, it should be good enough for us!”

“To each their own, I guess, but I sleep better when I share a bed with you.”

“I’ll pretend your reasons are romantic,” Foggy says, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a wide margin, “and not just because you turn into a koala when you sleep.”

“Have you considered being less huggable, maybe?” Matt asks, with a straight face.

“That’s like asking the sun to be less radiant! It is counter to my very nature!”

He smiles. “Fair point.”

Foggy leans back in his chair, making sure to keep his fingers tangled together with Matt’s as he does. He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to come up with an answer to their problem. It’s a big step for their relationship and huge life changes tend to require sacrifice or compromise on some level, but it’s difficult to think of an option that doesn’t require much more of that from one of them than the other. Except…

“I have a very stupid idea,” Foggy announces. 

“Okay,” Matt replies, warily.

“And I know it’s stupid, okay? I just said that, but I want to be very clear that I’m aware of it. I’m just going to say it anyway, to put it out there.”

“Okay…”

“Should we just look for a place together?”

Matt furrows his brow, puzzling through the implications of this option. “As in, we both leave our current apartments for a completely new one?”

“Yeah. That way we both have to pack, and move, and get used to a new space, instead of only one of us having to do it. I know it’s more expensive and more trouble, so—“

“Is it weird that it makes me feel better?” Matt asks. “The idea that we’d both have to be inconvenienced, equally?”

“No,” Foggy admits. “It makes me feel better too. I want it to feel equal. And we could find a bigger place, maybe with an extra room.”

“For an office?”

Foggy laughs. “Honestly, it’s a sign of how low my standards are that I’m just relieved your mind didn’t go immediately to an in-home gym.”

Matt’s eyebrows lift, excitedly. “We could find a building that has a gym, though.”

“Like you’d ever cheat on Fogwell’s like that.”

“I meant for cross-training…”

“Of course you did,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “We could make a list. Things we need—“

“Close to the bodega with the good coffee,” Matt interjects, smiling.

“And a functional laundry room, somewhere on site,” Foggy adds, nodding. “And then a list of things that would be nice to have, like a gym or no nearby billboards that will fry my retinas in the middle of the night.”

“So, you’re saying we’d get to debate and write out two more lists?” Matt asks. “Are you trying to seduce me right now? In our office? Where solemn attorney-ing is done?”

“No, it just comes so naturally to me,” Foggy replies, running his thumb over Matt’s knuckles affectionately. “Though it sounds to me like that’s a yes?”

Matt gives him a surprised look. “Yes to…?”

“God, keep your pants on for two minutes, Murdock! I’m talking about the plan!”

“Oh, yeah. The plan. I mean, I know it’s more work for us and more trouble, but…”

“I’d go through a lot more trouble for your sake, if it means making you happy,” Foggy says, simply. It’s the truth, and he tries to make it a habit to say what he means, especially with Matt. It took them long enough to get here. What’s the point in hiding how he feels now?

Matt rests his chin in the hand that isn’t holding Foggy’s. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before, once or twice.”

“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.”

“You smiled at me once when we were eighteen and it was all over for me. And then fifteen years later, you got jealous of a woman I met on a reality show and finally fell in love with me.”

Matt turns an adorable shade of pink and takes his hand away to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, so it didn’t take me going to a wedding with one of my best friends under completely platonic circumstances for you to admit you had feelings for me?” Foggy asks, grinning.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Matt says, primly, as he reaches for his beer again and takes an uninterested sip. 

“Speaking of Daisy,” Foggy says, enjoying this way too much, “I should talk to her. She and Daniel said their realtor from when they moved was great. They might be able to put us in touch with someone.”

“We could always use the realtor who rented me my place,” Matt suggests, in the neutral tone of someone who definitely wouldn’t rather eat glass than ask Daisy for help with anything. “She was very helpful and I remember she gave me her card. I could probably find it.”

“Yeah, she gave you her card because she wanted to sleep with you,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “Pass.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Foggy,” Matt replies, with an evil smile. “She showed me the apartment under completely platonic circumstances.”

Foggy rolls his eyes at that. “You’ve never been in platonic circumstances with anyone, Matt! Every person who meets you wants to sleep with you immediately.”

Matt shrugs, like this means nothing. “Too bad for them. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy laughs. “Is it serious?”

Matt nods, and his smile isn’t evil at all anymore. “Very,” he says. “We’re moving in together.”

