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frogletscribe · 1 year ago

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Until It Doesn’t Hurt

Chapter 9: Cage the Animal

Summary:

20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago.

Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

---

Aftermath and... alliances?

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Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!Reader/OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N, Blood, Self-depreciation, Neglectful Parenting, Suggestive Themes, Mutual Pining, Hurt-Comfort, Found Family

WC: 3671 words. AO3 Link Here

A/N: My life is super busy and a little hectic rn but i found a little time to work on this! Please enjoy my Spider-Soccorro-deserves-better agenda

{ } indicate speaking Na'vi

Masterlist

Previous Next

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“{Is everyone okay?}” Neteyam’s father checked his children over quickly, still on high alert. Tuk clung to his legs, still sniffling from the shock and fear of the incident.

“{Where are Spider and Anthe?}” Lo’ak asked, his voice was small as his eyes darted around the faces of his family.

“{Anthe?!}” Neteyam was taken aback. He hadn’t seen them in the scuffle.

“{They were right behind us weren’t they?}” Lo’ak turned to Kiri, who was curled into their mothers side. Her face scrunched up, eyes welling with tears.

“{They were taken. Both of them.}” Kiri sniffed, tears spilling over her cheeks as she sobbed. Their parents immediately moved to comfort her, but Neteyam’s head was screaming at him to move. He turned to Lo’ak.

“{Where?}”

“{What?}”

“{Where did you see them? Spider and Anthe?}” Lo’ak seemed to shake slightly from his numb stupor, and pointed back towards the direction he had come from.

Neteyam took off at a sprint, back towards where Loak had pointed. Maybe Kiri was wrong. Anthe could still be there, hurt, or worse. Neteyams parents yelled after him, calling for him to come back. He could hear the sky people’s helicopters flying away in the distance.

He saw the torn rifle strap first, strung up on a branch, then the backpack, its contents strewn across the mud. The bag itself was in tatters, shredded by branches and bullet holes. There was a body nearby on the ground, too bulky and heavily armored to be Anthe. Neteyam searched for any sign they had gotten up and ran, but found only heavy boot treads, quickly dissolving in the mud and rain. And then he saw it, a flash of metal, letters carved into the hilt. Anthe’s knife. An object they treated more like a talisman than a means for survival. Something they never would have left behind willingly. Kiri was right, they had been taken. Gingerly, Neteyam pulled the knife from the mud, wiping the grime away to reveal the carved message once more. Ayfo tsun fmong ftu ayoeng kehe nulkrr. They will steal from us no longer. It was a promise that kept getting broken, over and over again.

“{Neteyam!}” Jake shook his son's shoulder sternly. “{We need to go. Now.}” Reluctantly, Neteyam let his father drag him away, back to High Camp, Anthe’s knife tucked carefully into his cumberbund.

—

“{We have to go after them!}” Lo’ak growled, his earlier fearfulness melted away to anger and frustration. The Sully parents had gone to speak with the Tsahik on what to do, leaving the siblings alone in the family kelku. Lo’ak had explained to their siblings how he had seen Anthe watching in the trees, how they had shot the soldier holding him captive, allowing him to escape. Tuk shared how they had helped keep her safe from the fighting, guarding her with their body. Finally, Kiri explained what she saw, how the explosion had thrown Anthe to the mud with Spider, and two soldiers, the bald one and the leader, had knocked them out and hauled them both away.

Neteyam paced back and forth, trying to take it all in, but he was still reeling. He had spent the last week and a half trying to reconcile how Anthe had left. He didn’t think they had wanted to leave, but it didn’t stop their departure from hurting. It didn’t help how quickly his father had flipped to distrusting them either, convinced they would go to the RDA to report High Camp’s location. Maybe this would change his mind. They had helped protect the Sully’s, if they were really with the RDA, they wouldn’t have stopped the soldiers from taking his siblings. When Neteyam’s parents returned, his mother was crying. It set all of them on edge.

“{Family meeting.}” Jake announced, gathering his wife and children in the center of their kelku. “{We have spoken with your grandmother. It is too dangerous for us to stay with the clan any longer.}” There was immediately a cacophony of protests, as Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk all began to talk at once, but their father was quick to silence them with a gesture.

“{What does that mean?}” Neteyam tried to keep his tone even and calm.

“{It means that we are leaving.}”

“{What!? No!}” Lo’ak looked frantically between their parents.

“{Where would we even go?}” Neteyam asked, trying to keep himself from devolving into the same panic. His whole life was here, he didn’t want to leave it all behind.

“{This is not up for discussion. We will seek uturu with another clan, far enough away that the RDA will not think to follow.}”

“{But… what about Spider and Anthe?}” Kiri’s voice was small. She was tucked into their mothers side with Tuk. “{How will they find us?}”

“{The sky people won’t hurt Spider. He’s strong, he can take care of himself.}”

“{And Anthe?}” Neteyam’s question was met with palpable silence.

“{Neteyam…}” His mother sighed, reaching a hand out to him in sympathy, but Neteyam pushed it away. His parents thought that Anthe was dead, or would be soon if they weren’t already. But, Neteyam thought differently. They were too strong to let the RDA try to kill them a second time.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Anthe was getting increasingly tired of waking up startled or panicked. They coughed hard, trying to dislodge the bile that had built up in their throat. Their head pounded with pain as they came too, eyes struggling to adjust to the artificial light, and arms pinned uncomfortably behind them. Something reached towards their face, and they reared back, hissing.

“Hey now, I’m just trying to give you some air.” An unfamiliar voice said from beside them. Anthe squinted and blinked, trying to clear their vision. Kneeling next to them was one of the soldiers, the bald one. He was still decked out in combat gear, sunglasses perched atop his shiny blue head. He held up a clear plastic mask, waving it slightly, a second one was draped across the back of his neck. Understanding crossed Anthe’s mind at the same time that their lungs began to constrict. Begrudgingly, they leaned forward, allowing the man to place the mask over their mouth and nose, and inhaled. They took a few breaths before righting themselves again, mind clearing enough to take in their surroundings.

They sat in a blank white room, furnished only with the chair Anthe was cuffed to and a large metal table. A large mirror took up half of the back wall, and there was only one door that they could see leading in or out. The bald soldier announced Anthe’s awake state into his throat comm, as they stared into what was definitely a two way mirror, taking in their disheveled appearance. Anthe was caked in dirt and mud, covered in a scattering of scratches and bruises, hair sticking to their face and neck. They noted their pouch from Neytiri was still strapped to their belt, but Tenak’s knife was gone. Panic shot through them, remembering how the blade had been pried from their hand. Anthe did their best to swallow it down, trying to figure out how they were going to navigate this. They didn’t know where they were, or if the Sully’s had managed to escape.

The door to the room swung open, and two figures entered the room. The first was an older human woman, arms crossed and hair tucked beneath a military cap. The second was the Colonel. Something about his face, finally clear in the bright lights, felt oddly familiar, but Anthe struggled to place him. They were sure they had never seen him before. Both figures stared at Anthe critically, trying to pick them apart. Anthe straightened, allowing their old training to kick in, and stared resolutely ahead.

“They said anything yet, Lyle?” The Colonel asked, slowly rounding the table.

“No sir, but they didn’t try to bite me either. Awfully well mannered for Na’vi so far.” The bald one, Lyle, answered his commanding officer with a shrug.

“That doesn’t mean anything yet.” The older woman said, standing as tall as she could surrounded by people twice her size. She remained by the door.

“Tell me,” the Colonel said, kneeling to make himself eye level with Anthe. “What’s your name?”

“Anthe, sir.” The response came out automatically, and Anthe hated that it did, but they had been playing soldier for the humans for as long as they could remember, and old habits die hard.

“So polite,” The Colonel mused, glancing back at the woman by the door. “ I am Colonel Miles Quaritch. You’ve met Corporal Lyle Wainfleet here, and that back there is General Ardmore. We’d like to ask you some questions. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but the choice is yours.”

Anthe swallowed, finally realizing where they had known the Colonel from. Never in person, and never in the body he was in now, but they had seen Quaritch before. His security briefing had been the one Mercer had shown them and Tenak, the same briefing where they had received the orders to hunt down Jake Sully. It was a mercy that they were being questioned like this, no doubt there had been some argument for torturing the information out of them instead. They had to play this smart.

“Anthe.” Quaritch continued. “Are you a part of the Omaticaya Clan? You don’t dress like one.”

“No, sir.”

“No? Which clan then?”

“None, sir.”

“No clan?” Quarich lifted a brow, unconvinced.

“I was a part of The Ambassador Program.” It was a shot in the dark. Either they would take it as another reason to kill Anthe, or no one would remember it well enough to know what it was. Anthe was hoping for the latter. Anthe watched the Colonel process this, some level of recognition floating across his face.

“TAP was shut down twenty years ago.” General Ardmore interjected. Shit.

“Yes, sir. We were placed in cryosleep.”

“We? There's more of you?”

“There were eight of us, but their pods malfunctioned, or they were killed. My whole squad is dead.” Something like sympathy crossed the Colonel's features, but he quickly schooled them again into an impassive mask.

“TAP was supposed to have erased all evidence.” Ardmore was looking more and more agitated, clearly having been on the torture side of the argument.

“Mercer ordered us put into cryo, wanted to protect his investment. I was just following orders.” It was a lie, but hopefully believable enough that no one would question it just yet. Mercer was a tried and true capitalist if there ever was one, it shouldn’t be too surprising that he would try to break the rules for his own gain.

“Were you following orders when you attacked my squad?”

“N-No, sir.” Anthe struggled for a breath. Quarich motioned to Wainfleet, who placed the mask back over Anthe’s face so they could breathe. After a moment, Anthe nodded and the man stepped back again.

“I was passing through, trying to find a good spot to camp. I saw those kids running, but I didn’t know what was going on.”

“That so? You just happened to be passing by? Helping stranger’s out of the kindness of your heart? Think the other Na’vi wouldn’t be worried about that big ol’ gun on your back?”

“Honestly, sir, I didn’t think that far ahead. I just saw scared kids. And I’m not Na’vi” Anthe held Quarich’s eye, willing him to believe their lie.

“Not Na’vi?”

“RDA raised me. I don’t have anything in common with the natives other than that I was born here.” It hurt to say out loud, like ripping off the bandage Neteyam had so gently wrapped around their heart. But as much as they might have started to heal that old wound, they needed it now. Quaritch just seemed to nod.

“And you don’t know any of those kids you saw?”

“No, sir. You’re the first people I’ve been able to even talk to in ages.” They needed to distance themselves as much as possible from the Sullys. If they could do that, fewer people might suspect them of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“You ever heard the name Jake Sully?”

“Quaritch!” Ardmore hissed. Clearly he was breaking some kind of protocol.

“Just gimme a second, General. You ever heard that name?”

“Once. Before we got put to sleep, we were ordered to kill him, but everything went to shit before we could head out.” Anthe nodded.

“You want a chance at carrying those orders out once and for all?” There was a wicked grin plastered across his face and Anthe answered as automatically as they could.

“Yessir.”

—

Ardmore was fuming as she stormed out of the room. Wainfleet had uncuffed Anthe’s arms from behind them and left the CO2 mask with them as he and the Colonel followed after the General. Quaritch promised to get everything settled as soon as they verified Anthe’s identity as one of TAP’s subjects. The second the door closed behind them, locking Anthe in the interrogation room alone, they crumpled. Someone was probably still watching them, and Anthe was so tired, stressed, they hoped it could come off as relief rather than despair. They fumbled for the pouch at their belt, feeling for their trinkets for some kind of comfort. Without Tenak’s knife, they didn’t have something to fidget with to relieve some of their panic. Their fingers found the smooth surface of the pond stone. They turned it over and over in their palm, rubbing little circles into its center absentmindedly.

It could have been minutes or hours before Wainfleet came back to the room to pick them up, and Anthe wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. The man clearly liked to gossip, grinning at Anthe from over his shoulder as he led them through the halls of Bridgehead, the new RDA settlement, to their new quarters. Apparently, once Anthe’s credentials were confirmed, Quaritch had convinced Ardmore to let him bring Anthe on to his squad. They would be in a sort of probation, needing to prove their loyalty, but otherwise Anthe was back in with the RDA. Wainfleet was especially excited about their qualification as a sniper. He let slip that he had managed to grab their gun, and as soon as they proved trustworthy, Anthe could get it back. Anthe stayed mostly quiet, giving polite answers when needed. The less they gave up the less they risked giving away by accident. It wasn’t until Lyle let slip that there was another prisoner that Anthe started to lose their nerve.

“A prisoner?” Anthe tried not to seem stressed by the news, hoping they sounded curious.

“Yeah, human kid that thinks he’s Na’vi or some shit.” Wainfleet laughed. “Don’t tell the Colonel I told you, but he’s actually his kid. Got left behind when the RDA left.”

“Damn…” That explained the weird interaction Anthe saw in the woods.

“You said it. But he’s here now. The Colonel will set him right.” Anthe just nodded, as Wainfleet continued down the halls.

“By the way, you want us calling you something specific, or just Anthe? Most of the boys go by their last name ‘round here, but you can also call me Lyle if you like.”

“Just Anthe. I don’t have a last name.”

“No? You don’t got a nickname from your old squad or anything?”

“Taronyutsyìp.”

“Gesundheit.” Anthe snorted, then was suddenly horrified at the ease they currently felt, but tried to shake it off. They needed to seem trustworthy.

“It’s Na’vi. Means little hunter. But you can just stick with Anthe.” Before adding quickly, “Nicknames are just about all we ever used the language for.”

“You fluent at all?” Wainfleet asked, sounding more curious than suspicious.

Anthe shrugged. “I get by. Why?”

“Could be useful is all. The Colonel’s kid seems to like it, or yells at us in it anyways. I’m kinda curious about what he's saying. Anyways, here we are.” Wainfleet said, finally stopping before a hallway of doors.

“These are the dorms, down the hall are the showers, the common room is that door there. Come find me in there once you've cleaned up, I’ll introduce you to the squad.” Anthe nodded, entering the small dorm room that Lyle opened for them. They waved the man a small goodbye before taking in the area.

It was small, clearly built for humans and not Na’vi, furnished only with a small cot and a desk with a chair in the corner. Someone had set out a set of clothes for them on the bed, clean socks and undergarments, green RDA issue camo pants and a black shirt with the words ‘Project Phoenix’ emblazoned in blue on the back. A large pair of combat boots sat on the floor. Anthe picked up everything but the socks and boots, and left for the showers. They washed quickly, eager to remove the grime from their body, before changing into clean clothes, carefully strapping their pouch back in place on their person. They wrapped their bracelet from Tuk and Kiri around their wrist and double checked the tie of Neteyams beaded cord in their hair to make sure it was still secure. There was probably still some mud caught in their hair, but washing it was the least of Anthe’s problems right now. They needed to figure out where Spider was, if he was safe, and how to get him the hell out of here.

They padded barefoot to the common room, peaking in before they entered. Six of the soldiers Anthe had seen in the forest, including Lyle, were scattered about the room, all lounging about the area looking bored and tired. And then they saw Spider. He was perched uncomfortably on the end of a couch, most of which was taken up by Wainfleet’s lanky Na’vi body. Or Recombinant body? The man had explained that the ‘Blue Squad’ as it was apparently called, was made up of soldiers previously killed in the Great War, revived through avatar clones and something called a Soul Drive. Anthe didn’t think Lyle was supposed to be telling them half of the things he did, but was quietly glad for his big mouth. He was clearly eager for someone to listen to him talk, that or he just liked the sound of his own voice. Spider’s eyes caught theirs, and they silently begged him not to say anything, giving the slightest shake of their head. Lyle noticed Spider’s glance and followed it, grinning when he saw Anthe standing awkwardly by the door.

“Everyone, come meet our newest addition! Mansk, Z-Dog, Ja, Lopez, Prager, this is Anthe. Anthe, everybody. Oh and this is Spider. The kid I was telling you about.” Lyle gestured around the room, pointing out each of the other soldiers as he named them.

This was a test. It had to be a test. Even if it wasn't, Anthe was going to treat it like one and hope like hell no one could tell what they were thinking.

“Nice to meet you.” Anthe tried to look relaxed and friendly. From what Lyle had told them, they had been out cold for the better part of the last 24 hours. That meant the deaths of their squadmates were still fresh to these people. The rest of the Recoms were much quieter than Lyle, but still plenty boisterous. They had a sense of familiar comradery that made Anthe feel almost nostalgic. They had to continue to remind themselves that these people were actively trying to hurt people they cared about to keep focus. Lyle ushered them to sit on the other side of him on the couch. Spider remained silent on the other end, knees tucked up to his chest, looking a lot like Anthe felt. He was bruised and unwashed, dried blood crusting around his nose.

“Anthe, Lyle said you speak Na’vi right? Maybe you can get the kid to talk.” One of the other soldiers, the one introduced as Mansk, said. Anthe looked between the men, and then at Spider. His eyes bore into the conflicted and anxious.

“Do none of the rest of you speak Na’vi?”

“Why should we? We ain’t here to make nice.” Prager, this time spoke, laughing at the idea. Anthe looked around at the soldiers, who started joking around and making fun of Na’vi. They swallowed their irritation, trying to be glad for this one thing.

“Should I ask him something?”

“Sure, why not.” Lyle shrugged.

“{Spider}” They turned to him, trying to look and sound as neutral as possible. They were suddenly very glad their time with the Omaticaya had immersed them in the language, it made it so much easier to speak quickly. Anthe hoped they could speak fast enough that someone with limited understanding would still miss what they said, just in case the Recoms were lying. Spider stared back at them, waiting. He seemed to be thinking the same thing. They had a secret language between them.

“{I am going to get you home. I promise.}” The room went quiet, and for a second, Anthe feared they had fallen into the trap. Spider uncurled himself, looking at Anthe with a determined defiance.

“{We will go home together, you skxawng.}” Spider bit it out, trying to sound angry despite his words, putting special emphasis on the last word. Skxawng, the Na’vi word for idiot. The soldiers around them roared with laughter, clearly entertained by Spider’s anger, and Anthe nearly started laughing themselves. There was no real malice in his words, but Spider was still right, they were an idiot.

“What’d he say?” Lyle grinned, poking Anthe’s shoulder. “What’d you say, for that matter.”

“I told him that he should try to do what he's told, and he called me an idiot.” Anthe sighed, but the soldiers just continued their joking. The atmosphere remained relatively light, right up until Quaritch arrived with their orders.

