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jjungkooksthighs · 9 months ago

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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.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #jungkook bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #alpha!jungkook #alpha!jungkook x reader #dom!jungkook #sub!reader

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art-missy · 3 months ago

Text

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 in 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 welcomed.

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 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 too 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 someone with a mind as brilliant as his could 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.

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sinnabarmoth · 2 months ago

Text

Worthy of Devotion (3/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: Reader learns more about Rafayel and can't help asking some more personal questions. Meanwhile Rafayel is learning new things about human peculiarities both funny and concerning.

Content Warnings: Self worth issues caused by religious trauma.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

~~~

The next day was more of the same. You woke up, made yourself from breakfast and started cleaning a new part of the temple. You had decided to work on the bedroom this time. The main issue was all the dust and you ended up tying a handkerchief around your face to help keep yourself from sneezing.

You had also finally entered the attached bathing room. Yesterday you had just availed yourself to the communal toilets on the main level since that was where you had spent most your day. The bathing room was in much the same state as the bedroom, covered in a fine layer of dust. The main problem was the large tub in the center of the room. In any other circumstance it would have been lovely, the large basin cut into solid marble, you could fit at least four people inside easily. But over the years a layer of moss and fungus had sprouted inside, coating the marble like a carpet. That took a lot of scraping and shoveling and scrubbing to get clean.

You were knelt in the center of the tub, trying to get the green ring stain out of the marble when Rafayel wandered in. “There you are,” he sat at the edge of the tub. “Keeping busy?”

“Someone has to repair this temple and I’m the only one here, so yes.” you wiped the sweat from your brow but only managed to smear more dirt and grime against it. “I assume you’re here to continue working on the journal?”

“Yes. But you are going to need to clean yourself up first. You’ll end up dirtying the pages with hands like that.” he picked up one of your hands and inspected the grime caked under your nails. “In fact, have you bathed at all since coming here?”

“I have rinsed…” you muttered, “But I haven’t really had the time to--”

“Up. Now.” he pulled you up and out of the tub. “You are not doing any more work until you’ve bathed. To be perfectly honest, you smell rather bad too. I let it slide yesterday because we were working but there is no excuse for this now.”

“Alright. I’ll go down to the baths--”

“What are you talking about? You just cleaned this one, use it.”

“If I use this one then I have to carry buckets of water up here to fill it. It’s just easier to go to the baths downstairs.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes and reached towards the head of the tub. There was a pipe over the basin but you saw no pump with which to call up water from. Behind the pipe was a large smooth gem that he put his hand over. He muttered something foreign to your ears and suddenly water began to fill the tub. Even more than that, steam was rising from it.

“But how--”

“A water gem.” he pointed to the gem behind the pipe. “Very rare. They provide unlimited water with the activation of certain phrases. “Calidum, for hot water. Frigus, for cold water. To get it to stop, say finis. Try it.”

You put your hand on the stone. “Frigus?”

There was a pause in the spray of water and when it returned you felt it was ice cold. You touched the stone again. “Calidum.” Another pause and hot water came out again. “Finis.” The water stopped. “Wow. Do you know how useful that would have been to know an hour ago when I was carrying buckets of water up here to scrub the floors?”

He smiled. “Well now you know. There should still be some soaps around here somewhere. Clean yourself up, I will be back.”

“Thank you.” You started the water again, going back and forth with the cold and hot to get it to a nice temperature and then sank in. When was the last time you had an honest to goodness hot bath? It was always such a hassle back home to get a hot bath all to yourself.

You let yourself relax, the feel of the hot water easing the pain in your joints and relaxing your muscles. Yes, you needed this. After a while of just soaking and enjoying the bath you picked up a rag and the soap and started cleaning yourself in earnest. You shouldn’t have been surprised by how nice the soap was but it still caught you off guard to smell something so pretty and floral. It smelled like plumerias and a whiff of coconut.

You were rinsing the suds away when the door banged open and Rafayel strode in again. You ducked under the water up to your neck, covering your body with your arms. “I’m still in here!”

“I figured you would be.” he didn’t seem perturbed by your nakedness or the clear panic you were exhibiting. “I brought fresh clothes. Those rags you’ve been wearing need a wash, if you still want to keep them that is.”

“Yes, thank you. You can leave now.” you curled into yourself, trying to hide your body more the closer he got.

“You’re awfully jumpy. What’s got into you?” he cocked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m naked!”

“So?”

You swallowed back the urge to scream. “So I don’t want you seeing me naked. Please.”

“I assume this is one of those human peculiarities.” he shrugged. “The nude form is very natural, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You especially have a rather delectable form, from what I glanced when I came in at least.”

You were going to drown yourself in this tub. “Thanks. But I’d rather not wander around naked so freely. So can you please leave now so I can dry and dress?”

“Yes yes, I’m going.” he left the room. “We’re going to add these views on nudity to the book I hope you know. It’s ridiculous that you humans are so preoccupied with it.” He shouted from the bedroom.

“Got it.” you sighed, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “Gods give me strength.” you muttered.

“Strength for what?” Rafayel shouted again.

“That prayer wasn’t for you!” you snapped. So he really could here your prayers…great. You needed to be careful about what you said now.

After you had drained the tub and dried yourself off you picked up the bundle of clothes that Rafayel had left for you. It was a pair of loose pants and shirt made out of the same linens that he wore. There were little shells embroidered along the sleeves and a wave design along the thigh of the pants. They were simple working clothes, easy to move around in and lightweight.

When you left the bathing room you saw Rafayel packing more garments into the standing wardrobe. He turned back to you and smiled. “There, that looks much better.” he walked up to you and pulled you close. You froze as his face was buried in your hair. “Smell much better too. Now we can work without you smelling like dirt and sweat.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” you protested. Your resentment covered the sheer panic of his sudden embrace.

“It was. Come along, mudskipper. Time to get writing.” he pulled you to the sitting area of the bedroom.

“First I’m a grouper and now I’m a mudskipper. If you’re going to keep comparing me to fish can’t they at least be cute? Like an angelfish or even a starfish would sound nicer.”

“How about a clownfish?” he deposited you in one of the chairs.

“Do you enjoy mocking me?”

“What? Do you not think clownfish are cute?” he tossed you the book and sat down in the chair opposite you. “Now, where were we?”