[writeblrgarden]

PLANT GROWERS - MEET THE WINNERS - ETLU

Meet Etlu, who got second place in our grow a plant event in november! Etlu goes by she/they, and you can find them at @etlu-yume. She has been writing for about 20 years, primarily fantasy or urban fantasy, and lately has been dipping their toes into slice-of-life.

Tell us something interesting about yourself!

"Interesting" is a tricky thing because it's so subjective! Like some people would say being able to speak/read/write another language is interesting, and others would just expect it, right? I guess in some ways I could be considered a quadruple threat - in addition to writing, I also am an artist, study languages, and played and performed with music groups on local and international stages.

Tell us about the WIP you'd like to talk about today.

Fangs with Benefits (not what I did for NaNo - but that's self indulgent and stays between me and the dust on my hard drive). Fangs with Benefits follows the story of a set of siblings, Sherry and Gael. After the pair are banned from donating blood, they are forced to move to the big smoke in order to chase medical treatment for a family illness. After a chance meeting, the pair discover the secret supernatural underground of their new home. Full of supernatural creatures, Sherry decides that there's a solution to their frustration with red tape at the hospital; Vampires. After all. It would be of mutual benefit to both parties. And so chaos ensues.

Describe your writing process. Do you like to plan everything or are you more spontaneous?

I'm a bit all over the place. I tend to do best when I have a game plan, something to refer back to (more often than not somehow it takes scenic routes between written points; go figure). However sometimes, particularly when later scenes will not leave me alone, I will just go ahead and write them out in a separate document. Once they're out of my head and down on paper, it usually becomes much easier to go back to where I had left off and keep going. That said, it's a work in progress and always changing. What worked last year may not work for me this year, and so on and so forth. I'm just hoping I can try and establish a better year-round writing habit in 2024 <3

What have you found to be the most challenging and/or rewarding about writing?

If you'd asked me this question prior to last November, I would have struggled. Maybe I would've said "a blank page/new chapter" is the most challenging thing (and, really, it still is). But. I think the most rewarding thing about writing comes in two parts; 1.) One is when you're writing for others or an audience. I can't really speak too much on this, since I've been super shy with my work and haven't posted much if any online for general consumption. But to the few people I do share with, seeing their reactions to the story progressing, screaming about characters or events. I know there's been times where those reactions have been the difference between opening up the document and writing a few more words that day, or giving it a miss. 2.) Two is when you're writing for yourself, using your writing to help process things that have happened or that you're struggling with. It may not make things 100% better, it may not change the situation at all. But somehow there's also a weird healing power to it, too.

Below the read more is more of our conversation with Etlu

What inspires you to write?

This is a hard question! I'm actually trying to work this out myself. I started to fall out of love with writing a while ago, and I'm still looking for my way back. I'm sure I'll get there, I just don't know how long it will take, or what form it will take. But I'll get there. <3

Share some advice for other writers.

Hmm. One of the classics is "you can edit a bad page, but you can't edit a blank one", which is very true. But I'm not sure that's the kind of advice I'd want to give other writers - or myself for that matter. Bad days happen - be kind to yourself. If you're working towards a goal, keep believing in yourself. Don't give up. You can achieve amazing things! (Said from 2018's cloud of cough medicine zombie fog and pulling like 30K out of nowhere in the last 2 days of November.) Also it sounds weird but don't start from a fresh document. Even if you're finishing a chapter off, just start the next one. I'm super bad at taking this advice myself, but it's easier to re-read a few lines and make tweaks before moving forwards than it is to sit there face to face with a blank page at the start of a session.

What do consider your writing strength?

I'm probably best at workshopping or bouncing ideas, and then never writing them. Does that count? haha. On a serious note I think perhaps my strengths with writing is my structural pacing. (Not plot pacing. I've already picked up some rushed chapters in the last 3 months)

What has been the nicest compliment you've received or what has been the toughest criticism you've received?

Actually today I had a message from a friend, just a simple spotify link to a song. They followed it up with comments that they had been ruminating about events of the last couple of chapters when it started playing, and it made everything hurt even more. It's been a week since they read it - to hear that my silly little story is something that they're still thinking about this long after reading it, that combined with music it brings out more emotion. It's the little things like that, that remind me what it's all about.

What do you love the most about writing?

I'm still trying to work this out. But it falls somewhere between research, the friendly banter with other writers while everyone procrastinates, and the way that your words and the way you write will be so very different to the next writer, that everyone has their own style.