#froglet writes fics #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x oc #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader #avatar frontiers of pandora #spider socorro

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ur-boyfiend · 1 year ago

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pt1

warnings: talk of m-rd-r + d34th , specific mention of animal injury , i think that's it ?? mostly proofread (shocking i know)

notes: i guess this is becoming a series lol , gonna work on the third part after i finish some other stuff on here :3c

the tree is a massive, ancient oak. tangled vines run along the trunk and branches, and generations of witches have carved runes into the bark and tied talismans onto the vines and the branches themselves.

spiritworkers listen to the stories whispered in its leaves, seers watch the future in the warping bark, green witches ask it for advice the way a child might ask their mother. if a branch dies, you'll almost always find a witch snapping it off for use in their work.

the tree has seen more than anyone knows, it has watched witches come and go, it has seen witches desperate for safety and those same witches taken away.

there's a longstanding rumor that if you can't find your familiar they're gossiping about their witches with others at the tree.

many witches will use the tree to communicate with others, tying notes to the vines, leaving an offering for the fae, nestling letters packed into jars between the roots.

you look up to the leaves, the summer green now replaced by fiery reds, yellows, oranges. the talismans sway in the breeze, some clinking against eachother, sending an eerie tune dancing through the cool night air.

edgar, allen, and poe are all flying around, running surveillance. while witches being killed is supposed to be a thing of the past, covens have been reporting members vanishing, only to turn up dead, for as long as you can remember, and you know it's been even longer than that.

that's why, when poe lands on your shoulder without warning, you almost jump out of your skin.

you turn, about to scold the bird, but before you can open your mouth there's a flood of information passing behind your eyes. the only things you're sure of are that there are people with torches, guns, baseball bats, crowbars, whatever they could grab. and there are a lot of them.

cursing under your breath you scramble to your feet. you'd been trying to fix one of the older talismans that'd fallen off, but it'd have to wait.

shoving your sewing kit roughly into your bag before carefully placing the talisman in as well, you tell poe to go find her brothers, and minho. you'd been planning to meet at the tree, still wanting to work with the recently full moon, but that doesn't seem to be happening anymore.

there's a knife in the side pocket of your bag and you don't hesitate in grabbing it and putting it into the pocket of your jacket, praying you won't need it tonight.

edgar comes diving through the forest canopy, followed soon by allen. through their eyes you can see the mob getting closer, and know you have to get moving soon. before you can properly orient yourself to the mob, poe comes half-crashing into the clearing, one wing bleeding heavily.

they must've shot her, those motherfuckers.

you take a deep breath, then you're back in work mode.

"edgar, allen, hide."

the two birds transform quickly into black, bird-shaped hairclips, which you slide into your hair, both on the left, then scoop poe off the ground. there's an altar cloth in your bag and you quickly pull it out, whispering a prayer before carefully wrapping the material around the wound.

you hear rushing footsteps, and a moment later minho emerges from the trees, stumbling slightly when he comes to a stop. you share a look, confirming that you both know about the mob and that you both need to get the fuck out of here.

his face darkens when he sees poe wrapped in your arms, blood starting to soak through the worn cloth around her wing.

"we have to go, they might not be able to see the tree but they'll definitely be able to see us."

you nod, and he grabs your hand before staring back through the forest. you're both terrified, and more than once one of you squeezes the other's hand for reassurance. you're running as fast as you can without further injuring poe, and you're rather quickly out of the denser parts of the woods.

you slow down, gently tugging minho's hand in an attempt to get him to slow as well. he pauses for a second, waiting for you to catch up before continuing side by side.

"where are we gonna go?" you think of your siblings, and know that returning home would put them in danger as well. minho seems to understand your worry, and squeezes your hand again.

"my friend's house, he said that his door is always open if i need it."

you nod, deciding to trust minho's friend. you don't see any reason why minho would put you in danger.

maybe i trust him too much, but he's never given me a reason not to.

as you walk, you hum quietly, a habit you'd picked up years ago when out on walks with your dad. poe nuzzles into your chest and you hold her a little tighter. from the corner of your eye you can see minho turn and smile softly at you.

after walking for about half an hour, you reach an apartment block, near the edge of the city limits. the units are organized more like a small neighborhood, the apartments set into long buildings, each with two stories, the doors leading to the parking lot instead of a hallway.

minho walks up to one of the units and knocks on the door, the door opening shortly after despite the ungodly hour, revealing a man in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, somehow looking like he'd just woken up and like he hadn't slept in weeks.

without saying anything he turns and walks back into the apartment, leaving the door open. minho walks in after him, dragging you along too, then shutting the door once you're inside.

"good morning to you too chan."

"i'll kick you out again, catboy."

the nickname makes you laugh, and minho roll his eyes. but, your laughter quickly fades again and you follow the stranger into his kitchen.

"do you have any first aid things?"

he tilts his head, apparently confused by the request, but his expression quickly shifts when he sees the bird in your arms.

he nods, "minho! can you get the first aid?"

"why me?"

"because it's my house and you know where it is!"

you hear minho grumble something as he moves into a different area of the apartment, and you can hear cabinet doors opening and closing.

"here, you can set them down," he gestures to the island in the middle of the kitchen, then bundles up a few towels for a makeshift nest, "what happened?"

you carefully place poe in the middle of the small nest, unwrapping the cloth from around her wing, "fuckers shot her."

removing the clips from your hair, you set them on the counter, tapping each three times. edgar and allen quickly appear from their dormants, immediately snuggling up to poe, careful to keep clear of her injury.

"who shot her?"

you scowl, far too aware of the answer, "witch hunters."

sighing, you shake your head in an attempt to clear it, "anyways, your name is chan?"

"yep," he pops the p, which makes you smile slightly, "and you are?"

"i'm y/n, nice to meet you."

before the conversation can continue, minho comes crashing back into the kitchen, all five of you looking up at him. he plops a first aid kit down on the counter, before taking off his own familiar's dormants.

salem and jinx quickly materialize from the silver and black rings, emerald and amber gemstones shifting into keen eyes. the two cats nose at poe, jinx licking the top of her head. poe looks disgruntled by the action, and you laugh at them.

you quickly open the first aid kit, rummaging through for the things you'll need. you're not sure if there's any bullet fragment in poe's wing, even though she indicates that the bullet mostly missed her.

after you've confirmed that there aren't any bullet fragments, you carefully clean her wing before wrapping it securely with the bandage. when you're done, poe nuzzles into your hand, and you gently scratch under her chin.

edgar and allen move closer to their sister, jinx and salem also curling up nearby. the animals don't always get along, but you know that they wouldn't genuinely hurt each other.

minho yawns, which makes you yawn as well. chan snorts, but soon he's yawning too.

"mmm i'm going to sleep. catboy knows where the guestroom is."

minho flips off chan's back as he leaves the kitchen, chan seemingly aware of it because he pauses to flip minho off as well. you laugh, but you're cut off by another yawn.

"so, guestroom?"

"mhm, i'll show you where it is. i can just take the couch."

you roll your eyes, "yeah not happening."

minho rolls his eyes back, heading out of the kitchen. you give each of the animals a quick kiss on the head before following.

you find minho standing in the doorway of a bedroom, bowing dramatically as he gestures you inside. you go in, but grab him by the back of his jacket and pull him in as well before he can actually follow through on his plan of taking the couch. he grumbles, but doesn't seriously object or try to leave again.

letting go of him, you flop facedown onto the bed, groaning loudly into the duvet. a moment later you feel the mattress sink slightly next to you, and feel minho running his fingers gently through your hair. leaning into his touch, you rearrange yourself so that you're lying on your side.

"c'mon sleepyhead, let's get some rest."

you feel minho stand up again and you follow, stripping down to your underwear and the t-shirt you'd been wearing before properly getting into bed and under the covers.

minho joins you a moment later after turning off the light, and you immediately move closer, trying to share in his warmth. he wraps an arm around your waist and you can feel your stomach doing some kind of gymnastics routine, but he's being perfectly casual about it so you try to do the same.

it doesn't take long before you can feel your eyelids closing on their own, and you curl further into minho's chest as you fall asleep.

#boyfiend writes #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #lee minho #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x reader #stray kids ff #skz ff #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #skz x reader #gn!reader #skz fluff

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queer-tech-seer · 2 years ago

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Runic Divination: A Modern Invention

It is a popular belief (especially in certain Neo-Pagan and Heathen circles linked to Neo-Nazism and White Supremacy) that the runes of Elder Futhark:

Were the runes primarily used by the Vikings and represent a direct link to Viking ancestors

Have been used for divination for over a thousand years, representing a long and unbroken tradition, and that the way we use them now is the way the Norse used them in antiquity

Have ancient esoteric meanings that have remained unchanged through the passage of time

Unfortunately, none of these statements are true.

Around 98 AD, a Roman known as Publius Cornelius Tacitus wrote what was essentially an ethnological study of Germanic peoples entitled Germania. In Chapter X, he describes a system of divination used by one particular Germanic Tribe, an observation which later became the basis of what we consider today as runecasting and of the contemporary usage of Elder Futhark as an oracle:

"To divination and casting of lots, they pay attention beyond any other people. Their method of casting lots is a simple one: they cut a branch from a fruit-bearing tree and divide it into small pieces which they mark with certain distinctive signs and scatter at random onto a white cloth. Then, the priest of the community if the lots are consulted publicly, or the father of the family if it is done privately, after invoking the gods and with eyes raised to heaven, picks up three pieces, one at a time, and interprets them according to the signs previously marked upon them."

It is important to note that, at this time, the full inventory of the Elder Futhark alphabet was not yet finalized due to the fact that the sound inventory of Proto-Norse was not yet finalized. It wasn't until around 400 AD that all 24 runes can be solidly attested to within the archaelogical record. While it is probable that some letters of Elder Futhark were likely being used at the time Tacitus wrote his Germania, but it is extremely unlikely that the symbols carved upon the wooden tiles were Elder Futhark.

Additionally, there is simply no archaelogical or historical evidence beyond Tacitus' claims suggesting that the Proto-Norse or Norse used runes as a system of divination at all. Certainly the runes were used in magical contexts; there are many examples of runes and bindrunes being used as talismans and sigils inscribed on weapons, shields, jewelry etc. within the archaelogical record, but nothing suggests that these runes were ever used for divination as we know and use it today.

It is also important to note that Elder Futhark was not the alphabet used by the Vikings, as most proponents of runecasting claim; Elder Futhark was in use from the second century to the late 8th century (700s) in Scandinavia, when it was simplified to the Younger Futhark. The Younger Futhark WAS contemporaneous to the Vikings, and roughly corresponds to the Viking Age (793-1066 CE). This disproves the claim that the Elder Futhark is a direct link to Viking Ancestors -- the Vikings were using a different alphabet. It would be more accurate to say that the Elder Futhark runes linked the Vikings to THEIR Norse, Proto-Norse, and Germanic ancestors.

Finally, the meanings associated with the runes of Elder Futhark as we know them today were actually derived in modern times from the Norwegian, Icelandic, and Anglo-Saxon rune poems. None of these poems were written in Elder Futhark. The current theory proposed by modern linguists is that the Rune Poems were mnemonic devices used to help people remember the order, names, and, most importantly, the sounds of each letter of the alphabet. In other words, the Rune Poems were the equivalent to nursery rhymes.

With this new context, the use of nursery rhymes to assign esoteric meanings or properties to each rune seems a bit odd. Consider how silly it would be if, a thousand years from now, a group of people got a hold of one of those long posters found in elementary school classrooms meant to help children remember the order of the alphabet and decided that not only did the letter A definitively meant 'apple' and B definitively meant 'book', but that we as a society used these letters in order to divine the unknown.

Additionally, if the runes were preserving supposedly ancient meanings, we would expect these meanings to remain consistent throughout time with no variations. However, if the Rune Poems were instead preserving the phonetics associated with each runic letter by linking them to words beginning with that particular sound, we would see variation in the poems due to the linguistic variation of meaning.

And variation in meaning is exactly what we can observe between the Rune Poems; for example, the specific word linked to the phoneme represented in the stanzas attributed to Uruz talk about dross, a by-product of iron smelting within The Norwegian Rune Poem, about rain within The Icelandic Rune Poem, and then finally an aurochs in The Anglo-Saxon poem. The same can be observed for the stanzas attributed to Kenaz: the Norwegian and Icelandic rune poems refer to ulcers (likely derived from the Proto-Germanic *kaunan), while the Anglo Saxon refers to a torch (likely derived from Proto-Germanic *kenaz).

As an aside -- from examining the Rune Poems and comparing them to the commonly used modern meanings attributed to each rune, it is exceedingly obvious that whoever did assign said meanings primarily used The Anglo-Saxon poem as a jumping-off point.

In summary, Elder Futhark runes as we know them do not represent esoteric, magical concepts; the modern day meanings assigned to them were derived from translations of nursery rhymes meant to help people learn the Elder Futhark alphabet and, in some cases, were not the magical meanings ascribed to them by those who originally used them. Elder Futhark was not used by the Vikings and is not a direct link to Viking ancestors as many authors claim. Finally, there is no archaeological or historical evidence to suggest the runes were used for divination, nor was there a long and unbroken tradition of runecasting. The use of Elder Futhark as a tool of divination is a purely modern invention that dates back, at most, to the 1970's. The runes as they are used today are not 'ancient' nor is there a 'tradition' of using the runes for divination spanning back centuries, representative of an 'authentic and 'sacred' and 'holy' practice linked to Vikings.

As far as I can tell, Ralph Blum was the first one to write about the runes as a system of divination. Eddred Thorsson (Otherwise known as Stephen Flowers, who studied Runology, Germanic Languages, and Medieval Studies in an academic context), a known racist and white supremacist strongly linked to 'folkish' beliefs, Odinism, Asatru, and the Neo-Nazi Asatru Folk Assembly (a hate group recognised by the Southern Poverty Law Centre), expanded upon Blum's work and incorporated many Neo-Nazi beliefs based upon volkisch & Nazi doctrine, and is responsible for the perpetuation of these three myths (and quite a few others) into the present day with the publication of his books regarding runes. The publishing rights to Flowers/Thorsson's books are held by the Asatru Folk Assembly. Much of Flowers/Thorrson's assertions regarding the usage of runes is ultimately just unverified personal gnosis unsupported by archaeological or ethnographic evidence.

The association between runes and Nazism is certainly not new. The idea that the Germanic race (and its descendants) was superior to all others was central to Nazi ideology, and German ultranationalists scoured the archaelogical record to find proof of a link to a mythic 'Aryan' Heritage. They particularly liked the Armanen pseudo-Runes (the meanings of which miraculously were revealed to a man named Guido von List in 1902 after suffering temporary blindness following cataract surgery), but ultimately they shifted their attention to the appropriation of the runes of the Elder Futhark. The most infamous rune used by the Nazis is Sowilo, the 's' rune representing the sun, which was renamed the 'Siegrune' (Victory rune) and was used as a symbol for Hitler's Schutzstaffel (ie. The SS). Other runes that were misappropriated include Othala (inheritance) which was used as a symbol for the mantra 'Blud und Boten' (Blood and Soul), and Tiwaz (Tyr), which became a symbol for war and struggle. To claim that the runes represent a long-standing tradition and link to 'the ancestors' is straight up Nazi rhetoric.

This doesn't make the runes any less useful as an oracle! Oracles and divination help us find meaning in our lives as well as help us explain the universe around us, especially when we're faced with the murky unknown or with things that cannot otherwise be explained by other models or paradigms of rationalization. Using the runes to seek out answers to otherwise 'unknowable' questions is actually a method of reframing and recontextualizing our experiences via the viewpoint of an objective outsider, providing new insight and promoting introspection. This is especially helpful if what we 'learn' might not be things we want to hear or think about, especially concerning ourselves. It also helps us elevate the subconscious into the conscious, and makes us aware of things we didn't otherwise give much thought to due to our tunnel-vision view and tendency to focus only on the things we think are important or relevant.

The lesson to be learned from this is that it is important to critically examine so called 'traditions', especially ones claiming to be ancient and representative of 'ancestral' practices -- oftentimes the people perpetuating such beliefs have done so for a reason. Unfortunately, because Flowers/Thorsson's work is so prevalent within the pagan community, and because so many sources regarding runic divination end up linking back to his work, the practice of runecasting and using runes for divination has become tainted with Nazi rhetoric. It is for this reason that I am highly critical of any source listing the 'meanings' of the runes.

So… what can you do about this? Don't buy Flowers/Thorrson's books, obviously. Be critical of all sources when researching runes. Evaluate whether or not this person did their own research, or simply took Flowers/Thorrson's work at face value. Laugh openly at anyone who practices Rune Yoga.

My recommendation to rune enthusiasts is to study the Rune Poems and research the etymology of each rune word and come up with your own meanings and extensions, just like you would when researching the meaning of tarot cards. By doing this, you'll probably also find that you feel even more connected to them than before.

And, above all else, make your space an unsafe space for Nazis.

ᚠᚢᚲ ᚾᚨᛉᛁᛊ

References:

Andersen, Harry. "Three Controversial Runes in the Older Futhark (2)". North-Western Language Evolution, vol. 4, no. 5, 1985, pp. 3-22.

Antonsen, Elmer H. "The Proto-Norse System and the Younger Futhark". Scandinavian Studies, vol. 35, No. 3, 1963, pp. 195-207.

Dickins, Bruce. Runic and Heroic Poems of the Old Teutonic Peoples. Cambridge University, 1915.

Hoppadietz, Ralf, and Reichenbach, Karin. "In Honor of the Forefathers: Archaelogical Reenactment between History Appropriation and an Ideological Mission. The Case of Ulfhednar." Reenactment Case Studies: Global Perspectives on Experiential History, edited by Vanessa Agnew, Sabine Stach, and Juliane Tomann. Routledge, 2023.

Imer, Lisbeth. "How the Nazis abused the history of runes." ScienceNordic. 13 October 2018. Translated by Frederik Appel Olsen. https://sciencenordic.com/denmark-forskerzonen-history/how-the-nazis-abused-the-history-of-runes/1459227. Accessed 28 January 2023.

Knirk, James E. "Runes: Origin, development of the furthark, functions, applications, and methodological considerations." The Nordic Languages, vol. 1, 2002, pp. 634-648.

Southern Poverty Law Center. "Asatru Folk Assembly." SPLC: Southern Poverty Law Center. https://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/extremist-files/group/asatru-folk-assembly. Accessed 28 January 2023.

Southern Poverty Law Center. "Neo-Völkisch." SPLC: Southern Poverty Law Center. https://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/extremist-files/ideology/neo-volkisch. Accessed 28 January 2023.