You flipped open the book with a roll of your eyes. “Let me see, we had just finished discussing how the title of Sea God is passed down through generations and I have a note here about partners to the Sea God. I think we left off talking about unions and the powers that romantic partners had if any.”

“Right,” Rafayel cleared his throat, “It varies from person to person, some gods chose to have a partner with which they could entrust helping to rule over the Lemurians, in that way it was very strategic. Others were more driven by their desires and chose partners with their hearts. Sometimes partners are equal rulers with similar ruling authority, sometimes they are figure heads, but there is no set in stone responsibilities for the partner of the Sea God.”

“Interesting.” you started writing everything down. “And what about children? Is there any chance that progeny of the current Sea God may be chosen as the new god or is it entirely up to chance?”

“It is entirely up to chance. Children of current gods do not automatically inherit their parent’s title. I only know of one recorded instance in which one of the children of a past god was selected as the inheritor.”

Your pen paused. “Rafayel, do you have a partner?”

His eyes widened a fraction before he shook his head. “No. I do not.”

You didn’t know why but your heart did a pitter patter in your chest hearing that. “Then, do you plan on marrying for strategy or for love?”

“I don’t really have any plans right now.”

“Alright, let me just write that down. Current god, Rafayel, is not one to plan for the future.”

“Hey! You can’t write that down!” his face turned pink.

“I’m the one with the pen so--ah!” you held the pen back as Rafayel tried to grab it. “You’re the one who tasked me with writing this book so I get to write my findings!”

“No, you write what I tell you to write. Now give me the pen.” he made another swipe for it but you leapt out of your seat. “Are you disobeying me, clownfish?”

“Of course not. I would never dare disobey my god.” you handed the pen to him. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.”

“But I will be taking this.” you grabbed the book and took off out the door.

“Oh! I see how it is! My sweet clownfish is actually a slippery little eel!” he took off after you.

There was a part of you that screamed that you shouldn’t be doing this. Everything you had learned, everything you had been raised as told you that you shouldn’t have been disobeying and teasing your god like this. If any of the priests or priestesses could see your behavior you’d be put on floor scrubbing for a year, maybe ten. But they weren’t here. None of them had actually completed their pilgrimages. None of them had spoken to Rafayel. According to what they taught you, and according to your god, you were more worthy than any of them. No one was here to say otherwise. You could do whatever you wanted. And you felt like having a little fun, and the fact that it was at the expense of a god made it all the funnier.

You were flying down the stairs, a wide smile on your face as you ran. You could hear Rafayel gaining behind you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be caught or not.

You glanced over your shoulder to see how close he was and your foot hit a chunk of fallen ceiling. Your body pitched forward, gravity helping send you down the last couple of steps.

“Watch it!” you were caught by the waist and tugged backwards with force. You were tipping back instead and you landed with a thud on the stairs, Rafayel cushioning your fall. “Ow.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” you rolled off him. “Are you okay?”

“No. I think this is it for me. I’m weak, this is the end.” he threw an arm over his eyes. “The light shall need to choose a new Sea God now. I am to descend into the abyss. Tell my people I died heroically, saving one of my acolytes.”

You could tell he was being dramatic but you saw the way he winced as he sat up and the rock that he had landed on was painted a deep crimson at the point.

Rafayel looked at you, the humor on his face disappearing. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he waved a hand in front of your face, “Say something, you’re starting to worry me.”

“You…you’re bleeding.” you murmured, horrified that he had gotten injured saving you.

“Ah that,” he picked up the rock and tossed it away to a corner. “Don’t worry about that. I was only joking, I feel fine. A little sore between the shoulder blades but nothing to get worked up about.”

“I’m sorry.” you drew into yourself, pulling your knees close to your body. “I’m so sorry. You got hurt because of me. I’m sorry.”

“You would have gotten hurt worse if I let you fall. We really need to work on that balance of yours. You have about as much grace as a fish on a dock.” he smiled at you. When you did not return it he inched closer. He reached out as if to touch you and you flinched back. He eased away.

“You’re shaken from the fall. I get it.” he said slowly, as if trying to coax a skittish animal, “But I promise I’m fine. You don’t need to feel bad about it. Accidents happen.”

“I…I…” you glanced around and saw the book splayed out at the bottom of the stairs. You stood up, ignoring the pain in your foot as you hobbled down and recollected it. “I need to go.” You set the book on the bottom step and limped out of the temple.

“Where are you going?” Rafayel raced after you. “Your foot is scraped, if you get sand in it it will only make it worse.”

You ignored him, your body taking you down the steps and onto the beach. You kept going until you got the shore where the ocean lapped at the sand. You waded into the water up to your knees. The salt burned against your wound but you didn’t retreat, the pain helped to ground you. Staring straight ahead your vision tunneled as it tried in vain to see past the horizon line.

You hurt your god. Actually hurt him. And for what? Because you wanted to tease him a little? What right did you have? Was this a divine punishment? Fate reminding you of your place? A mortal poking fun at a deity like he was an old friend. No. There were lines for a reason. You couldn’t cross them. No one was ever meant to cross them.

“Come back inside,” you heard Rafayel’s voice behind you. “Your foot needs tending.”

“I shouldn’t be in there. I don’t belong in that temple or on this island. I’m not worthy. I need to leave. I need to--”

“By the tides, not this again.” Rafayel groaned and with an ease that surprised you he hefted you out of the water and started carrying you back to the temple. “Here I thought you were finally done with all that aggrandizing. One little tumble down some stairs and suddenly you think you need to throw yourself into the ocean. Those charlatans on the mainland really messed with your self worth in the name of worshiping me, didn’t they?”

“What--what are you--” you stammered as he marched you back into the temple. “Please! Put me down. I don’t--I can’t--”

“Shush.” he brought you into the kitchen and set you down on the table. “Stay there.”

“But--”

“Stay.” he pointed and left out the back door. He came back with a bucket of water and grabbed a clean rag out of one of the drawers. Dunking it into the water he grabbed your injured foot and started dabbing away at the blood and sand. “And here the day was going so well. I finally got you to take a bath, we were having a nice chat, then we took that little tumble and it was like it reset you. You had better not start calling me Your Radiance again, I swear.”

“I shouldn’t have ran though. It’s not my place. I shouldn’t have done it and then you wouldn’t have had to help me and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and--” you went silent as he glanced up at you, that spark of blue flame alighting his eyes once more.