Tacitus, Cornelius Publius. Germania. AD 98. Translated by Alfred John Church and William Jackson Brodribb, Macmillan & Co., 1869.

#runes #runecasting #norse paganism #elder futhark #norse #witchcraft #witchblr #vikings #local queer goose here to set the record straight #fuck nazis

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meganmackieauthor · 7 months ago

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I Can't Get the Vampire Rogue to Romance Me - Ch 19 - Long Rest Rituals

“Oh yeah, sure,” Evangeline invited.

The larger woman entered already looking like she had gotten a shower and her robe laundered. “Here,” she said, thrusting out a carved stone talisman to her. “You can borrow this if you want.”

Evangeline took the talisman, looking over the carving on it. It looked like a happy little fish tossing its tail and water spray in a joyful arc. “What is it?” she asked.

“Just say the word, Refreshor. With the ‘or’ sound, not ‘er,’” Sigismund said.

Evangeline did and then a feeling like bubbly water seemed to rush all over her skin and through her hair like a wave had burst underneath her clothing. A sweet smell of roses and lavender tickled her nose, and she swore she heard a splashing giggle. Running a hand through her hair, she realized that it felt clean and soft instead of sweat-stiff and tangled.

“Oh wow, that is a marvelous bit of magic,” Evangeline said, handing it back.

“Soapstone,” Sigismund said. “I always have one with me when I travel. Makes getting cleaned up easier.”

“I feel very fresh, thank you,” Evangeline agreed.

Sigismund nodded, moving to leave, then hesitated. “Look, I know it’s not my place to say, but … watch out for Valerian. There’s something not right about him, and I don’t trust it.”

“Do you trust anyone?” Evangeline quipped, cracking a half grin.

Sigismund returned it. “That’s fair. No, I don’t.”

“Not even Artmond?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “He is my lord’s son. Absolutely I cannot trust him. At least, not to keep himself out of trouble. More like… I know I cannot rely on him.” She blew out a breath. “Look, take the advice or not. It’s really not skin off my nose.” And with that, she flounced away.

Evangeline couldn’t help cracking her own grin as she stretched, feeling “refreshored.” Getting up, she took a glance through the branches of the willow tree. On the edge of her consciousness was the rattle of dice rolling as she peered.

Hagor and Artmond were at the fire, cooking food as Sigismund approached Artmond, holding out the soapstone to him. There was no sign of Valerian anywhere.

Which was because he stood right behind her.

“Holy Hell!” Evangeline exclaimed when she turned around and found him standing too close behind her.

“Need to work on your perception,” Valerian smirked, one of his pale eyebrows lifting as he crossed his arms.

“And you need to work on boundaries.”

“I said I wanted a word,” he reminded her.

That’s right. He did. “What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms to mirror his.

“We need to talk. You keep implying that you know something about me, but you don’t follow through on what that is.”

Evangeline sighed, feeling very tired. “If I did know what you are talking about, Val, I don’t know it right now because I barely know my own name until I get some rest.”

“Yes, that is a mighty convenient excuse,” he pointed out.

“Okay, how about this.” Evangeline laid a hand on his crossed forearm. Valerian jumped a little but didn’t shake her off, his narrow eyes now wider and completely focused on him. “If there was anything about your secret, whatever it is, that I could use to harm you, I would have done it already.”

He stepped back, out of her touch. “You could just be waiting for the most opportune moment.”

“Yeah, but I’m not. I’m just waiting for you to leave so I can go to bed,” she said, a pounding behind her eyes growing more insistent as he grew more insistent.

“You…” he cocked his head at her. “You really don’t know, do you? I can usually tell when people lie to me. They’ve been doing it most of my life, but you… you genuinely mean it.”

“If you want to tell me your secret, I’ll be willing to listen. I’m pretty sure it won’t change a thing about how I feel about you.”

“Oh you have ‘feelings’ about me eh?” he asked with a suggestive tone, his voice growing huskier.

She knew what he was getting at, but she didn’t take his bait. “Well, of course, I have feelings about you. I like you a great deal. We’re all in this together.”

“Hmm, you know… you’re more gullible than I originally took you for,” he replied, lightening his tone, then backed off.

“Thanks,” she replied much more coolly.

“Oh don’t get me wrong. I like naïve. It gives me a chance to show people the error of their ways.” His grin sharpened. “Trust me, you would have fun with it too.”

Evangeline took a step back from the innuendo. “I thought you made it abundantly clear that you don’t like me.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he purred. “I mean, after all, you are right. We are in this together. And if you have no intention of being an enemy, we could try friends?”

“Only if you mean it,” she said, surprising herself with that answer. Where did that come from?

“Why wouldn’t I mean it? Now I’m hurt.” He pouted his lower lip and then he took a step out through the willow branch curtain. “Alright then. I’ll wait to finish this conversation in the morning when you’ve fully refreshed yourself.”

And with that, he exited fully and moved away further into the camp.

Evangeline let out a breath. “It’s been a full day,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s just get something to eat and go to sleep. Deal with any other problems in the morning.”

And she did just that. It was nice to share the comradery of food around a fire, and once she settled into her bedroll, and for the first time in a while—though she couldn’t remember why—she let out a contented sigh as she dropped off to sleep.

She wasn’t sure what it was that woke her up. Maybe it had been a successful perception roll, maybe it had been the dreams she had been having, or maybe she had just gotten lucky.

To be continued...

To read the latest chapter join my newsletter at meganmackieauthor.com

#baldur's gate 3 #litrpg #meganmackie #baldur's gate iii #dnd fanfiction #fanfic #romantasy #isekai

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cyberneticlagomorph · 2 years ago

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Cicadas scream, chanting their endless lilting songs as you move along the path.

If you listen too hard, the chirps and buzzing start to sound like words.

You pretend not to hear it.

The darkness falls with all the grace and comfort of a sheet draped across a bed, and fireflies the size of bumblebees flutter out of the grass as you disturb it.

You still have the bottle, heavy and cold, wax sealed and strangely comforting.

The grass is cool on your sore feet, and slightly damp near the roots.

You rub the bottle on your cheek and the side of your neck, sighing at the sensation.

Something tells you to open it, but something else says you shouldn't.

Not now.

Not yet.

The path ends in a weird wide open patch of grass surrounded on all sides by broken buildings and tall trees that press the rubble back like string gnarled hands.

The closer you get to the trees, the more you want to leave.

Not in a "Oh my god run away this place is dangerous" kind of way, or even a "you should not be here" kind of way.

It's... like this place doesn't want to be noticed, like your perception is sliding right off it, like water off a stone.

And that just makes you notice it harder.

You take a step forward, past the trees and into the clearing.

The feeling vanishes instantly.

The grass here is shorter, but not uniform like someone mowed it.

The trees are covered in symbols, bottles hanging from their branches too along with bits of sun bleached cloth fluttering in the breeze.

It unsettles you that you didn't notice them before, or the squat little hill at the far edge of the clearing.

You should have noticed that.

With eyebrows furrowed you wander further in, bottle hugged tight to your chest like a talisman.

The ground here is littered with footprints, paw prints, children's toys.

Your stomach twists and you think about running back to the path.

But where will you go?

The City is dark and you are alone.

You swallow thickly, tongue dryer than a college lecture.

Keep moving.

Each step closer to the hill scares you more and more, fills your head with terrible things.

You see bones in the grass, gnawed and humanoid.

You hear footsteps racing up behind you but refuse to turn and look.

Keep.

Moving.

You feel the breath of something massive on your neck, as cold as a corpse and twice as clammy.

You squeeze your eyes shut and keep walking, one hand out in front of you, expecting to touch hillside or bone or beast.

Instead you feel woodgrain, well worn smooth in most places, carved in others with the same symbols as the ones on the trees.

You open one eye just a sliver and see your hand passing THROUGH the hill as if it just wasn't there.

The breath on your neck is gone, so are the bones, the visions, the fear.

You fumble around until you find the knob and turn it, throwing your entire weight (which isn't much) against the door, and fall head first into darkness.

#ic #ask to tag #action post

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lovetaled-a · 3 years ago

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* @iridescentaes ( the soldier prince ) ⋆ › ‘ you look different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight.

beneath the ice-laced trees and a beaming crescent sentry, clara rises sometime past midnight in the forest of snow. the flakes fall gently, like the petals of a cherry tree, flat and thick, and touch upon the lovelier details of the lovely prince before her. they land in his lashes, in the crop of hair adorning his head, tucking themselves between brass buttons and his very fine coat. clara flushes, her cheeks like two ripe sugarplums sprinkled by the cold, though her skin does not shudder. an aura of warmth crept over the space of their restful hour.

❛❛ how long was i asleep ? ❜❜ she asks as relief washes over her too, that this moment was not apparently a dream, and she had not woke upon the divan in the parlor with the clock dully clanging against its gears to sound the hour, the strange owl like pallas herself upon the top of the mantle looming over clara’s yet raw wakefulness as if admonishing her lack of wisdom ( for thinking that clever toys came to life and were not just talismans that children and especially-sentimental girls clutched to bosoms, eager to imbue lives of their own into wood and carved faces, and let fancies take on external qualities and inclinations. )

you are not a doll in a house, she thinks in a reverie of frost and stars. you are a prince in a wood; you are real. right now you are real as i, or i am insane and i wish to be nothing else ever again.

clara rises onto her elbows, sitting up in the glade of trodden-soft ground beneath dry grass blades and moss, which welcomed her sleeping form beneath a taller towering tree. with a strange realization, she notes that the frills of her nightgown do not carry dirt or crumble with the toils of their journey. her eyes flick to her prince, a radiant figure in the night, with eyes like glass windows and a nose tinged the hue of a cherry gumdrop. a smile spreading lips. ❛❛ we are safe here, aren’t we my prince ? these woods are so peaceful. ❜❜ a broad glance around, discerning no birds or strange creatures to flock the branches and send pine needles tumbling down on their heads, nor the steady race of a brook against rocks. the air is crisp, the sky a portrait of thin clouds etched into a deep blue canvas. ❛❛ nothing like the forests of the continent. they say children used to vanish into them, and never return, save as ghosts hungry for the bread of the living, sometimes their firstborns. is that not very silly indeed ? ❜❜

❛❛ the moonlight here is more beautiful too. i wish to bottle it up, and take it with me. though i would rather take you with me, to meet my mother and father and brother, and perhaps the strange clockmaker we have visiting. ❜❜

#*◝ ✧ clara stahlbaum. ◟ interactions.#› verse. ◝ princes and forests and courts of dreams. ◟ affiliated.#iridescentaes #› the soldier prince.#writing with taj... a joy a pleasure #despite my rustiness!!! enjoy though #she batting her lashes

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ragnarokkvaa · 4 years ago

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Chaos Rising - A Loki x Wanda fanfic

The young Midgardian witchling upon his door brings with unbridled surprise within Loki; tempered quickly. It is but a brief play across his visage. How she found him when he’d thought he’d covered his tracks well was …beyond him. She stands before him, sleeves of her black sweatshirt balled into her fists; backpack hanging from her left shoulder frayed.

Loki watches wordlessly as she shifts her weight; the weathered wood underfoot creaking slightly with the shift of weight; her auburn hair hanging free down her back and over her shoulders, drifting across her face with the soft whispering of the chilling Norwegian wind.

It carries with the slightly salty tang of the sea, the sharp scent of evergreens and the soft floral scent of her perfume.

“Loki.” She says his name again and it breaks him from the spell of revere he’d been under.

“How did you find me?” Though there’d been some suspicion that the people of the small fishing village a few miles of the wilderness he claimed as home might be aware of who he was, if there was truth they did not dare speak it.

He’d done a fairly good job of hiding post-blip when he escaped Thanos’ destruction of their vessel …and during the blip and post-everyone’s return. Though the magic that hung in the air even now was sharp and metallic and somehow sweet like burnt sugar leaves a bad aftertaste in his mouth, Loki had deigned not to come out of hiding.

There was a peacefulness to Norway — he can see it now — why this was the place Odin came to die once free of his spell. There was old magic saturating the earth here that called to him, the lingering of devotion that he’d once sought so desperately and greedily; that soothed his wildest impulses like the lullabies Frigga had lulled him to sleep with as a small, fussy infant.

He watches as the Sorceress — for he can sense that she has come into her own — bites her bottom lip; marred by worrying it as she does now. “Your magic.” She admits, blinking her wide eyes at him; doe-like. Soft. As beautiful and wild as the seas of Norway.

That Loki notices this is slightly jarring; but what is even more jarring to him is that her explanation makes perfect sense to him. She is the master of chaotic magic — he can almost taste it; as sweet and tempting to him as spun candy floss. Her magic speaks to his own; a soulsong that he cannot begin to understand.

She is quiet for a few moments more, seeming desperate to look at anything but him. “Can I come in?” She asks then, when it is apparent that he cannot fathom the why.

“Of course.” Loki replies softly, stepping aside so his lean, tall frame was no longer blocking the rune carved doorway to his home.

That is how Wanda Maximoff came to stay with him; denying his offer to take her to New Asgard with the firmly rooted belief that Thor and Brunnhilde would take her in. Whether it was a lack of trust in herself or not Loki cannot be sure but finds himself caring less and less as Wanda’s presence begins to, as the weeks swell into months, bring comfort.

They take it slow: she does not ask how he is still alive and he does not ask what has caused the grief that haunts her gaze, that causes her mind to wander in what he believes mortals call ‘thousand yard stare’ when they sit before the fire. This unspoken agreement is comfortable despite that it leaves Loki maddeningly curious.

Imagine, he thinks one day as he neatly skins a large fish one of the villager’s sons had brought in exchange for a small talisman carved from the branch of an ash tree — a pale imitation of Sleipnir whom has been glamoured so that his extra four legs are unseen; him being curious about a Midgardian.

As unlikely as he’d always thought he would find it: it was nevertheless true. Especially when he caught her humming soft and foreign lullabies to herself; that he assumes as her comfort ‘round him grew became full-fledged lullabies sung in Sokovian as she cooked paprikash from ingredients they bought at the village market.

“That’s a lovely song.” Loki remarks as they stand side-by-side at the cabin’s kitchen counter: him slicing up chicken as she tends to the egg noodles boiling in a pot on the gas stove.

Wanda is so quiet for a moment that Loki cannot help but think he’s overstepped. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child.” She tells him after a long moment of silence filled with the splice of knife thru meat and the soft sound of bubbling water. “And I sang it for my boys.”

Surprise draws Loki’s eyebrows up — he had not known she had children. He suspects, quick as he is, that something happened to them as they had not been with her when she’d first appeared on his doorstep …nor had they appeared at all; and she speaks with grief, the lulling lilt of her voice carrying her Sokovian accent — which he’s learned came out when she spoke of her family, of her home. Which, was rare. Or when she was angry with him; which was not all that rare at all.

It happened on occasion. Typically, when they were training and Loki pushed her too far, or when she’d get riled about the fact that he had yet to tell Thor he was still alive — and had been the whole time.

“Where are they? Your sons?” Loki asks hesitantly, watching her hands carefully as she pauses stirring the noodles. A muscle in her jaw jumps and she gives a sharp tilt of her head; which is usually a good indication that Loki’d crossed that invisible boundary line.

“They’re gone. They were …” Wanda struggles, her voice thick with emotion and her accent brought to the surface with her grief. “…never real.” Loki looks away the second he sees a tear slide down her cheek; leaving a glistening trail of her sorrow. It feels private; that moment. Like he was glimpsing at something he had no business seeing.

“I’m …sorry.” He offers, unsure what else to say and hating that it seems so feeble. He quietly scoops the sliced chicken between his hand and the flat edge of the knife and drops it in a frying pan, focusing on the sizzle as he turns and washes his hands.

He dries them hastily off on the kitchen towel and feels his breath leave his lips in a soft rush as he turns to see her standing, wooden spoon immobile in her left hand; her right hand balled up in the sleeve of her shirt, pressed against her mouth as pained sobs wracked her body.

“Wanda?” Loki was no stranger to grief — far from it; and he liked to credit himself as being better with emotions than Thor but finds himself reaching out to her; placing his hand on her upper arm. He doesn’t try to tell her that it would be alright …because would it? He couldn’t say; and Loki was never a fan of false platitudes.

He could feel her magic; seething within her. Connected to her emotions as it was and with her little bit of training its still reactive. Working to protect her as if it were her armor — as Frigga had once described magic to Loki as a small child.

His own magic works to subdue her’s, keeping it from lashing out in her grief.

Wanda was getting better — stronger — but she still had a ways to go before she mastered it. She was a fast learner, which Loki was grateful for, but he lacked his mother’s finesse with lessons, and if he was being honest her saintly patience.

Even so, he was grateful that they discovered their magic did not reject each other like opposing magnets …which Loki suspected was because their magic was both borne of chaos. That strange soulsong that only their magic could recognize; complimentary …and if combined? Loki shuddered to think of it.

The God of mischief feels his muscles pull taunt as he tenses the second Wanda steps closer to him and presses her face against his chest, the spoon clattering to the floor as she clings to him. Loki isn’t sure what makes him draw in a deep breath and press a kiss to the top of her head as he held her. Soft.

The instinctual urge to push her away was strong; Loki’s natural defense to any time he started to let himself be emotionally vulnerable in any degree with anyone …but —

this time, with her: he resists.

#chaos rising #loki #wanda maximoff #wanda x loki #wandavision spoilers #kinda?#loki fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfic #my writing #might write more of this as muse strikes me and/or if there's any interest in it #i'll probably post this to AO3 at some point #loki in this is a cross between mcu & mythology #q are my sunshine

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theshapeshifter100 · 3 years ago

Text

Wolf and Raven: Old Friends Chapter 1

Previous Instalment

Masterlist

A gentle breeze wound itself through the branches of the Heart Tree, rustling the leaves like music.

A figure stood in the centre of the grove, leaning on a staff and standing so still you would be forgiven for thinking that she was made of stone.

She wore thick grey and white furs, with a pale fur cloak and a single black raven feather woven into the overshirt. The hood was down, revealing silvery hair tied back in a plait. Amber eyes glowed on a pale face, a scar curving down one cheek to meet her lip.

Her staff was also of pale wood, with silver bands connecting the snarling wolf’s head topper to the main staff.

She stared straight ahead, unmoving for the moment. Her pouch began to glow on her belt, and she finally changed position. She reached into the pouch and pulled out a runestone, a carved raven on one side, and a wolf on the other. The raven was glowing.

Wolf flipped it over in her hand and traced her thumb along the outline of the wolf, which began to glow in turn. Placing it back in her pouch, Wolf lifted up her staff and thrust it out, forming a shimmering portal which she stepped through.

Several hours later Wolf stepped through the portal into warmer lands. The green was verdant and a chill, but comparatively warmer breeze teased the edge of her cloak.

“My apologies Raven, I had to inform the Giants of my leave,” Wolf stated to the woman in black leather armour, holding a staff with a raven’s head. “Otherwise I came as soon as you called.”

“And I am glad that you did,” Raven paused before her face broke into a broad grin. “Wolf.”

Wolf returned the smile and walked over to Raven, pulling her into a fierce hug.

“It is good to see you again,” Raven said before the hug separated.

“Aye, I cannot agree more.”

“Tell me, how fares the Land to the North?”

“It fares well. There is not further sign of rot and the Heart Tree thrives. How do you fare?”

Raven pressed her lips together. “I will explain in more detail when everyone is here.”

“Everyone? Who else have you called?”

“Allies of Raven of Old. Satyarani from the Lands to the East, if she is able.”

“And?” Wolf prompted since Raven wasn’t continuing.

“Cyrus the Astronomer… and Princess Erina.”

Wolf’s eyes went wide. “Raven…”

“I am aware, I am sorry Wolf, but trust me. I have my reasons.”

“This will not end well,” Wolf shook her head, taking a step back. “I do not know what you have planned, but it is unlikely that she will tolerate my place in it.”

“I need you in this, and I need her.”

“Then this will not be pretty,” Wolf sighed. “I will follow you, on that you have my word, but my presence may cause Erina to refuse to aid you.”

“We will talk when she arrives,” Raven decided, and Wolf reluctantly nodded.

The wind picked up and a plume of dust blew in and hovered in place. Before their eyes the dust parted and the wind died down, revealing a human figure.

A woman stood tall in an orange sleeveless shirt and a floaty, ethereal pale orange skirt with loose orange trousers underneath. A gold necklace lay around her throat and a gold headpiece formed three circles down her forehead, while her black hair fell down her back like a waterfall.

Once the dust cleared she looked around and her gaze landed on Raven. Her eyes narrowed for a moment.

“You must be Raven,” she noted.

“I am indeed. Not who you were expecting I am sure,” Raven inclined her head. “Still, welcome Satyarani.”

“Thank you,” Satyarani inclined her head briefly as well. “I was lucky to have made it here, I have to carry a piece of my homeland to remain stable in this land Raven,” she indicated to a pouch on her belt. “I fear I may not be able to aid you for more than a few weeks.”

“That is more than sufficient, thank you for coming.”

“I will admit I was curious; I have not heard from your predecessor in many years.”

“He is why we are here,” Raven informed, catching Wolf’s attention. “I should introduce you. Satyarani, this is Wolf, Guardian of the North. Wolf, this is Satyarani, Princess of the Eastern Land.”

“Your highness,” Wolf did a form of curtsey.

“Guardian,” Satyarani did a half bow. “It is a pleasure. Although from your accent I would have assumed that you shared Raven’s homeland.”

“In fact, I do,” Wolf admitted. “It is… a long story. One you will most likely hear if Raven’s other guests arrive.”

“You do not need to glare at me Wolf,”

“I only wish you had informed me before I arrived.”

“How did you intend for me to do that? The runestone you gave me did not allow for complex messages!”

Wolf’s hackles raised, but she took a step back and ran a hand down her face. “My… my apologies Raven. You are correct on that matter.”

“Would I be correct to assume that you know who else Raven has called?” Satyarani asked.

“Aye. My apologies Satyarani, I hope this does not give you a poor impression of me. I am on edge.”

“So I see.”

A circular portal opened and two more figures stepped through. Wolf felt her hackles rise again, but stepped back as they came through.

An older man dressed in blue robes, with white hair and beard and carrying a staff topped with a ringed planet. Following him was a woman with thick blonde hair that tumbled down her back, dressed in leather armour and a red cloak. In her hand she also carried a staff, topped with a wooden crown.

Cyrus looked around, carefully noting the three women in front of him before turning to Raven.

“Ah! You must be the Warrior who took Raven’s mantle! Excellent excellent, a pleasure to finally meet you!” he strode towards Raven and warmly shook her hand.

Raven was a little taken aback, but recovered. “And you must be Cyrus the Astronomer, I have heard great things.”

Cyrus chuckled. “I am glad, I am glad. Now of course, this is Princess Erina,” he gestured to the woman who had come with him.

Erina hadn’t been paying as much attention. Like Cyrus she had scanned the small group when she arrived, and her eyes had immediately landed on Wolf.

Wolf hadn’t looked away, watching as Erina’s eyes glanced over her staff, and the princess came to her own conclusions.

As Cyrus introduced her Erina’s gaze moved and her demeanour changed. Her face softened into a smile and she walked over to Raven.

“It is pleasure to meet you,” Erina spoke cordially. “And I will admit, a surprise. I had not heard from Raven in some time. Not since the Ultimate Battle.”

“That is why I have called you all here,” Raven informed, taking a step back. “Although first I should make sure that everyone is familiar with each other each other. This is Satyarani, an ally of Raven’s from many years ago.”

Satyarani nodded, and Cyrus’s eyes lit up in recognition at the name.

“Ah yes! I do believe Raven went to your lands in search of the Elixer of Life to break Nevar’s curse on Alaunus.”

“He did indeed, and his Warriors were successful in this endeavour.”

“Yes, it was a great relief when he returned. I thank you for your aid.”

Satyarani smiled and nodded, and Raven continued introductions.

“And this, as the two of you may remember-” she gestured to Wolf, and Cyrus interrupted.

“Ah yes, Wolf, it has been some time.”

“Aye. That it has,” Wolf responded stiffly.

Erina looked at Raven. “What possessed you to summon Wolf to your aid?”

Wolf went stiff and her knuckles turned white on her staff.

“Wolf called for my aid not long ago. I assumed that I could call on her for aid,” Raven responded neutrally.

“I see,” Erina glared at Wolf. “And you had the audacity to call to Raven for help when something went wrong in the land you had been exiled to?”

“You need not remind me,” Wolf growled. “And my other option was to let that land fall to Nevar and die.”

“I am surprised that you did not follow that option.”

“You assume much, Princess,” Wolf growled through gritted teeth. “And yet you still struggle to listen.”

“Raven,” Cyrus interrupted loudly. “May I ask why you have summoned us all here? You have asked many powerful people to meet.”

“Aye, that I have,” Raven looked relieved to not have to listen to Wolf and Erina snipping at each other. “As you have all noticed, I am not the Raven you are familiar with. The one I call ‘Raven of Old’ attempted to seal Nevar within a desolate dimension during the Ultimate Battle. The spell unfortunately and unexpectedly pulled Raven of Old into the realm as well. I collected the six emblems and attempted to free him, but I only summoned his Staff of Power,” she gestured with the staff, “and as such I became Raven in his stead. We have steadily been gathering the talismans and Power Rings to attempt once again to return him to this realm.”

“But would that not return Nevar to this realm as well?” Satyarani interjected. “The same spell sent them both to this desolate realm, then breaking the spell would return both of them.”

“That is why I called you all here,” Raven gestured to the four of them. “You are all powerful allies to either myself or to Raven of Old. I had hoped that between the five of us, we could hold Nevar off long enough to allow Raven of Old to return and leave Nevar trapped.”

Wolf took several steps back, both hands gripping her staff as Cyrus began to ask further questions about Raven’s plan. Erina and Satyarani started adding their thoughts, which all became a dull roar in Wolf’s ears.

This, this could not be the reason that Raven had called her here. Yet, Wolf had already given her word. Even as her stomach churned, her battered sense of honour would not allow her to turn away from this proposed quest.

Satyarani, Cyrus and Erina continued to discuss the plan, and Raven excused herself from the conversation, approaching Wolf.

“Are you well my friend? I know this is a lot to ask of you.”

“You are correct, you are asking much of me my friend,” Wolf didn’t look at Raven, finding the grass enthralling. “You ask much of me to be here with Erina and Cyrus, with the addition of battling Nevar…”

“If you feel that you cannot complete this quest, then you may withdraw. I will not think any less of you.”

“I gave you my word that I would follow you in this.”

“And I return it to you. You have no obligation to me.”

“My battered honour would beg to differ my friend.”

“Your honour will not be much use if you cannot fight,” Raven countered. “I do not doubt your skill, but I worry for your mind.”

“As do I,” Wolf absent-mindedly rubbed her temple. “It may not even come to that. Erina is the only one who can allow me onto the Island of Alaunus, and as I have said before, she may not grant me that.”

“I will speak with her,” Raven assured. “But if your mind cannot cope with this quest, then I understand.”

Wolf gave a tense half smile before looking over at the other three. “I fear they may not feel the same way.”

“It does not matter.”

Wolf shook her head. “But it does. It does to me. You forget that I have known Cyrus and Erina for far longer than you have. Despite all that has happened, I find that I still care about their opinion of me,” Wolf attempted to smile, but it fell flat. “Pathetic, is it not?”

“I was not going to say that,” Raven tilted her head. “Come closer, listen, then decide. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Aye.”

Raven nodded and walked back to the discussion. Wolf took a deep breath and followed behind.

---

Aaaaand we're back! With exposition! To be fair Wolf wouldn't know most of this so it isn't entirely useless exposition

Once again my friend @fairyofsomething beta read and came up with the title, and for that I thank them immensely.

A quick pronounciation guide so that we're all on the same page.

Satyarani is pronounced how it's spelt. Sat-ya-rani

Alaunus is Allow-nus

And Haryad will be appearing, and is pronounced almost identically to 'Harriet', I was not the only one who thought that Haryad was a girl and called Harriet when Raven: The Island

#Wolf and Raven: Old Friends #Wolf and Raven #Raven #Raven CBBC #Raven 2002 #Raven: The Island #Raven: The Secret Temple #Raven: The Dragon's Eye #Satyarani #Cyrus the Astromoner #Princess Erina #Raven OC #Raven fanfiction #TheShapeshifter100 writes

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velvethana · 4 months ago

Text

( — YELLOWJACKETS . ) CHAPTER ONE

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀“⠀⠀BIRDS OF A ⠀ FEATHER ⠀. ⠀”

warnings. ♱ (18+). lengthy series. gore. horror. cannibalism. cult activity. college au. swearing. vomit. humor. mildly suggestive. drug use. hallucinations and derealization. no smut. main character death. side character death.

chapter warnings. ♱ (18+) swearing. vomit mention. suggestive dialogue. drug use. slight derealization.

wk. 9.6k ♱

WILDERNESS (UNKNOWN)

The heart of winter beats still as the sound of hard breaths echo. Steady as he focuses, inhaling and exhaling to push himself to his limits.

The kind of darkness creeping that you only find thousands of miles from the warm, safe home you’re accustomed to. His eyes attempt to adjust as he’s hit repeatedly with the foliage he’s pushing through.

Light filters through boreal woods, giving him brief glimpses of the distance ahead.

Bare feet flying across snow-covered ground, branches lashing at filthy, blood-smeared arms and legs. A scream itches at the back of his throat but he lets nothing out.

Each gasp is a spectral apparition in the freezing air as screams of anguish and hunger echo through the woods.

Occasionally, a gust of wind sends a flurry of snowflakes against the crisp air and right into his face.

He bolts down an incline, when sudden he cries out, falling to his knees. A broken branch pierces his foot, nearly clean through to the other side.

Gritting his teeth, he rips it out and regains his footing, willing himself forward. Pushing through the pain.

Whatever you do— don’t let them catch you.

The woods abruptly give way to a large clearing surrounded by skeletal white birch. The boy halts to a stop at the edge of the glade, breath catching in his throat as he processes what he’s looking at.

Dozens of eyes carved into the surrounding trees. Around them, talismans hang from the branches, fashioned from bough and bone. Suddenly without warning, the overwhelming instinct to scream takes over as he lets out a strangled noise.

The air is filled with eerie, inhuman wails and as his own scream finally adds to the chorus of chaos— the woods fall completely silent.

Almost.

Somewhere behind him, a branch cracks, snapping him out of his terrified trance as he remembers where he is. Gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg, he bolts.

And this time, they let him go.

His body pale in the fading light as he flies across the glade until suddenly— he disappears.

The snow-covered ground opening up beneath him, appearing to swallow him whole.

A figure in animal pelts emerges from the tree line, his face shrouded by the hood of his rough and matter coat. Breath haggard, he approaches the edge of the deep hole that was previously concealed by cover of snow.

A tiger trap.

As he kneels at the edge, peering down through the jagged maw of branches snapped by the runner’s fall, he stares down unmoving.

Splayed at the bottom of the pit. His limbs once swift were bent at terrible, unnatural angles, body imapled on thick wooden spikes.

The bloodied points protrude through his chest, his thigh, his face— now nothing but a gory mess from chin to brow. A small and familiar silver charm glints around her.

The hunter stands, seemingly satisfied. Then, as the furs of his coat part, revealing the tattered and torn soccer shirt.

INT. VICE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE (PRESENT)

“Would you say you were close with any of the students?”

The vice principal sits in front of Jongho, scribbling down on a journalists pad. The principal himself seems to be around his 60's, with a cultivated youthful zeal as he tents his fingers thoughtfully.

Jongho doesn’t believe in this fabricated cool in a second yet he allows him to ramble. “I would definitely not say that- not one of those kids gave a good goddamn about Trigonometry, I can tell you that much.”

“Do you keep in touch with any of the survivors?”

The man’s face shows a hint of sorrow— no it seems to lean closer towards the side of offense. “I mean, we're all survivors in a way, don't you think?”

Jongho raises an eyebrow, unmoving. The man must have sensed his distaste for that comment as he awkwardly shifts. “Then what do you think really happened out there?”

The vice principal frowns. “All I know is that what happened was a tragedy, a terrible tragedy.” He pauses for a moment, glancing at the closed door behind Jongho. A slip of vulnerability behind his eyes. Jongho flashes a coaxing smile.

“I probably shouldn't say this, but some of these kids? Eh, no big loss, if we're honest.” Jongho nods in understanding. He doesn’t understand in the slightest. “But those kids were special. They were champions.”

EXT. SKU HIGH FIELD (PAST)

The summer air is hot as the fields littered with various players: all curled lips and freckles with sweat swiped unthinkingly from cheeks and brows. Muscles tensed, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Suddenly there's a breakaway by the team in blue and gold.

The ball expertly moved upfield by their star mid-fielder Taehyun.

He negotiates one defender after another before sending the ball spinning in a long, perfectly-aimed pass.

The fullback and sweeper close in, desperate to intercept but it’s Yeonjun who connects instead, tapping the ball just past the goalie into the net.

Immediately, the other players erupt in high fives and childish butt slaps.

Yeonjun runs downfield and the other teammates give chase, grinning, before swarming him in ecstatic celebration.

Their hearts raced as the realization of the moment finally dawned on them— this was the moment that their team qualified for the National Championship.

Arms carelessly throw around each other, the group jumps up and down as a chorus of cheers rings out.

“BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!”

Team captain, coltish beauty and hero of the hour whether he deserves to be or not. Choi Yeonjun— 18 and right now, as always, he is a God and worshipped accordingly.

Yeonjun casually jogs back into position with a loose and triumphant joy.

EXT. YEONJUN’S HOME — NEXT MORNING

The city of Seoul is a concrete haven to those who lived there. A metropolis known for its vibrant blend of tradition and cutting-edge modernity. The heart of its’ country.

Living in the city is a mess of contradictions. Friends with lies bubbling just underneath the surface hidden with smiles.

Tiredly, Yeonjun stares at himself in the mirror. It’s early morning before he has to rush off back to school and he furiously brushes his teeth.

He spits and rinses, gaze unmoving.

His expression was impassive as he considers himself in the mirror, reaching up to absent-mindedly play with the delicate silver chain dangling just below the hollow of his throat.

Choi Soobin sits idle at the curb in his beat-to-shit Ford Festiva, quietly discontent as he scribbled in the journal in his lap.

He glances out the window at Yeonjun’s picturesque colonial. Red brick, shutters, perfectly manicured lawn. ‘The nice side of town’ it would be most accurately described as.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots movement and narrows his eyes, glancing over to Yeonjun’s window where he spots Chaewon climbing down from a second story window.

She hits the ground, glancing briefly in his direction like a deer in headlights before hopping the neighbor’s fence.

Finally, Yeonjun emerges from the front door, looking utterly perfect as usual. It’s almost irritating to Soobin in a way. Brushing the feeling aside, he quickly stashes the journal in his backpack as Yeonjun climbs in.

“We’re gonna be late.” Soobin says.

Yeonjun rolls his eyes as he kicks his feet on the dashboard as he’s done hundreds of times. “We’re gonna be fine, relax.”

Soobin gives him an annoyed look, glancing at his feet on the dash before deciding against arguing. When it came to Yeonjun, he found it was best to let him do what he wanted when it came to trivial matters.

Starting the car, Soobin pulls off of the curb and onto the empty residential street to make their way towards the school.

Glancing at Yeonjun, he mumbles.

“This is like the fifth time I'm missing homeroom this month...”

Yeonjun snickered. “Then I guess you better put the pedal to the metal. See what this shit-heap can really do.”

Soobin scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“This shit-heap has a name, thank you very much. And that name is Caruto.”

Yeonjun grins, dropping his feet to lean forward and pat the dash harsh and affectionately.

“Sorry, Uzumaki.”

On the stereo there’s a droll alto of a woman singing some rather boorish lyrics. Yeonjun wrinkles his nose and jabs the button, silencing it.

An off putting pop punk song suddenly blares from the speakers about instead. Innocently, off Soobin’s irritated facial expression Yeonjun’s lips form a pout of realization.

“Oh, were you listening to that?”

Soobin glanced over, a playful look in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“No, it fell into the tape deck and accidentally pressed play.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes but doesn't put the tape back on and hums along to the new song.

“I saw Chaewon…” Soobin paused, voice growing a bit timid afterward.

“What happened to no distractions before Nationals? "Ripping off the band-aid" and all that?” Yeonjun shrugged, rolling down the window to lean on as he began flipping through radio stations again.

“I've decided showing up to college a virgin is a mistake. No offense.” Soobin glares at him from the corner of his eye but lets him continue.

“Plus at this point we've been together for so long. If we’re each other’s firsts then she thinks we’ll be ‘linked forever’. It’s like, poetic, or something.” Soobin scoffed. “Very romantic.”