“Did I not say yesterday that you are allowed to feel whatever you please in regards to me? You can feel guilty if you wish but your guilt doesn’t get to erase the fact that you also feel comfortable with me. I like that you play. I don’t want you to stop on account of this one accident.” He patted your wound dry and tore a strip of fabric off of his sarong, wrapping it around your foot. “Understood? Don’t make me have to make it an order because that will go against everything I am trying to accomplish here.”

“What is it you want to accomplish?” you asked.

“I want to create followers that want to follow me out of devotion, not fear. If I can’t get you to not fear me, then what hope is there for the others?” he handed you the wet rag. “I know I can’t undo everything you learned, especially not in a day. But we are not going to spend this time with you too scared to say anything out of turn or show any displeasure. I may be your god but I do not control you. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“No. Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?”

You took a deep breath. “I understand what you want from me.”

“Which is?”

“To be devoted to you out of desire, not obligation or fear.”

“Good.” he turned around and you could see the wound in his back where the rock stabbed him. “Now, could you be so kind as to help clean this for me?”

“Yes. Of course.” You wiped at the blood trickling down his spin and pressed the rag over the cut to staunch the bleeding.

“Rafayel?” your voice felt as if it was a thousand miles away from your body.

“Yes?”

“You talk of being a god worthy of devotion, but do you not have any requisites of your followers? Is there nothing to make us worthy of your blessings outside of wanting to worship you? It seems unfair that you hold yourself to such a high degree but not us.”

“You wish to know what I think makes my followers worthy of my blessings and spared of my wrath?” he thought for a moment. “They have to be kind and honest. They cannot spread fear in hopes that it will gain me more followers or larger offerings. To be worthy, their actions and words must come from their souls. A sand dollar offered by a child that believes in me out of trust is worth more than all the gold shoveled onto a dais by fearful priests. Chasing you through the halls as you try to play keep away with me is more precious to me than this self loathing you carry about inadvertently causing me injury.”

“I understand.” A smile started to creep its way back onto your face. “I like this version of you far better than the one I learned about on the mainland.”

“Nice to hear it.” he glanced over his shoulder. “Almost done back there?”

“Oh right.” you had forgotten what you were doing for a moment. You removed the rag from his back. You were shocked to see that the wound had completely disappeared, gone as if it never existed, save for a small pink spot between his shoulder blades. “What…how did that happen?”

“I’m God of the Seas, water is a natural healer to me, be it fresh or salt.” he rolled his shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing as he did. “Now, how about we do something relaxing for the rest of the day? No cleaning, no writing, something simple.”

“Like what?”

“Want to learn how to play a Lemurian board game?”

“Sure.”

“Alright,” he glanced around the room. “Right, I need to go get one. Stay here, don’t go tripping over anything else, I will be right back.”

He left to dive back into the sea while you stayed sat on the kitchen table. You picked your foot up, inspecting the makeshift bandage over your foot. He could have gone and found actual bandages but he tore off part of his clothes just to dress your wound. Either he thought very highly of your foot or very little of his clothes. You ran a finger over the gold embroidery, contemplating.

It would take him some time to return so you carefully stood up and limped back out to the staircase. The book was still resting on the top step along with the pen that Rafayel had dropped. You picked up both and cracked open the book, penning a new note near the back.

“The god Rafayel wants more than anything for his followers to follow him out of love rather than fear. I think this shows more than anything that he cares for us more than the priests of old would have had us believe. He is a kind god,” you bit back a mischievous smile, “and he likes it when you tease him, so if you are reading this you should do it a lot. He really does like it. Just be ready for him to tease you right back.”

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel x reader #sea god rafayel #lads sea god au

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whentherewerebicycles · 26 days ago

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2024: a year in books

FIRST, some general reflections on reading this year.

my original goodreads goal for the year was 70 (increased to 80 sometime in the late summer) and my total books read for the year was 87! i did count four or five fics early on in the year towards that total, but my rule of thumb is that they have to be 70k+ and they have to "feel like" a novel (a seemingly arbitrary designation but one that makes sense to me lol. not every long fic feels like a novel!). every year i go back and forth on whether i should only count published fiction towards my goodreads goal, but idk, if i am reading hundreds of pages of a single work i feel like it should count.

during the pandemic and just after i skewed heavily towards nonfiction, for whatever reason. in the last couple years, but especially this year, i've really swung back to reading novels and it has been GLORIOUS. god i love STORIES!!!!! i stayed up way past my bedtime reading many times this past year and often felt like i was recapturing that breathless exhilaration i associate with reading in childhood. what a wonderful way to feel!!

I gave in, fully, to reading on my kindle this year. this was initially out of necessity (first i couldn't hold a physical book because of my carpal tunnel syndrome, and then i couldn't hold a physical book while feeding a baby). but i also have to admit that it is easier to replace a phone addiction with another screen, and the kindle at least is a screen free from notifications that allows me to read with total focus for many hours. i also find it easier to quickly acquire ebooks (through [mumble mumble] means) which means i can start reading a book mere minutes after someone recommends it to me. it's also way easier to have a bunch of stuff queued up so that i know that the next thing is waiting for me. i also like that with ebooks i don't know how long they are, so i have sometimes ended up reading books that were much longer than i expected (which sometimes i avoid doing if i'm not sure a super long book will be "worth it" in the end). so idk. lots of things to like about ebooks and i think this was the year i finally saw the light on that front.

HOWEVER i do worry about my turn towards ebooks a little bit because i want my kid to see me reading voraciously, and i worry that seeing your mom staring at a screen all the time is not going to have quite the same effect as seeing her read books all the time. i mean all you have to do is ride the bus or stand in line at the grocery store or sit in a doctor's office if you want to see every single adult around you staring at a screen lol. so that's something i want to think about in 2025. maybe i can deliberately try to mix it up a bit, like trying to ensure that a certain percentage of books read are physical books or something. and i can think about other ways to incorporate lots of conversations about reading into our daily lives as he gets older. i will have to think about that some more!

reading is just so good.... it's so so so so so much better than scrolling on my phone... but even though i was reading at a rapid clip this year and regularly experiencing the AAAAA NOVELS ARE SO GOOD high, i still had weeks and months where i'd get out of the habit and then it would be really, really challenging for me to get back into it. so the solution is to just never stop, lol. but like for real. i think the solution is to just make nightly + weekend reading so integral to my routine that i don't even have to make a decision to pick up a book. i also found that in moments where i was stuck this year, it was really helpful to reread old favorites to get myself restarted. reading something i already knew i was going to love helped me get back into the saddle and gave me some time to start looking for my next new book. so yeah just want to remember that!