Flashing him a grin, Yeonjun continued seamlessly. “Oh, that reminds me. I decided on a color palette for our room next year. Blue and red, not too American though. More like midnight campfire under the stars… or something along those lines.”

Soobin glances at Yeonjun, a little uneasy. Avoiding the particular subject of college, something Yeonjun’s been pushing for, he decided to focus on the other topic of conversation at hand.

“Chaewon’s a virgin?”

Not that it was his business or he even particularly seemed to care, Yeonjun gave him a confused look at the unusual pry for information.

“We've been together since freshman year.” Yeonjun rationalized. “It’s the 21st century, it doesn’t matter whether she is or not but I don’t have any reason to believe she’d lie to me.”

Soobin tapped his finger against the steering wheel impatiently. “Yeah, but. I mean, you guys have broken up like… ten thousand times.”

Yeonjun threw the same carefree grin towards Soobin that he always did when it came to his concerns about their relationship. “Never long enough to count.”

Soobin continued driving for a while in silence, Yeonjun looking out the window as he picked at his nail polish.

Suddenly a sign catches Yeonjun’s attention as he glances up as they pass Bonny’s Pizza Pub. He glares at the roadside marquee reading: “We’re proud of our Varsity Baseball Team!”

“The hell is this bullshit?” He asks, scoffing as he waved his hands out the window frantically.

“Those assholes were under .500 all season—“ he pointed directly at it as he swung over the drivers seat, hitting Soobin on the shoulder.

“Soobin, honk at that thing!”

Dragging himself out of his thoughts, Soobin had a clueless look of confusion on his face.

“Huh— Why?”

Yeonjun pouted, reaching across Soobin to do it himself. As the harsh sound of the horn aired, his pout was soon replaced with a cheeky grin.

“So they know they're bullshit!” Soobin laughs as Yeonjun lays on the horn again. “They're just going to think you're like, saluting mediocre baseball.” Soobin argued.

Yeonjun shook his head, “Oh, they'll know. Here, take over.”

Yeonjun leaned out as they drove by, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Try undefeated, bitches! We're going to motherfucking NATIONALS!”

EXT. SCHOOL BACK ALLEYWAY

Beomgyu used all the muscles in his face in the moment trying hard to seem like he didn’t give a shit as he choked down a swig of something from a brown paper bag.

“Ugh.. What is that?”

His friends laugh as he pulls the bottle of Old Wren Scotch and inspects the label.

“And here I thought jocks were supposed to be able to party.” Yunjin teased. Beomgyu continued to cough as he passed her the bottle. “Eat me.”

As Yunjin takes a swig of her own, she enters a coughing fit and begins sputtering. “Oh— that is terrible.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Okay, you know what? You can both go suck a dick.”

Yunjin laughs, hitting him on the shoulder as he defensively snatches the bottle away from her. “And just maybe we will.”

Heeseung is smiling too before his phone goes off. His eyes light up as he checks the number. “Oh shit, it's my cousin...” curiously, Beomgyu tilts his head as he leans against the wall behind him.

“Did he get us the stuff?”

“Yeah, ton—” Before Heeseung can finish, an all too familiar voice calls out. “Hey, burnout! Show us your tits!” Yunjin narrows her eyes at the douchebag leaning out the passenger window of his idling car.

Beomgyu glances uneasily at Yunjin and she looks down, flushing with embarrassment. It wasn’t that she had done anything for this torment— it was the unfortunate experience of being a high school girl.

“C’mon, don't be shy...” sensing her unease, Heeseung nudged her in a comforting motion before passing the bottle to Yunjin.

“I mean, shit! If you really wanna see em!”

Heeseung grips the hem of his shirt with one hand. The guys in the car laugh as he starts to do a ‘sexy’ dance.

Seemingly satisfied, they start up the car to drive away.

Yunjin bites the inside of her cheek, making a decision. She tightens her grip on the bottle and chucks it at the receding car with all his strength.

The car slams on the brakes as the bottle smashes against its rear window. Suddenly screeching in reverse, Heeseung narrows his eyes at Yunjin. “The fuck, Yunjin? They're gonna kick our ass, not yours!”

Yunjin shrugs, crossing her arms. “Only if they catch you. Show them how fast the Yellowjackets can run!”

All three share a look before hauling ass as fast as they can. Beomgyu can’t help the laughs that come out, causing his friends to laugh along with him sprinting down the alley.

EXT. SKU HIGH HALLWAY

As students make their way to first period in a preponderance of unisex flannel, there’s a teacher on hall-duty. She's doing her best to look authoritative. Her results are middling.

“Slow it down, Mr. Kim. There are rules against running in the hall. I assume. I haven't seen any official documentation, but the other teachers seem pretty against it, so...” her voice trails off as she turns a corner to find Assistant Coach Choi San.

Early graduate and alumni, he landed a job as Assistant coach fairly easily. His good looks seem to have an obvious impact on her as he gives a friendly smile.

“Hey, Arin! Did you talk to Coach?”

“Who?” Arin pauses, tapping her chin. “Oh, Baekho. Yeah.”

San tilts his head to the smile, smile unmoving. He has a kind and calming presence that leaves her feeling unguarded, an effect he seems to have on mostly everyone.

“So... are you in?”

Arin laughs nervously, “Well, it's like I said, I don't really know anything about soccer.” San opens his mouth to counter but she raises her hand to stop him. “Like at all.”

“C’mon think of it as a paid vacation… we’ll have fun. Besides, we already qualified for Nationals. I think we're good on the soccer front.”

As if suddenly realizing Arin’s lips separate with a sigh of air.

“Oh, you’re going too?”

San raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. The uniform he’s wearing doesn’t help to hide his muscles much at all. He continues as if it’s obvious. “I'm the assistant coach. Wait… why do you think I dress like this?”

This is new information to Arin but considering how good looking he is, she supposes it makes sense. Finally, she gives into his pushing with a small smile.

“Well, I guess if it would make the school board happy to have a girl there. I mean.. woman. I-I mean.. go Jackets! Haha..”

San grins, raising his fist up teasingly to bump it against her own. “Buzz, buzz, buzz! That's great, really. Welcome aboard.”

She’s unclear if he’s purposely flirting and hopes that it’s just in his nature to act this way. “Thanks. Maybe you could teach me some of the basics? I probably should know some stuff…”

San nodded, the creases by his eyes irritatingly adorable. “Yeah, sure. Can you come to practice this afternoon?”

Arin frowns. “I have a make-up bio lab. Myung Jaehyun, the whole Lyme’s disease situation. But we could grab a drink tonight?”

A look of surprised crossed San’s features before he nodded in agreement. Clapping her hands together, Arin hummed. “It's a date! I mean, not a date, date. It's a plan. A friendly agreement.”

INT. COED SOCCER TEAM LOCKER ROOM

The locker room was irritating to say the least as the sound of doors slamming shut and idle chatter rang about.

Leehan stares miserably at the mirror as Yeonjun paints a bee on his cheek. Around them, there's a flurry of activity as the rest of the team changes into uniforms and applies face paint.

“Leehan. You okay?” The boy nods and Yeonjun gives him a brotherly smile.

“It’s just a pep rally. All we have to do is run in and then stand there looking good. Honestly, I think the whole point is just to give freshman something to fantasize about later.” Leehan frowns, giving Yeonjun a haughty look as he snickers.

“I'm not nervous.” Leehan begins. Before he can continue, Y/N peeks her head in through the door. “Yeonjun?”

They look over to see her leaning in the doorway. “Coach wants to see you in his office.”

As Yeonjun passes off the brush to one of his teammates, he gives Y/N a friendly smile as he gently moves past her. Leehan pouts as Kai, his terminally cheerful teammate finishes painting his bee.

“I'm the only freshman who got asked, you know. And now it doesn't even matter. It's so unfair.”

Leehan pouts, scandalized by the sheer injustice. At the other end of the mirrors, Taehyun rolls his eyes with Beomgyu and Soobin.

“My suit was gonna be amazing. I mean— I even bought us matching accessories.” Kai gave him a smile, voice almost diplomatic as he tried to lend him some empathy their other teammates weren’t extending.

“Well, at least you can wear it next year.” Leehan gives him a withering look before speaking with total sincerity.

“You don’t get it Kai, because nobody asked you.”

Kai nods, trying to look sympathetic. “You’re done.” Despite his attempt, there was a hint of annoyance in his sweet tone.

Leehan looked in the mirror and smiled before walking off. Y/N pushed herself off of the doorway as he walked out past her, groaning as she looked into the mirror to touch up her makeup.

“Jesus Christ. Maybe someone should tell Prince Charming over there to worry less about prom and more about not fucking up at Nationals.” Taehyun crossed his arms, watching as she fixed up her hair.

“If he plays like he did at States...” As Taehyun assessed Leehan in his mind, he shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. I’ll handle it.” Raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror, Y/N smiled as she widened her eyes dramatically. “Ooh, scary.”

INT. COACH SIM’S OFFICE

Trophies and equipment were riddled within cinderblock walls of the Coach’s office. It was much less picturesque compared to the rest of the school.

On the desk a photo sat of him, his wife and his two sons. To Yeonjun, everything looks like it smells like coffee and cigarettes.

Coach Sim gestures to the chair in front of his desk. Lighting a Marlboro, he glances up at Yeonjun.

“I'm going to talk to you like an adult. Is that okay with you?”

Yeonjun gets the sense that it's a favorite question of his by the tone he took. Cautiously, he nods.

“Do you know why I made you team captain this year?”

Yeonjun tries to project an air of mature humility as he goes to answer but is cut off. “Obviously it isn't because you're our best player.”

Even though he knew that he agreed deep down, he bit his tongue as he waited for him to finish.

“Soobin’s faster, Kai’s got you on footwork by a mile, and Taehyun, well, he could have a real future in the sport, maybe.”

Letting out a sigh he wasn’t aware he had been keeping in, Yeonjun decided to pry. “Is this... a pep talk?”

“Yeonjun, you possess something nobody else on this team has: influence. When it gets tough out there, these kids are going to be looking for someone to guide them. Can you handle that?”

There’s a beat as Yeonjun considers. It’s a heavy duty to take on but as the oldest of his team, he decides that it should be him to shoulder the burden.

Yeonjun nods, the picture of determination. “Don't worry, Coach. I've got this.”

EXT. SKU GYM

The boys baseball team stands lined up behind the vice principal at a podium on the gym floor. “Alright, let's hear it for the boys! Let's give them a hand.”

The bleachers are packed with students, exhibiting the various levels of enthusiasm you'd expect from a mandatory pep rally. Supportive shouts from the other jocks, eye rolls from the burnouts and everything in between.

The principal sighs, “Thanks, guys. You did your best.”

At the edge of the court, Coach Sim stands with Assistant Coach San and Sunoo, the team’s equipment manager. “Now, our next act needs no introduction. Let’s all make some noise for your Soccer Champions!”

As music starts to blare from the speakers, the crowd goes— well, not wild, exactly. It is high school soccer. But it’s okay, because Sunoo is fired enough for everybody. Pumping his fist, WOO-ing for all he’s worth to motivate his friends.

Coach San glances at him, amused, as the team jogs onto the court. Each member exhuding all confidence and grace. Like storming gladiators in a way, Sunoo’s enthusiasm seems contagious as the applause builds, feet rumbling against wooden bleachers.

“BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!”

EXT. WILDERNESS (UNKNOWN)

Pink strains of dawn are just starting to peek through the dark silhouette of trees. There’s the sound of rope, pulled taught against wood, a rasping creak.

The runner’s corpse now hanging upside down by the rope binding his ankles. Snowflakes drift through the early light as the hunter and a new figure, the butcher, work to hoist the body from a tree branch.

After a beat of silence, another figure— the overseer— joins them. There’s a moment, before they nod their approval.

There’s splashes of blood hitting the snow, ruining its’ delicate state as the butcher slits the runner’s throat with a hunting knife. Bleeding him out like a prize buck.

EXT. SKU HIGH COURTYARD

As Soobin exits the school, he approaches Beomgyu, Y/N and Taehyun who seemed to be conferring in hushed tones on their way to practice.

“This is what we've been working for all season. You really want to take that chance?” Taehyun asked, kicking at the ground.

Beomgyu scoffed, “Yeah. 'Cause I'm not a fucking asshole.” Doe eyes wide and alert, Soobin pulled on the strap of his backpack. “What are you guys talking about?”

They all glance towards Leehan, messing around playfully with some other freshmen on the other side of the courtyard.

“Leehan.” Y/N says simply. Soobin’s lips press into a frown, “What about him?”

“Did you black out at States? He totally choked.” Taehyun says. Beomgyu sighed. Taehyun’s competitive nature for sport was no secret but he still couldn’t help but find his annoyance harsh.

“He’s a freshman, Tyun.” Taehyun just frowned. “He’s a liability.” Soobin glances in Yeonjun’s direction uncertainly. Talking with Chaewon and her friends, he seems completely oblivious to his own teams’ conspiring.

“What do you want to do about it?” Soobin asked wearily. Beomgyu gives Taehyun a look. “Go ahead. Tell him.”

“He can't screw up if he doesn't get the ball.” He said simply. Soobin frowns. “You want to freeze him out?”

Beomgyu scoffs, “We'd basically be a man down. At Nationals.” Although he’s trying to rationalize, it just seems to add more tension to the situation.

“At least we'd know what we're working with.” Taehyun says. “I don't know, Tyun. He kinda sucks, but... it doesn't feel right.” Y/N says, crossing her arms as she looks over toward Leehan.

Beomgyu scoffed, expecting more defense from her. “That's because it's bullshit.” Taehyun scoffs this time. What he wants to say is fuck you but rather than that, he decides to bite his tongue. “Oh yeah? What's your plan, then?”

Beomgyu shook his head, “I dunno, play like a fucking team and win? It's worked so far.”

The tension in the group was clear, Y/N picking at her nails with her eyes cast downward. Soobin seemed to pick up on her anxiety and offered her a squeeze on the shoulder.

Taehyun and Beomgyu didn’t butt heads as often as the rest of them but when they did, it was obvious to stay clear.

“Everything works until it doesn't.” Taehyun argued. “And for the record, you smell like a wino. Get your shit together Gyu.”

Beomgyu takes a step towards him and glances at Y/N, then changes his mind. “You know what? Fuck this.” Beomgyu stalks off, shoulder checking Taehyun as he leaves. Soobin lingers back fully considering what Taehyun was proposing.

“Yeonjun’s not gonna like it.” He said. Taehyun huffed. “Then we probably shouldn't tell him.” Soobin hesitates before nodding.

EXT. SKU HIGH SOCCER FIELD (PAST)

Students in various athletic— soccer track— tread lightly as they head out to their respective fields.

Taehyun, Soobin and Y/N arrive just behind Beomgyu as Yeonjun finishes leading the rest of the team through a series of stretches.

Coach San clapped his hands together to get their attention. “Okay, circle up!” There's a short whistle blast as Coach San jogs onto the field.

“JV's gonna help us out with a little scrimmage today. Coach Sim had to take care of a family thing, so grab a pinny from Sunoo and let's get started.”

“Excuse me, Coach San? Shouldn't we say the lords’ prayer?” Jungwon’s voice asked gently and Niki groaned, leaning back on the field with a ‘thud’.

It wasn’t that Jungwon was particularly annoying or pushy about his religion, he was just certainly pert and could get on your last nerve. A few members of the team roll their eyes and glance over as Coach San expectantly who just chuckles.

“It's.. just a scrimmage, Jungwon.” Off his insistent look, he sighs and nods towards him. “..Sure. Knock yourself out.”

The team reluctantly forms a circle, heads bowed, hands joined as Jungwon recited the lords’ prayer.

Regardless of what anyone on the team thought, these circles had became a tradition at this point due to his sheer persistence and belief in them.

The scrimmage began shortly thereafter and as it progresses, Soobin dribbles upfield, easily maneuvering around the JV defender.

Leehan races open on his left but Soobin ignores him, opting for a trickier pass to Kai. When Beomgyu darts in and redirects the ball to Leehan who fumbles, then panicking as the defense closes in, sending a wild pass out of bounds.

As Coach San’s whistle blows, Beomgyu throws Soobin and Taehyun a defiant look of disappointment.

Soobin and Taehyun work together to keep Leehan out of the play throughout the game as Beomgyu undermines their efforts every chance he gets. Yeonjun shoots Soobin a look as to ask ‘what the fuck is going on?’

Taehyun gestures for a time out and jogs over to Coach San. As hard as he focused, Beomgyu couldn’t hear their conference, but he got the gist when Taehyun strips off his red pinny. He hands it over to the JV sweeper playing against Leehan, switching sides and sticks his tongue out teasingly at Beomgyu.

“C'mon, Varsity. Your own defense wants to see you step it up. And frankly, that makes two of us.” San clapped his hands together encouragingly, “Let's see some hustle!”

San blows the whistle and JV kicks off, this time with Taehyun playing for the other side. He’s all over Leehan: crowding, holding and talking shit per usual.

There’s another pass to Leehan, when Taehyun slide tackles him hard. As the ball rolls out of bounds, and the whistle blows foul Yeonjun finally voices his irritation.

Jogging up to Taehyun, he grabs his shoulder. “What's your problem? Are you- okay? Did something happen?” Playing dumb, Taehyun jerks his shoulder out of his grip. “What?”

Confused, Yeonjun pouts. “Just… ease up on the kid.” Soobin watches the interaction, then works his way closer to Taehyun as the players get ready for the inbound throw.

“C'mon, Tyun. This isn't helping.” Taehyun shrugs. “If we can't freeze him out, he’s gonna have to learn to play under pressure.” He rationalizes.

Before Soobin can respond, the coach’s whistle blows and play resumes. Taehyun’s strategy is set in action as he stays on Leehan taking a beating, frustrated. Only the harder Taehyun goes, the more the team realizes his strategy is working.

Leehan grimaces in concentration, negotiating the ball around Taehyun with a slick cruyff turn. In the corner, Leehan shoulders Taehyun hard to clear space for a pass and he chuckles in disbelief.

Leehan sprints to get open, Taehyun hot on his heels. Soobin fires a long lofted pass. Leehan and Taehyun are both vying for the ball as it arcs high in the air when Leehan jumps for a header and Taehyun instinctively juts his foot out, catching his ankle as he comes back down.

There's a sickening, audible snap as Leehan’s leg seemingly collapses. Buckling and breaking in a compound fracture that is a total peversion of the human form.

There's a beat of silence— an eerie stillness— as Leehan collapses on the field. Jagged bone puncturing the skin, blood spreading, soaking into the grass as he screams before all hell breaks loose.