i really discovered the pleasures of rereading this year... i used to very rarely reread except for my All-Time Faves because there are so many books out there and i didn't want to waste time on stuff i had already experienced. but that is silly. it is an immense pleasure to reread books, even ones that you just thought were Quite Good the first time around and not All-Time Faves. there is always something new there, and there is a particular kind of pleasure in reading a book already knowing how things are going to unfold. so! i might also reread more next year. we'll see.

next up: my faves from the year.

#jes reads #year in books #i have SELECTED my top books but now i must write little things about them i think. maybe just a sentence or two each #might have to do that tomorrow

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petrichal · 6 months ago

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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.

#i got carried away and let the kobylu symbiote take over idk what the hell happened #its every bit self indulgent but can you tell how i want my kobylu fics to go #also in my ideal world Marineford doesn't exist BUT if it has to then Koby would still get punched by Luffy btw #i love pairings where both of them just don't hold back #and understands that they'd be betraying their promises to each other if they do #ggHHHHHHHH im so normal #kobylu #one piece #monkey d. luffy #koby one piece #my writing #opfanfic #????????#coby one piece #cobylu #actual brainrot i hate these two /aff

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sunkissedchld · 1 year ago

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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.

#tarot #oracle #pick a card #PAC #tarotblr #sunkissedchld #Spotify

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lambilegs · 1 month ago

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hi!! idk if your requests are still open, but i just had a thought about lee after the ending of the movie. i was thinking that she possibly would adopt a dog to feel safer at her cabin (since poor baby couldn't even have peace there when kobble walked in </3), but what's your opinion on my thought? maybe you have a specific dog race in mind as well? :3

lee with a dog headcanons 🐶

note to anon: hehe they are open!! (also to anyone wondering you can always check my pinned to see if they are mwah <3) and omg, yeah, I could definitely see her feeling incredibly on edge and haunted by everything that happens in the movie. so, to preface, this post is super long and very detailed LOLLL basically, my gf, who absolutely loves dog, and I got super invested in this idea and finding a good breed for lee and figuring out how her life would be w it, so yeah hehe (also these headcanons are super disorganized and messy just to warn 😭) thank you sm for such a sweet and interesting req, I loved writing it hehe

and credits to: my amazing gf, who helped so so soooo much with this!! he literally made an entire notion page with info on how to train a kangal, like, he was DEDICATED to this fic

header by: @fairytopea

okay so I feel like her main requirements for a dog would be: low-maintenance (due to her long hours at work), protective (one of her main reasons for getting one would be for her own sense of ease after one too many anxious nights deprived of sleep), relaxed personality-wise (she would one hundred percent not be able to handle an extremely energetic dog) and physically active (so she can jog w it)

I have consulted w a dog expert (aka my gf) about which dog would fit all these requirements, and his answer was a kangal, so let's go with that

when lee's first introduced to this dog at the shelter, she is... slightly terrified KDJDKDJ listen, she can barely handle a child, so seeing the first kangal, a huge, intimidating dog, is enough to have her blinking hard at the photograph, gulping LMAO

but, it is, however, the only dog that really fits all of her desires, so she's introduced to three of them, which really just consists of her standing awkwardly next to each. she doesn't know what qualifies for the "clicking" the staff keeps swearing by, and just watches each dog she's introduced to from a tentative distance, observing it carefully. the friendlier one moves to approach her, which leads to her stepping away, lips pursing in embarrassment when the staff member laughs

eventually, she's introduced to a rescue named jasper, who was recently given up. like the other two that came before him, his size is formidable and has her slightly shifting at first sight. but, he doesn't make any move to come closer. he keeps his distance, watching her just as carefully as she does him

after the guy standing by her whips his head, back and forth, between them, he says, "okay, this might be a match"

and that's how, after way more paperwork, screening and procedure than she anticipated, lee winds up up with a dog

totally underestimates how much of a commitment it is on her end. she's calling the trainer whose number was given to her nearly everyday, asking a string of confused questions as to how to handle this or that LMAOOOO

as selfish as it sounds, she had only really desired the dog for protection purposes -- she didn't expect that she'd actually need to put so much work into bonding w him DJSKDJSK

because jasper is already trained by his last owner, she essentially has to re-establish those already existing skills by going on walks with him and trying out commands in different places. in addition to this, she needs to play games with him. in all honestly, she's not really thrilled at the idea at first. sure, an animal might be easier to socialize with, but that doesn't make the task of it any less draining on her, someone who'd infinitely prefer to just keep to herself

ensue the next few weeks, where lee gets up an hour early every morning to walk with jasper through the mass of trees surrounding her forest. in her pocket, she carries treats, and a note scrawled with directions she had written during her phone call, with things such as: for "look at me" command, hold treat in front of face, then try different places, then different situations, then do it holding finger between eyes

she seriously wonders if this is what it's like to raise a kid LMFAOOOO. she feels a tad silly guiding jasper, never having been one who particularly enjoyed teaching -- when she has, it's been for intellectual reasons, rather than the position of power, so having nothing to teacher jasper but such basic commands is a bit out of her league. expect her to be extremely particular about everything, repeating the trainer's words in her mind as she helps jasper sit by moving her hand w the treat and marking on her calendar when she should start trying to slowly remove the treat from the equation and use the commands in different settings

and that's when the first bolt of something, tenderness, shoots through her. the first time she doesn't give jasper the treat, her stomach tightens in acute sadness at the sight of him expecting it. when he manages to successfully follow her directions, she tries to be a bit more enthusiastic in her "good boy" and head pat, which are usually done in her typical flat tone and light, barely there touches

combine this w boundary training, and she feels like a full time mom LMFAO

when she slowly stops actively training with him, sleeping in instead of spending the daily hour with him, she's surprised at just how... off her day feels without it

I think the first few weeks he spends guarding her house, she's wracked with anxiety for him. what if someone harms him? she knows kobble is gone, but apparently intensive therapy hasn't been enough. not only is she still afraid for herself, but now she feels accountable for anything that happens to the dog. with time, she's able to manage the anxiety better, forcing herself to stay in bed and do breathing exercises rather than repeatedly wander onto her porch and worriedly look for jasper's large form (yes it takes many days for her to not immediately jump at the side of his large form emerging from the trees)

it takes her a while to see their bond as anything beyond... professional (her coworkers laugh right at her face when she uses this phrasing LMAO). the walks, the playing catch, it's really just for the sake of getting him accustomed to her commands. aside from that, she doesn't really... interact w him unless it's necessary, like when she feeds him or when she pats him solely for the sake of helping him with commands

but, every now and then, she feels this care and worry for him. when the weather starts getting colder, it makes her uncomfortable to see him asleep on the cold, hard ground. she knows he's built for it, and probably barely senses it with how large he is. but, still...

cue two weeks later, she's waking early again to build jasper a dog house (yes I'm convinced lee is good w woodwork and yes I'm projecting)

when he first goes into it and curls up, she can't help but feel warm satisfaction roll through her, happy to know she contributed to his comfort the way he does for her

it all gets more heightened when one night, a car drives too close to her house, and the flashing lights and lingering driver has her breaths shortening, stomach seized so tightly with panic that she drops her gun to the floorboards of her porch, watching the lights slowly disappear into the trees with tear-filled eyes

she flinches when jasper gets close to her, her breathing still heavy and shaky, stomach curled with nausea. he keeps his space, watching her with levelled eyes. when the intentional breathing isn't enough to anchor her, she raises a trembling palm up, tears slipping out when he raises his head to it and nuzzles softly. feeling the softness of his head, the heavy presence of him next to her, helps her ground herself

seeing him be so in tune to her feelings, and so willing to help her, cracks the professionalism in her, and she finds herself vulnerable with him for the rest of the night, tossing on her winter jacket and smoking on the porch while he sits next to her on the steps. when her tears subside, she remains there for another hour. for months, she had feared coming out onto her porch at night, but now, it feels a bit easier

the next day, when she returns early from work, she watches him for a few seconds from her car, sound asleep in his doghouse. he's still intimidating, still larger than life, but something in her softens at the sight

lee starts spending several evenings a week w him, sitting out on her porch and looking through case files, listening to her walkman or just smoking (she finds out that smoking next to a dog is not good, so she now keeps jasper at a distance when she does)

it's nice. he's calm, levelled, a lot like her, so it doesn't feel overwhelming to be in his company. and it's just nice to have some company at all. she's always liked the solitary nature of her home, but since kobble, more and more moments have occurred where the isolation of her home feels like a threat. and jasper, in his own way, helps, a lot

and it turns out he can be pretty... fun company, honestly. the more she bonds with him, and the closer they get, she finds herself loosening up with him. it's been years, probably a decade, since she's actually played in the most literal sense of the word. with the obligation of training out of the way, and her own comfort having bloomed with him, it becomes easier to eventually forgo the embarrassment of running around the trees and playing frisbee with jasper.

she feels like a kid again, and she surprises herself one day by actually laughing when jasper misses catching a frisbee

and when she trips, he immediately runs to her, ducking down to check on her, and it's almost laughable how embarrassed she is to have tripped in front of a dog LMFAOOOO

weeks later, and the two of them are going on her morning jogs together, racing each other through the snowy trees, and at least for a few moments, lee can forget her troubles

she realizes just how attached she is when it's raining hard one night, and, pierced with sympathy, she calls him in and spends the evening with him sitting at her feet while she sits at her desk and does work

she also totally lets him sleep in her bed that night, and though his formidable size is really awkward to adjust to at first, she winds up spending the entire night immensely comforted by his presence, waking with her arm tossed over him while he watches her over

she leaps back at the sight of him LMFAO but trust me, in a matter of months, her and jasper have several little sleepovers hehe

#lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #s.writing #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #scheduled

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txttletale · 1 year ago

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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

#tattletxt #bundletober 2023 #ttrpg

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itsmistyeyedbi · 4 months ago

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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.”

#happyhauvillebday #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #f hauville #farah hauville #twc detective #nsft #my writing #day 2 of happyhauvillebday WOOO #this one is shorter because the prompts were running away from me #plus i wanna save the full on smut for its own fic #also goddamm yall why is there barely and f smut!?#i will rectify that #i like this tho i think its cute

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fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction · 29 days ago

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Sing The Song of Sorrow and Grieving

Vanessa and Sydney take Gregory to see Vincent about a recurring dream that keeps interrupting sleep for them all. Vincent looks into it, but what he finds is especially confusing...

===========

“So another nightmare issue?” Ven murmured, sketching a few more lines of his concept design to get the idea on paper before the start of the session. Vanessa and Sydney sat together on one sofa while Gregory lay on the other, the boy watching him with faint interest while propped up with throw pillows. “My sister said she helped out that friend of yours. Didn’t say for what and Vincent does that whole client confidentiality thing, but I could sense that whatever went on, it seemed to go well for him.” He glanced up and managed a quick smile, “So I guess what I’m trying to say is that, if you had any worries about him, you can relax. Extra stress from other factors could affect the nightmares and make it a little bit harder for Vincent to pinpoint the issue.”

“That’s good. And yeah, I already know what he went through, it’s fine,” Gregory replied and sighed, relaxing into the cushions and pillows, “He’s a nice guy. Dunno how he got caught up in Fazbear Entertainment’s shit but at least he didn’t lose anything important.” He shrugged a little, “And calling what I got a ‘nightmare’ doesn’t really seem like it fits. It’s just a weird dream, not really all that scary. Just.. weird.”

“Whatever it is, it’s happening often enough that you keep coming to our room and waking Sydney up for hot chocolate,” Vanessa said worriedly, sharing a glance with the man beside her. He signed a response and her frown deepened. “Yeah, I know you don’t mind getting up to comfort him, but I think we’d all rest easier if we sorted out what’s causing the nightmare so he doesn’t lose sleep so much.”

“I’ll sleep when I am dead,” Gregory intoned, hands folded neatly over his stomach. His mouth twitched into a smile and he laughed when the three adults stared at him in muted horror. “What?! I was joking! C’mon!” he declared. Sydney signed again and Gregory pouted. “How was I supposed to know we’re almost out of those chocolate things you use? You keep them up on that shelf where I can’t get to it!” he complained and threw his hands up, “Not my fault I’m short!”