Y/N screams as someone else begins to cry— Kai covers his mouth to try and swallow the nausea that arose. Taehyun backs away, stunned, horrified, as Coach San rushes to Leehan’s side.

Despite the fact he should keep his cool, he lets it slip out of sheer disbelief of the situation. “Holy fuck.” Trying to keep his shit together, he takes a deep breath. “Just— We need an ambulance. There's a phone in the coach’s office. Sunoo! Go.”

Sunoo nods, like a soldier in battle for some reason, before taking off. San watches for a beat before pulling himself back to reality. “Shit. Just— keep him calm! Don’t move him.”

He takes off after Sunoo as Soobin approaches Leehan, hyperventilating on the ground. He looks around, trying to find Yeonjun. He finds him pale, wide-eyed, frozen in place.

Knowing he should do something but hesitating, unsure of what to do. As if one wrong move could shake the entire balance of the team.

“Yeonjun.”

Soobin calls for him but he doesn’t move. His eyes are shot as he stares, seemingly in a bit of shock. Steeling himself, Soobin gets down on the ground, trying not to look at the leg and all the blood. Taking Leehan’s hand he tried to muster up a comforting smile, though his face was contorted in discomfort.

“Hey, look at me, Leehan. You're going to be fine. I'm right here.”

Beomgyu quickly joined him on the ground, dropping to his knees. “We're all right here. Okay?”

Soobin glances at him, grateful. As Leehan looks up at them and nods, shaky, he was clearly in shock.

INT. COED SOCCER TEAM LOCKER ROOM

There’s near silence as the team changes. Everyone is still a little shell shocked from what happened. An edgy feeling. Something combustible in the air.

Taehyun is sitting by himself. Everyone else is avoiding eye contact except Beomgyu, who's giving him a death glare.

Yeonjun looks around at his team before taking a deep breath.

“I know we're all worried about Leehan. But… I really think we need to focus on the positive right now! It might not be as bad as it looks.”

Beomgyu scoffs at Yeonjun’s blind optimism.

“You could see his fucking bones, Yeonjun. I'm pretty sure it's exactly as bad as it looks!”

Kai covered his mouth and turned away, “Oh god. I think I'm gonna puke again...” Beomgyu put his hand on his back gently.

Yeonjun glares at Beomgyu, unused to his authority being questioned. Trying to recover the situation, he sighs.

“I mean we’re still a team. And we still have each other, okay? And…” Jungwon swallowed. “We have faith.”

Y/N groaned, rolling onto her side as she pushed herself to sit up on the bench. “This wasn't exactly a big win for the power of prayer, Wonnie.”

Jungwon gave a nervous smile, “the world works in mysterious wa-” There’s a loud bang as Beomgyu slams his locker, giving Soobin a particularly nasty look as he storms out.

“Okay… guess he’s not up for a theological discussion.” Yeonjun shoots Y/N a look and she simply shrugs.

INT. SOOBIN'S HOUSE

Soobin and Yeonjun sat in a cramped attic room in a ramshackle house. Faded wallpaper, and soccer trophies littering the shelves.

“I don't know, it feels weird to just go like nothing happened...” Soobin said. Yeonjun sat putting on concealer at a small light-up vanity. Admiring his reflection, he made sure it was blended perfectly to cover anything up.

Satisfied, his attention shifts to the photos on the desk— him and Soobin at various ages. A talent show. The beach. Halloween.

“I mean, it's not like skipping the party is going to un-fuck Leehan’s leg. Plus, it's tradition. And we're already missing prom...”

Yeonjun sits back, fingering the chain around his neck. Then, bored, he starts opening vanity drawers. He pulls out an old prayer card of the Virgin Mary, turning it over.

“Oh my god, remember when you tried to get your mom to let you become Catholic? What did you call it?” Soobin, still shaken from the afternoon ruffles his hair in the mirror as he fixes his shirt over his jeans.

“My ‘spiritual awakening.’” Yeonjun snickers, “You were such a weird kid. What were you, like, nine?” Then, Soobin walks out into the room. “Eleven. I liked the saints. They were all so tragic.”

Yeonjun gives the basic outfit a once-over. Shaking his head no. As Soobin heads back into the closet, Yeonjun begins. “Lucky you had me to save you from yourself... You know, Kazuha’s going to be at the party tonight.”

Soobin gave Yeonjun a confused look, “Um, okay..” Yeonjun hums. “She asked Chaewon to ask me if you were gonna be there...” Soobin reemerges in the same jeans with a new white button up.

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow. “Definitely not.” Soobin crosses his arms. “Kazuha? Really?”

Yeonjun shrugs. “What? She’s basically Chaewon’s best friend. I just thought you might want to know she asked about you... plus she’s pretty quiet and respectable. Opposites attract or whatever.”

Soobin stares at himself in the mirror as Yeonjun begins to toss a stress ball up in the air, catching it and repeating. “So I’m not respectable?” Yeonjun snickers but Soobin just glares at himself in the mirror.

“I don’t need a girlfriend right now.” There’s a snap in his tone and Yeonjun looks over confused. “Jesus, I wasn’t saying you had to marry the girl.” Soobin doesn’t respond, trying to find another outfit that suites his friends’ standards.

“Whatever— are you ready, or what? C'mon, we're gonna be late...”

EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

Deep in the woods. Moving towards the glow of a fire, somewhere amongst the trees was a gathering of students. Hundreds, maybe.

A souped-up 4runner barrels in, a dented keg secured in the back. Teenage boys jump out to heave the keg to the ground as several other cars pull up alongside.

Soobin huffed as he realized they’re at a typical teenage hang-out spot. More specifically, the site of Kim Chaewon's famous annual kegger.

Moving through the crowd, Yeonjun and Soobin stood red solo cups in hand hanging with Chaewon and her friends. Yeonjun hits a bong as the girls laugh, Chaewon leaning into him to playfully mess up his hair.

There’s a few jealous stares from unknown sources as Yeonjun holds court, putting on a show. He turns away from Chaewon and grabs Soobin’s hand to insist he takes a hit.

Resistant, Soobin instead chugs his beer. Heeseung makes his way past the scene, finding Beomgyu and Yunjin. “You guys. My cousin hooked us up.”

Beomgyu’s eyes light up with a sparkle. “You got it?” Heeseung grins, holding out his hand to reveal several tiny squares of paper.

“I have six words, my friend. Lucy. In. The. Sky. With. Diamonds.” Yunjin rolled her eyes, laughing. “That is, like, literally the least efficient way to say that.” As Beomgyu snatches one of the tabs from his palm, Yunjin grabbed his hand.

“Dude. Don't you guys leave for the Olympics or whatever tomorrow?” Beomgyu paused, swallowing the lump in his throat as he thought about leaving. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

“Yeah. We do.” He gave them both a look, daring either to say anything else. Yunjin shrugs as if it’s not her problem. Beomgyu takes the hit and Heeseung laughs.

Beomgyu closes his eyes for a moment, letting it dissolve as Heeseung’s arm finds a home on his shoulder.

“We are gonna ace that shit, my friend. We are champions.”

Somehow through the buzz of the party, Soobin found himself watching Yeonjun and Chaewon from a distance. A feeling of uneasiness and irritation at how easy it was for them to resume their relationship. His expression was unreadable.

Soobin rolls his eyes in disgust, then drains his cup. Heading for the keg to get another, he stumbles a bit only to find Taehyun already waiting for a beer.

Taehyun doesn’t notice him getting on line behind him at first but Soobin makes sure he does. “I admire your resilience, Tyun. It can't be easy knowing you fucking crippled someone today.”

Taehyun turned, eyes wide for a moment before realizing how completely shit-faced his friend was. Frowning for a moment, he hummed before giving him a forced smile.

“Cool. Good talk.” He starts to walk away, when Soobin shakes his head. “Just admit you did it on purpose.” Taehyun scoffs, turning toward him. “Excuse me?

Soobin pouted, stumbling to a halt as Taehyun walked back up to him. “You heard me.” Taehyun shook his head. “You know me, I wouldn’t have done that on purpose. I’m not heartless.”

Soobin threw his cup on the ground to emphasize his point. “You’re a fucking sociopath!” People started watching now, the argument garnering the attention of a few of their teammates as they head over.

Although the words hurt, Taehyun didn’t bother to argue back. The guilt lingering in him refused to let him defend himself. “You're wasted, Soobin.”

Kai makes his way over and puts a hand on Soobin’s shoulder, ready to lead him away. “Hey, Soobin, take it easy...” he shrugs it off.

“Good news, you guys. We don't have to worry about the Leehan problem anymore. Taehyun fixed it for us!” Jungwon’s eyes widened and he looked at Jay who shrugged, looking just as confused as he was.

“What's he talking about?”

Beomgyu walked over, jaw locked as he clenched his teeth. “He’s talking about Taehyun’s little plan.”

Taehyun scoffs, “Please. Since when do you give a shit anyway? Don't you have a bong to hit or a dick to suck, or something?”

Soobin jumped to Beomgyu’s defense. “Hey. Don't talk to him that way.” Beomgyu laughed. “Oh, fuck off, Soobin. I don't need you to defend me anymore. Last I checked, you were fine with the whole ‘freeze him out' strategy...”

Jungwon scratched his cheek, look of confusuon only worsening. “Seriously, what are you guys talking about?”

Soobin and Beomgyu’s voices boomed out in unison, “Shut the fuck up, Jungwon!”

Stepping forward, Niki chimed in. “Don’t talk to him like that, what the fuck?”

As the situation continues to escalate, Yeonjun finally seems to catch wind of the brewing fight. He frowns, heading off in the direction of the keg. Only to confront a full-on verbal barrage, everyone yelling at once.

Jungwon shot a glare at Kai. “Let me finish! LET ME-” Kai ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You interrupted me!” Soobin leaned into Taehyun’s face, pointing at him. “Go ahead and say that again, dickhead.”

An even bigger crowd gathered and Kazuha twirled a strand of hair around her finger, Chaewon standing idly by her. “Boys are so catty, aren’t they?” She hummed. “So aggro…”

Yeonjun storms in, taking in the situation at hand. “That’s it.” Thrusting himself into the middle of the maelstrom and extending his hands between Soobin and Taehyun, he shouted.

“Enough!”

Everyone stops as Yeonjun crosses his arms, glaring. Then, turning on his heels he motions for them to follow.

“Yellowjackets, WITH ME. NOW.”

The rest of them watch as he stomps off into the woods beyond the bonfire. Clearly expecting them to follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, before one after one, they do.

Soobin is the last to hold out. As he reluctantly follows the rest of the team. Yeonjun is pacing in front of his teammates like a body-glittered Patton. Sizing them up. A few look a little drunk. All of them look fucking miserable. Beomgyu, in particular, looks unsteady, as the acid starts to kick in.

“I don't know what the fuck that was, but I do know that it's over. We're about to go to Nationals, you guys. Nationals. And based on what I'm looking at right now, we might as well not even bother getting on that plane.”

He thinks for a second. “Alright, everybody line up… I'm fucking serious. LINE UP.” Almost as a reflex to his tone, they do. Then, a small smile playing on his lips, he continues. “I'm going to talk to you like adults. Is that okay with you?”

A few smile as they recognize the coach’s catchphrase. “Coach is always telling us that you can't win without three things. Talent. Trust. And respect.” Yeonjun taps his foot impatiently.

“I mean, Coach also talks a lot of bullshit, but I'm pretty sure he's right about that. So here’s what we’re gonna do. I want each of you to go down this line and say one nice- true- thing about every other person on this team.”

The others exchange looks. “Is he fucking serious?” Niki asked.

Dragging his feet into line, Jay threw the rest of them a confused look after having missed a majority of the argument.

“What is this, fucking Boy Scouts?” Yeonjun ignored the comment with a slight tsk before continuing, “Who wants to go first?”

Nobody makes eye contact before finally. “I’ll go, Yeonjun.” Solemnly, Jungwon steps out and walks to the end of the line. Starting with Taehyun.

“Taehyun, you are beautiful in the eyes of the lord.” Taehyun lets out an exasperated exhale before Jungwon steps over to Kai who gave him a smug smile.

“Kai, you are beautiful in the-” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Oh my god this kid…” Yeonjun sighed, clapping his hands together.

“He took one religious class for the grade point and they brainwashed him… free my man Jungwon.”

“Jungwon, fall back!” Jungwon falls back into line between Jay and Niki as Yeonjun puts his hands on his hips, foot tapping impatiently.

“Fuck. Fine, I'll go first.” He walks over to Taehyun and looks him directly in the eye. “Kang Taehyun, you have more fight in you than anyone I've ever known. I’m inspired by your determination and hard work.”

He then steps over to Kai.

“Huening Kai, your smile makes me feel happy, every time I see it. You’re the undeniable force that holds us all together.”

Next, Jungwon.

“Jungwon, I truly admire your faith and kindness. You’re insanely skilled for your age and I can’t wait to see you take over this team.”

Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek, pulling at the skin inside anxiously as his head spins, the acid worsening the effects. “Beomgyu, I love that you don't care what anybody else thinks. You're more completely yourself than anyone else I know and you are incredibly warm, even if you don’t think so.”

Glancing down the line, Yeonjun’s heart swells. “Y/N. Your ambition inspires me. I have no doubt you're gonna take over the world some day.”

Kai snickered, “She's also deadly at beer pong.”

Yeonjun clapped his hands together, jumping excitedly at the comment. “Well, go ahead then. Tell her. C'mon, guys. If we do this one at a time, we'll be here all night...”

Rolling their eyes with affection, the members shyly start to turn to each other. Turning to Jungwon, Kai tapped his elbow with his finger. “Jungwon, you... have really shiny hair?” Raising an eyebrow, Jungwon gave him a confused smile.

Beomgyu swallowed down the dryness in his throat, clearing it quickly before looking Y/N in the eyes. “Y/N L/N, you never talk shit unless someone really deserves it.“ he paused for a moment, eyes traveling to the top of her head before he chuckled. “I… also really like your pilgrim hat.”

Y/N who was— definitely not wearing a hat— had a look of confusion before shaking her head, deciding to accept the strange compliments and move on. “Um… Okay..?”

Then, as Soobin approaches Taehyun, he takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry for what I said before. About you-”

Taehyun shakes his head, nudging Soobin. The two grew apart in recent months but there was still the remnants of a connection.

“I didn't, you know. Mean to hurt him.” Soobin isn’t sure if he believes him but he could tell that, if nothing else, Taehyun wanted it to be true.

Soobin nods when Yeonjun approaches. “Hey guys. Are we cool?” Soobin looks at him and shrugs. “I dunno. You still haven't said anything nice about me.”

Taehyun chuckles as he goes over to Kai who was waving him over. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, voice laced with sarcasm. “Choi Soobin, you're a fucking laugh riot.”

The smile on his face falters slightly at Soobin’s pout, shaking his head. “Okay, fine.” Yeonjun grabs Soobin’s hand.

“You're a clumsy dancer, you've got seriously questionable taste in music, and you can't hold your liquor for shit... but you’re also the smartest person I know and the only one who's always been there for me. You're the best friend I've ever had.”

His voice was laced with sincerity, “You know that, right?”

Quietly, Soobin agreed. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you should have told me about Taehyun and Leehan.” Soobin nods, he knows that too. Or at least, doesn't want to fight about it. The fight's gone out of him for now.

“Now, c'mon. Let's get you home.”

Yeonjun tugs on Soobin’s hand, wishing it felt better than it did. It felt off compared to any other time he had, it felt colder.

As the party winds down. Empty cups and beer cans remain, a few holdout couples still making out. The bonfire is burned down to embers now as Beomgyu continued tripping balls.

Looking around at his friends and classmates, their faces strange, distorted. Wrong. He turns away, afraid. Suddenly spotting Y/N standing alone amongst the trees, at the edge of darkness. Watching.

“Y/N?” His voice comes out hushed, confused.

Y/N’s face also begins to shift and warp. Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, regretting putting himself in a bad trip. When he reopens them, Y/N is gone off somewhere. He focuses his eyes onto the dying flames of the fire.

EXT. WILDERNESS (UNKNOWN)

Another bonfire, in another place, at another time. Meat is roasting over makeshift spit, fat hissing as it drips into the flames... a set of hands works on a hatchet and hunting knife over flesh and bone.

There’s the sound of faint humming, the person lost in the task at hand. High and clear.

A naggingly familiar, haunting melody.

'It seems no one can help me now, I'm in too deep, there's no way out. This time I have really lead myself astray...'

EXT. BACKSTREETS (PAST)

As Soobin rides in the front alone, Yeonjun sits with Chaewon in the back, leaning her forehead against the cool pane of the window. They ride in silence, as the radio plays.

“Turn on here, it's faster.” Soobin glances back in the rearview mirror, annoyed. “Chaewon’s house is on the way.” Yeonjun groaned, kicking the back of his seat. “C'mon. I'm past curfew.”

Chaewon chuckled. “I have a curfew too, you know.” Yeonjun gave her a sheepish smile, “Yeah, but. I mean, you know what my parents are like.”

Soobin sighs, there's no point in arguing. Yeonjun gets what Yeonjun wants. As Chaewon rolls down her window, letting the cool night air wash over her face, she sighs.

Soobin cuts the headlights and pulls quietly up to the curb, watching as Yeonjun and Chaewon climb out and exchange a quick hug before Chaewon gets in the front— an end of night ritual they've repeated countless times.

As they pull away, Chaewon gives a quick wave from the window flashing that patented, easy the-world-is-ours grin, for a moment, still and beautiful and perfect in the moonlight.

Soobin and Chaewon- now in front- drive alone down a dark two-lane road in a remote, wooded part of town.

“Pull over.” Chaewon says.

“Are you gonna puke? Don't puke in my car, Chaewon.” Soobin’s voice is laced with disgust and Chaewon rolls her eyes.

“Just pull over. Here.”

Soobin turns down an access road. As the car rolls to a stop, there’s a beat as the two both sit, staring out the windshield in silence.

“I thought we weren't doing this again.” Soobin said, breaking the silence. Chaewon frowns, “I’m not. Clearly.”

Soobin gives her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to talk about it. It was a mistake. You know that right?”

Soobin scoffed at the insinuation that it— he was a mistake. “Yeah. Chaewon, I know.” She frowns. “I don’t want it to ruin our friendship— or yours. We both just slipped up, you know?”

Soobin shook his head, leaning into the palm of his hand. “We don’t need to talk about it.” He said, starting the car again.

VARIOUS LOCATIONS - NIGHT

Yeonjun folds his clothes peefectly, tucking them away into his suitcase.