“Still, Vanessa has a good point,” Ven told him, closing up his sketchbook and setting it aside, “Sooner we sort out why you have this recurring dream, the sooner you’ll be able to sleep through the night. You won’t grow if you don’t sleep.” Gregory rolled his eyes and Ven just chuckled, sitting back and taking a deep breath. He relaxed and withdrew mentally, feeling the slight mental brush of Vincent drifting past to take over as he faded into sleep.

“Before we begin, I have to remind you of the starting procedure, just so we’re all on the same page,” Vincent said calmly, eyes kept mostly closed as he remained relaxed in his chair, “Gregory, you relax and let yourself feel like you’re getting ready to sleep. I’ll connect with my Remnant and knock to let you know I’m ready to enter your dream.”

“Okay, just remember. It’s not scary, just.. weird,” Gregory repeated with a slight strain on his voice, “So, maybe it really isn’t that deep. I’m only doing this cuz Vanessa doesn’t sleep well without Sydney and I kinda feel bad taking him away so much.”

“Oh my god, Gregory, I’m fine,” Vanessa sighed in exasperation, flopping back on the sofa while Sydney just gave her a fond grin, like he was used to being pulled back and forth between them.

“Relax, and rest,” Vincent said again firmly, reaching out with his Remnant to gently touch onto Gregory’s mind, prodding at his defenses to be let in. There was a slight bit of resistance, then a pull, and then everything went dark.

===

The neon color Vincent expected was far muted than usual, the Pizzaplex atrium thick with fog clinging to the walls and drifting around the floor, obscuring the 80’s aesthetic of the building. As he waited for the check Gregory’s mind did to be sure he was safe -the static felt oddly pricklier than usual-, he watched the performance on the stage with uncertainty. Something seemed.. off.. about it.

Glamrock Freddy wasn’t front and center this time; instead he was more towards the back of the stage, sitting on the floor in the shadows of the curtains and looking down at his feet, head tilted aside as if in contemplation. The space he usually took was left empty, though there was the faintest shadow of something moving in his place, bear-shaped but not quite. Vincent could only really see the edges of some figure, where the spotlight could catch for a moment, outlining ears, a hat, a microphone clutched in a hand.

Chica played her guitar with the same enthusiasm, often sweeping her hand up into a gesture that looked like she was holding something there, palm up and flat, while she swayed in place. On the other side of the empty space, Monty barely played his own guitar, plucking at strings stiffly and looking away from the empty space. His jaws were taped shut, bound in several layers of silvery color, as if whoever did that didn’t trust him to have an open mouth for any amount of time. There was a faint and flickering ghost-like figure transposed over him, edges appearing in the light like the shadow in Freddy’s place to show longer, taller ears over his head, like a rabbit was meant to be there.

Roxy also seemed less energetic as she played her keytar, her hand on the keys held strangely, fingers pressed together tightly and curled over the ivories, shaped like she was trying to scoop at them and tapping with just her fingertips one key at a time. Her tail curled close to her legs, her chin tucked close to her chest, as if she was trying to shrink in on herself and be overlooked, so different from her known bold and brash personality that painted her as the tough gal of the group.

The prickling faded and Vincent breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing at his arms to disperse the feeling as he began walking. As usual, Gregory wasn’t anywhere to be seen right away. The boy tended to be where the scene of the nightmare took place and Vincent had to explore to find it or call out for a guide. With how strange the dreamscape was looking, maybe a walk would reveal more clues to what was going on?

He stretched his Remnant out to prod at the band on stage, trying to read the emotions building the images, the memory. Just a passing gesture, harmless, but he paused at the returning prickling feeling that met his touch. Whatever was composing the Glamrocks on stage in this very different formation, it seemed Gregory’s defenses refused to share why the change happened. Vincent withdrew the trail of Remnant with a puzzled frown; it wasn’t really part of the issue he was here to address but he just noted it for later discussion.

The stairs to the next level of the atrium seemed a good bet until he actually got to them and found security gates blocking his access. He folded his arms over his chest and frowned harder. What was going on?

A loud clap sounded in the air and lights went out at one end of the atrium. Vincent looked up in concern, watching as row after row of lights shut off with the same loud clap until the whole building was plunged into shadows. The only source of illumination now were the emergency lights, glowing faintly red from hidden spots all around the structures. The music had long faded and Vincent was left wondering what Gregory would do next.

Had he actually fallen asleep?

The fog poured down the stairs from the upper levels of the atrium and he stepped back hurriedly, preparing his Remnant to defend himself. He watched with alarm as the levels melted down with the fog, as though they were being eaten away and letting the fog cascade down in sheets. It washed over the floor, roiling in far thicker mass and flowing around Vincent’s feet, swallowing his ankles and flowing up in a cloudy wave over his shins. The shock of sudden guilt and regrets from the contact hammered at Vincent’s thoughts and senses, staggering him before he could reinforce himself. A lance of fear, of dread, shot through him and he dropped to his knees, hands clutching at his heart as he breathed hard, shallow but even.

What was happening?!

He was still breathing, trying to get himself under control, as he stared up at the fog solidifying into walls and attractions, smaller than what’s often seen in the Pizzaplex. A carousel, dilapidated and broken down; kiddie rides in the shapes of a bear, a bird, a rabbit whose head lay on the floor, a fox colored half red and half grey, all stood in a row, paint chipping and fading; black and white tile in a familiar pattern on the floor reflected decades of scuff marks and stains from management that no longer cared about the place.

Vincent’s gaze traced over the attractions in faint confusion. Damien had said Gregory had been looking into information about Mike Schmidt and the Bite of ‘87, so clearly some of that research was bleeding into his dreams. But this.. it felt too close like having been in the building. And why was it so dark?

Giggles sounded in the air as a chill crept over him and his breath stuttered. Ghostly figures of children floated through the remade pizzeria, moving as though frolicking. Their laughter clawed at him, and one voice that no one else should have known -so how, how, did her voice end up here?!- inflicted so much pain Vincent didn’t even realize the weight of it until he was struggling to hold himself up from the floor with the entirety of his forearms. A thin film of water over the checkered diner tile reflected his devastated expression.

“..Please..,” he found himself whispering, “Please, stop. M-my daughter.. just give her back... I’ll do anything.. just give her back.”

Why was she here? How was she here? Her voice, laughing darkly, haunting these halls. Trapped here because of...

Jonathan’s curse as The Influence.