Soobin holds a piece of paper, an official letterhead from his university of choice. Shaking his head, he stuffs the letter in a desk drawer. Then, picking up his suitcase, he takes one look at his childhood bedroom. As though sensing he’s leaving something— some part of him— behind.

Taehyun waits by himself as a taxi pulls into his driveway, struggling to load his own luggages.

Beomgyu sighs, smoking a joint out of the window of his cramped bedroom.

Kai finished packing away his clothes, his younger sister helping him zip up the suitcase. His older sister leaned against the door frame teasing him about having grown up.

Y/N sat staring at the table as her family maid served her breakfast. The chef’s kitchen was enormous her eyes trained on all marble and stainless steel. As the maid pointedly hands her a bottle of loxipene, she watches carefully like a hawk Y/N shakes out a pill and swallows it with juice.

Heeseung looks at himself in the mirror, pulling at his dilated eyes and snickering slightly before shaking his head. Suitcase all prepped and pre-ready, he flicks the bathroom light off.

Jay tiredly tosses his suitcase by his door, throwing himself down onto his bed with an exhausted heave.

Coach Sim loads the trunk of his station wagon with luggage as his two sons, Jake and Sunghoon climb in the back to go.

Sunoo sits at the edge of his pool, kicking his feet in the water with an impassive expression.

Jungwon sat on his knees, saying one last prayer to the small painting on his bedroom wall.

Niki goes into his living room to find his mom passed out on the couch, a bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Rolling his eyes, he grabs the car keys as she starts to awake.

INT. CHARTERED PLANE

The team are together now as they make their way onboard.

The students excitement is palpable as they take in the interior of the plane. It looks pretty much like any other plane except this time: it only belongs to them.

Beomgyu laughed in disbelief, “Wicked.”

Kai leaned toward Y/N excitedly, “I can't believe your Dad paid for a private plane!”

Y/N shrugged, “It's pretty much his only form of parenting, but I guess I'll take it.”

Jay and Heeseung chuckled before chiming in together in a sing-song tone. “Thank you, Mr. L/N!”

Coach Sim shakes his head, making his way down the aisle. “Alright, hustle up and take a seat. We've got a long flight.”

San stands helping Sunoo and Jungwon load their carry-ons into the overhead compartment. Assiduously pretending he doesn't see Arin approaching down the aisle, looking hungover. She gives him a sheepish smile before squeezing past and heading down the aisle.

A few rows back, Soobin and Yeonjun settled into adjoining seats. Soobin looked pale.

Yeonjun nudged him, eyes holding a look of concern. “You alright? They probably have a puke bag, if you need it.”

Soobin nodded, though he didn’t respond. He didn’t necessarily have a fear of flying but for some reason— this particular flight left him uneasy. He chalked it up to the tension building up to their game.

As he glances around the cabin nervously, Yeonjun smiles, rummages in his bag. Pulling out a balled-up tissue tucked deep into one of the inner pockets, he holds it out.

Soobin gives him a confused look.

“Remember when you came with my family to Jeju in second grade? You cried the whole flight.”

Soobin scoffed. “In my defense I was like 8, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun opens the tissue, revealing two pale blue valium pills. “I swiped these from my mom's medicine cabinet. She didn’t even notice.”

Soobin didn’t answer as he gently took the pills in his hand. “I know, I’m the best. And here.”

Yeonjun takes off his chain, linking it around Soobin’s neck instead. “It's a good luck charm. Now nothing can touch you.”

Soobin shakes his head as he swallows the pills, giving Yeonjun a look of genuine appreciation.

The team continues laughing, gossiping and singing. They’re all too swept up in their excitement over the adventure ahead.

As the sound of the plane getting ready to take off gets louder, Soobin’s nails dig into the arm rest of his seat. Yeonjun glances at him, leaning his head on his shoulder in comfort.

There’s a few playful shrieks as the plane lifts off. Soobin’s eyes grow heavy as the sounds of his teammates begin to warp and fade, growing dim as the Valium kicks in.

EXT. WILDERNESS (UNKNOWN)

The fur-clad butcher carries a steaming wooden plank— a makeshift platter— towards the overseer and a ring of acolytes waiting silently in the moonlight.

The overseer turns towards a strange, masked and horned figure: the shaman. Some unspoken agreement passes between them.

The culmination of a strange ceremony begins to unfold. Then, as he gestures to the congregation— they descend, ravenous, coven-like, on the feast. Grease-smeared faces as their teeth hungrily begin to rip and tear meat from its’ bone.

The overseer of the feast pulls back his hood to reveal his face, eyes dim and exhausted. The wreckage of the plane is weathered by sun and rain, grown over with dead winter vines.

INT. CHARTERED PLANE (PAST)

Soobin gasps awake to find himself in a cabin now eerily dark. The engines strain, a deep, terrifying roar. Somewhere behind him, someone screams.

He can’t quite place who it is or what’s happening, all he does is turn to Yeonjun. He shaked him, heart racing. He doesn’t move. Across the aisle, Jungwon quietly mutters a desperate prayer.

Frantic, Soobin tries to get his bearings, to make sense of the nightmarish scene. Beside him, Yeonjun remains slumped, his unused oxygen mask dangling limply overhead from the initial loss of cabin pressure.

Soobin yanks up the window shade to see the silhouette of mountains, close and getting closer. The ground rushing up as they glide over a vast forest. Then— one final and deafening BANG!

#[🐝] yellowjackets —!#⭒ extras [🪞]#txt x reader #txt scenarios

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ereborskingarchive2 · 4 years ago

Text

𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚊 , 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 , 𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚗𝚜’ 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 : ❝ what we wanted was to say that even with all the wealth of erebor , thorin could not rest until he had the arkenstone . this one peerless jewel was the thing that , in thorin’s estimation , bestowed kingship upon its possessor . without it he was not whole . he had invested so much meaning in the arkenstone that without it he felt his identity and legitimacy were incomplete . in the end , as impressive and otherworldly as it was , the stone was just a material object , a bauble , a trinket . its power was attributed and not innate . though he does not understand it , thorin has given that power to the stone and trapped himself . ❞

𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚊 , 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 , 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 : ❝ the story already had the ring and the gold , so another talisman may have been one too many , but the right to rule , it being the king’s jewel , is where the power of the arkenstone lay . [ . . . ] ultimately , the arkenstone was just a gem and the power of loyalty was beyond a talisman . ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 , 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚛 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟼𝟽 ) like the crystal of diamonds it appeared , and yet was more strong than adamant , so that no violence could mar it or break it within the kingdom of the arda . [ . . . ] and the inner fire of the silmarils fëanor made of the blended light of the trees of the valinor , which lives in them yet , though the trees have long withered and shine no more . therefore even in the darkness of the deepest treasury the silmarils of their own radiance shone like the stars of the varda ; and yet , as they were indeed living things , they rejoined in light and received it and gave it back in hues more marvelous than before .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 , 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚛 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟼𝟿 ) for fëanor began to love the silmarils with a greedy love , and grudged the sight of them to all save to his father and his seven sons [ . . . ]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 , 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚎ä𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚕 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟻𝟹 - 𝟸𝟻𝟺 ) but the jewel burned in the hand of maedhros in ��pain unbearable ; and he perceived it to be as eönwë had said , and that his right thereto had become void , and that the oath was in vain . and being in anguish and despair he cast himself into a gaping chasm filled with fire , and so ended ; and the silmaril that he bore was taken into the bosom of the earth .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 , 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 , 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟹𝟷 ) ❝ the arkenstone ! the arkenstone ! ❞ murmured thorin in the dark , half dreaming with his chin upon his knees . ❝ it was like a globe with a thousand facets ; it shone like silver in the firelight , like water in the sun , like snow under the stars , like rain upon the moon ! ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 , 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 , 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟹𝟽 ) it was the arkenstone , the heart of the mountain . so bilbo guessed from thorin’s description ; but indeed there could not be two such gems , even in so marvelous a hoard , even in all the world . [ . . . ] now as he came near , it was tinged with a flickering sparkle of many colors at the surface , reflected and splintered from the wavering light of his torch . the great jewel shone before his feet of its own inner light , and yet , cut and fashioned by the dwarrows , who had dug it from the heart of the mountain long ago , it took all light that fell upon it and changed it into ten thousand sparks of white radiance shot with glints of the rainbow .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 , 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 , 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟽𝟸 ) the elvenking himself , whose eyes were used to things of wonder and beauty , stood up in amazement . even bard gazed marveling at it in silence . it was as if the globe had been filled with moonlight and hung before them in a net woven of the glint of frosty stars .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 , 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 , 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟿𝟸 ) they buried thorin deep beneath the mountain , and bard laid the arkenstone upon his breast . ❝ there let it lie ‘til the mountain falls ! ❞ he said . ❝ may it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell here after ! ❞

the arkenstone , the heart of the lonely mountain thus named erebor by the dwarrows and founded deep beneath its roots , was unearthed during the reign of king thrór and declared to be a divine show of his right to rule . thus the jewel was established to be a crowner of kings¹ , bestowing as much power as the descent of durin , for the dwarrows believed it to be a gift of mahal , put forth in the mountain as a homage to their race . in their creator’s honor did they mount it above the throne of thrór , where it glittered for all who sought audience with the king of dwarrows to behold² . inscriptions depicting the arkenstone were carved all throughout the mountain halls³ and upon great tapestries that hung in the halls of history and remembrance . so it remained ‘til the coming of the dragon , smaug , who claimed the mountain and all of its treasure , devouring the dwarrows within it . in this manner was the arkenstone lost , for thrór took it from his throne and carried it with him to the treasury , where the dragon was reveling in its hoard and causing great flying mounds of gold and gems with its wings . thrór fell , and the arkenstone fell with him , out of his grasp and into the swell of coins that mounted the steps before him . as it was to be , the arkenstone remained in smaug’s piles ‘til the company of thorin , son of thráin , son of thrór , descended upon the mountain , and with the help of the contracted burglar and hobbit , bilbo baggins , procured the arkenstone from the dragon , a creature later slain by one of the race of men . the arkenstone exchanged hands ‘til , at the death of thorin , it was placed upon his breast by bard , in a display of good will to the dwarrows , who were now to be the allies of the men of dale henceforth under the reign of king dáin , son of náin , son of grór , and king bard , descendant of girion . no longer would the arkenstone crown a dwarf on the throne , for it was decided , in honor of his great sacrifice and the mourning of the cost of his quest , that the jewel would be buried with thorin , so that he would be crowned evermore .

the arkenstone , though called by the dwarrows to be the heart of the mountain , may never have been so , and instead be a silmaril forged by fëanor and hence lost to the depths of the earth with the undoing of maedhros , son of fëanor , who flung himself into a gaping chasm .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟼𝟻𝟷 - 𝟼𝟻𝟹 ) the choice of arkenstone is significant , since in other writings tolkien was making at the same time he was using a variant of the same name as a term for the silmarils themselves , forging a link between the jewels of fëanor and the arkenstone of [ thrór ] in the legendarium [ . . . ] the idea that the arkenstone could be a silmaril , or was at least somehow linked to the silmarils in tolkien’s mind , has additional support from the philosophical roots of the word .

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟼𝟻𝟺 ) like the silmarils in the main branch of the legendarium , and unlike the one ring in the sequel , the arkenstone inspires greed but is not itself malicious in any way [ . . . ]

though many will point to the finality of one statement that the silmarils could not be found again unless the world was broken and re - made anew :

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟼𝟻𝟽 ) tolkien had in fact at that point changed his mind four times in the previous fifteen years about the holy jewels’ fate , all in a series of unpublished works that remained in flux and were each to be replaced by a new version of the story [ . . . ] it is thus more than possible that tolkien was playing in the hobbit with the idea of having one of fëanor’s wondrous jewels re - appear , no doubt the one that had been thrown into a fiery chasm , and lost deep within the earth ————— which is , after all , exactly where the dwarrows find the arkenstone , buried at the roots of an extinct volcano .

the silmarils may inspire greed , but they merely reflect the heart of the one who possesses them , and are no source of evil , nor do they hold magical sway beyond the manner with which all covet them for their great beauty⁴ . the silmaril named the ❝ arkenstone ❞ by the dwarrows did not encourage the madness in either thrór nor thorin⁵ . while they both desired the jewel greatly , it was because of the power that they themselves attributed to it , and not anything that the arkenstone itself was able to exact . the light of the valinor , which the arkenstone encases , is a good and beauteous light , and it is only the imperfect heart that all carry and that drives those who see the silmarils to commit treacherous deeds for them that taints the jewels⁶ . in the end , it was the corruption of the dwarf ring given to the line of durin long ago that wholly cursed them with a dark greed and a darker madness . as said by balin , the arkenstone would not have stayed thorin’s madness , nor prevented it , but exacerbated it by its presence .

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 .

¹ 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 , 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 ( 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜 ) , 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗 : ❝ that stone crowns all . it’s the summit of this great wealth , bestowing power upon he who bears it . would it stay his madness ? no , laddie . i fear it would make him worse . perhaps it is best it remains lost . ❞

² fëanor , having been supposedly taught by aulë ( mahal ) , and with the dwarrows being the creation of aulë , leads to the belief that they would be able to facet the otherwise impervious silmaril , whilst any other race would not be able to do so , no matter any secrets learnt . however , this interpreation will adhere to the film portrayal of the arkenstone , which has it as smooth .

³ one such inscription can be seen in the film , read as : herein lies the seventh kingdom of durin’s folk . may the heart of the mountain unite all dwarrows in defense of this home .

⁴ in the film , smaug tells bilbo that the arkenstone shall corrupt thorin’s heart and thus destroy him and drive him mad . the dragon was , of course , lying , attempting to sway the loyalties of bilbo’s heart , as it had been trying to for most of the conversation , whether that scheme was lying about the arkenstone’s power , or that the dwarrows valued bilbo so little . in truth , as smaug’s powers of cleverness knew , thorin would be the one to drive himself mad over the stone , and not the stone itself .

⁵ nor did the arkenstone inspire any such madness or lust within bilbo baggins , who was in possession of the jewel for quite some time , and did not feel any such inclinations past how heavy it seemed to be in his hold :

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 , 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 , 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 ( 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟸𝟹𝟽 ) his small hand would not close about it , for it was a large and heavy gem ; but he lifted it , shut his eyes , and put it in his deepest pocket .

⁶ it is true that those with evil intent ( forgoing the idea that mortals cannot touch silmarils , which shall not be considered for this , as it does not fit no matter how holy they may be, and appears to be an inconsistent particular ) cannot touch the silmarils lest they be burned . one must consider that bilbo baggins had no evil intent , and thus was able to carry the stone . neither did bard , who also held onto the stone for a period of time . evil intent , however , is a manner of perception ; was thrór truly being evil by his greed , or disagreeing on the payment of goods for the elves , should he believe himself in the right ? was thorin , up to a certain point in the delirium of the dragon - sickness , behaving evilly as he protected the mountain and what lay inside of it against the perceived threats ? 'til later deeds , he may have been able to hold the arkenstone , as thrór had , but his treatment of bilbo baggins after the hobbit’s betrayal would have rendered him unable to touch the arkenstone , for that was a bad , unfair act in regards to the feelings that they shared for each other ( should thorin have lived , he would not have been able to touch the arkenstone until he had made amends with bilbo and otherwise honored his word . it is possible that he may have never been able to ever touch the arkenstone at all ) .

#interpretation .#the legends of the mountain - son .#this is probably quite controversial considering how discussions seem #rather undecided regarding the topic ;#but this is the belief that will be adhered to for this portrayal .

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secret-engima · 5 years ago

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THE FFXV STORM-DAUGHTER THING oh my god. Its AMAZING. Can we get more??? Of it??? Can we ask about it??? Galahd's reaction to the dragon when they first find her??? Or their reactions to her bursting through the trees and destroying everything in her way bar Galahdians and then passing Lib Ny+Selene. I love this already. Give me more dragons. ALSO LUCIS FINDING OUT ABOUT THE MOTHERFUCKING DRAGON OH MY GOD (laughter)

*cackles* YOU MAY INDEED.

Galahd’s first reaction to the dragon is ... alarm. Panic. At first they don’t ... KNOW what she is and they think she might be some kind of wild animal and how are they going to fight something that big? Except ... except she never bothers them. She stays in her den and only leaves to hunt other wild things. She avoids their villages and their shrines, and travelers who stumble across her are only grumpily growled at rather than eaten in one bite.

They witness her grief in those early centuries, how she suddenly shakes the jungle with her wingbeats and flies off until she is a mere spec in the distance before RAGING and that is how they find her name. Storm-Daughter, She Who Is Blessed By Thunder and Wave. No normal creature has magic that strong, not even the King Behemoths. She must be either a Messenger or a child of the Astrals (of Ramuh and Leviathan, a child with the stormy magic of her father and a great, beast-like form like her mother) and they spread the word. None are to touch her. All are to respect her.

They find the borders of her den territory and she watches with large, bitter eyes as they carefully build low, knee high walls just beyond the border. Not to cage her, but to serve as a warning for travelers not to pass that point. They carve talismans of peace and thanks and welcome and hang them from the nearby branches, leave offerings of food to the Storm-Daughter on the low wall so that she will always know that she is welcome, even if she watches them with visible disdain and anger.

The anger fades over the centuries. And eventually she sleeps. For twenty or more years at a time she sleeps only to wake, hunt the Behemoths of the isles for her food, then returns to her den and sleeps again.

It is not hard to conclude that something has broken the Storm-Daughter’s heart. That the humans of one mainland or the other have hurt her so deeply she despises human kind and can only sleep her pain away. Too tired even to fly from the isles and rage anymore.

They grow used to her. Their children grow up hearing tales of her wrath over the waters but never seeing it. The teens make games of, while traveling, creeping to the borders of the low wall and leaving gifts in the hope she will Bless them.

Everyone agrees that the Ulrics are NUTS when a small group of them, having lost their old village to an unseasonal flood, rebuild a village less than a half hour’s walk away from the Storm-Daughter’s den. The Ostiums agree even as they help build the walls of the new houses, and all direly agree that when Storm-Daughter next wakes, she will slaughter the village that dared come too close.

Instead, when she wakes, she investigates. The entire village freezes when her great head peers over the tree tops at them (over, not through, for she is taller than their jungle canopy). She blinks once, teeth the height of men glinting in the light as her teeth bare-.

She snorts once, a great gust of wind that bowls several of the unprepared over onto their backs, turns and leaves without touching the village.

They take it for a blessing and the village persists for another century there, untouched by the Storm-Daughter or misfortune until one Nyx Ulric is born.