Rage flashed through him, hot and irrational, and was just as quickly snuffed out as a sob escaped him. He had already been through those nightmares, felt the guilt and the shame from the man who admitted his fear had empowered him to hold all those souls in place, desperate to give them life by rejecting death and blind to the understanding he kept them all from moving on.

But it still hurt, so, so much...

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up, crushed under the weight of grief, and all he could think was how tired he felt. The realization that he never really healed himself.. and now this. If he couldn’t pull himself together, if he lost himself to Gregory’s mindscape, what would happen to Ven and Stephanie? He was the other side of their souls; they were supposed to be able to live on without him, but what would the spiritual damage be? Could he risk their destruction with his want to just collapse here in the memory of his daughter’s laugh and never get up?

Yes, that’s right. Gregory’s mindscape. He was here to find out why the boy was having a recurring strange dream. Was this part of it? The old Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place, the Bite of ‘87, the Missing Children Incident; Gregory looking into the past must have constructed all this, so real and so close to reality that it even fooled him.

Slowly, laboriously, Vincent pushed himself back up to his knees, rubbing his face with both hands until his tears were dry and he could shove the rest back in and down where he could pin a lock in place for now and deal with it later. Better not to think about how the children had been reborn, not to think about Violet among them, not to think about how his daughter was still far out of reach, keeping her distance for whatever reason. He was here for Gregory’s sake, his personal issues were a problem for future Vincent.

He took another deep breath, shaky but calmer, willing his Remnant to return to the tranquil coolness that soothed minds. A faint echo of steps caught his attention and Vincent turned his head to watch what looked very much like a funereal procession heading down the hall towards the room he was in. There was a tall and slender figure, cloaked in black, a plastic orange beak poking out of the shadows of their cowl pulled low over their head. Gregory walked beside her, slouched and far less exuberant and energetic than he tended to be.

He looked almost drained of life, his face pale, eyes dim and flat. He had one hand up, held by the cloaked figure as they walked together at his pace, slow and shuffling. Vincent watched the two of them approach in confusion, cautiously getting to his feet. Should he approach them or wait? He tried to take a step, but couldn’t lift a foot, as though he’d been locked in place.

“Wait, what?” he murmured in alarm, pulling at his legs to try and get them moving. He tried wrapping his own Remnant around himself to isolate from the dream, freeing himself from the lock, but that didn’t seem to take effect either. Was his own will not enough? How strong was this kid’s mental focus to carry things out to the end?

Since Vincent couldn’t move, he could only watch the scene play out and try to figure out what he was seeing. The cloaked figure and Gregory continued walking into the games and attractions room. As they drew closer, a soft yellow light began glowing in the corner of his eye, catching his attention. He looked towards it, sucking air through his teeth in shock at the dull gleam of a burnished gold coffin resting on the checkered tile. Surrounding it were statues clad in colored hooded robes all in varying bent forms, leaning over the open coffin. Nearby was another figure, laid out on the floor with a larger statue bent over them as if to guard them.

Why was that coffin so large? It was sized for a full grown man, but the figure on the floor didn’t appear to be the intended person for it. Briefly Vincent wondered if he was to be put into it and tried again to get his legs moving. Gregory and the cloaked figure walking with him finally reached where he was but neither of them paid him any attention. As if he wasn’t even there.

“Gregory! Hey! If you’re locking me in, let me out! I can’t start unraveling the illusion here until you do!” Vincent called out to him. The boy didn’t even pause, just blinked as he glanced at him and kept walking on towards the coffin.

Wait, was it meant for Gregory then? Was this the recurring dream? A funeral procession in a pizzeria?

Vincent watched in greater confusion as the cloaked figure helped Gregory step into the coffin and lay back into it, the boy just looking up at the ceiling. The figure reached up to the beak on their face, popped it out of place, then held it in one hand as they bent to press a makeshift kiss to the boy’s head before stepping back to kneel in solemnity. Only then did whatever was anchoring Vincent in place release and he stumbled forward in surprise.

None of this made sense. Vincent drew closer, already trying to keep his steps quiet in the face of the funereal scene. His Remnant spread over the scene, tugging at everything to pull up the illusion, but nothing was coming apart. So, this was reality? This was the true memory?

“But this.. this never happened to you. How can this be truth?” Vincent muttered, lowering himself to one knee as he placed a hand on the coffin. It felt solid and real, the emotions of fear, regret, anger, and despair layered onto it made perfect sense to associate with coffins and caskets like this. But how would there be one inside a pizzeria? “Gregory?” he called again.

The boy lay in the coffin, one arm draped over his stomach, hand resting lightly against his side as he slowly opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling again. “Told you it was weird,” he said quietly, his voice dull and lackluster, “Not my first time in here. Don’t like how cramped it is.”

Vincent frowned at his words and looked at the interior of the coffin. Again, it was sized for a full grown person, and Gregory barely took up a third of the space. Actually.. wait, what was that pattern? Vincent narrowed his eyes at some linework etched into the interior of the coffin, dividing it into three segments. There was a section at the ‘head’ of the coffin, the middle section for the torso and arms, and the final section for the legs. Gregory had been placed into that middle section with plenty of space above and below him.

“According to my detection all of this is already truth,” Vincent muttered, looking around at the bent over statues, “There isn’t any illusion to dispel. So what does this mean?” Of the statues surrounding the coffin, one was dressed in a white and pink cloak, the black cloaked figure who brought Gregory in remained closest to him, and one that was bent over the head of the coffin was in a black and white striped cloak. That left the last two figures of the scene nearby.

Vincent got back up to investigate those two figures, the large statue was covered in a tattered purplish cloth, a solid black faceplate over its head making it appear like looking into a void. It didn’t move as he approached, still bent over the figure laying on the floor. Now that he was closer, he could recognize them as Jeremy Fitzgerald, likely as Gregory had last seen the man in his workshop. Dressed in a long-sleeve sweater and work jeans, hair tied in his usual ponytail, the animatronic engineer seemed to be unconscious but otherwise unharmed. Vincent reached down to press fingertips against his neck to check for a pulse as well as check the emotions building the man’s appearance.

Still alive, and with the expected emotions of care and love. Gregory really adored and admired his mentor in engineering. And yet this scene was still ‘truth’ to Vincent’s attempt at pulling apart illusions. How? Jeremy hadn’t recently been in a state like this. Was this something that happened in the past?

“But he’s never mentioned anything like this happening,” Vincent mused aloud, standing back up to study the scene, fingers curled over his chin. And the way his Remnant was responding to it all meant this was something Gregory remembered. So how did he experience something no one else did? Especially something as nonsensical as being put in a coffin in a pizzeria. Did this happen in the Pizzaplex? “No, Jeremy was with Damien the whole time,” he answered himself, “He would have known if something happened, and Jonathan wouldn’t let anything happen to his son if he could help it.”

So how was this real?

“A child understands things differently. Complex matters broken down into simpler forms,” Vincent muttered, taking a few steps back to squint at the large cloaked statue. Tattered purple cloth; maybe that was a clue? Same as the black faceplate. He tried to take mental notes on everything. If Jeremy was involved, asking for his perspective could help clarify things.

Distressed whimpering from the coffin pulled his attention back to Gregory, and Vincent hurried to check on the boy. His eyes had grown wide and panicked, one hand gripping at his side and the other now grabbing the edge of the coffin. “I don’t like the way it ends!” Gregory blurted as soon as Vincent came into view of him, “I need to wake up! I gotta wake up right now!”

“Why? What happens next?” Vincent asked him, looking around quickly for any threats approaching. The room remained exactly the same and yet Gregory grew even more distressed.

“The monster gets him if I don’t wake up!” he exclaimed, struggling to sit up from the coffin, “Look! Look!” Vincent reached in to help him get up as he glanced over the room again. Still no changes, except he could feel the checkered tile under his knees give way to the feeling of asphalt and concrete. And once he detected that, the room began growing dimmer and dimmer, fading into shadows as the soft gleam of moonlight passed over the floor.

It looked more like parking spaces than tile.

“What the hell?” Vincent muttered, wincing as Gregory clawed his way up his arm, the boy screaming in panic.

“Wake up! Wake up! The monster’s coming!” he wailed, one hand reaching out towards something moving in the shadows far beyond their sights. Vincent pulled him free of the coffin, setting him on the ground just as a bubble of Remnant rushed out from him in a pressure wave that slammed the guard back and away. Senses dulled and muted, Vincent flailed in a void that was both full and empty of various emotions until he felt himself thrown out of the dreamscape completely.

====

He came to with a pounding headache, hands pressed to his temples as he cracked one eye open in time to see Gregory bolt from his couch and practically lunge across the room towards Sydney and Vanessa. The two of them looked alarmed as Gregory slammed into Sydney, wailing as he hugged the man tightly.

“What happened?!” Vanessa demanded, one hand quickly going to the boy’s head to offer comforting strokes.

“I don’t know!” Vincent replied, doubled over in his chair as he tried to will his headache away. His arm felt scratched up from Gregory’s nails digging into him, which meant Ven was going to be pissed off yet again. “I’m still trying to make sense of his dream, but he panicked at the last phase. Something about needing to wake up before a monster got to someone?” The ache dulled to a faint throb after a few moments and he sat back with an exhausted sigh. Good enough.

“We’ve seen plenty of ‘monsters’ already,” Vanessa told him flatly, “and Gregory didn’t react like this to them.”

“Those were his words,” Vincent countered sharply and winced again, rubbing his forehead, “From what I could tell, the dream seems to be based on a memory, but there weren’t any illusions on it. I’ll have to figure out what he translated from reality into the images in his dream because trying to pull them apart in his mind didn’t do anything.” He gestured at Gregory, who seemed to be burying himself into Sydney’s hug with a scowl, teary-eyed but refusing to cry. “Considering that you said that Gregory immediately goes looking for Sydney to get hot chocolate after experiencing the dream, I’m just going to assume he means the monster in his dream goes after Sydney.”

“So the hot chocolate is just his way of making sure Sydney’s okay,” Vanessa realized with a blink of surprise, sharing a glance with the young man who only gave her a confused expression. “What sort of monster does Gregory think is after him? Sydney, did you piss someone off the last time you did mercenary work?” She frowned at his shrug and kept running her fingers through Gregory’s hair. “Huh, even if you did, how would Gregory know about it?”

“The complicated issue is the timing and placement,” Vincent told them, leaning tiredly on the arm of his chair. “Whatever leads to his fear for Sydney’s safety, there’s a golden coffin, a pizzeria, and Jeremy involved.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald? A coffin?” Vanessa echoed in confusion, “There wasn’t anything like that in the Pizzaplex.” She frowned again, “At least, not that I can remember, and Vanny kept erasing my memories. Sydney, was there ever a gold coffin in the Pizzaplex?”

Sydney shook his head, chin resting on Gregory’s head as the boy curled up against his chest in hiccups. Vincent watched them all and sighed. So no clues from them on what the symbols in the dream meant. Jeremy would have to be his source of information then.

“It doesn’t look like I can affect the dream until I understand the meaning of it first, so that’s gonna take me a bit of time to research,” he explained to the makeshift little family, “As for advice for the time being, there are these bracelets that monitor heartbeats remotely. Gregory likes checking cameras on that watch of his, right? Sydney, how about you wear a heart monitoring bracelet and let Gregory connect an app to it on his watch or phone?” He gestured to the boy who seemed to perk up at the suggestion. “This way he can instantly check on your condition from his room to reassure himself without disturbing himself or you two from being able to go back to sleep. It’ll be temporary, until we can sort out why this dream comes up for him.”

“I like that idea. Let’s do that,” Gregory agreed immediately and Vanessa sighed.

“Well, if you think it’ll help, I suppose we can buy one,” she relented and gave Vincent a weak smile. “Thank you for trying. When’s the next appointment?”

“I’d like to resolve this as soon as possible, so come back same day and time next week,” he told her as they began getting up to leave. He managed to get to his feet to walk them out. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can get Jeremy to tell me anything about any situation that could be similar to Gregory’s dream. We should have answers by then.”

Goodbyes were said and then they were gone, leaving Vincent alone as he closed the door and headed back to get a first aid kit to treat his arm. He frowned to himself at the amount of force that had been thrown at him by Gregory to get him out of the dreamscape. There were still inconsistencies there, questions he wondered over regarding that dream. How was Gregory’s will that strong for a kid? Why did that dream feel so much older than it should have been?

And why did Gregory fear for Sydney when the man was nowhere to be seen in the dream?

“What a strange child,” he finally muttered, and went on to look for the kit.

#bits and pieces #fanfiction #fnaf au #parlourverse au #vincent heliotrope #fnaf vanessa #fnaf gregory #sydney herrera

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