Nyx Ulric who hears the stories of the Storm-Daughter and, fearless child he is, makes the journey to the low wall that he then proceeds to perch on TOP of as he watches the awake and disinterested Storm-Daughter. Eventually he drags Libertus along, and the two coax the Storm-Daughter into speaking with them in exchange for stories, and so a friendship blooms.

...

To answer you next questions- Galahd is already in fear and mourning as they flee to the boats, Niflheim on their heels. They do not think of the Storm-Daughter, for she has never interfered in human matters before. No, they are alone in this and their death, their homelessness, is near.

And then-.

The sound.

It is an unholy sound, furious and raw with rage and grief as deep as the earth and the oceans. It cracks apart the ground and bursts more than one unprepared eardrum. The birds of the jungle, already fleeing the growing fires, burst into a cloud of panic that cannot be heard over the sound echoing all around. Even the MT units, empty machines they are, pause in their rampage to look in the direction of the sound.

Then the jungle bows down. Trees fold and break, leaves flutter and touch the ground in all directions as from the depths of the center isle’s jungle-.

The Storm-Daughter rises.

And oh, these Galahdians have never seen her like this. For it has been at least two centuries since she flew rather than slept or prowled along the ground.

Her wings are massive, so large they seem to darken the sky, her head, smooth and tapered almost like an equine’s rather than a predators, swings toward the oncoming Niflheim air fleet, and her eyes glow with the light of the storm. The sun winks off brilliant sapphire and amethyst scales (Protection and Loyalty whispers instinct and tradition in their hearts and hope flickers to life) before the clouds form and throw the world into darkness almost as deep as night.

Then the Storm-Daughter roars and lightning spills from her jaws, lighting up the sky and turning an entire swath of enemy fleet into DUST. Less than dust. They watch with hearts in their throats as the Storm-Daughter destroys the fleet, speeding through their ranks with great flaps of her wings as if she is light as the smallest jungle bird and not a towering and ancient dragon. Rain falls from the sky at a swipe of her claws and puts out the fires, a smack of her serpentine tail cleaves the flagship in half.

Niflheim’s assault breaks and nothing, not even their super weapon, can stop her for more than a moment. She crushes the weapon under her paws and screams to the heavens in a language old and unknown and terrible.

There are no survivors from Niflheim.

The boats creep back to shore, and all of Galahd watches with pale faces, half-expecting to be next, for the Storm-Daughter has never looked kindly on humanity, for all she let them be until now.

Instead she lands and scans the crowd as if searching for someone in particular.

Murmurs of shock rise from the back, then ripple forward like a tide as one figure, a scraggly, wild-eyed Ostium teenager, pushes his way off the boats and onto the sand to stand right at her feet.

The Storm-Daughter lowers one great paw and all of Galahd whispers at the sight of two Ulrics, a teen boy and a young girl, stumbling out of her grasp unharmed and falling into the crying Ostium boy’s arms.

They look up and see the Storm-Daughter watching the trio with love in her large, now dark grey eyes and suddenly they understand.

In the near front of the crowd, one Furia teen wheezes a hysterical laugh as he leans against his Arra and Lazarus friends and chokes out, “Leave it to an Ulric to be adopted by the Storm-Daughter.”

.... (Last of your questions!)

When word gets to Insomnia that an invasion of Galahd has been turned aside, supposedly by a Messenger in the form of a dragon ... Regis doesn’t believe it. Oh, he believes the invasion bit, but Astral intervention? After so many other territories have fallen without notice from the Astrals and their kind? There has to be another explanation. The dragon is propaganda to scare Niflheim away from trying again. Still, the isles are badly damaged and morale is low. There had been no time to muster the Crownsguard and send aid before the invasion got there, so to prove that Insomnia still cared for its outer territories, Regis overrides Clarus’s concerns and sails to Galahd, just him, Clarus, Cor, and a few Crownsguard, plus an entire crew of volunteer relief workers. With them they bring medical supplies, food, blankets and tents and other things needed to help rebuild from disaster.

They dock on the central isle’s harbor and are greeted with surprise and gratitude. Regis can see the devastation of the attack, the burned trees and cracked open earth (what cracked the earth? Bombs? A new type of weapon?) but withholds his questions. He is not here to interrogate people, he is here to help. After personally helping to pass out supplies and getting Clarus to glare at him by using his magic to heal the more injured children and elders, Regis finally asks after the person responsible for leading the counterattack that staved off Niflheim. He wants to congratulate them, meet with them (perhaps recruit them for the Kingsglaive, a new idea of his he has not yet acted upon, but this he does not say).

The Galahdians all look uneasy and explain Storm-Daughter does not meet with anyone she does not please. Cor scoffs and says Regis is the king, she can hardly turn down a summon from her monarch.

All the Galahdians pull away from Cor with wide, fearful eyes and Regis is about to scold Cor for his manners (clearly this person is respected in Galahd to earn a title like Storm-Daughter) when the wind cracks and the earth shakes. The Galahdians scatter, clearing a huge area around Regis like they expect something to fall from the sky.

Regis’s magic prickles and wails at the pulse of a much older, larger, angrier, deadlier magic and looks up in time to see the sky darken under massive wings. The towering, ancient dragon, taller than the trees, taller even then some of the buildings in Insomnia, slams down onto the earth with enough force to bowl Cor over and nearly do the same for Regis (who only stays standing because of Clarus at his back, acting as a brace). Blue and purple scales glitter like gemstones in the sunlight as the dragon folds its wings and bares massive, massive teeth (Astrals this dragon is at least the size of a Zu, possibly bigger, certainly more dangerous) and cocks its head to fix one, glittering grey eye on Cor.

And speaks, “Watch your words, human. I swore my oath to a human monarch lifetimes ago and was rewarded with nothing but pain. I have served my queen and I serve no other. Your little king is nothing to me, and I answer to none but whom I please.” Massive eyes narrow and fix on the gaping Regis, “And, little monarch. You are not welcome on MY isles. Begone before I destroy your ship the way I destroyed the imperial fleet and DEVOUR you whole-.” The dragon stops short, growls as deep as thunder and twists her long neck to look at her back impatiently. There is movement up there, and a moment later, a small face, a HUMAN face, appears. The teenager fearlessly slides down one massive foreleg and lands on the sand with soft “oof” then looks up at the dragon who is staring at the teen with an open expression of long-suffering.

“Don’t be rude, Tempestas! The king came a long way to help us. In person. I think that’s pretty cool!”

“Hatchling,” sighs the dragon in a voice that no longer rattles Regis’s bone marrow, “kings are all the same. He’s just here to make his meaningless prattle in person. It is still meaningless prattle.”

The teen looks over at Regis and gives a bright smile, “But he’s got magic, like us! And he didn’t bring words, he brought medical supplies and help. Come on, hear him out? The teen looks back at the dragon and Regis cannot for the life of him shake the mental image of a child giving puppy eyes to his indulgent mother, “Pleeeeeeeaasse?”

The dragon’s muzzle falls into what Regis swears is a deadpan worthy of Cor, then she looks up at the sky with a sigh that stirs up a breeze. She looks back down again, “Fine. I will tolerate his presence. For now. But if he touches you or Selene...” those giant teeth are bared again before the dragon settles into a very catlike loaf pose, “Since you’re so enthusiastic to meet a mindless human monarch, you can do the talking and the listening.”

And so Regis watches as the teenager shrugs, saunters over to him, and grins with teeth a fraction too sharp and looks him over with eyes that were definitely too slitted to be completely human (and suddenly all those impossible fables of Messengers falling in love with humans and having half-blooded children seem not so impossible after all), “Hello, Your Majesty,” says the teen, “I’m Nyx Ulric. You had some questions?”

“I think,” Regis hears himself say faintly, “I have more than a few of those, young master Ulric. And if I may, I think I also have a request.” The dragon narrows her eyes dangerously, but the teen just nods. Regis weakly finishes, “Might I have a chair? I think I need to sit down.”

Nyx Ulric waves at another Galahdian for a chair to be brought while the sand shakes under the force of the dragon’s laughter.

#SE asks #oliverslewty asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Rivers course my blood (my breath is thunder) verse #fairy tail #ffxv #xover #DRAGONS #mwahahaha

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ctl-yuejie · 5 years ago

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the grandmaster of demonic interior design or mound squatting & a smitten renovator

⇨ for @howdydowdy who wisely suggested a home renovation tv series au based on my crack gifset

Ia . IIa . IIIa . Ib . IIb . IIIb. Ic . IIc . IIIc . Id . IId . IIId . Ie . IIe ⭐︎ . IIIe ⭐︎⭐︎ . extra

(this fic is super unbalanced, get ready for the 2k part ahahaha)

IIIc.

Despite arriving early, Lan Wangji’s luck has him run into Nie Huaisang as soon as he arrives at the hotel reserved for the experts on the show. Chipper in the wee hours of the day, Nie Huaisang is used to the chaotic scheduling and ensures him that there is no need to join the crew before the day of filming. Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to work with this kind of laissez-faire attitude towards the production that supposedly single-handedly saved the old traditions and the tv station itself. His brother’s guess at Nie Huaisang just using this as an opportunity to find work as an interior designer without actually having to work full-time in the field seems to be spot-on. All the ‘experts’ on the show being a hand-picked group of pretty men just cements the suspicion that he’s got a hand in everything. With a flourish of his fan Nie Huaisang vanishes into the streets, leaving him with the advice to head into the city centre and lookout for fancy birds. Lan Wangji isn’t sure whether that is an euphemism or not.

Sticking to his initial plan he decides to get familiar with the shooting area first. Luckily the hotel was chosen strategically, only a short trip away from the ominous place donning the name of Burial Mound. He isn’t so sure anymore whether analysing the style of cultivation practiced there will be a walk in the park or if he should’ve done more studying despite what little he was given from the production team. After consulting the map on his phone Lan Wangji finds the pathway that leads up the mountain, an old sign announcing the amount of kilometres left to the cave.

He can’t fathom how a filming permit got granted for what seems to be an alternative housing project.

The way up takes time, but despite the slope he doesn’t break out into sweat. None of the woods grow leaves, nevertheless the sky is completely blocked from view. Vines are enclosing him on both sides, and the branches of the old, hunched trees seem to claw their way onto the path. The perfect trap. He finds himself to be more alert than ever before.

At the end of the pathway he is greeted by a buzzling crowd.

Stepping out into the clearing feels surreal, almost like he travelled back and forth in time during his ascend. Shaking of the oppressive atmosphere of the thicket he takes in his surroundings. Cables for the cameras are getting set up while the producers and the director are conferring next to the entrance to a cave. Gingerly he makes his way over, some of the regular inhabitants shooting him curious glances. The stark white of his clothes, unperturbed even after the hike up the mountain, induces a respectful distance. Lan Wangji decides to wear the traditional Lan Clan attire for the actual shooting day then and there.

One of the producers gets alerted to his presence and after introducing herself she starts to apologise profusely. Lan Wangji feels doused in shame. It was inadequate to come here this early. He has caused more trouble than he intended and now he doesn’t know how to express his regret properly.

Instead he settles on inquiring after the briefing, a promise to vacate the premises ringing in the air. The producer almost curtsies to the obvious amusement of the director and makes quick work of her bag, fishing out a thin script and an outline of the show. “We will have a meeting tonight at the hotel in preparation. Most of tomorrows segment will be focused on Huaisang’s area of expertise, so you only have to take a look around and get interviewed afterwards for a first impression on the vibe of the cultivation.” Her eyes almost vanish behind the brim of her bucket hat as she cranes her neck to try and match his height. Lan Wangji thanks her and ponders how much he should prepare for his segment. Listening to the stories of his brother most people on the show are affiliated to powerful clans which allows them to own such peculiar houses in the first place. He just assumed that he’d already be familiar with the cultivation style, but just standing here, even surrounded by a friendly group of people, something feels off. A cold wind clasps his feet in confirmation.

He flips open the script and his eyes just so fall on the name on the top corner of the paper when a delighted voice calls out for him..

“Lan Zhan! Lan WangJiii! I knew it was you!” Grinning Wei Wuxian comes to an abrupt halt before him, curiously looking him up and down. Lan Wangji feels surprisingly unsettled by this unexpected encounter. The constricting feeling from the climb up is back.

His brother must have known.

Wei Wuxian seems to be very impressed with how Lan Wangji has changed in appearance since they last saw each other in school.

13 years ago.

Lan Wangji still hasn’t recovered from the initial shock, a tiny “Wei Ying” living his lips before he corrects his posture and bows formally. Wei Wuxian follows his movement in an almost flippant imitation, still grinning at him.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I didn’t expect you of all people to be in show business.” Lan Wangji doesn’t know if that is a good thing, so he says nothing. “Makes me curious what your area of expertise is on the show.” And with that he has pulled the script from his hands studying the cover page. “Script – Cultivation expert” is written on the front with a “confidential” stamp across it. “I didn’t know this show was about cultivation as well? I thought it was all remodelling and refurnishing advice. Hopefully Huangang Jun will be lenient in his comments, -“ Lan Wangji’s brows ever so slightly knit together after hearing Wei Wuxian call him by his title. How does he know?- “I really want this to focus on the community having to live here.” Gently he retrieves the script from Wei Wuxian’s hands to stop himself from staring.

“But isn’t this a happy accident? Jiang Cheng signed me up for the show not knowing you were one of the hosts, otherwise he would’ve let me know. Or not.” He seems to contemplate that thought for a moment.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know why Wei Wuxian is so excited to see him again but he basks in the pleasant albeit novel feeling, relaxing with every word that leaves Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Not much has changed since they attended the same after school classes at the cultivation heritage centre. Wei Wuxian still animatedly talks without a pause and seems to find joy in everything around him while pulling all kinds of faces. Lan Wangji’s pulse quickens when realization dawns on him that different majors at university and over 10 years weren’t enough.

13 years.

He has grown, he has changed,

But it isn’t enough.

The director joins them shortly, curious at how they know each other and while Wei Wuxian tells him an abridged version of how the Lan Wangji used to supervise his detention, he takes in the other people in the area.

Around 30 people are working in the communal space in front of the cave, fixing up the small wooden huts and looking after the vegetable patches. Most of them are well over 40 and unsurprisingly he doesn’t recognize anyone. There is only one child and his eyes are fixed on Wei Wuxian as his little fingers daringly get closer to a muddy puddle.

“Ah-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian calls out in mock-rage and runs over, picks up the young boy and holds him upside down. Ah-Yuan giggles and laughs, before wriggling out if his grip and running off to an old woman weaving baskets. Wei Wuxian turns around, waving him closer, the last sunrays of the day basking his face in a warm light.

Around them the group of artists (?), squatters (?) cleans up and gets ready for the night but Wei Wuxian grips his wrist and pulls him towards the cave.

“Let me give you an exclusive first look of my private quarters before shooting starts!” Wei Wuxian says accompanied with a suggestive wink as they cross the entrance. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t know Wei Wuxian anymore, that he was very young and inexperienced back then. Lan Wangji’s burning ears betray him.

As they proceed into the second chamber of the cave candles light up, illuminating the harsh rock that encloses them. Now with nightfall the place feels more eerie, finally justifying the legends of the Burial Mound that still get told in town. Sensitized after years of training, he can feel the old dark energy.

Wei Wuxian must feel it as well, he can see the talismans on the walls to ward off evil. For the first time he wonders why Wei Wuxian chose to live in this place.

The chamber is empty with the exception of a makeshift bed and a round table with woodwork on it.

Does Wei Wuxian sleep here? Only lurking spirits for company?

“I can show you more tomorrow, but if you like you could take a look at the gadgets I’ve carved. You are much more knowledgeable with these kind of things...at least you used to be...” Wei Wuxian’s smile is so soft, eyes gently vanishing into lines. Lan Wangji takes extra care in schooling his face into an impassive look.

At first sight the gadgets seem to be the perfect prank material, they are designed to cause small explosions or form a cloaking fog. But he can’t help and think about what confrontation Wei Wuxian is preparing for. The carving is done very carefully and judging from the papers on top of the table, much work went into finding the perfect designs.

He settles on an “Acceptable.” Wei Wuxian’s face pulls into a smile, making him want to repeat the word over and over again.

“I really didn’t know you were coming. But I’m glad we meet again. It has been a long time since I could talk to someone who understands what I’m talking about.”

He was right. A lot has changed. He isn’t used to this Wei Wuxian who is mature in his honesty. And he knows he is doomed just like before, because even this unknown Wei Wuxian he wants to be close to and find out who he is.

“But it is getting late, Lan Zhan, I shouldn’t keep you on the mountain. I bet they arranged suitable accommodation for the esteemed Huangang Jun down town. Let me show you off!”

“Hm.” He hums in agreement and they make their way back to the entrance.

“Don’t worry I will show you the rest tomorrow. I will need you to stay sane when Huaisang starts berating me for my tasteful furniture choices.”

“I will be there.”

Wei Wuxian is visibly startled by the fervour in his voice. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Of course you’ll be there. Or the crew would have schlepped all the equipment up this godforsaken mound for nothing. And we can’t have that taint your reputation.”

Wei Wuxian laughs most of the way down.

Just before the path opens to the road at the feet of the Mound he says his goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow Lan Zhan.” Then: “Sleep well, Lan-Er Gege.” The mischief in his voice bubbles over.

“Wei Ying!” It comes out sterner than he intended but Wei Wuxian seems pleased at having struck a chord, making his way back up the Mound while waving him goodbye, back turned.

Lan Wangji allows himself to wait until the red of Wei Wuxian’s hair band vanishes into the grey thicket. With nightfall the cold is creeping into his bones and he becomes aware of the old grave stones that line the path. Even in the 21stcentury, Burial Mound stays a fitting name.

One step onto the well-lit road and he’s enveloped by the humid heat of Yiling’s night.

#the untamed #the untamed fanfic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #the grandmaster of demonic interior design #ctlyuejie writes #long post #ahahahahahahahah i know it might not have seemed like it but this fic is actually quite long #this is when the crack caught feels and i couldn't turn back #and i have ton of head canons for this au that won't even make it into the fic orz #and i love socially awkward but aware lan wangji and oblivious social butterfly wwx #i know i shouldn't bring it to everyone's attention but the name of Wei Wuxian gets dropped a lot in this part...not because I couldn't have #edited it down but lwj's everything pretty much focusses on Wei Wuxian soooo...#hiding this in the tags so it won't be too obnoxious #wwx might call lwj's name a lot but in his mind lwj #says wwx's name A LOT #hope everyone is enjoying this update as much as i do

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